 |
by C.J. Mouser After growing up in Texas, C.J. Mouser and her husband, Fred, eventually found home on a small farm in west central Florida, where they and children Jenny, Jillian and Jake grow oranges and raise swine. A collection of goats, cats and dogs also call the farm home, along with the occasional rattlesnake, alligator or "marauding wild hog intent on a little romance" in the sow pasture. Other articles focus on family. "Sometimes the threads that hold the family together are as fragile as spider silk, and as convoluted and complex as the main switchboard at the IRS." Their farm spans thirty acres in Hardee County, where they raise livestock, oranges, and the occasional few acres of some type of cash crop. Although her husband had some background in animal husbandry and livestock management, life on the farm was a new experience for C J and their three children. Her readers have learned to expect to laugh and occasionally cry, as she describes her joys, trials, and tribulations in such tales as Ricardo Ropes a Pig, The Maternal Instinct, Memories on the Hoof, and Never Take a Duck to Bed. Mouser, who is also a freelance writer and columnist for several different Florida newspapers, followed her own path to become a writer. "I have no formal education. In fact, I'm 45 years old and haven't finished high school," she says. "I am a prime example of 'don't let this happen to you'." Faithful readers who can't wait for her next story, however, would say she's done just fine. |
One of the primary tools I used to get my sixteen year old son to pile on a bus and travel 1200 miles to visit me here in Texas, was the deer. "Wait'll you see 'em." I kept saying when we spoke long distance on the phone. "What's so special about 'em?" "Well other than the fact that they're everywhere, they're much bigger than Florida deer." "Yeah, right ... whatever." I picked him up at the bus station at almost midnight and on the drive home it was ... "Where's the deer?" The next morning he got up at about eight a.m. and went for a walk. "I didn't see a deer one." He said when he returned. "You will." I promised. Another day went by with no deer sightings. "I don't know if I can handle all these deer." He said sarcastically. "Just give it a little time." I replied. The following night we were going out to Comanche Campground to meet some family and camp out for the night. "Wait'll you see the fish." I said. "Here we go again." He chuckled. It was about seven-thirty p.m. and we were headed out 1431 when he yelled ... "Stop the truck!!" "What? What is it?" I glanced at him and hit my brakes and began to slow down. He had gone white as a sheet and was shaking all over. "Are you sick, son?" "No! Please just turn around! Please?!" "Jake, what is it?" "Mom, either turn this truck around or your going to force me to jump out of a moving vehicle!" So I turned around and headed back the way we had come. We crested a hill and there on the side of the road was a small herd of deer. What had turned Jake into a blithering idiot was a ten point buck standing majestically in the middle of the little group. Not only had he spotted the deer, he had counted the points on the fly. Now he pointed wordlessly, his mouth hanging open. "I see it, son. I tried to tell ya." "That's the biggest rack I have ever seen." He gasped. "I told you if you'd just be patient ..." "Let me out." "Why?" "I just want to get closer." About that time the herd bounced away into the woods, waving their little white flags as they went. "I told ya." I repeated. By now he was shaking like a washing machine on the spin cycle and fine beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead. Deer fever is not a pretty thing to watch, and can be alarming unless you have witnessed it before. Less than an hour later we were at camp and we settled into lawn chairs with my mother and father-in-law to watch my two sisters-in-law pull fish out of the water. They were averaging small to medium in size, some went onto the stringer, some went back in the water. I could read Jake's face like a road map. I don't know if I can handle all these great big fish. "Jake … check that rod over there for me?" His grandfather said, and pointed at a rod and reel that was stuck into the bank a few yards away. My father-in-law treats fishing like a spectator sport. Once he gets his rod set up, he just sits back and watches. Which in this particular instance worked out very well, as Jake started cranking on the reel and pulled out a gaspergoo every bit as long as his arm. He just stood there holding the fish up wordlessly, the fishing line cutting into his hand. I gazed at him … vindicated. "I know," he grinned sheepishly, "you tried to tell me." The rest of the night he spent alternating between sitting with a reel in his hand or wandering the surrounding woods looking for deer. The light of the full moon cast a phosphorescent glow to everything it touched, sparkling off the water like a sea of diamonds cast upon a black blanket. I don't think Jake slept all night, as the full realization of where he was and the immense possibilities of what his life could be like here began to fully set in. I didn't expect to be able to keep him here forever; he had work and his dad waiting for him in Florida, but I think next time I nag him to visit it won't take nearly so much effort. |
|
CLICK HERE |
