Hillbilly Savant: Hunting the Wild Quantum

By Richard W. Bender

Essays from the adventures and philosophy of a hillbilly savant. From running away from home at the age of five to joining a circus in his sixties. Quantum mechanics, spending time with Timothy Leary and publishing a model of consciousness at a scientific conference. Teaching himself to fly fish at the age of seven and helping his son catch a rare trout on the fly rod at the age of five.Digging sapphires and catching crawdads. An Eagle Scout with a transformative religious experience and teaching life lessons to children and family. Stories from a life of adventure, opportunities and deep thoughts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hillbilly Savant
• Release date: Jan 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393979890

Richard W. Bender

Richard W. Bender(1953- )was born in St. Louis, MO and grew up in an Ozark rural lifestyle yet with a very large high school less than one hour from downtown St. Louis. The combination of a rural life connected to nature and the cultural advantages of the large high school and city provided a unique perspective that is reflected in his writings for several newspapers and magazines including Horticulture, Field & Stream and The Herbal Companion. After graduating from the University of Missouri-Columbia with a B.S. in Fisheries and Wildlife Management and two years in neuroscience grad school he moved to Colorado in 1985 where he operated Bonsai By Bender for more than 20 years, supplying unique bonsai to clients like the Missouri Botanic Gardens, Franklin Park Conservatory(Columbus, OH,) Portland(OR) Classical Chinese Garden and the COMO Park Conservatory in St. Paul, MN. His first book, Herbal Bonsai was in print for 15 years. Bountiful Bonsai was released in January of 2015. Wild Winemaking from Storey Publishing was released February 20, 2018. Bender is currently writing about several other new projects including life as a musician and joining the circus. He is also teaching classes on winemaking and bonsai in his home town of Fort Collins, Colorado.

Book preview

The Adventures of a Hillbilly Savant

The Adventure Begins

Runaway

A Trapping Story

The Garkiller

Reading

The Crawdad Bible

Eagle Scout

A Delicate Touch

Wild Berries and Mushrooms

Lines of Force

Hunting the Wild Quantum

Nature’s Bounty: Shot or Not?

Serious About Crawdads

Frogging

Cross Country Skiing: Challenge or Delight?

Get Peaceful and Get Wet

Rollerblades and New Friends

Night Walks

Shoot Memories

Sweat Lodges

Whirlpools and Rocks

The Coal in the Stocking Incident

Fly Fishing for Leroy

First Elk

Pay it Forward: The School for Advanced Ferals

Darrick’s First Job

Darrick’s First Trout

Meeting Timothy

Riding the Crest of the Wave: A New Model of Consciousness

Dr. Langman, I presume?

Montana Sapphires

Revisiting the Hunt Club

Thanksgiving Serendipity

What Would Mother Say?

The Year of National Parks

There’s Gold in Them Thar Hills

The Adventure Begins

It started early. It was a middle class neighborhood in the country, in a more innocent time with stay at home moms and adventure was found outdoors. There was an older sister and a younger brother in the mix and the house next door had eight kids. My partner in crime on this adventure was one of those neighbor kids, a few months younger than I. We were a couple of blond toddlers named Rickie and Richie in the summer when both of us would reach our third birthday. We were exploring Rickie’s garage when we opened a can of white paint and somehow managed to splash it all over each other ... and generally all around the garage.

It started with prying open a paint can, trying to imitate our fathers. We couldn’t reach the brushes. They were likely on a high shelf, soaking in kerosene to clean them. We each picked up a stirring stick and dipped it into the paint. Pulling the stick out to look at it quickly developed an interesting pattern of paint dots on the floor. From that point it wasn’t long before we began to get creative, trying to make prettier patterns. We quickly became rather enthusiastic and soon the floor wasn’t big enough. As our artistic endeavors got more vigorous, expanding to the walls, we began to create paint splatters on each other.

We were having lots of fun and totally oblivious when the side door opened and Rickie’s mother discovered our masterpiece. I think both of us were spinning and brought our pattern of splatter across that doorway at the same moment she began screaming. I, for one, had never heard anything like that before. Both of us kids were shocked into screaming and crying in response, dropping our paint sticks and trying to understand what was wrong. His mother grabbed each of us by the wrist and dragged us out into the bright sun. By this time, we had started to realize we had done something very bad. Rickie’s mom had started to calm down enough for us to hear what she was saying even if we still didn’t understand exactly what we had done wrong. We were both over our initial shock, but she must have been still confused. That or maybe she needed glasses. While we were certainly splattered with paint, it’s not like we had dipped ourselves into the bucket or anything. We were outside, standing near the boundary between our two properties.

Rickie’s mom gave him a push toward my house and told him to go home. She grabbed my wrist and started dragging me into her house. Both boys were crying hysterically again and I guess I was crying too hard for her to understand what I was saying at first. She dragged me into her house, holding me with one hand while she tried to swat my rear end with her other hand. Once in the house, she sat down and turned me over her knee preparing to get busy. My mother apparently had heard the screaming and came to her back door just as Rickie got there. She grabbed his hand and rushed next door, looking for me. About the time I started yelling, I want my Mommy, and Rickie’s mom realized who I was, my mom and Rickie reached the back door of her house. By the time the two mothers realized what happened, they started to see the humor in the situation and took pictures before starting to clean us up.

They may have thought it was funny, but it was a traumatic experience for both of us. Perhaps it was worse for Rickie because his own mother didn’t recognize him, even though I was the one who received physical punishment. Today we all laugh about it and it gives me an excuse to tease his mother when I see her. This was a valuable early lesson for me about the fallibility of authority. I learned to question what I was told and started on my path to being a rebel. I still felt wrongfully punished, even after I learned we should not have opened that paint can or made such a mess. The garage was only an outbuilding with exposed studs and a gravel floor. It wasn’t fancy and the inside wasn’t painted before Rickie and I added our creative touches. We really hadn’t damaged anything valuable, except maybe my rear end and that was a mistake perpetrated by the biggest authority in our lives. Ever since, I have been suspicious and skeptical of authority, trusting my own reason and judgment more than what conventional wisdom tells me. This seems to be good training for dealing with the modern life we have all had to deal with in the early 21st century. Of course, this has put me in position to be considered eccentric, rebellious and a trouble-maker throughout my life, outside the norm of the average citizen.

Rather than being a handicap or seeing myself as a disappointment to acceptable society, I have to thank Rickie’s mom for teaching me a valuable lesson. Creative play is often discouraged by conventional society trying to pound jagged personalities into round holes. Knowledge comes from exploring edges, pushing past boundaries and creating new ideas and new ways of seeing things. Being an explorer carries a risk, but offers great rewards. Sometimes as simple as seeing a beautiful sunset or interesting patterns in paint splatters, perhaps finding a plant that creates a new medicine or creating a new fishing fly that changes a life. Creative expression is often messy, sometimes offends someone, can at first seem like a complete failure yet can also lead to the most rewarding experiences in our lives. To be truly alive is to be an explorer ...

Runaway

I’ve been thinking about my Mother a lot lately. We were very close and even though I had moved out of state, I visited her at least half a dozen times a year. My business was struggling after the economy crashed in 2008. I was late with a car payment and my delivery van got repossessed. I needed a thousand dollars to get it back and Mom helped me out. 

After I recovered that van, I had the best sales trip I’d had in months. I recently made a new friend who had a house cleaning business and she offered to clean my house in trade for a couple bottles of my homemade wine. The morning after my trip, my friend was cleaning my house while I did my regular morning hot tub soak before starting to work in the greenhouse.

I had recently joined and become fascinated with Facebook. The business struggles and losing the van had me depressed and I don’t post things like that online. I hadn’t posted in a while and was feeling pretty good while sitting in the hot tub and decided to post something positive. I made a post about having a great sales trip and was sitting in the hot tub while my new maid was cleaning the house. I didn’t mention the wine or know then that this would be the only time that happened.

Mom and I had a falling out that year because of an older sister who was always jealous of me. She felt that Mom favored me. She lived at home while working her way through college while I went away for school and my parents helped me pay for it. Of course, I couldn’t study my field without going elsewhere and I did have a National Merit Scholarship. Still, I’m sure my sister resented my opportunity and the financial help from our parents. Mom told me before I left for school that she wanted to go to college, but her Father said, Girls don’t go to college. Find a husband and make a home. She wanted to make sure I had the opportunity she was denied.

There was always my favorite pie waiting when I visited Mom. The next time I visited after recovering my van there was no pie, no hug from Mom and she was very cold. This happened the next several times I visited and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. This really bothered me. Eventually I mentioned this to my brother’s wife. She told me that shortly after Mom sent me that money, she went out to lunch with Mom and my sister. Apparently, my sister in a very disapproving tone told Mom that after she helped me out I had enough money to hire someone to clean my house. She convinced Mom that I had taken advantage of her.

The next time I visited I made it a point to tell Mom that I had made a friend with a housecleaning business and traded her some wine to clean my house. I was happy to have a professional clean my bachelor pad. Unfortunately, it only happened once and she was too busy to do it again. I made no mention of the conversation with my sister-in-law. The next time I visited, there was a pie waiting for me again and her attitude had warmed. As my business struggled with the economy, I started calling her nearly every day, usually when I went for my daily walk or as I left on my next sales trip.

I recently lost a sapphire earing with a stone I dug myself. I started wearing a star sapphire earring Mom gave back to me before she passed as part of an earring and ring matching set of star sapphires I gave her for Mother’s Day back when I had a business importing sapphires and rubies from Sri Lanka. A week later, I decided to start wearing her ring on my pinkie. It was clearly a ladies ring, but I am secure in my masculinity and it made me feel close to her again almost four years after she passed. I began reminiscing about an early memory.

I was about five years old. I decided I needed to run away from home. Although I don’t remember what prompted that decision, the rest of that evening is seared into my memory. When I told Mom my plan, she said, Let me help you pack. Go get a pillowcase and be sure you put some clean underwear and socks in it. When I got back, she said, I know how much you like to read. You better pack some books.

When I got back from my bookshelf, she told me I needed some food. We started filling that pillowcase with cans of food. My favorite food at the time was canned ravioli and she always kept plenty in the pantry along with canned chicken noodle soup, another favorite snack of mine. By the time we finished, that pillowcase was very heavy. It was a struggle to lift it. She walked with me to the front door and opened it. As I stepped out onto the porch, she waved and cheerfully said, Goodbye before closing the door behind me. I made it to the bottom step before I sat down and started crying.

I don’t know how long I sat there but it felt like an eternity. It was starting to get dark when I heard the door open behind me. It was Mom. She said, I just baked some cookies. Would anyone like to have some milk and cookies while they are still warm? It wasn’t until I had a son of my own before I realized how wise she was that day. I never had to do this with my son. I don’t think she had to do this with my brother or sister, but they both still live a short drive from the house where we grew up. I was the wild one who moved a thousand miles away. That early experience presages the way I went about my life. I have so much to thank her for and wearing the jewelry I gave her makes our bond closer than ever. I think of her every time I see that ring on my little finger.

A Trapping Story

My father taught me the rudiments of trapping game at an early age. Eager to put this knowledge to use, by the age of eight I ran a trap line every day through the winter. We weren’t using leg hold traps in search of furs. My family was strictly small game, meat hunters. We were using live box traps and figure-4 cage traps to catch rabbits for the table. There would be an occasional possum, skunk, raccoon or even a box turtle once during a fall warm spell. Anything not destined for the table could be released unharmed. We used apples and field corn on the cob for bait. Dad and I built bird houses through the winter and box traps through the summer in his basement workshop, planning to be ready for the appropriate seasons. I was only out to catch rabbits, but that was big game and serious business to me. There were usually a dozen or so traps set at any one time.

Racing home from school one cold January day in the early 1960’s, I quickly changed clothes in order to run my trap line before the sun set. Hiking in the woods was always one of my favorite activities but the added anticipation of finding a rabbit in one of my traps made that after school hike the highlight of my day. Grabbing some apples for rebaiting the traps, I crossed the road into the woods and the start of my trap line.

The first three traps were still set so I gave them a wide berth to avoid leaving fresh human scent anywhere near the traps. When I spotted the fourth trap the door was shut. Something had set it off. With growing excitement I ran forward to check the trap only to discover it was empty. The bait was gone and there was a little tuft of rabbit hair stuck in the door of the trap. Disappointment became determination to catch that rabbit next time as I set that trap with a fresh apple.

The next few traps were undisturbed but my anticipation grew during the approach to the last one. Surrounded by brush piles, it always had more rabbit sign than any other place in my trap line.  Quietly approaching the trap, I tiptoed around a brush pile and