Lately several friends have noticed that I have not exactly been in the Christmas spirit. I admit there have been little indications that they may be right, such as the way I chased the carolers off of our front porch with the snow blower. Things reached the low point yesterday when I secretly stuck a fruitcake in the charity donation box. This was clearly wrong because the poor have enough problems already without being saddled with one of those nut-infested inedible dough lumps.
After the fruitcake incident, I realized that it was time to gather myself up from the dumps, dust off my bruised psyche and get into the right frame of mind for this season of gifts, laughter and massive credit card debt. I made a huge cup of coffee, went to my desk and sat down to bask in the warm glow of the word processor screen. I needed to finish my latest column before the editors begin sending vague threats of bodily harm via email.
Purely as a writing warm-up exercise, I decided to make a list of things that make me happy. As a side benefit, I was hopeful this bit of pointless mental gymnastics would also lift my spirits enough that I would stop making harassing phone calls to the Santa hotline.
Without much conscious thought, the list quickly took shape. Reading over the finished product, I was pleased with the result. It bore obvious outdoor slant, unlike those sappy self-help books with advice like “When you’re sad and blue, think of fluffy clouds and playful kittens.” Face it: if visible water vapor and underage felines makes you feel better, you weren’t really that depressed in the first place.
Reading through the list, I am reminded that the best gifts are memories of adventures afield, slowly and sometimes painfully collected over the decades spent out in the open. In fact, if you’re doing things right it’s not too much of a stretch to say that every day spent outdoors is like Christmas. See if you don’t agree.
MY LIST OF OUTDOOR THINGS THAT I AM HAPPY ABOUT- Watching an English setter chase ice cubes across the kitchen linoleum; the luxurious warmth of April sunshine on a south-facing ridge; the feeling of utter freedom when shouldering a well-stocked backpack; ducks; finding the first mushroom poking up through the dead leaves; coaxing your lure out of the top of a tree; walking in the woods after a snow with a muzzleloader; telling a fishing story that makes your friends fall off their chairs laughing; the moment a boat comes onto plane; the perfect fit of wood and blued steel in a fine rifle; the spicy smell of the woods during September; waking up to heavy rain inside a dry, well-pitched tent; the electric chill that runs up your spine when you realize that your shot brought down game; the colors of longear sunfish; getting caught under a bridge by a thunderstorm while wading a small creek; a full stringer of white bass in less than an hour; finding an unknown trail; pulling out of the driveway on a long-awaited trip; pulling into the driveway after a long trip; the first can of soda after a week in the wilderness; the smell of powder solvent; seeing an eagle fly over your campsite; realizing that you survived a major blunder unharmed; two fish on two casts; watching owls watch you.
MOREOVER- finding a flyrod under the Christmas tree; pulling apart cattail heads just because you feel like it; a premium cigar smoked on a rock in the middle of the creek; the warmth of a polypro jacket on a cold and foggy West Virginia morning; hot cups of overbaked outfitter coffee before hitting the river; sipping beer and making crude jokes about catfish bait while waiting for a bite; pre-dawn breakfast in a tiny small-town restaurant populated only by men wearing camouflage and orange hats; mushy ripe persimmons; Hemingway’s Nick Adams stories; good friends, buddies, partners, acquaintances, cronies, associates, co-conspirators and all those interesting fellows playing cards in every bait shop in America.
By now I hope most readers have stopped at least once to stare into space, remembering times and places and faces from personal adventures and savoring that moment of a big fish, special deer or simply an incredible sunrise.
This year, make a resolution not to measure success by the amount of fish caught, the miles hiked or number of antler tines. Measure success by the dimensions of the psychic duffelbag needed to carry the wonderful moment’s home from the field. You will never find yourself skunked.
I would like to continue but there is some lunatic on the front porch wearing a red suit, ringing the doorbell and carrying an axe handle.
Apparently St. Nicholas has caller ID.
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These are a few of my favorite things
Posted by Brent on 1/01/09 • Categorized as Out in the Open columns,WildBlog
After the fruitcake incident, I realized that it was time to gather myself up from the dumps, dust off my bruised psyche and get into the right frame of mind for this season of gifts, laughter and massive credit card debt. I made a huge cup of coffee, went to my desk and sat down to bask in the warm glow of the word processor screen. I needed to finish my latest column before the editors begin sending vague threats of bodily harm via email.
Purely as a writing warm-up exercise, I decided to make a list of things that make me happy. As a side benefit, I was hopeful this bit of pointless mental gymnastics would also lift my spirits enough that I would stop making harassing phone calls to the Santa hotline.
Without much conscious thought, the list quickly took shape. Reading over the finished product, I was pleased with the result. It bore obvious outdoor slant, unlike those sappy self-help books with advice like “When you’re sad and blue, think of fluffy clouds and playful kittens.” Face it: if visible water vapor and underage felines makes you feel better, you weren’t really that depressed in the first place.
Reading through the list, I am reminded that the best gifts are memories of adventures afield, slowly and sometimes painfully collected over the decades spent out in the open. In fact, if you’re doing things right it’s not too much of a stretch to say that every day spent outdoors is like Christmas. See if you don’t agree.
MY LIST OF OUTDOOR THINGS THAT I AM HAPPY ABOUT- Watching an English setter chase ice cubes across the kitchen linoleum; the luxurious warmth of April sunshine on a south-facing ridge; the feeling of utter freedom when shouldering a well-stocked backpack; ducks; finding the first mushroom poking up through the dead leaves; coaxing your lure out of the top of a tree; walking in the woods after a snow with a muzzleloader; telling a fishing story that makes your friends fall off their chairs laughing; the moment a boat comes onto plane; the perfect fit of wood and blued steel in a fine rifle; the spicy smell of the woods during September; waking up to heavy rain inside a dry, well-pitched tent; the electric chill that runs up your spine when you realize that your shot brought down game; the colors of longear sunfish; getting caught under a bridge by a thunderstorm while wading a small creek; a full stringer of white bass in less than an hour; finding an unknown trail; pulling out of the driveway on a long-awaited trip; pulling into the driveway after a long trip; the first can of soda after a week in the wilderness; the smell of powder solvent; seeing an eagle fly over your campsite; realizing that you survived a major blunder unharmed; two fish on two casts; watching owls watch you.
MOREOVER- finding a flyrod under the Christmas tree; pulling apart cattail heads just because you feel like it; a premium cigar smoked on a rock in the middle of the creek; the warmth of a polypro jacket on a cold and foggy West Virginia morning; hot cups of overbaked outfitter coffee before hitting the river; sipping beer and making crude jokes about catfish bait while waiting for a bite; pre-dawn breakfast in a tiny small-town restaurant populated only by men wearing camouflage and orange hats; mushy ripe persimmons; Hemingway’s Nick Adams stories; good friends, buddies, partners, acquaintances, cronies, associates, co-conspirators and all those interesting fellows playing cards in every bait shop in America.
By now I hope most readers have stopped at least once to stare into space, remembering times and places and faces from personal adventures and savoring that moment of a big fish, special deer or simply an incredible sunrise.
This year, make a resolution not to measure success by the amount of fish caught, the miles hiked or number of antler tines. Measure success by the dimensions of the psychic duffelbag needed to carry the wonderful moment’s home from the field. You will never find yourself skunked.
I would like to continue but there is some lunatic on the front porch wearing a red suit, ringing the doorbell and carrying an axe handle.
Apparently St. Nicholas has caller ID.
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