I like to think of my Granddad, James Yarnall, as "the little man from Missouri." He stood five foot eight, one hundred sixty-pounds of pure muscle, and he was just about as tough as a pine knot. He spent most of his thirty-five years in the country where settlers were scarce, hunting and learning the ways of survival.

My Grandpa Yarnall moved to the state of Missouri from the state of Tennessee (1) very early in life. While yet a young man, when his second son was born, problems developed with his wife. And when birth complications and problems came along in the so-called "good old days," medicine and doctors were nonexistent.

Then, the usual thing happened back then, he lost his wife during child birth. Him being one of the tough pioneers who had the courage to move his family through Indian territory from Tennessee, that helped him stand the shock of losing his wife. (2)

Life must go on; so, he picked up the pieces and tried again. A little over a year later he married another woman. She was half Cherokee Indian, and she was a very beautiful lady.(3)

Since she had lived in Missouri all her life, she aso knew what a struggle for survival was like for the people with the courage to try to make life better. She was very good at taking care of herself while her husband was away on a hunting trip. There was no way to know when he would return. Sometimes a couple of hours was all it took; sometimes two days.

It was necessary to hunt a couple of times each week back then. If he was lucky enough to find a bunch of wild turkey, it didn't take him long to figure out how to bag a couple. He'd then tie them on his horse that he used to hunt with, and then transport whatever his prize was back home.

The horse was well-trained in the ways of hunting. Granddad even shot game while sitting in the saddle. In fact, he could get much closer to a deer on horseback. Since there were several cows and horses running loose out on "open range" back then, the deer didn't realize what was on old Dobbin was without a doubt their most dangerous predator, man.

After the kill the horse would stand very quiet while Granddad tied the deer, hog, or turkey on behind the saddle for the long trip home. If the deer or hog was large (200 pounds or more), then he would tie it in the saddle and walk and lead the horse home.

Can you imagine walking five-to-ten-miles through the woods to get home? Then was when the work really began. They skinned the killed animal and cut up the meat. Next, they hung the meat in their smoke house.

Just in case you don't know what a smoke house is, let me tell you. It was a special building built for the sole purpose of putting all kinds of meat in it. Then they built a fire, generally located in the middle of the building. The smoke would spread all over the building, which was in the neighborhood of 12-to-14-foot-square. The smoke would keep the flies away while the meat was drying or taking on salt.

Then, when all the work was done, they could relax and sleep and rest up for a couple of days. Then, Granddad Yarnall would start another hunt.

People back then ate just about anything that didn't bite back. So, when they headed for the woods, most animals that didn't hide pretty good, well they were in big trouble.

The Little Hunter was a fair shot with his rifle, and he didn't cull very many animals except a cat, a dog, or a few other small animals for pets.

The Little Man from Tennessee moved to McDonald County (4) in Missouri and built a log house. He stayed there a few years, then moved to Texas County and spent the rest of his life there. Since wild game was the main source of food, he probably thought it was more plentiful there in Texas County.

He built a house and barn and homesteaded 120 acres of land. Then he chopped the trees down and fenced in the land, hoping that he could keep the wild animals out long enough to raise a crop and harvest it.

That turned out to be quite a chore. The wild hogs and deer and even the squirrels and coon all wanted their share of the corn crop. And, after they took their part, there wasn't much left for the Little Hunter. Heck, he considered it pure luck if he was able to harvest a third of his crop.

The woods were thin back then. You could drive a wagon and team just about anywhere you wanted to go. You see, when an acorn hit the ground, some kind of an animal or bird was there to claim it before it ever had the chance to sprout and grow into a tree.

The little tree squirrel did more than anyone realized. Squirrels helped to replenish our forests by burying acorns in the ground. And somehow unknown to man, they could bury an acorn in the ground and come back three months later and dig it up. But, if that little squirrel was killed accidnetally or on purpose, then the small acorn stood a chance of becoming a mighty oak tree.

Squirrels bury the acorn about two to four inches in the ground. That's just about right if it is undistrubed to sprout and grow. When you think how Mother Nature provides for every living thing, it kinda boggles the mind. I doubt if we had master-minded Nature that we would be able to brag about our simple yet significant deeds such as these.

Enough about Ma Nature. Let's get back to the survival of the Little Hnter

When a man homesteaded a piece of land back then, his first thoughts were of water. Most of the houses were built near a natural spring if possible.

The first log building built was a log house. Generally, it was a one-room house where you would eat, sleep, and rest in the same room. Next to the house in importance was the smoke house. It was the place where you kept the wild game and later the beef or pork you had raised and slaughtered yourself.

Next to be built was the root cellar. Lots of early settlers gathered roots, mostly for medicine. And roots were kept fresh in a root cellar. Later on these cellars were used to store apples, potatoes, and turnips that had been planted and grown. The winter was no doubt made shorter by having enough to eat. Don't you know, the winter would probably be a lot longer if you were hungry?

The next building to be constructed on a homestead back then was the barn. The barn would be large enough to shelter a half-dozen cows and a team of horses.

A good team of horses was valued next to a man's wife and kids. Without good horses it would be kinda like having your legs cut off. You wouldn't get too far from home.

Next, the smaller log buildings were built. These included the ones where you stored corn, wheat, and oats.

Most of the old timers owned a few chickens too. The chickens would forage around as much as a quarter of a mile from the house for their food. If you tried that now a coyote or a hawk would have a big fat hen for dinner.

Back then you would have had to have more nerve than brains to survive. In "the good old days," many a good man or woman bit the dust. Many didn't make it just because they couldn't go next door and call a doctor or an ambulance when they got sick.

Try this for size. The Little Hunter's closest neighbor lived three miles away - as the crow flies. So, if he got sick in the Winter, more than likely it would be Spring before anyone knew about it. If some of his family died, he would just simply dig a hole in the ground and bury them. Then, continue life the best he could. Sometimes they would go for a month or two without seeing their closest neighbors.

I'm kinda like the man who said, "I couldn't live like that." Well, maybe I could, but it would be slightly rough.

When you try to figure the difference between men now and men a hundred or two hundred years ago, it comes down to this. They did what was necessary to do back then, and we do whatever we are forced to do now to survive also. There really is not that much difference, philosophically. However, we do have a lot more tools and gadgets to do it with nowadays. Either that, or we can go to the nearest hardware store and buy what we need to do the job.

The Little Hunter, James Yarnall, and his second wife raised three more boys and one girl. However, the girl lived to be 13 years old. (5) While the boys were growing up, the Little Hunter decided the grass was a little greener on the other side of the fence; so, he decided to start himself a herd of cattle. His way of thinking then was that that was a lot easier than hunting all the time. Well, he managed to get a few dollars together and he bought a small bunch of heifers. Boy, was he proud of his new venture.

About the third winter that he had them, the cattle faced trouble. Along came a bad winter. The snow was about two feet deep. Unfortunately, the small amount of feed stored up for his livestock was quickly depleted. The cows being outside without shelter would have caused a serious enough problem all by itself, let alone the problems of being out of feed also. Well, no way could the cows find anything to eat with such a deep snow on the ground. And when the snow melted in the Spring almost all of his herd of cows were gone.

Look at it like this. When you try something you are not familiar with, you too could lose your shirt. And, he lost his shirt, so to speak.

But remember this. He was still one of the best hunters around. So, this hunter turned cattle farmer just saddled up his hunting horse and headed for the woods. However, he went out only to find that the bad winter had taken its toll on the deer, wild hogs, and turkey also. As good a hunter as he was, still he had lots of problems finding wild game to feed his family.

The summer came and left, and the next winter wasn't quite as severe. That brought the wild game back in a hurry. He never tried to do anything that he didn't know how to do after that. And most of the time he had enough dried meat (better known as jerkey) to last most of the summer. As long as he had plenty to eat and wear, he never complained again. He might have thought about it, but Granddad Yarnall never tried getting rich raising cattle again.

No doubt he got very tired of hunting to survive. Yet it was a sure way for him and his family to eat. Back then a lot of people would have been well pleased to have had his skills as a hunter.

Finally, the days arrived for him to teach his boys the art of hunting. He taught them how to hunt wild turkey, and also how to build a turkey trap out of logs. He showed them how to stalk a deer. (He was the very best at stalking deer.) From then on, he took the boys along when he went out after the whitetail deer. He didn't always score, but he succeeded a lot more times than he failed.

He carried a set of deer horns with him in the Fall. Then, when he would spot a buck, he would bang the horns together amd make it sound like a couple of deer in a fight. This was one of the tricks that the Indians used long before the white man showed up. Do this right and it works well. The buck will come in to claim the spoils. Several of these enticed bucks wound up in the Little Hunter's smoke house.

He learned all three of his younger sons to hunt pretty well, but none of them could do the job quite like their Dad could. His first two sons by his first wife left home at the age of 14-and-15. They went to Kansas to work on a farm, and were never heard from again. As the story was told to me, they joined up with Quantrell (6). And, if that was true, they were probably part of several that were killed about a year later. But the three youngest boys spent a lot of time learning the art of hunting. One of these was my Dad, Franklin Yarnall.

During all this time while people were coming from everywhere to settle in Missouri, the hunting pressure was increasing at an alarming rate. There seemed to e three or four new hunters every year. In about 50-years it changed from lots of wild game to scarce. Even the Little Hunter would have had problems feeding his family on wild game, if he had still been here. (7)

When he left this neck of the woods for someone else to look after, there was lots of game for everyone. But, things were going from bad to worse very fast. Some people were hunting turkey and quail and deer, and selling them to the city folks to eat. They probably told me how much money they received from a deer or turkey, but I forget what the amount was. But I do remember they got five cents for each quail.

Some of the stories about my Granddad, James Yarnall, and what his life was like were told to me by my Dad, Franklin Yarnall. Some were told by the late Luther Hutsell. When I was around him, I would ask Luther about what it was like when he grew up. I found it fascinating! He could tell me stories that his Dad had told him. I never seemed to tire of his interesting stories. In recent years I have written stories about some of the things he told me, such as how the old-timers trapped quail.