A few weeks ago, Flat Stucky was purchased from a mountain man who tans pelts and sells them out of his truck behind the flea market just west of Fredericktown, Missouri. I spotted the raccoon pelt immediately and was willing to pay twenty bucks for him. When the guy said he wanted ten, I still had to dicker because otherwise he would have tagged me as a sucker. That is how it works here.
Since then, Flat Stucky has been all over this soggy wet countryside, traipsing with me across the Mississippi into the dismal flooded riverbanks of Southern Illinois and even as far as the bridge at Cape Girardeau. I considered taking him to the Gateway Arch, but I don’t like that contraption you have to ride to get up there. So, while misery generally loves company, this Missourian is ready to send Flat Stucky on his way so you can Show Me what you got for him to see.
He did receive a first class tour of local history in my neck of the flyover woods, visiting the Elephant Rocks as well as several local establishments I’ll identify in the captions, below.
Last Sunday, I took Flat Stucky to Pilot Knob, a Civil War battleground on the way to my grandmother’s resting place. It is the little town where the 1900 Gun and Gas Emporium is located, inside of which we took this photo with their mountain lion and bobcat behind Flat Stucky.
We also got a picture of him sitting on their famous porcupine mounted dead center in this photo above the blue frame.
I did knock over a few boxes of ammo while I was behind the counter, but it was that cheap Federal crap and not the good stuff. Still, I know when to get when the getting is still good. So does Flat Stucky.
I hope the following travelogue inspires someone to try to win a spot riding shotgun with Flat Stucky for fundraising and promotional purposes on the way to Hardscrabble Farms. If you want to host Flat Stucky during his trip to New Hampshire, please send Jim Quinn fifty dollars saying you want a ticket to ride with Flat Stucky. Either Jim will put your name on a ticket or he will tell you he did, but the money will be used for good cause, I promise.
And, what happens to the raccoon pelt is up to the next person trusted to send him on. Because once I mail this coonskin out of here, he is no longer my problem. He will get sent on by the Death Nurse or land in Michigan by the end of next week, according to Tim the Mailman Tanner, which is not his real name.
And, if Big Stucky indeeds wants Flat Stucky, well, Big Stucky can just here and see me sometime. Then, he can get himself a coonskin hand warmer whacked, skinned and soft-tanned by me personally. Or at least by someone I know.
Here is what I propose: I am sending this pelt to a suds-monkey in Michigan either directly or after his visit to a Death Nurse. At that point, I will no longer have anything to do with this raccoon pelt one way or the other. If you want a chance to own Flat Stucky after his Wild Ride to the TBP gathering in New Hampshire, send a $50 donation to Jim Quinn and he will submit your name into the Flat Stucky drawing bin or at least tell you he did. And a guy in Michigan owns the first Ticket to Ride for Flat Stucky.
So, fifty dollars will purchase you a chance to “win” Flat Stucky and will also put your name into consideration for the very few three or four locales Flat Stucky could safely be mailed to before he would need to be sent on his way to New Hampshire to arrive in time.
That is definitely going to be up to Jim Quinn to decide… if it is worth the effort to use Flat Stucky’s Wild Ride for advertising, please do so. It is a PR stunt worthy of a big lumberjack looking guy from New Jersey that whacked a coon who deserves all the amazing grace absorbed from my Granny Fannie’s grave. So help me God.
Here is my proposal. If I get T4C’s address from Admin in the next day or so, this pelt will be on his way somewhere for a night or two with the Death Nurse. He will travel to her home with a postage paid envelope to visit another suds-monkey in Michigan, whom I will trust to get Flat Stucky on his way to another destination, unbeknownst to me or thee. Someone will volunteer to Jim Quinn to take on the pelt or Flat Stucky will live out his life in the Northern Tier, which is fine by me.
It is my hope enough of you will pay 50 bucks for the opportunity to not only support Jim Quinn’s efforts here on this blog but to recognize the fact that the only way any of us gets out of here with any shred of liberty is if we put our differences aside and stick together against a most dangerous and insidious enemy. Either we stick together against that common enemy or we do not. I, for one, will be shooting at the same people Quinn is shooting at. I suggest you do the same and stop aiming for each other.
How many NOT RAFFLE tickets can Admin sell between today and the day Flat Stucky finds his “Forever” home at Hardscrabble Farmer’s Grand Day Out? I’m hoping for ten, but I’ll be delighted if we get hundreds of nibbles for this very special coonskin meant to honor a very special lumberjack looking guy with a heart of gold. And, if it keeps TBP financed and open for discussion and debate one more day, then Flat Stucky will have earned his purple heart on the battlefield for free speech. Because speech really is free. It is the cost of publication that mutes the volume.
So, whether or not you want a chance to ride with Flat Stucky or own Flat Stucky, I hope you will send a few dollars to Jim Quinn, even if you send it snail mail as I insist on doing.
And, if no one even offers to purchase one single chance to win this raccoon pelt in New Hampshire, I will rest assured Flat Stucky will be escorted somewhere close to Ann Arbor, Michigan to pay respects to Bob Seger and will be given safe haven in the Northern Tier.
This is a travelogue of Flat Stucky’s Wild Ride through the Ozarks of Southeast Misery.
I live fairly close to a little community referred to as Patton Junction, because of the livestock sale barn at the junction of State Highways 51 and 72, halfway between Jackson and Fredericktown. This is Welker Taxidermy and Auto Sales. He rents the old restaurant out to Blondie, who is pictured below. I recommend Jason for any of your automobile procurement needs as well as any taxidermy you might need. I recommend Blondie’s for lunch.
Jason was cleaning a turkey when I walked in. He’s gotten used to me just walking in with my camera. It was the first time he saw Flat Stucky, though, and he was not impressed.
I strolled on into his big showroom. If you don’t like seeing wildlife on display, at least appreciate the kind of person who loves nature enough to create some of these works of art.
This is some of his craftsmanship with Flat Stucky on my arm to reach this gorgeous buck. All of the untagged mounts are Jason’s own trophies and he said he wasn’t sure he could sell any single one of them. He mounts any deer for $475. Backboard or stands are extra.
I asked Jason to come pose with Flat Stucky and this buck, but he gave me such an irritated glare I asked him to look at the deer.
Flat Stucky went next door to Blondie’s, a new little family restaurant an old friend from the flatlands has opened up in the old restaurant there. I hope she gets lots of business because it is the only decent place to pay for a decent meal other than a burger within ten miles.
Next, we passed through Marquand, by the river, where I stopped to take a few pictures of an old cabin in the park there beside the Winery, open on weekends. Someone vandalized the old log house a year ago. There’s a collection to restore it. It’s a damn shame what people will do to be mean.
Darryl, the driver of the 1990 F150, couldn’t have had better timing. Moore’s Grocery has been here since before I was around. In case you didn’t know what Julianne Hough meant by a Two-Toned Ford? It is the one with the rebel flag in it.
I took Flat Stucky on up the road to Fredericktown, where he insisted on this photo with this old fashioned Barber Shop over in old town, near the Scoops ice cream parlor. I’m serious.
When we got to Pilot Knob, Flat Stucky hung out on the Civil War Cannon mount while I took photos of the lovely park where a Civil War Reenactment is played out in September each year. The Fort Davidson restaurant and hotel behind me might be a good place to have lunch if I were bringing you rice and/or beans. I could be there before lunch was served, probably.
I’ve kind of gotten used to walking around public places with my arm up Flat Stucky’s hinder over the past couple of weeks, but I am more than happy to pass him on for his ride to “The Party” at Hardscrabble Farms.
Oh, and another thing about traveling with this clever little raccoon. He has a keen interest in real history where he can find it, especially if it shows respect to big dogs down under.
Many times my father made this detour to show his children a piece of true Indian history. A very sad piece of that history is embedded in the Trail of Tears, whichever section you consider.
Oh, and I’ll warn you. Flat Stucky appears hooked on hillbilly music.
And, if he does make it to The Party? Would someone play Gretchen and think of me? She could be any one of a dozen gals I know who sing and look about like that, one of whom deer hunts with me and calls me cousin.
A Tail of Three Boxes
Around the time I purchased Flat Stucky, I sent three boxes from three different post offices in three different counties. I did this for a variety of reasons, mostly making a game of seeing which one could make its way to its destination quickest. One sent to Michigan won the race, arriving within two days, mailed from a post office in Patton Junction. Another, mailed from Marquand, made it to New Hampshire a bit late for priority mail, but still in reasonable time. The third, a box headed to Kulpsville, Pennsylvania, is still listed as “Delayed, In Transit” on the board but my friend now local postmaster Tim the Mailman Tanner (not his real name) says he is authorized to give me a full refund of the amount I insured the package for above and beyond the basic 50 dollars.
Isn’t that interesting? All three had similar items, with the lost box containing a bottle of tequila instead of a jar of Missouri maple syrup, as the other two did. The bottle was wrapped double with bubble wrap and taped securely, verified by Tim the Mailman. The little can inside held a small glass jar in which I’d put several bills over the months prior. It also help one single hundred dollar bill, almost brand new.
There was a yellow vest for you, in case you or Avalon need to join a road crew somewhere during a crisis, but other than that… the cash was the thing. And, they are going to give me the cash back.
I suspect someone got a zing on that C-note and did so much damage to the packaging they figured they might as well drink the tequila and abscond with the cash. Either way, I will be sending Jim Quinn a cashier’s check certified mail tomorrow for $200. That includes 50 dollars for Flat Stucky’s First Ticket to Ride.
I hope he gets a lot of 50 dollar donations and Flat Stucky gets to meet the Death Nurse.
Oh, and I squished a few Yertle the Turtles on my scenic drive through the Ozarks. I don’t even pretend to swerve.
This morning, the USPS tracking for the lost package simply says “Information Not Available” while it said “Delayed in Transit” the last time I checked.
Tim the Mailman Tanner (not his real name) called me after he got home and tended to his livestock. He said I could take my receipt to any post office and collect the money. The package was certifiably “Lost” in transit. And, now… there is no information available on that package.
Correlation does not imply cause, but it makes some of us think about it. I will be sending an image from my bank as soon as I get my own “livestock” out for the day’s foraging.
Maggie,
I vote you and MyGirl the 2 baddest ass chicks on TBP.
“I told you once you son of a bitch, I’m the best there’s ever been.”
Staunch praise, thank you, now how many women are on TBP? I’m a tad confused about the coonskin though. I’m definitely a newbie and don’t know the history, but I thought Stucky had killed a coon with a 2×4. Help me out here please.
MyGirl, that be the backstory.
Oh, and T4C is the naughtiest.
I’ve seen the pics posted by T4C, naughty indeed.
https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/handsome-muscular-man-in-gym-royalty-free-image/153155734
I admire T4C greatly for her conviction and her intellect. I believe she knows exactly what to do with this raccoon to make it interesting, but if not, a suds-monkey in Michigan can get Flat Stucky on his way to “somewhere” over the rainbow.
I admire T4C for her brain and other assets. Where is she? I hope she’s ok.
Flat Stucky is hoping to meet T4C. He has been up all night. If you know what I mean.
Mygirl… this isn’t the REAL whacked coon. It is stunt double.
I am no badass. I’m just the bitch who gets mad enough to stand up and say I’m not taking it any more. Let’s roll.
Okay
I’m in for 50. Not sure what I’m getting into but cash with be on the way To Admin.
Will try and not send Loonies this time.
Odin be praised
If the winner he gets a longboat and a proper send-off
Nova Scotia boy, you were on the short list, but I really do want this little package to get to someone else’s hands and that address in Southfield, Michigan seems to receive mail from me quickest and without delay.
So, since Tim the Mailman Tanner says this raccoon should not trigger any kind of inspection unless crossing an international border, Flat Stucky will head to Michigan and if that guy thinks the raccoon can get to Canada and back, well, I would LOVE to have Flat Stucky come visit you. However, after this critter leaves here for other lands, it is out of my hands.
I will, of course, bend to Big Stucky’s will, should he ask me to send the pelt elsewhere.
Yeah that Border is becoming a real pain in the ass.
Might be best to keep it below the 49th.
Will send some bucks at any rate.
A few bucks
and a couple of yucks.
One can’t lose either way
And best of all
This platform gets to live
for another day.
Might even write a song about it all..
The ballad of Flat Stucky
And, the trapper wasn’t there Sunday morning but his wife said she’d have him put the coyote pelt in the truck so whichever one of them was there could sell it to me for ten bucks. Ten Bucks!
That one I will send to you. (And the guy is a professional furrier and tanner; he just sells a few for cash behind the flea market.)
Just take a damn shovel and bury that mangy thing.
The pelt is a professional cured pelt. No mange.
One of the fringe benefits of working as a field service engineer was finding myself in the middle of many small towns across America; because they rarely constructed steel and glass plants near tourist attractions.
I would have a good week if I could find a town with a local restaurant, local museum and a clean hotel. Your trip with flat Stucky reminded me of the little treasures I would take in during some of my travels.
Happy travels for whomever picks up the privilege of stucky’s Next adventure, I would only recommend an air freshener to be attached to his nose to help cover any unpleasant odors as he “ripens.”
Posted by not sure
The pelt is professionally cured. Like a pair of shoes or boots. The mailman checked to make sure.
You took Flat Stucky for quite a tour. I’m already in NH and have passed quite a few Flat Stuckeys roadside lately. I love the geography and land and people and lifestyles you describe, but don’t think I could live that far from an ocean (ok the atlantic ocean after fuckashima). Travelling to southern VA and northern NC this and next week, maybe I’ll change my mind.
OMG… could you get Flat Stucky out to see the Chesapeake Bay Bridge? I showed him pictures from when I was a kid and he said he’d LOVE to see it in person. Would ya? Could ya?
Sorry, don’t think that will work. Leaving tomorrow morning and travel to Scranton then down 81 to avoid the cities.
Well, there’s still time to get him somewhere interesting if your name gets pulled to carry him side-saddle. You would have my vote. Except I don’t have one around here sometimes.
Sixty jerks in (cause that’s my current currency). Flat Stucky will receive all spiritual blessings in heavenly places before moving on to the next realm. Wherever that might be.
Contact info a click away. I hide from nada.
If you really are serious, send your address and at least fifty jerks (as long as jerks equal dollars) to Admin and I’ll see that you at least get your name in the hat.
Blessings, GCP. We needed a good preacher man around here. Some of these monkey’s have dirty fucking mouths. My Granny Fannie would have gotten the Lye Soap out for some of these nasty bastards.
The Grand Matriarch of the Hasty line, at rest. A good woman makes herself coverings, preacher. She also covers her family.
Oh, and that grave didn’t look like that when I left. Flat Stucky and I buried a bunch of tulip bulbs and hosta roots. Shhhhhh…. I’m not telling the old coot who mows the ground I did that. I figured if I never get up there again, the tulips will announce to the world each spring the bones of a Queen of Heaven are right here.
John 19:30 KJB… “When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar, he said, It is finished: and he bowed his head, and gave up the ghost.”
Yes. And some people say his mother stood there and watched her little boy die. She was probably praying.
Like my grandmother was when her teen-aged son died of polio in 1952. He caught it swimming in the same ditch in which he was baptised. I planted hostas for him too, laying there beside my grandparents. His stone is just beyond my right foot. I was trying to judge the distance from Donald to another uncle’s grave. I suspect some of the stones have been moved but without verifying it with old photos I’ve taken over the years, I won’t accuse.
My uncle Donald died the year before my parents married, yet I know a lot about him. His deterioration and death over the course of 72 hours in August 1952 profoundly changed my mother, who married my father the following spring.
Okay, here’s the deal as of 1:45 a.m. Central Standard Time.
If I get another address from Admin before noon, when I plan to Patton Junction or Marquand, the package will go to that address. If Admin doesn’t have time to mess with this right now due to weaving in and out of dirty blocks of squalor on his way to support his family and this big blog-o-monkeys he calls TBP, then I will mail it to the suds-monkey in Michigan and trust him to choose. I kind of like the idea of Flat Stucky with the Chesapeake Bay Bridge behind him (I have one of myself there at age, gasp, 15) in a photo. But, a trip to the nurse’s station would be top of my list, but as I said… once the guy leaves here, he’s out of here.) I need to decide when I’m parenthetical and when I’m done being parenthetical.
Oh, and I do not plan to mail anything from the county seat where Tim the Mailman Tanner weighed Flat Stucky for me the other day at 6.7 ounces. He did tell me the pelt can travel anywhere in the Continental U.S. in a padded brown envelope for $5, first class. He said it is no different than sending someone a pair of leather moccasins. Not the snake kind, though I have plenty of those if you want them too.
Because, I was very careful with that box. I not only made a big show of packing it and taping everything into place, I also told him I was sending a hundred dollar bill as a donation to the man who ran a blog I thought deserved the donation. He thought it was not a big deal. Now, he’s wondering, but thinks the box will still show up someday, perhaps at one of our doors delivered by Tom Hanks or another Hollywood Castaway.
If it shows up at any door, try the tequila. It is really something special. Peligrino Cinnamon Infused Tequila liqueur. Amazing. I have more bottles here in storage, but I won’t be mailing any of them again. Some things are too precious.
Flat Stucky’s grandpa?
annuit coeptis novus ordo seclorum- happy trails.
I literally have a fifteen to twenty second clip of me wading into that little creek where my grandmother was baptised to get a few rocks to place into her grave. It’s one of my better clips from Flat Stucky’s journey.
I plan to splice a few of them together and play a little piano music to give my grandmother’s remaining children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren too far away to visit a bit of comfort about that old woman we loved so dearly.
https://youtu.be/C0HI6lI7JJY?t=195
I don’t have a real plan. Just about 8 percent of a plan.
Two things I learned visiting arts and crafts festivals during the summer of ’76 with my Aunt Martha, the Calligrapher who also painted. (you know I still have that oil on canvas, don’t you?)
1. How to hide in a crowd.
2. Why one avoids crowds.
I forgot the third. Borax and powdered sugar can get rid of roaches. Fire ants too.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Swain_(walker)
My Grandparents always wanted to travel but could never afford it. They got to New England a few times when my aunt moved up here and my Grandfather once went to Madison, Wisconsin for some training during WWII (he was a civilian worker responsible for German POW’s at a rail yard) but that was the extent of their 9 decades of travel. When I was on the road I carried a framed photo of the two of them with me and would place it next to great vistas- the edge of the Grand Canyon, on the top of a glacier, in the middle of Death Valley- or adjacent to some landmark- Pompey’s Pillar, the site of the gold spike, Wall Drug, etc. and then take a photo of it and mail it back to them. They got to visit all 50 states as well as, Mexico, Egypt, France, Canada, Great Britain, etc.
I love your idea and think that the name was perfect. Can’t wait to welcome him to the farm.
I haven’t heard from the Death Nurse but Nova Scotia boy agrees that international line is a silly thing to worry about but with the insanity around us going exponential, a coonskin cap might make it to Canada but a soft-cured coonskin might not.
After the suds-monkey at least gets Flat Stucky near enough to Bob Seger to understand the Bo Diddley comments around here, he’s probably got time for two or three more mailings, according to Tim the Mailman Tanner, not his real name.
“And, if Big Stucky indeeds wants Flat Stucky, …. ”
Big Stucky dos NOT want Flat Stucky. I live in Plainfield, NJ. I have enough coons in my life.
Interesting travelogue. I was exhausted after reading it. You sure have a lot of energy.
I hope Flat Stucky raises much money!! If it helps any — I’d be willing to include a picture of my Big Fat Ass … framed and autographed.
My landlord gave me an air-pump bb gun last month. The intent was to shoot deer in hopes of discouraging them from invading the property and eating all the foliage. No problem. But, I’m now shooting anything that moves. I did manage to kill one squirrel (rats with tails). I’d also be willing to include that — it’s not totally decomposed yet.
Best Wishes and much success.
It’s been fun and I learned a lot. I’ve also made a lot of friends in the local community. I do not recommend any one else go into the 1900 Guns place and walk behind the counter like I did… but people just get used to me.
The little coon hits the road tomorrow. I got back with my gallon of maple syrup. The Elder gave me directions to the maple syrup farmer’s place today when I stopped by. It was an amazing day and I’d never been actually INSIDE an Amish Farm before, just at the markets.
I am humbled. I would have made a decent Amish lady, but ain’t nobody going to pray without cease, so I would never have worn the bonnet.
storm’s comin…