Fried Mullet & Grits

TURKEY CREEK FISH CAMP BOATS – BAIT – CABINS 2 MILES

On an impulse he pulled across the highway and started down the narrow lane. Huge oak trees formed an overhead canopy, and beneath them were thick clumps of palmetto surrounded by a carpet of ferns.

He drove slowly, glancing both right and left, wondering if this were the right thing to do. If he kept going he could make Fort Lauderdale by nightfall.

The lane made a right turn and then came into a clearing bordered on the south by a slow flowing stream, and then a long stretch of sawgrass. On the left there was an unpainted building with a porch on its front. Off to the right side there was a row of six small cabins, also unpainted and highly weathered.

Alvin Binder parked the car and went inside the main building. Behind a counter there were shelves filled with canned goods, and a cooler to the left contained beer, soda and milk. Just then a short rotund man came from a room at the rear of the store. He was about the same age as Alvin, sixty-five, and his face was burned leather brown. He said, “Howdy. Something I can do for you?”

For a moment Alvin didn’t know if the man could do something for him or not. He finally said, “Well, I don’t know. I was on my way to Fort Lauderdale and saw your sign. I usually go down the turnpike, but this time I decided to take some backroads instead. I’ve never done this before.”

The man extended his hand and said, “I’m Sim Lowry. You want something cold to drink”? A beer or a soda?”

“Coke will do fine.”

Sim popped open a can and handed it to Alvin. He then said, “Where you coming from?”

“Marion, Ohio. My wife and I have been spending two weeks each year in a time share condo in Fort Lauderdale. She died six months ago, and I’m on my way there to make arrangements to sell my share of the condo. Wouldn’t be the same there without Mary.”

Sim could see the sadness in the stranger’s eyes. He said, “You’re welcome to spend the night here if you’re a mind to. All the cabins are empty. The water’s so low now nobody comes out here to fish. We need a real good soaking rain. Can let you have a cabin for ten bucks. There’s no TV or air conditioning, but it does have a ceiling fan. And you can eat with me and the missus tonight and in the morning. No charge. Tonight we’re having cooter stew, swamp cabbage and corn pone. In the morning it’ll be fried mullet and grits, with some biscuits too.”

“Sounds like a good deal to me,” Alvin said, still a bit uncertain about what he was doing. “Which cabin do I take?”

“The first one,” Sim responded. “It’s not locked. Just go on over and settle in, then come back and we’ll visit for a spell. That is, if you want to.”

“Thanks,” Alvin said. “I’ll do that. I’ll be back here shortly.”

When he emerged from the cabin Alvin gazed southward. In the distance to the right there was a line of giant bald cypress trees, some towering 100 feet, marking the beginning of a swamp. Limbs were dotted with egrets and white ibis. Blue herons waded slowly along the shallows of the creek, pecking at something beneath the black water. To the east, sawgrass stretched away to the horizon.

Sim was sitting in a rocker on the front porch of the store, so Alvin crossed over and took a chair beside him.

“Nice and quiet out here,” Alvin said.

“That’s the way we like it,” Sim responded. “I got no hankering for city life.” “How long have you been here?” Alvin asked curiously.

“Owned this fish camp for forty years. Before that, me and my daddy was in the cattle business up north of here. I got tired of sitting in a saddle all day, so I came down here and built this camp. We don’t have any frills out here, but it suits us fine. We make do O.K. What do you do up in Ohio?”

“I owned an appliance store, but I sold it five years ago and retired. That’s when we bought the time-share condo. I guess I should have bought a camper instead, and taken Mary to a lot of different places we’ve never seen. Like this. But it’s too late for that now.”

A plump woman suddenly burst through the screen door. She was wearing a blue cotton dress and white canvas shoes. She said to Alvin, “I’m Ruthie. You men come on in inside now. Swamp cabbage is best when it’s piping hot. It’s time to eat.”

Sim and Alvin got up and followed her inside.

After supper, Sim and Alvin were back on the porch when a dusty pickup truck pulled in and parked. A man of about forty lumbered out of the truck and joined them. He was as slim as a fence rail and dressed in faded overalls without shirt or shoes. He said, “Evening, Sim. Thought I’d stop by for a beer.”

“As usual,” Sim said. “I’ll get it for you.”

Sim went into the store, returned and handed the can to the new arrival. He said, “This is Alvin Binder from Ohio. He’s staying the night with us. And this varmint here who looks like a scarecrow is Junior Rawson. He lives not far from here, out in the swamp.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Alvin said.

“Likewise.”

Junior took a deep draw on the beer and then said, “If this place is givin you the willies, it’s a pity ole Biff Sutter ain’t around right now. You’d get some free entertainment. Biff is always playing jokes on somebody. He was at a flea market one time and this guy had a gorilla suit for sale. It was pretty wore out, but was O.K. Biff bought it for twenty dollars.

“They’s always been a rumor out here about a swamp ape. Some folks calls it a skunk ape, cause it’s supposed to smell like a skunk. Some folks even swear they’ve seen it. Well, ole Biff got to putting on that monkey suit and running around in the woods when tourists came by in a fishing boat. He’d jump up and down and shout, ‘Woogla woogla wah wah.’ Scared the living daylights out-en them tourists, and their eyeballs popped right out of the sockets.

“One thing he didn’t figure on was Uncle Benro. He’s about eighty years old, half blind, and can’t hear too good either. Everywhere he goes he carries a double-barrel 12-gauge shotgun loaded with number eight birdshot, and he’s liable to shoot at anything that moves. We see him coming we just hide behind a tree till he’s passed by.

“One day Biff was on the bank of a canal, jumping up and down and shouting ‘woogla woogla wah wah.’ He didn’t see Uncle Benro coming up behind him. Uncle Benro throwed up that blunderbus and unloaded both barrels right in the direction of Biff ’s behind. Black fur flew everywhere. That ‘woogla woogla wah wah’ changed to ‘yipe yipe yipe,’ and the last them tourists seen of Biff he was cutting through the swamp eighty miles per hour. Shortly after that, Biff traded what was left of the gorilla suit for the mangiest dog I ever seen. That dog wasn’t worth a cuss for nothing, but Biff said he was going to train him to climb trees and bark like a squirrel. That would get the attention of them tourists for sure. Biggest squirrel they ever seen sitting on the limb of a tree.”

Sim didn’t even crack a smile, but Alvin erupted in laughter. Alvin finally said, “Seems you have some characters out here.”

“That ain’t nothing,” Junior said. “You stay around for awhile I’ll tell you some tales that’ll make your ears stand up like a rabbits.”

Junior then got up, stretched, and said, “I got to go now and gig some frogs if I can scare the gators away from them. With this low water, the gators and frogs are kinda crowded together. It was good to meet you, Mister Binder. You come back and visit with us sometime.”

“I just might do that,” Alvin said. He watched the old pickup truck disappear around the bend of the road, then he said to Sim, “Guess I’ll turn in now. It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll roust you out for breakfast,” Sim said. “You’ll like fried mullet and grits. Real cracker food.”

Alvin sat on the bed for a moment, then he got up and walked down to the dock. The moon was high now, casting a soft silver glow through the trees and across the sawgrass. At first he could not understand what it was that so enthralled him, and then he realized it was the absence of human sights and sounds: no street lights, no rumbling automobiles, no shrill laughter drifting upward from a crowded beach, no sirens shrieking in the night. And no television blaring in a thick-carpeted room. All he and Mary ever did in the condo at night was watch TV. They could have as well been in a New York City hotel room as a Florida condo. This thought had not occurred to him before.

The moonlight was bright enough for him to see a small stream meandering snake-like through the sawgrass, and he wondered where it led to. In the distance there was the dim outline of a shell mound—one probably built by Indians centuries ago. In his imagination he joined them, snatching roasted oysters from a roaring fire. And then he felt a sudden release, as if nature flushed all the sorrow and sadness from his mind. He wished he had brought Mary to this place, for he was sure she would have enjoyed it.

He lingered for an hour more, drinking deeply of the magic that seemed to envelop all the world; then he went back into the cabin and closed the door. He slept soundly for the first time in six months.

Breakfast was all that Sim promised. He enjoyed three helpings of fried mullet fillets and grits, four buttermilk biscuits, and six cups of strong black coffee made in an old-fashioned stove-top percolator. He felt a warm glow as he walked back to the cabin and packed to leave.

Once again he gazed out at the great expanse of natural, un-touched land, wishing he had time to explore it. Next time he would.

Sim came off the porch and down to the car. He shook Alvin’s hand warmly and said, “It was good to have you here, Alvin. It’s a pity you don’t have more time to spend with us.”

“Do you reserve these cabins?” Alvin asked.

“Well, sort of,” Sim said. “Some regular customers come at the same time each year, and we hold a cabin open for them. “

“I want one for the first two weeks in October each year. Can you do that?”

“I’ll mark it in my book.”

Alvin got into the Buick reluctantly, then he waved his hand and pointed the car back toward the asphalt highway.

If this whets your appetite for more, then you’ll want to own Patrick D. Smith’s, A White Deer and Other Stories. You’ll be regaled by tales of redemption, revenge, humor and heartbreak. Written over the course of his literary career, these stories are a wonderful insight into his writing evolution, culminating in his best-loved classic novel, A Land Remembered.

This paperback is only available through PatrickSmithOnline.com, the official Patrick Smith family website. Own the book for only $10.95.

From A White Deer And Other Stories – Paperback, 104 pages $10.95 
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