Stories from my 25 acres.
Houses in Rows all made of Tickey Tacky
I was nine years old in 1958, out hunting early one morning. I was walking in a field full of big boulders. It was Saturday and very cold I had my pellet gun under my arm and my hands in my pockets. As I stepped from one boulder to another my foot slipped and unable to get my hands out of my pockets quick enough to brace myself against the fall, I hit hard on one of the big rocks. I was not hurt but was mad. Getting up I kept on across the field of boulders going from one patch of woods to another. At the rise in the field I looked out across the landscape and saw a view of my neighborhood, the street going into my neighborhood up the big hill past the small store. And rows of houses which looked warm to me, no one was outside as it was pretty cold. I stopped and just looked. I looked around and became aware that I seemed to be the only person outside that cold Saturday morning. All the other kids my age were as I imagined home in front of their television sets, warm not even dressed yet. What was I doing out here in the cold with my knee hurting from falling on that damned rock? Then I realized what turned out to be an important lesson in my life. I looked down and saw that I was carrying a Benjamin pellet gun and had my knife in my pocket where it always was and in fact still is. I looked at the scene on the next ridge with all the warm houses in rows, and here I was out in the woods with my gun hunting and I had what can be described as a vision. I saw myself as not one of the people in those houses but different. I was a hunter.
It must sound silly now but it was a profound and moving experience to me the cold Saturday that it happened, fifty years ago.
Jack the Knife