Snipe Hunting

After eating supper at Dr. FosterҀs parentsҀ house, some of the NSU folks invited me, Andrei, and Ben to go hang out. After a little discussion, they decided it would be best to take us Ӏsnipe huntingԀ at a creek called Ӏthe NJ.Ԁ Travis offered me and Andrei a ride in his pickup truck, and we drove out a ways and talked about good food and spirituality and whatever else came to mind. Travis, who considers himself a Ӏpagan Christian,Ԁ is particularly interested in how Christianity and Cherokee spirituality complement one another.

Anyway, when we got out at the NJ, it was almost too dark too see. The stars were brighter than IҀd ever seen them, but other than that, there was hardly any light at all, and I could barely see five feet in front of me. We were told to take a couple of trash bags and head up the road to look for snipe. The three of us North Carolinians headed up the dirt road with Asa, but all the other folks dropped off to the back. The three of us started to get a little freaked out, since all of them had been the ones to drive us back up. We all ran back up the road to find the other guys, which, after a few nervous minutes, we finally did. As soon as we met up with them, we started talking and joking around and then׀the loudest, most startling scream IҀd about ever heard. I think I jumped about a half mile. And then all the NSU kids laughed uncontrollably. We later learned that there is no such thing as snipe hunting; itҀs just a joke that folks play on dumb city boys. (When we got back to Seminary Suites, Chris had already heard weҀd been Ӏsnipe huntingԀ and teased us pretty intensely).

The rest of the night, we all just crowded around the cars and alternately teased each other and listened to Travis tell Cherokee ghost stories. This is the point at which I could probably go into some involved, academic-sounding discussion of Cherokee folk lore or Indian humor or something like that. But that, I donҀt think, would accomplish much. Because what I really learned was a lesson about the limits of academic discussion. After a certain point, there are things that canҀt be understood intellectually. They have to be felt--What it means to feel at ease a thousand miles from home. To meet genuinely good people. To ride around in Eastern Oklahoma in a pickup truck with a busted up passenger-side door handle. To be scared out of your mind. To laugh so hard it actually hurts. Stuff I didnҀt learn from a book, or from a class, or from an educational field trip. I certainly learned things׀even factual things. But more than that, I felt and did things that gave meaning to everything else I know. It colored the gray spots in my understanding, and I canҀt teach anybody about that. But I know I felt something beautiful.