First Winds Of Autumn
Steve Chapman
When the green of the cornstalk begins to turn brown
And when the time for the goldenrod bloom comes around
That's when I look to the hills for I know
Soon I'll walk there again with my arrow and bow
And when the fruit of the white oak is ready to fall
When the hummingbird feels that old Mexico call
And when the tears touch the cheeks of my sweetheart she knows
Soon it’s farewell to her man with the arrow and bow
The heart of the hunter, who can explain
How the first winds of autumn seem to whisper my name
And they send me to dreamin’ ‘bout the morning I'll go
Back up to the hills with my arrow and bow
When the tender young fawn is spotted no more
And when their fathers prepare for their November wars
I can't help but wonder if the mighty ones know
Soon I will come with my arrow and bow
The heart of the hunter, who can explain
How the first winds of autumn seem to whisper my name
And they send me to dreamin’ ‘bout the morning I'll go
Back up to the hills with my arrow and bow
And they send me to dreamin’ ‘bout the morning I'll go
Back up to the hills with my arrow and bow
I had been listening to this Steve Chapman song on and off for about a week when I made my way back to the hills with my arrow and bow. The hunt was to my deepest region of hills, and the toughest too, and I knew that this could be one of my last hunts to the hills, for the God-created parts in my right knee have seen much use, and undoubtedly will not be with me at this time next year. Next season, I thought, perhaps the artificial parts in the knee will not allow me to go back to the hills, with my arrow and bow. I pondered all this as I climbed the ladder to the hang on stand in the large oak tree, one strategically grown in an inside corner. Just past 8 a.m. a button buck sprinted into the corner and looked nervously behind him. Something was up. Within minutes I saw the figure of a blocky deer in the brush. He stopped, looked around, then walked a few more steps; on he came. Within a minute he was in my corner.
He was old, that was obvious, probably 4-1/2 years of age. And his rack wasn't bad, perhaps in the low 120s, but a size I would normally admire, make mental notes of characteristics, and let the deer mosey on his way. But this day was different. The hands holding the arrow and the bow were almost 67 years old. Were they still strong enough and steady enough to place the arrow where I wanted it to go? Did I still have the skills to end up kneeling in awe beside one of the most magnificent and smartest animals God ever created? I could be happy with this old warrior, I thought, and the string came back surprisingly easy to my anchor point. The old deer paused to look over his surroundings once more, stopping in a opening among the trees. The sight pin rested just behind his shoulder and soon the arrow disappeared through the deer’s chest.
The buck jumped sideways perhaps 10 yards and turned back toward me, wondering what had happened. Within seconds he attempted to go on, but within 40 yards slumped to the ground, giving up his life among the thousands of leaves that had fallen to the ground only a few days earlier. Soon I was beside him, joyous, because I realized what a privileged life the Lord has given me. But with a measure of sadness too, because I realized my last hunt with the arrow and bow was not far away.
I began the four-hour wait for my best friend, my hunting buddy for decades, my wife, Miss Carol, to show up. I was at the road waiting for her, and when she said "Did you get one?" I could say, once more, “I did.” Miss Carol and I took the old deer cart and with more effort than was taken just a few short years ago, extracted the old monarch from deep within the hills. We paid him respect by taking quality pictures, and putting the meat to good use, as we always do. My tag was filled, so I didn't hunt the next day. But my best friend, my hunting buddy for decades, my wife, Miss Carol, went back to the hills, with her arrow and bow.
— Brad
Any of you who have bow hunted for a number of years need to purchase this Steve Chapman song and listen to it. You will be touched by both the words and music, regardless of whether you hunt in the hills or the bottoms. It can be purchased at http://www.steveandanniechapman.com/.
