- Shopping Bag ( 0 items )
Happy, Happy, Happy
Rule No. 1 for Living Happy, Happy, Happy
Simplify Your Life (Throw Away Your Cell Phones and Computers, Yuppies)
What ever happened to the on-and-off switch? I don’t ask for much, but my hope is that someday soon we’ll get back to where we have a switch that says on and off. Nowadays, everything has a pass code, sequence, or secret decoder. I think maybe the yuppies overdid it with these computers. The very thing they touted as the greatest time-saving device in history—a computer—now occupies the lion’s share of everybody’s life.
Here’s a perfect example: I owned a Toyota Tundra truck for a while, and I got tired of driving around with my headlights on all the time. If I’m driving around in the woods and it’s late in the evening, I don’t want my headlights on. I tried to turn the lights off and couldn’t do it. I spent an hour inside the truck with a friend of mine trying to turn off the lights, but we never figured it out. So I called the car dealer, and he told me to look in the owner’s manual. Well, it wasn’t in the book, which is about as thick as a Bible. Finally, about ten days later, after my buddy spent some time with a bunch of young bucks in town driving Toyota trucks, he told me he had the code for turning off my lights.
Now, get this: First, you have to shut off the truck’s engine. Then you have to step on the emergency brake with your left foot until you hear one click. Not two clicks—only one. If you hear two clicks, you have to bring the brake back up and start all over. After you hear one click, you crank the engine back up. I sat there thinking, Why would you possibly need a code for turning off headlights? What kind of mad scientist came up with that sequence? Seriously, what kind of mind designs something like that? To me, it’s not logical. I just don’t get it, but that’s where we are in today’s world.
I miss the times when life was simple. I came from humble, humble beginnings. When I was a young boy growing up in the far northwest corner of Louisiana, only about six miles from Texas and ten miles from Arkansas, we didn’t have very much in terms of personal possessions. But even when times were the hardest, I never once heard my parents, brothers, or sisters utter the words “Boy, we’re dirt-poor.”
We never had new cars, nice clothes, or much money, and we certainly never lived in an extravagant home, but we were always happy, happy, happy, no matter the circumstances. My daddy, James Robertson, was that kind of a guy. He didn’t care about all the frills in life; he was perfectly content with what we had and so were we. We were a self-contained family, eating the fruits and vegetables that grew in our garden or what the Almighty provided us in other ways. And, of course, when we were really lucky, we had meat from the deer, squirrels, fish, and other game my brothers and I hunted and fished in the areas around our home, along with the pigs, chickens, and cattle we raised on our farm.
It was the 1950s when I was a young boy, but we lived about like it was the 1850s. My daddy always reminded us that when he was a boy, his family would go to town and load the wagon down and return home with a month’s worth of necessities. For only five dollars, they could buy enough flour, salt, pepper, sugar, and other essentials to survive for weeks. We rarely went to town for groceries, probably because we seldom had five dollars to spend, let alone enough gas to get there!
We rarely went to town for groceries, probably because we seldom had five dollars to spend, let alone enough gas to get there!
I grew up in a little log cabin in the woods, and it was located far from Yuppieville. The cabin was built near the turn of the twentieth century and was originally a three-room shotgun house. At some point, someone added a small, protruding shed room off the southwest corner of the house. The room had a door connecting to the main room, which is where the fireplace was located. I guess whoever added the room thought it would be warmest near the fireplace, which was the only source of heat in our house. In hindsight, it really didn’t make a difference where you put the room if you didn’t insulate or finish the interior walls. It was going to be cold in there no matter what.
I slept in the shed with my three older brothers—Jimmy Frank, the oldest, who was ten years older than me; Harold, who was six years older than me; and Tommy, who was two years older than me. I never thought twice about sleeping with my three brothers in a bed; I thought that’s what everybody did. My younger brother, Silas, slept in the main room on the west end of the house because he had a tendency to wet the bed. My older sister, Judy, also slept in that room.
I can still remember trying to sleep in that room during the winter—there were a lot of sleepless nights. The overlapping boards on the exterior walls of the house were barely strong enough to block the wind, and they sure didn’t stand a chance against freezing temperatures. The shed room was about ten square feet, and its only furnishings were a standard bed and battered chest of drawers. My brothers and I kept a few pictures, keepsakes, and whatnots on the two-by-four crosspieces on the framing of the interior walls. Every night before bed, we unloaded whatever was in our pockets, usually a fistful of marbles and whatever else we’d found that day, on the crosspieces and then reloaded our pockets again the next morning.
To help battle the cold, my brothers and I layered each other in heavy homemade quilts on the bed. Jimmy Frank and Harold were the biggest, so they slept on opposite sides of the bed, with Tommy and me sleeping in between them. My daddy and my mother, Merritt Robertson (we started calling them Granny and Pa when our children were born), slept in a small middle room in the house. My youngest sister, Jan, was the baby of the family and slept in a crib next to my parents’ bed until she was old enough to sleep with Judy.
The fireplace in the west room was the only place to get warm. It was made of the natural red stone of the area and was rather large. One of my brothers once joked that it was big enough to “burn up a wet mule.” Because the fireplace was the only source of heat in the home, it was my family’s gathering spot. Every morning in the winter, the first person out of bed—it always seemed to be Harold—was responsible for starting a fire. It would usually reignite with pine fatwood kindling, but sometimes you had to blow the coals to stoke the flames. Some of my favorite memories as a child were when we baked potatoes and roasted hickory nuts on the fireplace coals for snacks. We usually ate them with some of my mother’s homemade dill pickles. There was never any candy or junk food in our house.
The only other room in the cabin was a combination kitchen and dining area. The cookstove was fueled by natural gas from a well that was located down the hill and across the creek. The pressure from the well was so low that it barely produced enough gas to cook. Pa always said we were lucky to have the luxury of running water in the house, even if it was only cold water coming through a one-inch pipe from a hand-dug well to the kitchen sink. We didn’t even have a bathtub or commode in the house! The water pipeline habitually froze during the winter, and my brothers and I spent many mornings unfreezing the pipe with hot coals from the fire. When the pipe was frozen, we’d grab a shovelful of coals and place them on the ground under the pipe. When we finally heard gurgling and then water spitting out of the kitchen sink, we knew we could return to the fire to get warm again.
Breakfast began when Granny put a big pot of water on the stove to heat. We didn’t have a hot-water heater, so we bathed in cold water when I was young. Granny used the hot water for cooking and cleaning the dishes. Breakfast usually consisted of hot buttermilk biscuits, blindfolded fried eggs, butter, and fresh “sweet milk”: every morning, one of my brothers or I would take a pail of hot water to the barn to clean the cows’ udders after we milked them. There were always several jars of jams and jellies on our table. Pa and Granny canned them from wild fruits that grew in abundance in the Arklatex area. Pa liked to scold us for having too many jars open at once; he said we opened them just to hear the Ball jar lids pop. He may have been right.
Nearly everything we ate came from our land. The eggs came from our chickens, the milk and butter from our cows. Bacon and sausage came from the hogs we raised and butchered. We canned vegetables from our large garden, which spread over about eight acres in three different patches. Cucumbers were turned into jars and jars of sweet, sour, bread-and-butter, and dill pickles. Our pantry shelves were lined with canned tomatoes, peppers, beets, and just about anything else my family grew, including pears, peaches, plums, and grapes, as well as the abundant dewberries and blackberries of the area. Cut-up cabbage, green tomatoes, onions, and peppers were mixed together and canned to make what we called chow-chow, a relish that was a delicious accompaniment to just about anything—especially fish.
In addition to our garden, where we also grew such things as English peas, butter and pole beans, lettuce, turnips, mustard greens, onions, radishes, carrots, Irish and sweet potatoes, cantaloupes, and watermelons, my family grew several fields of peas, peanuts, and corn. We started many of the vegetables from seeds that were planted in a hotbed (called a cold frame by some) in early February. My brothers and I gathered cow and horse manure, which, as it decomposed, kept the bed warm and enriched the soil. After the plants sprouted and grew big enough, we transferred them to the garden.
One year Pa, figuring he would get a jump on the market for the early watermelons that brought the highest prices, had my brothers and I collect manure from the cow pens to put into two hundred holes. He directed us to dig the holes two feet square and two feet deep. In early February, Jimmy Frank and Harold laboriously filled washtub after washtub with manure and then transported them on a slide pulled by an old mule to the holes that were dug. After depositing the manure into the holes, we mixed the top of it with soil and planted the watermelon seeds.
To be perfectly honest, Tommy and I didn’t become too interested in the project until Jimmy Frank and Harold told us we should plant marbles—along with the watermelon seeds—in the holes. They promised us we would grow a big crop of marbles. Of course, we were young enough—and thus gullible enough—to believe them. We already had marbles running out our ears from ill-gotten gains at the schoolyard, where we played bull’s-eye, cat’s-eye, and hotbox for “keeps” (whoever shot best and won the others’ marbles got to keep them). We won regularly and often came home with pockets bulging with marbles, which we deposited in a five-gallon bucket just inside the back door. Tommy and I grabbed our bucket and, with high hopes, planted them in the manure just like our older brothers told us to do.
It didn’t take Tommy or me too long to realize we had been duped. We ended up sacrificing ammunition for our slingshots for a bumper crop that never came. There were always two things in my pocket when I was young—marbles and a slingshot. We made our slingshots from forked tree limbs and red real-rubber bands we cut from old inner tubes (the black synthetic inner tubes didn’t have the necessary snap to propel a marble or small rock). We used the slingshots to bring down small birds, but Granny and my grandmothers always admonished us not to shoot the mockingbirds or “redbirds,” as they called cardinals.
Our watermelons came up beautifully that year. The decaying manure heated the beds enough to sprout the seeds early, and the soil’s added richness gave the young watermelon plants a tremendous growth spurt that turned the hillside where they were growing into a couple of acres of lush, verdant green vines. Pa never followed up on selling them, so we wound up giving away what we didn’t eat to kinfolk and friends.
My entire family took part in harvesting fruits and vegetables. If we hadn’t, we wouldn’t have had enough to eat. From the beginning of May, when the mayhaws and dewberries ripened, until the end of fall, with the gathering of muscadines and pears, my family and I could regularly be found in the area’s swamps, fields, forests, and abandoned home sites. With our buckets and tubs, from the youngest to the oldest, we would be stooped over or stretched upward gathering whatever fruit was in season.
The trick was to get there when the fruit was ripe—and before another family beat you to it!
Pa, who worked on drilling rigs usually located in the wilds, often discovered fruit trees and berry and grape vines as he moved about with the rigs. He also knew the locations of many old home sites with abandoned peach orchards, grapevines, and plum and pear trees. There was no shortage of places to harvest. The trick was to get there when the fruit was ripe—and before another family beat you to it!
I remember one particularly cold, wet spring when my family was wading ankle-deep (in our everyday shoes because we didn’t have rubber boots) to gather mayhaws in cottonmouth-infested waters near Myrtis, Louisiana, in a swampy area off Black Bayou. Clouds of mosquitoes covered our backs, biting through our thin shirts while we stooped to gather the floating fruit we shook from thickly clustered trees. Mayhaw jelly is still my favorite, and even today my wife, Kay, and I gather the bright reddish-orange berries from the swamps around our home each spring. We make plenty of the tart jelly for our needs, usually with enough left over for our children and other family members and friends. Mayhaw jelly has a unique, delicious flavor.
One year when I was young, the wild grapes were so abundant in the old Ruby Florence field that they filled all of our tubs and buckets with rich, purple-red fruit. We could barely fit our harvest into the car, which was already crowded with adults and children. In fact, the trunk was so crammed full of tubs and buckets of fruit piled on top of each other that the lid wouldn’t shut. Several large buckets and pans of grapes were jammed inside the car, on the floorboards, between our legs, and on our laps. The harvest was so great that Granny lit all four burners on the stove and had Pa and Jimmy Frank set an entire number three washtub full of grapes on top of them to render the juice.
As our luck would have it, this was also one of the years when the price of sugar was sky-high (always a consideration in canning as to whether it was worth the cost). After making a smaller amount of jelly than usual, my family simply sealed a number of gallons of surplus grape juice in quart jars without sugar and stored them in the cabinets alongside and beneath the sink—thinking we might make jelly later, after the price of sugar went down. But we eventually found that the stored juice was delicious, so my brothers and I drank a quart or more daily for breakfast and snacks. Before too long, the juice began to ferment. In only a short time, it turned into a very good wine. My parents and older relatives began to drink this, too, but couldn’t finish it before it turned into vinegar. Granny used the vinegar in her canning throughout the rest of the year.
Of course, man can’t survive on fruits and vegetables alone (at least not a real man), so we also raised and butchered our own beef, usually killing two steer calves annually that weighed about four hundred pounds each. The calves were the offspring of our milk cows, which were bred to my aunt Myrtle’s beef-type bull—a runty, mostly Black Angus mix, which still sired nice calves. Pa and my older brothers would kill the calf, gut and skin it, and wrap it in an old bedsheet, which they then put into the trunk of our car. We didn’t have a deep-freezer, so the meat was taken to Vivian, Louisiana, about two miles away, where it was hung to cool and age in a local icehouse. After about fourteen days, Pa brought the sides of beef home and cut them up on the dining table. Then Granny and Pa wrapped the meat in freezer paper and took it to a rental storage locker in town, where it was frozen. Granny periodically retrieved packages of beef when she was in town and transferred them to the small freezing compartment in the refrigerator at home.
Homegrown chickens were another staple at my house when I was a boy. Pa bought two hundred baby chicks by mail order each year at a cost of about five dollars per hundred—one hundred early and another hundred later, so we always had young fryers running around the yard. It was a big day when the baby chicks were brought home from the post office in a ventilated cardboard box. They were immediately moved into a brooder Jimmy Frank built with four-by-eight-foot sheets of tin. The brooder was heated by using an old washtub—with vents on the sides—and a small burner that was fueled by the natural gas well that also heated the stove.
We didn’t wait too long to start eating the chickens—even if it took eight of them to make a meal! We usually kept twenty or so hens every year to lay eggs, and we dined on the older ones from previous years during the winter. Of course we cooked and prepared them the old-fashioned way: wringing their necks, plucking the feathers, and singeing them over a stove burner. Our Sunday meals in the spring and summer typically consisted of fried chicken and homemade ice cream, which was made with the rich cream of our Jersey cows. On the way home from church, we’d pick up a twenty-five-pound block of ice, and my brothers and I would make the ice cream outside. Jimmy Frank or Harold cranked the freezer, while Tommy or I sat on it to keep it steady.
The story of the Robertson family is a pretty good picture of an early American family. We didn’t have much, but we loved each other and found ways to keep each other entertained. We didn’t have cell phones or computers, but somehow we managed to survive. As far as I know, none of my brothers or sisters has ever owned a cell phone, and Jimmy Frank is the only one who owns a computer, because he’s a newspaperman and needs one to write his stories. I’ve never owned a cell phone and don’t plan on ever having one. I’ve never owned a computer, and I’m still trying to figure out what the fuss over social media is all about. I can promise you one thing: you’ll never find me on Twitter or Skype. If anyone needs to talk to me, they know where I live.
Posted May 7, 2013
And I can't wait to get the book! I want it in an actual book, not on my book, so I've got to wait,. Thought I'd go nuts waiting for it to be released, now that I've read the sample, EVEN WORSE!!! I love the show, it's funny, but even more so, I absolutely adore the familial relationships, the love between Phil and Miss Kay, the way the boys have grown into great men, fathers and husbands and despite not being religious, but being a firm believer in God and being spiritual in my beliefs, I love seeing their faith. Also I have watched videos of Phil, Jase and Willie preach and they have brought me to tears.....they really are a true inspiration and I think the world would be a better place if people strove to raise their families to be a bit more like the Robertsons!
33 out of 47 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 10, 2013
Very eye opening! You do no have to be a fan of Duck Dynasty to enjoy this book. It is full of Faith, Family, Friends, and Fun. If you feel lost in life or wonder how did I get to this point in my life, then this book is for you. Mr Robertson also recommends another book that I just began reading myself.
30 out of 34 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 30, 2013
More people need to be like this. Read it, pay attention and if you've never experienced hard times that you had to fight to come back from, it paints a good picture without trying to make you feel sorry over it.
It has some religion in it, I grew up Catholic and even went to Catholic school. Usually I roll my eyes at "bible thumpers", this book is not the case, I really want to hear Phil speak sometime and he has sparked my want to get back to a spiritual life.
If anyone needs a role model, Phil is your guy. As an Infantryman, I'm normally disgusted with the crap society has on TV. I saw the show in a completely different light last night after finishing the book and will probably not miss another episode now that I have some insight.
Bottom line, I'm buying any other book that Phil writes and I all of a sudden want to take up duck hunting....
26 out of 29 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 12, 2013
Really loved reading this book. Phil is a commonsense man, whose life experiences, are something we can all learn from. I really appreciate how he opened up his life to everyone that reads this. I am not so sure I would want to do that. Also really enjoyed the sense of humor Phil added from time to time. Some of the stories were really funny. Highly recommend this book to all.
23 out of 24 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 16, 2013
This book makes me believe that there are still people that believe there is a right way to live their life. That is the way God laid out in the book he left is. I am glad Phil described his life which was not perfect but he learned from. Now he shared with the rest of us to understand that lives can be salvaged. It's such a joy to know that we all could have missed such a wonderful family entertainment if only for a bad choice but Phil made the good ones. It gives me hope for many of my bad choices to keep on trying for right ones. This is such a good read and like reaching back in time for good family encouragement and entertainment.
18 out of 21 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted July 4, 2013
You may say that Phil Robertson is a redneck and he'd agree with you, but he's educated redneck that built a multimillion dollar business. In his book he talks about his failures, his faith, his love of country, and his family. He had a dream and made it happen with duckcalls. He is the American dream!
13 out of 15 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 25, 2013
The first half if this book was fantastic and filled with throwbacks to the good old days. He gets preachy at tge end but to each his own. If finding God worked for him then more power to him. I didn't finish the book though because the preaching isnt for me. Still a good read for the most part
12 out of 27 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 22, 2013
I love all of the shows they are amazing i love how they make sure that god is an important part in all of their lives including the young children
They are amazing and they are the kind of people that should probaly be on tv for the rest of their life seeing that recently the news has been saying that they are thinking about telling them to stop talking about God and guns in the same show or something like that. I highly doubt that they will let that happen wayyy too many people love them
10 out of 16 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted July 17, 2013
As I was reading along, I keep hearing Phil Robertson's voice. I felt as though that he invited me to his house, and talk for hours. Is it unusual? Yes. Did I regret reading his autobiography? No! I learned a lot. And the more I read about his story, the more I respect him. You don't have to be a Duck Dynasty fan to love this book, the words in itself is worth to read.
9 out of 10 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted July 18, 2013
New to the Duck Dynasty world, I decided to get this book and Willie's book to read. Of the two, I enjoyed this one the most. Good information on daily living, interesting history of Phil's life, and clean easy reading. So far I've loaned this book to two other readers that have enjoyed it as much as I did.
7 out of 8 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted August 8, 2013
Best book I have read in along time. I love the examples of incorporating the sharing of the Gospel within every day life.
6 out of 8 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted July 12, 2013
Faith, family, and ducks—in that order, as Phil Robertson will tell you—marks the hierarchy of the Robertson clan. The Robertsons have achieved fame and fortune due to their superior duck calls and, more recently, their hit television show on A&E, “Duck Dynasty,” but like most multi-million dollar success stories, the road has not always been easy. “Happy, Happy, Happy: My Life and Legacy as the Duck Commander” is the candid autobiographical account of Phil Robertson’s journey through life. The native Louisianan’s humble beginnings molded him into a self-reliant, self-sufficient man who was comfortable and capable of living off the land—skills that proved invaluable later on in life. Phil went through a rebellious outlaw phase as a young man, and after hitting rock bottom, at age twenty-eight he dedicated his life to the Lord and became a born-again Christian, turning his life around and becoming a better husband to his wife, Kay, and to his four sons, Alan, Jase, Willie, and Jep. In the 1970s he decided to pursue his dream of making a living via his hunting and outdoor expertise, which led him to creating duck calls that surpassed those on the market in their accurate imitations. Through the American tradition of hard work and perseverance, he eventually built Duck Commander into an empire, later turning the company over to his son, Willie. “Duck Dynasty” chronicles the daily life of the Robertson clan today, complete with humor, values, inspiration, and the redneck lifestyle—providing a glance at a truly American family.
Each chapter of “Happy, Happy, Happy” provides a “Rule for Living Happy, Happy, Happy,” and aphoristic side notes are found on most of the pages. There is also a section of black-and-white photos in the middle of the book. Phil’s story is frank and honest with a serious tone that is occasionally peppered with humor, and readers will learn much about duck lore along the journey. The final chapter provides Phil’s views on contemporary America and the government, and the afterword is entitled “Letters From the Family” and includes brief tributes from each of Phil’s four sons and from his wife Kay. From beginning to end, this book will inform and inspire readers, demonstrating just how much faith, family values, and good old-fashioned hard work can accomplish.
5 out of 6 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 21, 2013
This book is average. I really enjoy the show and even though it is eluded to in the show that this is a Christian family, it isn't thrown about ever other scene. I appreciate that about the show. The book was as expected, lots of Christianity talk and a few Bible quotes to boot. If you don't want to hear Phil "preach" then you probably should avoid this book. Personally, I was expecting it and grew up a majority of my life with people like the Robertsons (minus the millions) so I expected him to take a moment to try and "witness to the heathens". I didn't find very much information in this book that couldn't already be found on the internet, but over all, it was OK.
5 out of 12 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 18, 2013
Posted August 22, 2013
Since I am a fan of the Robertson family, it is kind of a no brainer. I couldn't wait to get into it. And when I finished it,I was disappointed that there wasn't any more to read. I pre ordered Si's book, "Si-Cology," and can't wait for it to come out. Both are co-authored by the same assisting writer. Phil was very candid as he told his story, but Kay puts her twist to the story in the middle of it, and is a little more blunt that he is. It's a nice addition to the book. Anything more about it would be redundant. So "read it, I recommend it."
4 out of 5 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted July 30, 2013
I thoroughly enjoyed reading Phil's book. It was especially fun for me because I attended the same college with Phil during the same years. I spent several Saturday nights watching him play football before I headed to the frat house for a party. Of course, Phil probably left the dressing room after the game and went frog gigging. Terry Bradshaw was on the Jay Leno Show one night this past year and he told a story about Phil being late for football practice and when he did show up, his clothes were covered in duck feathers. Phil had his priorities. The best part of the book was discovering how his life changed after he reached the age of 29. Reading how becoming a strong Christian changed his life was very inspiring.
4 out of 5 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted June 13, 2013
Stars Narration 4 Story 4 Overall 4
Starting with the very plain-spoken discussion where Phil Robertson explains the first interest in making them reality television stars. When he postulates that the discussion in the boardroom centered on the question about where to ‘find’ a real family, and then proceeds to share his philosophy on family, hunting and his faith: hard earned, hard won and redolent with his simply phrased lessons about life and living well.
I was hoping to hear more of the story in Phil’s voice, although his eldest son Alan manages the narration with flair: his clear enunciation, moments of obvious appreciation and smooth delivery provided a story that was an easy listen. This story will be perceived completely differently depending on your focus: if you want to learn more about Phil, his journey and his history – you will have one reaction. If you are looking for, or interested in, hunting: your journey and reaction to the story will be entirely different. I was less interested and captivated in the hunting information, but his efforts in working the ecosystem, his insight into his land and wildlife management and his own personal tales of adjusting his property to draw wildlife in is far more interesting than I ever would have believed.
As with his son Willie: faith is the touchstone on which this family has survived and thrived, keeping their faith as integrated into their lives and daily existence as their beards or eye color, this is a story that refers often to faith and belief, both for its comforts and its blessings. While I will not profess to have the same belief system, it is both refreshing and touching to understand his own path in finding and celebrating his faith.
I received an audioCD copy of the book from the publisher via AudioBook Jukebox. I was not compensated for this review: all conclusions are my own responsibility.
4 out of 6 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 21, 2013
Posted June 13, 2013
Posted June 10, 2013
A waste of reading time! Should be called Redneck, Redneck, Redneck. I was looking for a good Christian message but instead it's a salute to ignorance and a backwoods way of life. I'll just bet he attends a white Southern Baptist church without a person of ethnicity in sight. One minute he's glorifying God's creatures and then the next, he's shooting them just for the thrill of the kill. SICK! He also has a warped view on women. Keep them barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen. I'll be praying for him
3 out of 46 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.