Finding magic in a child’s first hunt
The anticipation was almost more than I could bear. The day of the hunt was at hand. The air was perfect as usual. A familiar breeze drifted across the bay. I was with my clan, my group, my familia — and there was to be a hunt.
The ritual of the hunt had been going on for eons yet this was my first opportunity to take part; I was not yet 4 years old.
The Christian holidays were celebrated with a definite pagan slant in my family. We were a substantial group and the coming together was our sacrament. Respecting our elders and watching the children playing was our ritual. Being the youngest of the hunters that year, I would be going with my grandfather. He would show me the way.
He wore his weekend clothes — a plaid shirt and khaki pants. He had another life during the week. He wore a white coat that smelled crisp and he had physician’s hands.
He was old when I came to him. He moved slowly and stiffly yet always with direction and wasn’t given to unnecessary chatter. It was his hands, soft skin and so strong a grip. He must know everything with hands like that.
We made our way through the tall grass. He stopped and bent down. I saw his hand in front of me. What was he doing?
He reached for a tuft of grass. My eyes fixed on his hand. Slowly, he moved the tuft aside and there appeared the most wondrous sight. Nested in the grass was a painted egg. Never in all my years had I been so surprised.
I was transfixed by the bright color and soft, rounded shape of this treasure. But more than this was the wonderment of it all. I knew this land. It hadn’t shown its magic before.
He did it. He captured the mystery with the movement of his hand.
Heather Page is a Mill Valley resident. IJ readers are invited to share their stories of love, dating, parenting, marriage, friendship and other experiences for our How It Is column, which runs Tuesdays in the Lifestyles section. All stories must not have been published in part or in its entirety previously. Send your stories of no more than 500 words to lifestyles@marinij.com. Please write How It Is in the subject line. The IJ reserves the right to edit them for publication. Please include your full name, address and a daytime phone number.
Being the youngest of the hunters that year, I would be going with my grandfather. He would show me the way.