When we were little, we all got to hear about “things that go bump in the night.”
Thanks to a recent (and memorable) experience, I now know of something that goes “boom” in the night – and it’s pretty cool.
A friend and I attended the annual open house event last Saturday at the Missouri Department of conservation’s George O. White State Forest Nursery west of Licking. We had a great time, as dozens of MDC personnel articulately and cordially shared tons of information about the amazing facility that annually grows and sells literally millions of tree seedlings.
We toured several areas of the campus and grounds, both by foot and bus, and basically enjoyed a fine learning experience and a great day out in the warm Ozarks sunshine.
The George O. White Nursery has been in operation for about 80 years, and the tract includes about 100 acres of tree seedling growing “blocks.” Of course, tree seedlings represent a tasty morsel to a native vegetarian quadruped like a whitetail deer, so measures have to be taken to dissuade such bandits from curbing the nursery’s production.
One of the MDC men on hand brought that up during a conversation, and said that for decades there had to be people hanging out all night around the growing blocks to scare off deer that ventured too close while on a quest for a seedling snack. He said that was “before the deer cannons.”
Now, we didn’t stop him and ask what exactly he was referring to, because the conversation continued in a direction away from hungry deer. But we knew what he meant; we figured it was some sort of automated contraption that took the place of the overnight shift. Indeed.
As we were driving the F-150 around the seedling blocks, reading ground-level signs indicating what kind of seedlings were in a given row, and simply observing the magnitude of the situation, we came across something strikingly curious standing at the corner of one of the blocks. It kind of looked like a telescope, with a cylindrical tube mounted on a tripod.
But hanging below the tube was a propane tank, and we knew then what we were looking at: A deer cannon. I wanted a good photo of it, so I exited the truck and approached it – carefully. Upon further observation, it was apparent that the unit was motion sensitive, because a telltale sensor was mounted above the tube, facing toward the center of the growing block.
I snapped a photo or two, being mindful to stay to the device’s side. But then, a bit suddenly, we heard a sound coming from the unit that sounded like Darth Vader taking a deep breath.
I leaned back and instinctively put my hands up a bit; you know, kind of like you do when you know something is about to happen, but you’re not sure what.
Then, a pretty darn loud boom burst forth from the mouth of the tube, and even echoed a bit off of the nearby hills.
I looked toward the truck and yelled, “Wow! That was awesome!”
I got back in the vehicle, adrenaline running a little strong, and we were like, “man, we set off a deer cannon.” We concluded that the Vader-like sound was obviously the unit charging up for a blast.
Just to be clear, the boom wasn’t an eardrum-busting or dangerous sound in any way. No, but it was certainly loud enough to startle a deer and make it scurry far away in a hurry.
The company marking on the side of the unit said “Sonic Sentinel.” Nice name, because a sentinel is someone who stands guard – or in this case something that does so.
Anyway, if you’re ever near a tree farm and hear a boom in the night, it might not be a coon hunter or the like. It might be a deer cannon doing its job.
Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald. His columns are posted online at www.houstonherald.com. Email: ddavison@houstonherald.com.