The Lesson
by Harrison Q. Blackwood

When I was a small child I grew up in rural Kansas.

My father started taking me into the field at a very early age, much to my mothers dismay. I followed that tall man through the fields of wheat and soybeans, woodlots and fields of waist high grass. I would walk along the trails that he made and he would hold whipping branches so they would not hit me. We sat in the fields of tall corn and waited for prairie chickens to fly over. We hunted in the forests and fished in ponds and streams.  No matter where we went he would show me plants that could be eaten or used for medicine.  He taught me how to make shelters from what I could find and how to make a fire that would not only keep me warm and cook food, but that would chase the darkness away.

     One morning we had a hearty breakfast and set off in the chill of dawn.

We rode in the old pickup and as I inhaled the heady odor of gun
oil I looked around.

     "This isn't Harleys farm," I said. This was an area I had never
been to before.

     "No. It's an area I used to hunt when I was boy. I thought that
I would take you somewhere new."

When we stopped he helped me put on the old Army surplus backpack that contained our lunch and canteens. Then he shrugged into his old game jacket and carefully loaded his shotgun.

My father had always stressed firearms safety and sometimes I was allowed to take my old BB gun into the field.
All morning we walked. We saw many pheasant, but he shot only one. Finally when I was so tired that I could'nt walk anymore we stopped in a tiny clearing. He lay the stately bird on some fallen leaves to cool and took the pack I had been carrying. He passed out our lunch and when it was over he said, "You are still tired. You wait here. I'll hunt some more and come back for you."

I agreed and he handed me the soft blanket from the pack.

     "Wrap up in this if you get cold. And don't leave this clearing."

I nodded and after I was snugly wrapped he left. The forest swallowed him with only a tiny branch moving to show that he had passed into it.

I dozed off as I leaned against the tree.

     When I awakened it was two hours later and I was still alone. I looked around and there was a chill in the air. I was alone.

And hopelessly lost.

This was not our farm or that of the neighbors.

"Don't leave this clearing," came my fathers voice.

It looked like I was going to be spending the night here.

Alone.

I looked around and a saw an old deadfall. I got up an and listened.  I could hear a stream not far away so I had water nearby.  I laid some branches across the dead fall and covered them with some sticks, leaves and some rich black dirt. 

Next I made a fire ring from some stones that were laying about. Then I gathered as much firewood as I could and laid a fire for later.

I put the blanket in the crude shelter as I wondered what had happened
to my father.

He must have been hurt somehow or he would have been back for me. I would have looked for him but he had always taught me to stay put when lost.  But in my six year old heart there was fear from the night that would
bring the darkness.

     Now that I had my shelter and fire needs taken care of I took our canteens and waded through the woods to the stream and filled them.

Then I went back to the clearing and opened the pack. In the bottom was our survival kit. I checked the flashlight and was pleased to see that it was strong. There were matches and other ways to start a fire, fishing tackle for tomorrow, tonight I would have pheasant. A pocket knife and a whistle that I would wait to use.  A pot and a spoon as well as some food.

I plucked the pheasant and had just set up a spit to roast it with when my father appeared beside me without a sound. My heart leaped and he looked at the fire ring, the spare wood and then in the shelter without saying a word.

     "You did a good job, son." He said. "You didn't panic and you remembered what I taught you. Your mother worries about you being out here. I guess that she can stop now."

He had never gone away. He had crouched at one edge of the clearing and watched me as I had slept and then had made the camp.

After we had packed up our things he held out one big hand and I took it.

"Let's go home, son."

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