Roberta Lacey
Decades ago, upon first moving to Delaware Co., N.Y. from Long Island, my family and I got to know this back-woodsman, Joseph. He took great pride in his tales of deer hunting, fishing, even rattlesnake extermination. Most of the rattlers were found in the Hancock area and there about, he recalled. I believe there was a bounty on "them rattlers" as he could always use a few dollars for the necessities of life. He was truthful and honest, except perhaps at times when going into details of his hunting and fishing expeditions.
Joe had a small garden, providing his own needs, plus a few hens and a rooster. Since he never admitted it, we guessed he probably hunted deer out of season if one of "them ornery critters" dared to visit his garden and demolish his vegetables. Between venison, wild turkey and trout (in or out of season), Joe remained a strong and healthy man. At times, he enjoyed freshly killed woodchuck he saw venturing into his garden.
Joe was generous with the few neighbors he had, especially those in need. He bluntly told those who were able bodied to get their own garden and fish and game. Joe hunted for food; not so much for sport.
Cecil was one friend who was ever ready to hunt with old Joe. Though I never saw the dwelling Joe called home, Cecil was a frequent visitor. Joe and his wife were separated long ago, before my family and I ever met him. He would accept only certain people. Since we moved up from "the city" (Westbury, L.I.) we doubted he would befriend us. However, "bye and bye", he did, especially upon learning my husband was originally from Delaware County.
Joseph found a jewel of a bicycle in a junk yard. He doctored it up, gave it a new paint job and enjoyed his "new mode of transportation". Whenever he planned on riding in an area where summer tourists took their daily walks along the country roads, old Joe was ever ready for them. He disliked seeing the "city people" walking six abreast, leaving no room for him and his bicycle. Therefore, Joe carried two brooms, putting one inside each handlebar. Each broom extended about five feet on either side. He picked up his speed and gleefully rode down the road, watching the walkers scatter to the sides of the path in great haste. The hotel boarders thought this elderly man was insane. He had his own reasons for doing things. Joe may have been a little eccentric but never stupid. That is, if teaching six people the consequences of hogging the road for themselves is considered "crazy".
It's been said, and never denied, that old Joe was part American Indian. He certainly appeared so. Joe was about six feet tall and had ruggedly handsome features. His jet black hair with only a shock of grey about his temples, belied his age. As he aged, his shoulders stooped; otherwise he was young and sharp in spirit, and sometimes with his tongue. In summer, his skin tanned even more than usual. We only guessed his mother's ancestry was Mohawk. His father was full Caucasian. Joe had the strength of a bull and some say her was ornery as one.
Joe could be very kind, especially to children and animals. They were his favorite creatures, except for some four legged critters who ate up his vegetable garden. He didn't mind sharing, but resented having all his work gone for naught in one day. Some wire fences were beyond Joe's means, but he did buy or barter for sturdy barrier that was affordable. He was proud and would not take a gift of money. However, Joe never forgot a kindness shown to him. My oldest son, John, gave him a gift of a good, warm wool sweater. Joe wrote a sweet thank-you note to him. He seemed to treasure that sweater for years.
This "die-hard" man lived as a pioneer. The one luxury he admitted to having was a transistor radio. His needs were met. With a good spring on his property, outdoor plumbing, a wood stove and kerosene lamps, what more could a man want? His only vice was chewing tobacco.
No doubt Joe's desire to live as he did was the reason for the loss of his marriage. His only child, a son, visited him infrequently. He was raised by his mother in a distant city and became a "business man", as Joe put it. Nevertheless, Joe showed pride as his face would light up when the subject arose concerning his "boy".
This good man was somewhat like Henry David Thoreau who loved Walden Pond. He too, had personal convictions and wasn't about to leave his bucolic quarters or to become one of the sheep in the flock of mankind. He stood his ground and was uncompromising. However, Joe did pay his property taxes, somehow. That was one thing Thoreau refused to do.
Joe saw God in the woods and streams, in hearing the call of birds awakening at dawn, in the morning sunrise and in the evening sunset.
Joe's tales often began, "now did I tell ya 'bout the time me 'n Cecil went huntin'?" Whether or not we answered "yes" or "no", Joe, looking off into the distance, continued his long, detailed narrative; reliving every moment of it. "Yes, sir, me and Cecil seen this here buck, he was a beauty of a ten-pointer, but along come a doe. She stood up aside the buck, like as if to take a bullet for him. Sudden like, this here buck run 'tother way...but I managed to get a shot or two in his hind quarters. Me and Cecil went after that 'ole boy 'till almost dark, me and Cecil did"...and on and on Joe talked. Finally, he said rather proudly with a tinge of sadness in his voice, "we kilt it dead, me and Cecil did".
Now old Joe is gone and surely hope he's happy. We know God is patient, and may listen to Joe's stories without wishing he would soon get to the climax of the many tales of "Me and Cecil".
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