Varmint Huntin'

Why is it that sparrows are always the first at the bird feeder after it’s freshly filled? Like pushy buffet-goers, they hog more than their fair share, shooing away the real VIPs—those colorful little finches, cheerful robins, and my personal favorite, the regal cardinals. The finches and friends? They’re left to settle for scraps, pecking at what the sparrows have tossed to the ground like picky toddlers picking peas off their plates. And then there are the starlings—loud, obnoxious, and bringing more trouble than joy. Honestly, has anyone ever called a sparrow or a starling their “favorite bird”? I’d bet not. So when the chance came to join a varmint hunt to thin the flock, you’d better believe I was all in.

In the broad sense, "varmint" is the informal way to describe those wild animals that are a nuisance or pest. Admittedly, who wants to go “nuisance pest hunting?” That makes it sound like a formal, English countryside hunt. Varmint huntin’ has a broader appeal and is far more fun to say—especially with a bit of a Northwest Missouri accent (properly pronounced, that’s “varm’t hunt”).

Our ag advisor, Dick Baldwin, masterfully put together a scoring system for the chapter varmint hunt each year. Coyotes were worth the most points, with raccoons ranked close to the top. Squirrels, rats, opossums, skunks, and other four-legged creatures made the list. I mention "four legs" because, to get your points, you had to bring in all four legs from the pest. Also on the list—those sparrows and starlings!

Equipped with my trusty Daisy BB gun, I could easily collect a few points each day around the barn and farrowing houses. Without a driver’s license, though, I didn’t do much varmint huntin’ unless I tagged along with upperclassmen. That changed my junior year when some younger guys joined in. To say they were gung-ho for varmints would be an understatement. The posse included both Cassavaugh brothers, Chad and Keith, along with Steven Brown and Adam McIntyre.

These guys understood the assignment, and they knew plenty of places we could go. There were countless old barns where birds roosted at night and raccoons partied around the foundations on our tour. They brought gunny sacks and were armed with BB guns, tennis rackets, nets, and spotlights. We’d unload from the truck, quietly approach the barn on the route, and begin our hunt, making sure to post a man or two at the exits (properly equipped, of course) while the others flushed the sparrows and starling one way—all the while swinging and collecting the prized eliminations of birds. We rarely used the BB gun, though, as the barn owners were quick to remind us to avoid putting holes in the tin roofs.

Looking back, I’m sure we resembled the crews Jerry Clower told stories about when it came to huntin’ with his Uncle Versie Ledbetter. Did we win the varmint hunt contest? I don’t think so, but the adventures and pure fun we had are memories I’ll treasure. They come to mind each time I see any of the members of that crew.?

Tom Brand, a Hopkins, Missouri native, hasn’t been varmint huntin’ for several years, but still enjoys spinning stories that might make Jerry Clower smile (though his accent isn’t nearly as thick) and make Uncle Versie proud. Now director of the St. Joseph Community Alliance, he enjoys writing about the people, places, and traditions that shape our lives. Tom and his wife, Beth, call St. Joseph home.