“A Clear Mind, and a Open Field”
By: Bill Mathena (B&B Trapping)
Life for me was always on the move, and I was always thinking of new ideas, and my mind never seemed to stop. Till one day I took a trip across the creek to the wide open field, called Little Prairie.
It was a warm spring day. I was stuck in between planting, and rain, and I didn’t have anything to do. So I decided to take a walk down into the pasture. The grass was tall and sweet, and the cows were taking up ever bit they could. We had some new born calves that were running around trying to figure out how to use those new things we call legs.
Then I crawled threw the space in between the rusty old barbwire, and was in the camp ground. It was grown up with ragweed and horse weed, and the hackberry trees were starting to reclaim it. I walked over to the old fire ring and kicked the few missed placed granite and sandstone rocks back in line. I then took a few steps down into the creek. It was clear and running quickly across my boots. I spot a few coon tracks in the sand, but it doesn’t really matter because it’s still 7 months till I will be chasing them again. Walking up the other sand bank I knew I was half way there.
As I walked out of the trees lining the creek, I walked out into a small patch of clover and fescue grass. As I walked across I came to the spring. It was a muddy mess of grass, cane, and a old hedge tree, but it always had water coming out of it, even in the driest of years. My father told me how when it use to be in pasture the cows would walk in there during the heat of summer, and would never come out till night fall.
Just past the spring I walked up the hill I called, Quail hill. Just up that hill I came to it. A large open field were you could see for miles, and could walk 2 miles without stepping on anyone else’s land, but your own. This field was covered with tall yellow flowered weeds, and barley grass. The air was cool, and flow smoothly across the field making a calming hiss when it blew threw the grass. To the east and south ran the creek which was fed by the run off of little prairie. To the north was the tall timbers, filled with very tall white oaks, old hickories, and a mix of pin oaks, cherry, and sassafras. This is where my mind opened up, and everything slowed down. I no longer had numbers and figures running threw my head, but now had birds chirps ringing in my ears, and fresh air flowing threw my noise. I have to leave that field, but I return to her every spring to plant my crops in her rich soil. In the fall to hunt the quails she feeds,and in the winter to trap the creeks, and hunt the many deer that ran across the wide open ground.
We all have our own field that we can go to clear our heads, and none are the same. Mine would not fit a man of the mountain, or a man of the sea, but it is still there in one way or another. Someday I will go there to stay, and I could not want it any other way then to go with a Clear Mind, and a Open Field.
I'm intolerant of your intolerance.