LOVING YOUR LAND

Land Ownership brings Many Rewards

By Jim Casada

Two and a half years ago I took a step that might be variously described as foolhardy, risky, shrewd, or farsighted. It’s all a matter of perspective. After considerable debate with my wife and a great deal of reluctance on her part, we purchased 93 acres of land in an adjacent county. This came at a time in our lives (I’m a year removed from the magical date of 65 years, 10 months when I can draw full Social Security benefits without any penalty on money I earn) when most couples would be cutting back, consolidating, or maybe taking the steps that constitute the human equivalent of being put out to pasture.

Yet there was method and considerable thought underlying what some might consider my madness. For starters, I’ve always been a firm believer in one of the countless tidbits of wisdom offered by Will Rogers: “Buy land. They ain’t making any more of it.” Then too, it was increasingly obvious that the timber industry in my part of the world, and nationwide for that matter, was in the process of a great shake-up. That translated to a great loss of leases for hunt clubs. Sure enough, the club to which I belonged, along with the one I had been a member of before switching, both lost their leases within a year of our purchasing the land. The writing was on the hunter’s wall, at least from my perspective. I had to get some land of my own or it was quite possible I would suddenly discover I didn’t have anywhere to hunt when I just wanted to run out for a couple of quick hours on a stand.

Sure, I had a few land-owning friends who would welcome me for hunts from time to time, but it’s easy to wear out your welcome in such situations. I also wanted a place where my son-in-law could hunt when he had time, some land where I could wander and wonder to my heart’s content, a place to pick blackberries and cut a Christmas tree, and, truth be told, some land to love and eventually pass on to my loved ones.

At first sight, the 93 acres aren’t anything special. Roughly 60 percent had been logged five or six years prior to my purchase. Fortunately, at least from my perspective, it hadn’t been replanted in pines to create what is sometimes referred to, with considerable justice from my perspective, as biological “pine deserts.” Instead, it had grown back with a mixture of pines, sweet gums, brambles, honeysuckle, and wild grapes. In other words, perfect bedding cover for deer, nesting areas for turkeys, and general habitat for small game.

The remainder of the land is mature hardwoods, some growing in deep gullies that offer a visual reminder that this land, like so much acreage across the South, was once part of the dominion of King Cotton. It was single-crop farmed until it eroded and became exhausted, then it was left alone. The hardwoods have restored it, and the gullies have real advantages when it comes to hunting and improving the land. They form natural travel corridors for deer, and the oaks offer plenty of food in the fall. Also, two or three of the deeper gullies are tailor-made for building small ponds, although that’s a project for the future at this point. There are also two small branches on the property that flow year-round, and the bottom land along one of them features 15 acres or so where black walnuts dominate. Right now that just means nuts for squirrels and a fine strutting ground for turkeys in the spring (vegetation does not grow well beneath walnuts, and where they are present in goodly numbers the understory tends to be pretty clean).

That’s the basic picture, although a bit more should be added to round out the background. The land has plenty of deer, but that can be said of any comparable piece of property here in upstate South Carolina. Turkeys use it off and on, and there are plenty of squirrels, a goodly number of rabbits, and something of a rarity in this part of the world, a sizeable covey of quail. To date the property has yielded two gobblers, six deer, and several squirrels and rabbits. But that’s no way to measure its value or productivity. What really matters runs far deeper than mere game numbers.

Gary Sefton, a longtime friend of mine who handles public relations for Woods Wise Game Calls, once put it perfectly: “A man doesn’t mind working on his own ground.” In my case that’s the flat-out gospel truth, and I suspect it holds true for most landowners. In some senses the work is just as rewarding as the taking of game, although obviously productive management is one of the considerations you have in mind when putting a lot of sweat equity into your property. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a long, hard day of putting up and repairing stands, hours of mowing, cultivating, and sowing a food plot, or using a chain saw to clear shooting lanes, the effort comes with specific goals in mind—more game and better hunting.

Yet there’s another side to loving the land as well, one that involves meandering and meditating as opposed to working. The first time I walked the boundaries of my small acreage, trying to locate the markers shown on the survey map of the property, it was with a true sense of wonder. Time and again the thought ran through my mind—“It’s mine, and here’s my chance to make something of this piece of ground.” At one point I paused to admire a massive beech tree, carrying initials carved into its bark decades ago. At another I discerned the unmistakable evidence of an old house place that no doubt dated back more than a half century—an old well, a few bricks, and some garlic plants than had persevered through all the years. Even today, after having walked across the property time and again, the joys of discovery and the anticipation of learning more stimulate me in a most self-satisfying fashion.

Some examples of those discoveries, especially when linked to my overall vision of management, might well be worth sharing. There are two sizable patches of pawpaws along one of the branches which meander through the land, and locating them meant having a great place to bow hunt in the years they bear fruit. Similarly, the locations of three other types of soft mast—persimmon trees, wild muscadines, and honey locusts—have suggested other food sources sure to attract deer. The same holds true for two small groves of mature white oaks and the large beech trees scattered across the property. An old logging yard with a huge pile of sawdust and chips is a prime dusting spot for turkeys, while a canebrake of an acre or so is a year-round home to rabbits and a temporary one (usually in January) to woodcock that are migrating through.

I’ve learned the favorite haunts of squirrels, located three den trees, and know the lespedeza patches favored by my covey of quail. Similarly, there’s a favored roosting spot for turkeys on a steep bluff, two massive pines that somehow escaped the harsh attention of loggers, and a number of prime listening (for turkeys) and looking (for deer) spots. Nor should the discovery of patches of morel mushrooms in two different places be overlooked, and in no less than five different places I’ve discovered remnants of old tree stands used by deer hunters from yesteryear.

Of course loving the land comes at a price, and that isn’t just a matter of annual taxes, expenditures on equipment and improvements, or monthly mortgage payments. There’s the constant concern about trespassers, although catching one individual red-handed, establishing good relationships with neighbors, getting up some signs, and gating off the only vehicular access has helped a great deal. I have one general thought in this regard. In my view, a trespasser is a lawbreaker, plain and simple, and any leniency or “it’s okay this one time but don’t do it again” attitude is a mistake. If you think someone has intentionally trespassed, don’t tolerate it. 

In one sense, my devotion to these 93 acres is severely restrained. There are lots of things I would love to do, and do immediately. I’d like to construct two ponds of an acre or so each, complete a rifle range (I have this done in rough form but need to build permanent benches and erect a place for targets), and expand my existing group of food plots. I’d also love to plant a number of trees and vines that would outlive me (Chinese chestnuts, sawtooth oaks, persimmons, tame muscadines, pears, and the like), get more first-rate food plots planted with things like Imperial Whitetail Clover and Winter-Greens in place, and decide on the ideal type of build-it-yourself ladder stand, then construct several of them. Then there’s the matter of fertilizer and lime, both of which are much needed but costly. Likewise, I would also love to hire someone with a dozer for a couple of days to improve roads and paths, level some ground in a few spots, and do some other “tidying up.”

All of these things, however, require what my grandpa used to describe as “cash

money.” I guess the redundancy was deserved since he had so little of the stuff in question, and sometimes I feel the same way. There are some money savers such as transplanting chestnut and sawtooth oak seedlings I have grown and rooting muscadines from my backyard by layering ground over runners, but they take time. The answer, of course, is a long-range plan and plenty of patience and persistence—precisely the sort of characteristics which stand the hunter in such good stead.

When we signed the mortgage for our little piece of paradise, my wife confidently predicted that it would be an ongoing testament to addiction reminiscent of lines from a John Prine song, “There’s a hole in Daddy’s arm where all the money goes.” In this case she suggested the hole wouldn’t involve drug addiction but rather pouring money into an endless parade of projects that I had in mind from day one or have subsequently conceived. She’s exactly right, and I can’t think of a more joyous or rewarding way to spend the few spare shekels our budget offers.

I love that land, love improving it, and most of all, get non-stop self-satisfaction from everything I put into it. It won’t be long now until I can walk along trails, pick blackberries, or camp here with my granddaughter. And the thought of leaving a well-managed piece of the good earth behind me brings a quiet but rewarding sense of well-being to me. It’s also comforting to know that the value of the land continues to grow quite nicely, but mostly mine is just an ongoing love affair that only those in similar situations can fully appreciate. There’s nothing in the hunter’s world that quite matches loving your own land, managing it the best way you know how, and putting game on the family table that comes directly from your own special backside of heaven.