The Worm Whisperer

Last week, as I interviewed a stranger in the Barnesville, Georgia, area, I had a feeling of strong recollection — intense déjà vu. The woman mentioned that among other things, her husband taught youth in the area the art of “grunting for worms.”

“He drives a stake into the ground, and then he rubs a piece of metal across the top of the stake so that it makes this weird noise,” she explained. “And the worms come to the top of the ground. The kids pick up the worms, and they all go fishing in the pond.”

As she spoke, I became terribly distracted. My mind flashed with an ancient memory of a man’s rough hands moving a brick across a stake in a vigorous motion. And I somehow knew the weird noise the woman referred to in the interview — like a sawing or rumbling. I could hear the noise in my head. I had seen the worms appear on top of the ground, as if by magic. It was all so familiar to me.

But when had I seen it? And who had done it? Was I imagining it?

I emailed my family and asked for help with the memory.

“It was Daddy,” my older brother replied. “I remember seeing Daddy grunt for worms using a brick. He would drag the brick across the top of the stake and up they would come.”

And then my sister added, “I remember Daddy doing this in the front of the Lanier farmhouse [outside of Metter].”

And then my mother chimed in. “Amber, everyone used to grunt for worms,” Mom said. “My daddy and all of my brothers could do it.”

How could I have forgotten this? I must have been three or four when I witnessed my father grunting for worms — making the deep, persistent rumble that beckoned the wigglers from far beneath the earth’s surface. He was a fisherman through and through, so of course, he knew all the tricks of the trade and could quickly summon bait when the urge to go fishing struck him. Perhaps I only saw him do it one time and then filed the memory deeply in my memory bank.

I wanted to learn more, so I navigated to YouTube and watched a man in Florida demonstrate the ancient art. Also known as “worm fiddling” or “worm charming,” it’s as simple as it sounds: a technique and skill passed from generation to generation, designed to lure earthworms from their subterranean lairs. In the South, folks refer to the stake as a “stob.” As for the chunk of metal rubbed across the top of the stob, it is often referred to as a “rooping iron.” The movement produces vibrations that travel through the stob and into the earth — a reverberating hum that many researchers believe mimics the natural sounds made by burrowing moles. The sound is believed to trigger a primal, instinctual response in the worms. To summarize, the worms believe they’re being pursued by predators, so they flee upwards in an attempt to evade capture.

Can anyone grunt for worms? I’ve read that some folks just don’t have the knack. It requires patience and a bit of elbow grease. And the environment is also key — soft, moist ground is essential, and a quiet, rhythmical approach works best.

I also discovered that there’s a Worm Gruntin’ Festival every year in Sopchoppy, Florida, where enthusiasts from far and wide gather to celebrate the tradition, complete with contests, demonstrations, and a healthy dose of Southern merriment. This year, the festival is on Saturday, April 13.

Grunting for worms is a nod to the past when understanding the workings of nature was crucial to everyday life. It’s a dance between humans and earth.

My father, Herman Lanier, was a worm whisperer and had mastered this craft, and with it, he coaxed the earth to give up its hidden treasures. And though time had buried those recollections deep within me, the vision and echoes of his worm grunting has always lingered in the corners of my mind, waiting to be reawakened.