I decided to enjoy my day off scraping on a hickory stave I’ve been trying to find time to make a bow out of for over six months. By the second scrape I began washing the wood with sweat, one drip at a time from the tip of my nose. It reminded me of endless summers as a boy in North Georgia, where the humidity is so high a bluegill can live on land for over an hour. Leaking out of every pore would have bothered me more had I not spent the first two decades of my life sweating. I slowly scraped on my stave and remembered. I remembered when summers were endless and life was an outside sport. We didn’t have cell phones, iPods, iPads, Internet, video games, or even cable TV, but we had fun, lots of fun. The world outside of walls was our playground with infinite possibilities. When we tired of baseball or fishing we caught grasshoppers and sentenced them to jail in a Prince Albert can.

With a nostalgic smile on my face I made my way to the tiller board to begin bending my bow to be. I used my shirtsleeve to wipe the sweat off of my brow only to find that there wasn’t a dry thread remaining. I remembered lying in bed trying to ignore the heat as fans recycled hot air throughout our house. I could almost hear the bullfrogs singing me to sleep as I began pulling the string on my bow to take a look at the bend of the wood. Then, suddenly, I was reminded of winter. I remembered staring at the fire in our living room and the sound of hickory logs popping as they burned. I remembered because that’s what my bow did when I pulled the string.  It popped…and snapped.

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