The Sunday Club

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2022 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

nhall@tickiestories.us

Chapter 7
Tallywackers 

“Can you explain if a male sheep is a ram and a donkey is an ass, why a ram in the ass is a goose?” 

Every club needs a club house! Over the years “The Sunday Club” has two; Uncle Lou’s Ale Haus is our meeting place and Tallywackers. Uncle Lou’s is our meeting place, but Tallywakcers was and is our hideout, our play house, our little bit of paradise. It was a place we could hunt, fish, enjoy a beer or two, be free from the worries and cares of the outside world, and the prying eyes of the community. In effect, a guy could walk around in his natural state, no matter the condition, freely and without concern or inhibitions.

You boys have enjoyed it as well, ever since you came to live here. Your “uncles” made every attempt and opportunity to take you there in order to enjoy it, appreciate Tallywackers, and learn the values and joys of the place. Of course, it didn’t hurt your “uncles” also spent time sharing all of their knowledge with you. You picked up many of the practicalities of survival in a sometimes hostile world. 

“Tallywackers” was obtained during the depression years by Uncle Lou. It was property immediately adjacent and contingent to the mixed timber lowland (river bottom) and ridges Uncle Lou inherited and added to. The property consisted of timbered low and higher ground with the front forty having water frontage and the back forty had some semblance of an access road from the county road some half mile away. The main attraction was the three bed-room cabin with a combined kitchen, dining area, and living area, fronted by a full-width screened-in porch affording a view not of the main river but a wide slough beyond which were a couple of islands and behind them, the main river channel.

The property “Tallywackers” was located on was well situated, not only with access to the big river but with access to the smaller body of water to the West, formed by the confluence of the Mississippi and Carson Creek. The confluence or where the creek began to widen was fairly wide, maybe two to three blocks, and along its far shore were several cabins and along this side were several small sloughs prime for fishing for panfish. It was a popular ice fishing location in the winter because it readily froze over and was accessible by a “road” leading to the cabins.

One of the cabins was occupied spring, summer, and fall by Neil Moore and Ernie Olson, conducting their commercial fishing activities from there. During the winter, they closed the place up and lived in a small house in Frenchtown. Their travel, while living in the cabin, was generally by boat, although they did use the road to tote in things they couldn’t get in the big fishing boat. They claimed living there kept then close to their business and also, I might add, away from prying eyes concerning who and when they had “guests” visit. It was also close to “Tallywackers” so they used it to duck hunt when they weren’t running nets, lines, or box traps in the fall. They did quite well at both, or should I say all three activities.

There were those in and outside the area prior to the turn of the century and thereafter who found it fashionable, especially if a city or town dweller and could afford it, to have a special retreat where one could enjoy some quiet, fishing, hunting, or any other activity. This particular piece of property came up due to a repossession and Uncle Lou snapped it up! In its day, it was quite the place, built well, heated with wood, and raised up on tarred pilings some seven feet above the ground, although the position, on a small high piece of ground, seldom flooded sufficient enough to cause a problem.

I asked Uncle Lou one time why it was called “Tallywackers” and found no answer from him. According to Uncle Lou, neither the former owner, the son of the original owner, known the answer to the question since, he too, sought the answer.

“I have no idea, Billy,” he answered me thoughtfully. “I asked and found no answer. I guess it is one of those mysterious questions we sometimes encounter which seem to have no reasonable or possible answer. We just shrug our shoulders and move on, although, considering the sexual proclivities of the members of the ‘Sunday Club’ one would find it rather appropriate.

With the help, knowledge, and enthusiasm of the rest of the members of “The Sunday Club,” Uncle Lou remodeled “Tallywackers,” replacing the old furniture, adding a LP gas cooking kitchen range, driving a sand-point well (for clean-up and other non-potable uses), and insulating it as best possible. A small woodshed was built on the same high ground to store the wood used to heat the place, since they had every intention of using the cabin year-around.

“Tallywackers” is, and was a boy’s, young and old, paradise to enjoy, explore, relax, or cavort in. Hardy and I, whenever Uncle Lou or a  member of the “Club” took us there either for the day or overnight for fishing, hunting, or just plain for the heck of it,  we’d poke around in the woods, wander in and out of the skirted underbody of the cabin, then turn our attention to hunting for squirrels in the surrounding nut trees, or fish off of the dock. Later, once we were old enough, we enjoyed the fantastic duck hunting in the slough, the backwaters, wooded ponds, and main river.

Even though “Tallywackers” was situated on a small rise in the land and seldom inundated by flood waters, Uncle Lou and the “Club” replaced the wooden upright pillars holding the cabin some seven feet up from the ground, with steel posts fastened to large concrete footings. In order to ensure stability, they increased the number and locations of the steel support posts.

The underneath portion of the cabin was enclosed with large removable and moveable wooden panels resembling large barn doors and could be rolled open on metal tracks anchored above and guided below to stop them from “swinging like a fat, long cock” in the breeze, as Uncle Lou once put it. Thus, a very large storage area was created. Into this storage area, went several hundred duck and goose decoys on shelves, two wooden, cedar-strip duck “sculling” boats used to sneak up on decoyed waterfowl, one fourteen-foot wooden flat boat, a couple of small outboard motors in large, upright, locked cabinets, and miscellaneous other items such as oars and small tools. In the days when live decoys were used, a small cage was there to contain the live ducks to be anchored among the bogus ones. If flooding appeared imminent, all of this could be moved to higher ground. Out behind the cabin was an outhouse and an open shed for storing split wood for heat.

There were some dangers for small boys and everyone; the proximity to the water required us to wear life preservers when on the dock or in a boat (duh!), need to maintain gun safety while hunting, and rattlesnakes! The area did support a population of both Timber and Massissauga rattlers. We were really, really careful when out and about in the woods, watching that we stepped on a log first before stepping over it, carrying a walking stick to poke about under brushy spots and piles, and remembering to freeze when we heard the dry, loud, “whrrrrrrrrr” of the snake shaking its tail in warning, we could locate it before moving on, if possible.

The first time the frightful, warning sound caught us unaware and damned near petrified us from any further action or movement, occurred when Hardy and I were twelve years old or so. Oh, we’d seen and heard rattlers several times over the years, but it wasn’t a common experience while at “Tallywackers.” This time, however, we were otherwise occupied.

Hardy was leaning up against a big Shagbark Hickory tree, his pants down around his ankles, and his sweet, firm ass well stuffed with my budding, and growing five-inch pecker, while I pumped away like a Texas oil rig seeking oil.

The mid-September morning was a nice bright, warmish type day and very productive for squirrels. We’d harvested a half-dozen or so, the availability of squirrels deciding to make an appearance waned, and both of us, resting under the tree, decided to take the opportunity to fuck; Hardy wanting me to settle a newly acquired ability to shoot a thin, watery load up his backside! Who was I to refuse?

Hardy just commented lustily, “God, I do love this so much!” and I responded, “So do I!” when we were interrupted by a low, close, and loud, “buzzzzzzzzz” warning from a very close rattlesnake!

We froze!

My young, just-beginning to form manly-part, swelling proportionately in preparation for a watery release, pressed into Hardy’s tight, hot rear orifice deflated quicker than a hot-air balloon with a hole in the top and the fire out underneath.

“RATTLESNAKE!” hissed Hardy, a definite fearful tremor in his voice!

“Well, it sure as fuck isn’t a fucking elephant!” I snorted softly, starting to swivel my head seeking where the creature was. “Don’t move until we locate it.”

We were still pressed together, my arms locked around Hardy, holding him close. I pulled him even tighter hoping to protect him from whatever lay ahead,

“The only thing gonna move on me is my bowels if we don’t find it,” moaned Hardy.

He looked to the right while I looked to the left. Hardy spotted the bastard and squeaked,

“That fucker is coiled up right near where we’d been sitting!”

I looked and he was right!

“No shit, Sherlock!”

“What-a we gonna do?” Hardy squeaked, looking furtively at the coiled-up snake.

It was one of those situations where there was no real good answer, except to put distance between us and the snake.

“Let’s see if we can’t just sort of wiggle around the tree to put some space between us and the vile critter,” I proposed.

“Yeah,” complained Hardy, “then maybe I can pull up my pants. The damned tree bark pressing up against me is agitating my pecker to beat hell!”

“Okay!” declared Hardy somewhat dubious concerning my proposal. “As I think about this, how we gonna move so that fuckin’ snake doesn’t bit our asses?”

“Simple! On my command, we take a small step sideways until the tree is between us and it!”

“Which way sideways? Right or left sideways?”

“Well,” I countered taking a deep breath, “the snake appears to be to the right of us so we sure as shit don’t want to go that way!”

“Right!”

“Ready?”

Hardy nodded!

“Okay; step together step!”

“Hold it, Billy!”

“Why, for god’s sake?”

“Do we move on ‘step’ or after you say it?”

Taking another deep breath, I explained; “When I say ‘step-together’ then get ready. When I say ‘step’ then we both move at the same time!”

“Gotcha’!”

“Okay; step-together --- Step!”

We started our slow, laborious progress around the tree. About half-way, Hardy began to giggle!

“Now what?”

I couldn’t think of what might be so damned funny when our very lives were being threatened by a viperous snake quite disturbed with us and whose fangs could deliver enough venom to fell men and boys several times.

Hardy whispered, giggling the whole time, “Good thing we’re not in town connected like this; you know, with you humped over my back and all!”

“Why?”

“Someone would turn a garden hose on us like they do when a couple of dogs are fucking!”

Our escape was successful, adding to our experience and reservoir of knowledge and caution. We learned never fuck on the ground, up against a tree, and while in the woods, check the area closely before copulating! Kind of ruins the spontaneity of the event, but sacrifices must be made for love.

The big screened in porch at “Tallywackers” was our favorite place to sleep while there, enjoying it early summer through fall and sometimes later in good weather when the rain wasn’t blowing in. We corrected that situation later by putting in the combination storm windows, creating a three-season porch to enjoy.

Summer nights, when the city was hot, cuddled together on the daybed on the porch at “Tallywackers” with a light breeze wafting in off of the river, with the screens keeping the mosquitoes and other flying, biting bastards at bay, listening to the crickets and other night critters chirping and squeaking and croaking, and the occasional sound of a tow boat moving cargo up or down the river, with Hardy in my arms, was heaven on earth!

Snuggled together, facing each other, naked body pressed to naked body, and covered with a light blanket, Hardy and I would sleep the sleep of blissful love. It seemed a natural way for us to sleep.

 Uncle Lou once said, “Those two boys have loved each other since day one!”

We knew we always would; together, we were whole!

To be continued...

Posted: 04/29/2022