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didn’t have a truck in those days but I’d take the back seat out of my car, put a tarp in and then start throwing in hounds, eight, ten, twelve, until I couldn’t fit anymore.
One of those hunting expeditions was to Black Rock Farms near Flint Hill, -I F. Keyser's place. The Baptist preacher, Harris B. Chelf, was always a member of the hunting party from Black Rock. “He loved to fox hunt. He chewed tobacco but he was a good preacher, too,” Jack recalled.
On one of those rides, after a morning of scouring the countryside without finding a scent, the men on horseback, 10 or 12 of them, stopped at the Klkins family farm. It was around lunch time and they had paused a few minutes for rest and a drink of water when Mrs. Elkins came out of the kitchen with a huge basket, filled to the top with homemade biscuits stuffed with big cakes of sausage.
“It was the best sausage I ever ate in my life. That’s the way people treated you about fox hunting 20 years ago,” Jack said.
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