Hunting Catalog Day

A robin is hurriedly gathering dried grass clippings just outside my office window to further soften its unseen nest in order, I suppose, to make the next generation of red-breasted robins as comfortable as possible until at some point they take wing, never to be seen by this hard working parent again. I find myself wondering if its small bird brain is possibly bracing for the warm afternoon ahead; is this instinctual labor merely that or can this curious bird be completing its tedious chores before the summer sun begins to bake what ever beast is not protected by a merciful shade tree. Such behavior would suggest a comprehension of time, which in turn might hint at the concept of a higher order of sentient intelligence than perhaps we give this little robin and all birds for that matter. I have more in common with that robin who flits around all morning long, but is as elusive as a shadow when the sun is high in the sky than I realized. As my office job has admittedly made me soft, the oppressive Missouri heat keeps me from my outside endeavors until the early evening or, if the issue is particularly pressing, the precious morning hours that are certainly far too peaceful to waste while distracted by laborious efforts of sweat & brawn. Yes, summer has only just officially begun and here I am already eyeballing the calendar and counting the days until fall; by the way, if you are wondering yourself, there is exactly 100 days between now and the first day of October!

Ironically, not only has this week brought the beginning of summer, but the two major players in outdoor retail (Bass Pro & Cabela’s) have commenced the annual mailing of their respective fall/hunting catalogs. Though this cynical world has nearly stripped me of any child-like wonder that might occasionally twinkle in my eye, I still cherish a fresh and thick catalog, pungent with the toxic aroma of freshly dried ink. It rekindles a childhood memory of a cool, autumn day and the arrival of the always gargantuan Sears annual Christmas wish book. These catalogs were legendary; any and everything could be found and purchased with relative ease. The latest and greatest action figures were not unimaginatively displayed and labeled with a quick description and price, but assembled in elaborate settings and poses. Tie-fighters chased X-wings across a starry backdrop; a myriad of Hotwheels™ cars filled up at a gas station or grabbed a quick wash at the all new Hotwheels™ service station (which also doubled as a carrying case); GI Joe™ and his contemporaries held their ground high upon a canyon wall while various members of C.O.B.R.A. walked right into an ambush among the miniature cacti, while intricate Lego™ worlds inhabited the opposite side of the page. The Sears Christmas wish books were filled with plenty of things my parents could have never afforded to give me on Christmas, but that was not what the catalog was all about. It was the official anthology of stuff, a manifestation of the current popular culture. I wasn’t envious or ashamed of the fact that my parents couldn’t afford a $500 air hockey table; rather I was awestruck that some little kid might receive such a wonderful surprise on Christmas morning. Sure the catalog represented all that is materialistic, but for the modest child the wish book was merely a collection of cool, and if you were good enough and lucky enough, maybe your parents or the omnipotent Santa would bring you one, just one even, of your most favorite things that could be found on a page in that catalog. Each year the catalog still spoke to me though my pastimes changed as I became older. Now that I think of it, the Sears wish book is where I first learned that the female figure was and is quite breathtaking. I probably didn’t understand at first why I was drawn to those too few pages filled with models in lingerie, but I knew that I liked it very much.

Though my tastes have changed considerably, although I will ashamedly admit that I would still make a quick pass through the female underwear section if given a wish book, I still get a little giddy when I receive my fall hunting catalogs in the mail. They remind me that fall is assuredly on the way and that it will be here before I am probably ready for it. My eyes are more focused on the prices now of course though I am still not envious of things I cannot afford, but rather hopeful that one day my career path & investments allow me to purchase a few of the luxuries that are currently beyond my means. Sure the waders and the upland boots I need to buy before the fall have gone up in price a little, but when you consider a tank of gas costs $60 these days their prices do not seem excessive at all, especially when the joy they will bring to me and my feet out in the field in the years to come is factored in as well. These catalogs awaken that little part of my adolescent mind that still remains and the sense of wonder in all things I consider to be neat-o, to borrow a childhood colloquial phrase. Call me materialistic if you must, but it’s hard to ever completely vanquish that kid who not so long ago salivated on the storefront window while gawking at some new bicycle on display or who spent a little too much time longingly perusing the Sears catalog come every November.

I wonder, does Sears still put out a Christmas wish book? I can only hope for the sake of the children that they do. Of course they probably call it a “Holiday wish book” now!