"I am not one who was born in the custody of wisdom. I am one who is fond of olden times and intense in quest of the sacred knowing of the ancients." Gustave Courbet

31 October 2017

Journals.


When we were still twerps, we could manage rather heroic views of ourselves. I grew up in northern Michigan in the 1940s and the landscape held everything a nascent sportsman could wish except the talent to take advantage of it. The simple fact that you had to develop fishing and hunting abilities can be discouraging to a youngster who has a vaunted idea of his potentialities revolving around 10-point bucks and 5-pound brown trout, especially when he’s catching smallish bluegills and perch and the single arrow shot from his 20-pound-pull bow on an early August morning fell about 50 yards short of the buck across the gully. My father taught me well but in rare moments of absolute honesty, I am still struck by the wide variance of my imagination’s vision of a sporting venture and what actually happens. I suspect this is partly due to the fact that I’m a novelist and my livelihood is my imagination, which is as uncontrollable as a 4-month-old English pointer. The key idea is always “not what I expected” when I flip back and forth in the sporting pages of my journals ...

No comments: