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September 21, 2006  Autumnal Grumbling I sat outside early this morning, gloved hands wrapped around a hot coffee and realized that tomorrow the autumnal equinox arrives, the day or night when day and night are of equal length. You may have noticed that early mornings have become distressingly dark, seven AM now looks like summer’s four o’clock. But why should the shortening of days distress us? Will the cover of darkness stop us from catching our quarry? I think not. Most of what we want is found under the warm glow of well-lit shops or computer screens or in the malls and halls and offices of the places where we work. I think we’ll be fine. But there are those I pity at this time of year. Who are they that deserve my pity? The short answer - the ancestors. And who are these ancestors of which I speak. Oh just that bunch of rabble that, ten of thousands of years ago, scratched and scraped about and dragged their kids, the future generations, screaming and snot-faced and undiapered, across an unforgiving wasteland. That same bunch that hunkered down over lunch wherever lunch happened to fall once the spear did its work. Yes, the same bunch that walked for miles without plastic water containers to sip at every other step. And most pitiable of all, all this hard living done without the benefit of gloves. I can’t imagine life without gloves. In September, even when I’m sitting out under the trees drinking my first coffee of the morning, I need my gloves. Can you imagine the same kind of morning twenty thousand years ago? If you were lucky a few embers of last night’s fire might be still glowing when you roused in the morning and if you were lucky, it hadn’t rained and the few dry twigs you picked up and chucked on the ashes, might catch fire. There was no coffee. If you fancied liquids there was a frigid creek nearby. There was no radio to fill your groggy noggin with the news of the nearest tribes comings and goings. You had only your thoughts and perhaps there would be the sound of geese going by, geese that if they were dumb enough, or you wily enough, might feed your family today. Ah, such dreams of success. But by now your hands would be stiff from the morning’s cold. If you knew of gloves you’d dream of them. But, as you’d learned by now, armpits would keep the fingertips warm and so you’d crouch by the fire, hug yourself, a hand under each arm. Great until you had to do something useful - something like winding lashings onto a projectile point or applying antler to stone to sharpen this morning’s breakfast tools. Oh, and now they’re stirring, those loutish ingrates you call your tribe. Soon they’ll want their hot cereal and orange juice. But wait - orange juice and cereal haven’t been invented. Boy, will they be grouchy. Luckily, a marauding late-night predator hasn’t stolen the few grouse you snared late yesterday so you untie them from the branch where you hung them and with stiff fingers try to dig in your pouch for a sharp stone. Now is when you could use some gloves. Despite your best efforts to warm them, the backs of your hands are cold. Your little finger is playing games and won’t sidle up to the rest of your fingers so you can dip into the leather case for the tool you need. Using your other hand you push the rebellious little finger up next to the rest and your hand slides inside the pouch. There is a barely audible tinkle of thin stone upon stone as you fish around for just the right blade. You have it. With a deft flick you cut the grouse’s flesh just below the tip of the sternum. Now comes the fun part. Pulling the cut skin apart you plunge your already cold hand into the frozen guts of the bird. Boy, I hope those snoring brutes appreciate all that you do. A few minutes later all four Grouse are gutted. That should be enough for this morning’s meal. When you finally get the gore off your frozen hands, which requires that you wash them in that frigid creek mentioned earlier, you go to the forest edge for some barbecue equipment, forked sticks suitable for holding the birds. When the grouse are plucked and propped near the fire on sticks you can tuck your hands under your clothing for a moment. Boy, a coffee would be great right now, a coffee, and some gloves. You look east toward the rising sun. The leaves are starting to turn and these dark mornings signal that fall is coming. It must be nearly the autumnal equinox. Maybe you will party. What is there to celebrate? Why the coming of winter of course - the can’t-leave-the-guts-in-the-grouse-overnight season. But now’s a good time to head for a little quiet reading time before the gang gets up. But wait, magazines haven’t been invented. Nor has toilet paper. As you walk toward the bush you start listing priorities - invent toilet paper, coffee, and gloves…mustn’t forget gloves. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
