Flight...

      I've always enjoyed crafting my own arrows, whether for target practice or for hunting. Over the years, I've spent countless hours at the kitchen table making dozens and dozens of them. Some successful, some failures as I've waded my way through, learning how to make them one at a time. Most have fallen victim to errant shots...lost in high weeds or met their match against the trunk of a sturdy tree. Some though have hit their mark and brought down their quarry... quick, clean and efficient...silent. Others found the ten ring with a solid thump as they bury into the side of a foam target. There's something magical about their flight, graceful, captivating...

      The arrows start raw, smooth and straight, inexperienced. Aluminum, carbon, wood or fiberglass depending on the use and my mood, but I confess, the look and smell of Port Orford Cedar has me hooked. Steel wool and fine grit sand paper, the shafts and nurtured and ready for a coat of stain. The natural beauty of the grain is revealed with each coat as they're dipped in the sealer. The wooden shafts almost take on a life of their own as they're on the path to becoming straight and true...

       The nock points are added and aligned to ensure proper flight. Some of the shafts are crested and painted to add character to their appearance. Easily identifiable, easier to find when lost among the weeds. I want my arrows to stand out from the others, from the crowd...to be set apart, to be different.

      The feathers are attached. The fletching is key...it makes them fly right, helps them on the way to their intended target. It stabilizes them, it gives them a foundation. It's the soul of the arrow. Sometimes bright colored, vibrant for the world to see, other times, muted, quiet colors...unassuming and humble, but exactly what's needed for the job at hand.

      My arrows aren't always perfect...most of the time, there's a blemish or a rough spot, a place that I missed in the sanding process. They fly well for the most part, but need a little tweaking from time to time to get them just right. Sometimes they have a slight bend, sometimes they need a little coaxing...a little straightening. A little care and time...

      But once in a great while, one of the arrows hits all the marks. It's straight, true, an example of what an arrow is supposed to be. The wood grain shows all its beauty and even more so as it ages and matures and deepens. The feathers, cresting and paint combination all fall together as if made by an artist. The arrow stands out from the rest, it's different. The exact spine, the exact weight, the exact length to fly when loosed from my bow...The kind of arrow that you're afraid to lose. The type you want to protect, to keep in your quiver...to hold on to.

      The kind of arrow that you're proud of, that you had a hand in crafting. But, you know it has to fly, it has to be launched. I shoot it close, not wanting to send it down range, not wanting to risk losing her. But, with each shot, it hits the target. She flies true and has earned the right to go further and farther. She is released, letting her go, still hitting the marks at distance. But still I know, at some point, the distance will be too great...I'll miss my mark and the arrow will be gone. Into the world, on her own, into the high grass. Hopefully to stand apart from the others...tough and strong, able to bend and not break like a strong cedar shaft. Broadhead honed and sharp, ready to take on whatever target she meets.

      I'm proud of you Olivia Jane and look forward to what life has in store for you as you launch from high school and into college and the world. Like I've said it before, “Arrows and kids are both made to fly”, but this is a tough shot for your dad...