It Takes a Village... a Hunting Story:
Part Two

by David Scherer
Read Part One | Read Part Three

In a reverse genuflect on the village side of the wire, I lay sprawled on my backside wiggling forward a piece of me at a time.  First my legs so I could use my heels to claw forward.  It was an ugly limbo that inched me beneath the wire.  I rolled too soon and hooked my coat on a barb.  I thrashed like a deep-sea marlin to free myself and rose clumsily on two legs.  However ungraceful, I now stood a hunter.  I caught the image in my mind and the awkward fumbling with the fence.  I shuddered to think if a neighbor had observed me unnoticed.  His conclusion would have been I suffered a seizure and mouthed it in gossip about the village.  It was not good to linger with such companion thoughts for too long and I snatched my rifle.  The harsh, metallic sounds of a bullet being chambered announced my serious presence.  The short walk to the edge of the canyon in the half-light cleared my head.

There is magic in the reappearing world at dawn.  All the good possibilities in a new day are lined up in a row and marching forward.  I eased to the canyon edge and chose my spot with greater care than I did any girlfriend.  There were the openings along the canyon floor where I would make my shot.  My imagination painted the great buck sneaking broadside through the canyon.  I checked the wind with a puff of baby powder and performed the checklist like a pilot would do at pre-flight.  Rifle loaded, safety on, cover off scope, twigs and noisy leaves swept, dead branches removed for obstruction, and all possible paths for moving game tagged and sorted.  My eyes swept for the telltale shadows that ebbed among the blotches.  My body was on full alert, never so alive.  It actually tingled with the expectation of game to make an appearance.

Soon light gathered to a formal dawn.  Delicious color swept in front of me as if applied by some powerful wand.  There was an actual yawning of sorts as a flock of turkeys left their roost nearby.  They were grumpy as if roused by a predator.  My eyes swept the forest in their direction but they moved silently and in deep cover.  I hoped for a glimpse of a mountain lion or canyon bear.  But the forest hid its secrets from me.  Squirrels crept along high limbs and announced in a grating chatter they were open for business.  An occasional bird, that I could not identify, called beyond the curtain of trees.  An answer jabbered its way from the opposite rim of the canyon.  Water gurgled its way towards the Piedra in the creek bed that was normally dry in late summer.  I was pleasantly surprised.  In combination, these were the makings of a symphony like we were taught in "Peter and the Wolf."  The bassoon and flute were mere imitations of what I was hearing.

It put me in a most positive mood.  My thoughts ran to the problem of bringing a buck out of the canyon.  Do I sneak it out or carry it on my shoulder in high display?  In the village there are varied opinions of the hunter.  I could feel the milky venom.  "Killer, murderer, blood-sport!  How can you kill those innocent animals?"  These were the sins of Cain.  My defense fell on the weight of precedent.  God gave us meat after Noah and the ark because there was a new season coming - winter.  Ha!  I was harvesting.  Winter was the next season up.  Words have power and the ability to conjure up visions.  Harvest is a beautiful word and I will stand by it.

Continued in Part Three

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