Jedi Bowmaster and His Padiwans Go Bowhunting
By Kent S. Eddy ©
Saturday dawned bright and early, but not before I, Jedi Master Bow (aka Kent “Dead-Eye” Eddy–I’ve got one bad eye) had climbed stealthily into my jedi bow blind, towing 36 feet above the forest floor. (OK, it actually only towers 16 feet, but it feels like 36 feet when the wind is blowing). The tower is 6’x6’ square and sleeps three.
Following me closely were my two newest bowhunter-in-training padiwans Aaron “Deer-Like-Frenchfries” Meadors and Steve “I See One!” Wolfgang. We made our climb and sat in the cool darkness awaiting our fate.
When darkness yet covered the forest like a blanket, the trio had melded into the scents and sounds of the forest awaking from slumber. Well, one of us had. I have not taught the young padiwans how to meld with the scents and sounds of the forest yet. That is Lesson #3. Today I will teach Lesson #1 “Why One Must Sit Still and Quietly” and Lesson #2 “What Happens When One Does Not”.
Steve danced from window to window as stealthily as a fifteen-year-old can who has consumed half a box of Sugar Frosted Cocoa Bombs and a Cola for breakfast. Whispers of “I hear a deer” and “I think I saw a deer!” follow him around the dark tower as mice rustle leaves in the darkness far below. Steve is unable to contain his excitement at joining Jedi Master Bow in his jedi tower. I did not fear to smile, knowing my satisfied grin would not be seen by my two young quests.
Aaron spent his time before daylight either squirming on this not-too-squeaky chair or jerking his head up from a snooze at every crinkle of a leaf made by some clumsy critter in the pre-dawn darkness.
I resignedly accepted my fate as I patiently and stoically waited for first-light and—hope beyond hope—waited for the unsuspecting four-footed venison target to step one step too close. I knew this would not happen today. There was far too much noise from the tower blind, far too much motion from the blind, and far, far too much fragrance from its young occupants.
As I settled into my Waiting Chair, I pondered many unanswerables. Like, why do teenagers choose not to bathe frequently? Do they not know that a bar of sap and a shower removes offensive odors? Maybe they do not realize water will not hurt them? That, in fact, their skin is waterproof? I also pondered why they do not wash their jackets. Is “B.O. au Frenchfries” a lure-scent for teenage girls? These and similar questions occupied my mind as the young apprentices fidgeted and snickered about how the “Old One sleeps when we are surrounded by deer”.
I do not sleep. I remain motionless… in tune with the Source. I meditate. It is dark. The sound and scents carried on the shifting breeze…they tell me what I need to know when the eyes are blind.
My young padiwans have much to learn. I am old. Maybe I am too old to teach them. I do not sleep. But I do drift into “story mode” once or twice, jotting notes in my mental journal to recall later.
I shall call the short one Grasshopper”, thinks I, the one the young ones know as Master Bow. “He bounces too much and does not stay seated. In his mind, every night noise is a deer sneaking past. Excited, this one is . Impatient. Perhaps he is too old to learn the way of the jedi bowmaster. He must learn to scan the woods like the deer: turn…pause….look…listen.”
“The tall one I shall call Cricket because he make noise every time he breaths. He must learn to sit still, like the owl. Quiet. Patient.”
The Old One sighs as he shake his head, resigned to his fate: To see game this morning only to have it scared away by his young, fidgety cadets.
“Master Bow! I see one! …I think”, hisses Grasshopper for the forth time in half an hour.
I peek briefly from under one lazily raised eyelid.
Hmmmff, I think, it is still way too early to see in this darkness, let alone shoot. What does he want me to do, light a flare? Patience, I remind myslf under my breath as I tune back into the forest sounds around me. I have a path. I seek not to change it but to follow it. I seek only to become a cup; empty of myself, filled with the forest.
Although it seems like hours to the young ones, a short half hour passes as I meditate and the eastern sky turns a purple red with pre-dawn light.
“Master!” hisses Grasshopper, “Wake up! You’re snoring again!”
“Yes, Master Bow”, pipes in his mutinous sidekick, “you’re going to scare the deer away!”
“That, Grasshopper”, I explain patiently, “was called a doe snort-bleat. I was calling to the deer over in the marsh behind you, telling them ‘all is well’ with the world; that it is safe to come this way—no matter what their eyes and ears and <sniifff> noses tell them.” I should not have sniffed.
“Riiight”, replies Grasshopper, the Unbeliever.
“Suuure”, says Cricket, the Cynic, beside him.
“You two will never learn if you remain so skeptical. Now direct your attention behind me and behold the five deer to the East”, I say pointing inconspicuously over my shoulder.
“Five deer?” questions Grasshopper, “Hey! There are five deer! How did you know there were five deer out there, Master? You have been asleep!”
“Yeah”, agrees Cricket, “you didn’t even look up. You couldn’t have known!”
“Like I do not know the five deer are two does and three fawns?” I say, eyes once more closed, smiling.
“Hey! There are two does and three fawns!” Grasshopper says using the binoculars.
“So how did you know there were five deer out there?”
“The question, Grasshopper”, says the Bowmaster “is how come you did not know?”
“OK”, Cricket say, “how come we didn’t know?”
“Because, young Cricket, you did not recognize the sound of the Ancient One’s electronic corn feeder activating ten minutes ago. Nor have you witnessed daily, as I have, the deer’s mindless stampede to the feeder arriving ten minutes every morning and evening after it spews corn all over the ground.”
“Wow! Cool! So that’s what that noise was!” replies Grasshopper excitedly, “I thought it was a deer!”
“I thought it was a bird! A whole flock of ‘em!” adds Cricket. “Master, you are truly wise and observant.”
“Even when you’re sleeping”, acknowledges Grasshopper, “you are amazing!”
“When will we learn such wisdom, Master?” asked Cricket.
“You think wisdom is a flower for you to pluck,” I replied. “It is a mountain, and it must be climbed.”
I can tell they are truly mesmerized with my wise words by the way Cricket’s eyes glaze over and Grasshopper bemusedly scratches his armpit.
“True observation comes when one is in tune with nature. Are you ready for Lesson #2?” I ask.
“Yes, O’ Wise One”, they chime in unison, palms together, bowing low.
“Very well, Lesson #2 shall commence forthwith. There are two more does 60 yards away from you; to the West.
They turn and look in opposite directions, to the North and South.
“No”, I explain, “The other West.”
They switch positions, looking South and North.
“Over there”, I point discretely to the other West.
“The two deer are looking at you right now. They are wondering what is in this big square hollow tree and if it eats deer. They are morbidly curious why something near them smells so foul but, unlike myself, they are unsure if it is emanating from this tower. I know that they are only yearlings because the scent in this tower would send a mature deer fleeing for cover. These deer are young, much like yourselves, and less than optimally intelligent, so they will wait until their senses give them a second reason to flee. They are not sure the stench they smell is you. But if you make any unnatural sound or movement, anything that identifies you as something unnatural or dangerous, they will snort and flee. You must remain perfectly still and perfectly silent or they will come no closer. Do you under stand?”
Grasshopper spins on one heel, searching intently.
“Look! A deer!” he says, pointing in glee.
“I see them too! Cool!” Cricket shouts, “Look at the pretty white tails!”
“Master Bow, why did they leave so suddenly”, Grasshopper asked a few minutes later.
“You were not one with the forest.”
“What must we do to become one with the forest?” asks Cricket.
“First? Bathe”, I reply, “You offend the forest.”
“Yes, Master Bow.”
“Second; Close your eyes. What do you hear?”
“I hear the wind.”
“I hear the birds.”
“Listen for the color of the sky”, I say. “Look for the sound of the nuthatch’s wing. Search the air for the perfume of ice on a hot day. If you have found these things, you will know.”
They snicker. Unbelievers, both.
“Do you hear your own heartbeat?”
“No.”
“Uh-uh.”
“You will when you see your first 8-pointer at 20 yards. IF you can hold still long enough to let one get that close.”
“You were kidding about listening for the color of the sky and the smell of ice on a hot day, weren’t you?”
“Of course! This is not mysticism! It is called paying attention!”
“Oh”, they reply, reprimanded. “So you do not know these things by magic?”
“It is not magic. It is a price that has been paid.”
“Master?” Grasshopper asked meekly.
“Yes, Grasshopper?” I said kindly, wondering what weighty question his expanding consciousness is wrestling with now.
“Can we go eat breakfast again?”
“Yeah. And what did you mean by ‘less than optimally intelligent’?”
The End
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