Witness the assortment
of tracks in the snow.
What was it that made them
and how far did they go?
Big ones and little ones
criss-cross through the brush.
Get out the field guides -
to know is a must.
Coyote and Jackrabbit,
Bobcat, Jumping Mouse;
Meadow Vole, Mule Deer,
and even Sage Grouse.
What an interesting tale
of pursuit and flight.
The events of a yesterday
or maybe a night.
Now wouldn't it be keen
to sit in on the show?
Observing all the drama
that took place in the snow.
What a wonderful attraction is water,
bubbling so freely there.
Birds are drawn in by the droves
to that special spot. Where -
Each one quenches it's thirst
at anytime of the day.
And as I sit watching mesmerized,
I'd just like to say:
I'm thankful to be able to sit
and joyfully enjoy the show.
Some folks sit with bird books,
others seem to already know:
Sparrow, Thrasher, or Towhee;
and especially "raucous" Jay.
Each approaches the source somewhat different.
Each in a special way.
Pyrrhuloxia, Cardinal, or Wren;
and the ever-present Finch.
But especially the varieties of Woodpecker,
each one is a "cinch" -
To keep your pulse pulsating,
and so delightful to see.
I experience a range of euphoric emotions,
and it seems to me -
That all of God's creatures leave one
at a loss for words.
But none are so exquisitely glorious,
as are the beautiful birds!
**Written while at Mrs. Sally Spofford's yard in Portal.
( South-eastern, Arizona )
( 1-18-00 )
As we traveled on our way,
upon a bleak December day,
in pursuit of elusive beast or bird -
Suddenly we are stealthily creeping,
slush, all through our shoes, is seeping,
while unique and charming photo reaping,
of that creature, where we were "lured".
Much exhilarated, our senses stirred,
we then back off without a word,
our lust, for the moment, "cured".
Much of our time, thus is spent,
amid those things that God has "lent",
but it doesn't end here.
Returned to home, the pictures back,
the good ones we keep, the others "sack",
and this is the way we increase the "stack",
of those that are sharp, of those real clear.
A few excel, those ones so "dear",
this brings satisfaction, this brings good cheer,
whether December or any other time of year.
When this is done it is hard to wait,
for each and every upcoming date,
to be "off" to the next "clime".
At each new, diverse, and intrinsic setting,
nature will provide, I am betting,
another species to "shoot" - there for the getting,
of a glorious life-form of grand design.
These things are great, experiences so fine,
they make our lives happy, our days sublime,
day to day joys at any "ole" time!
(Dave Hanks)
When the Moose was made
someone altered the course -
Half like a deer and half like a horse.
In creek bottoms and willows
his way he did force -
Half like a deer and half like a horse.
Head under water
to reach the food source -
Half like a deer and half like a horse.
Bull in the brush
and cow in the for'st -
Half like a deer and half like a horse.
To fool with the Moose,
you'll come out the wor'st -
Half like a deer and half like a horse.
So here's to the majestic
king of the marsh -
Half like a deer and half like a horse.
(Dave Hanks)
by Dave Hanks
All my early life I wanted to be a college football player. Every Saturday afternoon, when parents allowed it, I would sit glued to the radio listening to the games and scores. I knew every team and all the trivia about each. I wanted to play so bad that it was a constant argument with Mom and Dad, who were very much opposed. Each day through high school was aimed toward staying out for football for just one more night. For four years I managed to stay out for one more night. No assistance was given to an activity that was felt to be a detriment. This forced me to walk the three miles home from practice every afternoon. I had to hustle too, there were cows to milk and a great deal depended upon not upsetting things by a failure to get the chores done.
High school behind me, I was therefore fortunate(or unfortunate, depending on your point of view)to receive a full-ride scholarship to a major university. High school football had been rewarding but done at a much lower intensity level. Little was I prepared for the excessive amount of work and mental pressure of big-time college football. So there I was, a full-fledged scholar/athlete. An experience that was very valuable and unforgetable but one that was far from the fun that I had expected.
A typical day during pre-season went something like this. Six-thirty and the alarm goes off. “Where did the night disappear to?” My body is so stiff that it feels as if the slightest movement might break something. But the alarm must be silenced and I must get up to eat. That is if I want anything – it waits for no one. However, food of late has lost much of it’s appeal. The tremendous physical exertions we go through have shrunk the stomach to “walnut size”. I need the calories however, or I will shrink away to a shadow. So it’s up the hill to the building that houses the training table and the regal amounts of food that it provides. It must be eaten quickly because the locker room and pre-practice ritual demand it.
Rod, the old sage of a trainer, is there already. He is taping bodies at a fast clip, chewing on the excess tape and spitting it into the Garbage. Inbetween he makes sage comments about us and our mental abilities. It is all done in good humor because he is a happy, kind man. The best man on the whole football staff. We unload our emotional difficulties on him and he responds in a fatherly way. You see, conditioning is as much a mental sharpening process as a physical one.
Well ankles are taped, heat rubbed on delinquent muscles, and then on with the equipment. Every item that is made of cloth must be washed after every practice. Clothing is so full of sweat that fresh items are a must for every session. We check-out fresh T-shirts, jocks, socks, shirts, and pants. Lower body items like pants and shoes go on first. Shoulder pads and helmet are somewhat uncomfortable to relax in, so they are left until last. They go on just before the last roll of tape – which is applied to hands and wrists. Running backs worry about their knees but a lineman’s nemesis is his hands. They are what take the most abuse. After all the adhesive is added, they look like clubs.
Practices are quite routine: stretching, agility drills, and then into small groups according to position for technique work, and finally with the whole team to work on offense and defense. This is always followed by generous doses of conditioning work.
The head coach is a “bird-colonel” in the infantry reserve. He has been imported from the east and has coached at such places as the United States Army Academy at West Point. He is rock-hard and a sourpuss. His assistants are all in awe of him. The line coach (Owen) is a short, squat guy. He is not as imposing as the head coach but does have his moments when he deviates from the human race. He believes firmly in doing all drills at full intensity at all times. Nothing is held back. He screams at us in an attempt to promote perfection. We teammates pound on each other without mercy.
During one practice, a promising sophomore is across the line from me. He has been picked to start at right tackle along with me on the left. The team is going through a “dummy” scrimmage – mostly to review mental assignments. Coach Owen quietly informs the interior linemen that it is not “dummy” for us but full speed. The sophomore (Paul Eckle, a brilliant prospect from Medford, Oregon)and I are hitting each other pretty good. On one play I catch him quite hard. He is instantly on the ground holding his head. The head coach is there immediately screeching at me. “Get him out of here, he’s too dumb to play any other way but at full speed!” It turns out that Paul’s jaw is broken and he is lost for the season.
Coach Owen is quiet. I look at him. He’s scared of the Colonel and won’t confess that the intensity was his idea. Not wishing to implicate him, I keep the truth to myself as do the other linemen. The rest of the team are all over me. They call me stupid – so stupid that I would break a teammate’s jaw in a walk through scrimmage. The stigma last through my college career. I vow that if I ever coach, that I will be coach Owen’s opposite.
Morning practice finally ends at 11:00 A.M. It’s into the showers, turn them on cold, and let the water run down your throat. My thirst seems unquenchable. Back to the dorm and into bed for an hours sleep before lunch. My body is still sore. “Will the soreness ever disappear?” Stiffly I go up to lunch. With appetite gone, the huge steaks and piles of potatoes and vegetables are not appealing. I observe regular students drooling and coveting our meals. A piece of watermelon and about 12 glasses of fruit juice are all I can manage.
After lunch it’s to the fieldhouse to watch film and listen to “chalk-talks” on the blackboard. These sessions are laborious. As hard as practice is, these are worse as they are unbearably tedious. The film is run and re-run until you can’t stand any more. Coach Owen is screaming again. The film is going in slow motion and a player’s every movement is criticized. It seems that he is giving me special attention – “will he ever stop?” I’ve grown to despise films.
Now the V’s and O’s on the chalk board, over and over. He has to stop. Time demands that we get ready for afternoon practice. The same rituals are repeated and practice follows the same general pattern. However it’s hotter and seems more intense. The head coach has a “mad-on”. We try not to attract his attention.
Two activities usually end practice sessions. One is driving the 7-man sled. It’s very heavy. We hit and push it up and down the field. I hate it. Your legs get “jelly-like” from constant churning. My calves are getting quite large and muscle-bound.They tend to cramp at the slightest provocation. The other activity is wind-sprints. The quantity and distances depending upon the coach’s mood.
Earlier in the year (the second day of practice) we were doing 100 yard sprints over and over. The temperature was over 90 degrees and I was sweating profusely and was becoming dizzy. On the scales afterwards, it was discovered that I had lost 25 pounds of water. It required me spending the night in the hospital drinking water and taking electrolytes.
But back to the present. The sprints end and we head indoors. We have devised a drink. One that tastes very special after an afternoon session. The training room has a dispenser full of alka-seltzer. A glob of it in water is delicious and the body seems to crave it. The training room also has a large, cement whirl pool in a small room at one end. It will hold up to 8 people and the competition is keen to obtain a spot in it. The warm, swirling water is “heavenly” upon exhausted bodies. It is easy to fall asleep in the water.
After dinner it’s film time again. Our season opens with the University of Arizona and they are the evening’s subject. We watch the film of their last game from last year. Many of their personal are returning. Over and over we study them. I am supposed to become very familiar with the body that will be facing me across the line of scrimmage plus their offensive and defensive tendency’s. The meeting drags on – if I ever see another football film, it will be too soon.
Nine o’clock and back to the dorm. Lights are to be out by ten but that’s no problem. Most of us are so tired that bed-time is extremely welcome. Another day is behind us. Maybe tomorrow some of this stiffness and soreness will go away!
by Dave Hanks
That which motivates can come in many guises. Extra pay, a little sincere praise, or a desire to change a situation – all these are common, well known stimulus. But once I knew a different type of motivation. A stimuli that led to a free college education and affected the course of my life.
It happened during my senior year in high school. It came in the color red – a glossy, florescent red that stood-out and seemed to glow under light – a shinny, red football helmet. Now a red helmet might not seem unusual except that our school colors and uniforms were green and white.
It all started a few hours before our second game of the season. My white helmet had developed a large crack and was therefore unusable. My hat size is quite large and that helmet was the biggest the school owned – there was none other. What to do? A sporting goods salesman happened to arrive before the ball game. He had several helmet samples with him and our coach called me in to try them on. One of the samples fit perfectly but it had a drawback. It was red. That didn’t bother me any, as I had formed an immediate attachment to it. Our coach had a great ability to motivate his personnel, and though he didn’t want a “misfit” amid the regular school colors, he displayed the “wisdom of Solomon” and consented to let me wear it. I think he sensed it’s potential for stimulation.
So I acquired a bright red top piece, to the envy of my teammates. I stood out upon the playing field. You could see that helmet whether on top or underneath a pile. Eyes were automatically drawn to it. Because it was so much easier now for the coaches to follow my actions, I was forced to put much more effort into my playing. Opposing coaches were heard to cuss: “that damned red helmet!”
Soon the helmet became a badge of honor – a standard that must be upheld. After my graduation, the helmet was used for two more years before being withdrawn from use. Those who wore it after me also enjoyed success.
The publicity I received helped me land a spot on the Idaho All-Star Team and also a scholarship. Notoriety that was enhanced by that helmet.
I’m forever indebted to the color red!
What wondrous things are the molecules of air.
You can walk amongst them and hardly know they're there.
And how can things, that seem not to exist,
Become so powerful? A force you can't resist.
Occasionally they gather momentum, on a certain bleak, bleak day.
Then Heaven help whatever may linger in their way.
They become a force so terrible, unequaled on this earth.
Whether blowing directly or with tremendous, swirling girth.
A thing of terror at times like these.
A wrecking crew - that sudden breeze.
And it is a marvel that something so indistinct,
Can be such an awesome thing. It causes one to think -
That it's best not to be about when it's "rocking" truck or tree.
But at other times it's refreshing. So gently cooling it can be.
So wind is not always bad. It is beneficial too.
Those molecules cool the heat and push the rain clouds into view.
I guess when all is added, when all is said and done -
Who is there to change it? I'm certainly not the one.
Even though those molecules, can at times cause me stress.
Upon rational reflection, I really must confess:
What wondrous things those molecules in activated periods when -
Whether sublime or stressful, I must admit,
we couldn't survive with out them!
(Dave Hanks)
By Dave Hanks
When one walks on the wild side one ought to keep track,
Of the time that is spent and the time to head back.
With so much to absorb, the time slips away – I confess.
And though we should have returned, I couldn’t care less.
Because each of our targets, may have been hard to find.
If sharp photos result, then one seems not to mind –
The time spent on the wild side, so unhurried, so free.
These memorable moments of life,
Will always come back to me.
By Dave Hanks
Dawn is anticipation
And freshness and new born joy
Dusk is melancholy
And remembrance and opportunity now past
Spring is like dawn
So full of newness
And dreams unchecked
Autumn is the dusk
With things that were
And things that might have been
The times of freshness
Are so short and fleeting
And energy once possessed which seemingly was never to dissolve
And with a mindset of youthful foolishness
But the time of twilight brings a yearning
To relive those moments of unrelenting vigor
One is fortunate
If one’s psyche allows an eternal spring
No matter the situation or the season
And perpetual youth
Combined with wisdom
Lights one’s existence
he quiet things
are all around -
But we don't notice,
there's so little sound.
But oh for him
whose ears are keen -
A rich reward,
things seldom seen.
So when you're about
'mongst shrubs or wings,
Take time to listen
to the quiet things!
(Dave Hanks)
Dave's Nature 