Yet Another Day

Howdy, gentle reader. The last few days have been busy ones here in Green Hell, so I’ve had but little time to compose any new posts. The “upside” is that I now have a bit more about which to write.

I’ll begin with a brief product review. Quite some time ago, I picked up a Hou Shiueh CF 111 mini crossbow. I spotted it on one of the tables at a local gun show, and as the asking price was ridiculously low -- under ten dollars, if memory serves me correctly -- I said: “What the hey?” and decided to buy it. Like any number of such purchases, however, it eventually ended up on a shelf, collecting dust. A day or two ago, I took it off the shelf and (having an hour or two of precious free time) decided to give it a thorough testing and evaluation.

The Taiwanese-made CF 111 is a crossbow/pistol with a 50 lb. draw weight. The prod is made of steel, while the stock is composed of some kind of dense, heavy plastic that looks and feels rather like polycarbonate. It has a one-piece trigger, a primitive “plunger” safety, and elevated front and rear sights, the latter assembly being adjustable.

The first problem I encountered with the -- and I’m not sure what to call it. Toy? Weapon? -- product was assembling it. The prod slides into the stock rather easily, and is then locked into place with an Allen wrench included for just that purpose. Stringing the prod, however is anything but easy. The instructions on the box recommend enlisting the aid of a friend, and this is indeed necessary. It’s a two-man job.

Cocking the bow isn’t especially difficult and is accomplished by drawing the pull staff backward until the string pops into the trigger housing. The pull staff itself is a forked, chrome-plated bar that runs parallel to the stock. Once the string is seated in the trigger housing, the pull staff is returned to the forward position, and the safety applied. The safety is a flimsy-looking plastic rod that slides in and out of the rear of the bow, just above the pistol grip, thus (one hopes) preventing accidental discharges. Being rather flimsy-looking, as I’ve stated, it doesn’t inspire a great deal of confidence on my part.

Next, the bolt/quarrel is inserted into a channel running the length of the stock, and slid into place, where it is held down by a small piece of spring steel that depends from the rear sight. This is where the “fun” really begins. In order for the bow to function properly, the bolt must be seated so that the fletched end is exactly even with the lip of the trigger housing. If this isn’t done, its flight trajectory will be “interesting” to say the very least. Needless to say, this means loading is hardly quick or easy.

The trigger itself is a single piece, as opposed to the more conventional trigger-nut or trigger-sear-nut assembly found in other crossbows. As one might well imagine, this contributes to a very heavy trigger pull, the force required to overcome it leaving much to be desired, as accuracy is negatively affected.

And speaking of accuracy…

The next problem was sighting the bow in. The front sight, as previously mentioned is fixed, while the rear sight has two knobs that are twisted to adjust elevation and windage. As my first shot went wildly off-target and no amount of fiddling seemed to produce the desired effect in terms of improving my aim, I got a brilliantly retarded idea. Clamping the bow into my bench vise and straightening it with a carpenter’s level, I wrapped my handy-dandy laser pointer in masking tape and inserted it into the hole used for tightening and loosening the prod. As the weapon is no great shakes when it comes to range (not that I expected it to be), I simply zeroed it at ten yards by adjusting the elevation and windage knobs until the rear sight, front sight and the dot on the wall were all aligned.

Returning to my target (a discarded piece of sheetrock) I fired again, only to find that the point of impact was significantly higher than I’d expected. As the windage was more-or-less perfectly adjusted, all that remained was to tinker with the elevation knob. Finally I succeeded in achieving fairly consistent results, although the weapon doesn’t exactly deliver pinpoint accuracy even at its best.

Penetration wasn’t too bad, as the bolts consistently stuck in the sheetrock upon impact. As they come in two styles, plastic and aluminum, the latter being considerably more expensive than the former, I’d opted for the plastic ones. I think I’ll spend a little extra at the next gun show, as one of them broke on impact, leaving the head embedded in the target.

After twenty or so shots, more problems surfaced, the first being the necessity of precisely seating the bolts before firing, the second being the fact that the prod tends to come loose rather quickly. Both contribute to highly irregular (in once case, literally end-over-end) flight on the part of the bolt.

To bring this to a close, at eight bucks or something like that, it’s not a bad toy, but it’s too temperamental and underpowered to be seriously considered a defensive weapon. The accuracy problems, unfortunately, render it unfit for use on small game (rabbits, squirrels, monkeys -- don‘t look at me that way. It could happen. Global warming, right?) etc., which I have no doubt it‘s sufficiently powerful to dispatch.

So much for that.

The rest of the week has been spent stripping the last of the Indian corn from the cobs, then winnowing and grinding it. Experimentation has shown me that the cultivar I chose, “Ornamental Indian Corn” doesn’t make very good popcorn, and also leaves something to be desired when making “corn nuts”. The kernels are far too small for making hominy, so I’ve stuck to using it as parched corn and to grinding it. I’ve found that it grinds far more easily and takes on a much lighter, fluffier texture when parched, so I’ve taken to doing just that before making meal.

It’s not at all difficult to do. All I did was heat an ungreased frying pan on the stove, add the kernels and parch them by shaking and stirring them an inch or so above the burner of the stove until they’d darkened slightly and their aroma filled the room. The process is identical to that of toasting sesame seeds for use in Asian dishes. Once cooled, I ground the kernels, poured the meal into jars and put them on the shelf. This homegrown, home-ground cornmeal makes excellent pancakes and cornbread, the flavor of which is far superior to any store-bought meal I’ve ever purchased. I’m fairly excited, as this constitutes my first successful attempt to produce a storable carbohydrate source other than winter squash. Since this particular cultivar passed the “drought test” and produced an edible and easily storable product, I’ll be doubling or tripling next year’s planting, as well as experimenting with “dent” and “feed” corn.

While soaking some of the kernels for “corn nuts”, quite a few of them germinated, and I think I’ll dry and grind this “malted” corn as well, and see how it tastes.

As a “medicine for melancholy” of sorts, I’ve decided to get in a bit more physical culture, so I began working out again on Monday. Calisthenics and high rep/low weight resistance training. Since I’ve lost the weight, I might as well keep it off, right? Needless to say, I’m still rather sore, as not only did I overdo it a bit (note to self: You’re closer to forty than to twenty, knothead. Remember that!) but also tackled a bit of tree removal that evening, overtaxing muscles I didn‘t even know I had while wielding the chainsaw and tossing the logs aside.

Speaking of weight, it’s nice to be able to look into the mirror at my age (39 on Friday) and see a flat stomach where once there was a “beer gut”. Although I haven’t achieved the coveted “sixpack” or “washboard” look yet, I can actually see my abs for the first time in quite a while, and that produces a good feeling. I haven’t noticed any more grey hairs of late, even though I’ve decided to grow a full beard instead of the Vandyke I’ve been sporting since the mid-nineties. Unfortunately, I have noticed a suspicious-looking bone-growth on my left wrist (the site of an old martial arts injury) and I’ve an uneasy feeling that it heralds the onset of arthritis, which runs in both sides of my family. I suspect that my guitar-playing days (already shortened by the conditions of the tendons in the same hand) may very well be over for good. C’est la vie. I derived nearly twenty-five years of enjoyment from the pastime, and that’s longer than most marriages these days.

The knife and flintlock projects, unfortunately, have been put on hold while I attend to other matters such as finding ways to put the corn to good use, and planting and tending my winter vegetables, as well as the end-of-season cleanup out in the “back forty”.

Yesterday’s weather was absolutely beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky, which has taken on the deep azure look of fall, while the sun’s light is making the transition from the gold of summer to the white glow of winter. The temperature was in the mid seventies and there was a nice breeze blowing, both of which factors contributed to a very pleasant afternoon working in the garden. No sweating like a whore in church while digging and planting, for all that I did pick up quite a sunburn.

I put in eighteen transplants each of collards and broccoli, adding lime, triple phosphate and a bit of 10-10-10 to the ground as I planted. As an experiment, I also tossed some out-of-date vitamin and mineral supplements into each hole, just to see what happens. I’ve done it before and the plants seemed to benefit thereby, so this followup should tell me whether or not I’m actually onto something. Should small animals begin disappearing in the vicinity of the patch, I’ll know I’ve meddled with forces best left alone.

While I was outside planting, the time rather got away from me, and I didn’t notice that I’d been out in the sun for nearly four hours until I went indoors and felt the onset of a rather painful sunburn. I suppose part of my inattentiveness stemmed from the fact that I was putting myself through a bit of self-administered psychodrama/gestalt therapy as it were, in order to gain a bit of “closure”, for lack of a better word. I don’t suppose the sight of a shaggy-haired, middle-aged redneck muttering to himself is all that unusual, so the neighbors kindly opted not to call the men with the butterfly nets.

Speaking of butterflies, last year’s marigolds cross-pollinated each other, went to seed, and have taken over a huge portion of the garden. They’re waist- to chest-high now, and a riot of yellows, oranges, reds, pinks and purples. Probably the loveliest thing I never planted. They’ve also begun to attract butterflies, as the yard was teeming with monarchs and swallowtails, nearly leading me to kick myself for not having taken my camera with me.

Was I a butterfly, dreaming I was a man, or a man, dreaming I was a “shutterbug”?

Neither, I suppose. I was a transplanted hillbilly, determined to become the saboteur and assassin of bitter memories. The same old subject, I’m afraid. This time, however, I changed a few elements of the “tape” I’ve had running in my head for the last twenty years. I rewound it and gave it a happier ending, as it were. As I did so, I began to feel better, interestingly enough. My own turbulent emotions began to settle, leaving me with an odd sense of calmness and wellbeing. Consciously and rationally, I know that the story ended differently, but in changing that “tape”, I felt more like the writer or director of the “movie” instead of an actor being told what to do and say. Interestingly enough, this led to a bit of a moral quandary: Was I lying per se, or merely applying artistic license to the work-in-progress that is my life? Much food for thought, to be sure.

Somewhere between talking to myself and talking to people I haven’t seen in the better part of two decades, I suppose I began talking to God, as well. This time, he seems to have answered in his own ever-mysterious way.

I was reminded of one of the old Sunday school beatitudes from my childhood: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted”. This, in turn, led me to wonder whether or not I’d neglected my faith for entirely too long -- simply turned it into an accessory instead of an actual part of who I am. This is far more serious a matter than that of merely not living up to the tenets thereof, or of confronting the incongruities between my professed beliefs and my outward actions. The latter two are -- to my mind -- simply manifestations of man’s innate imperfection, or at least of my own. The former, however is the willful relegation of what should be a central part of my life to the periphery thereof.

The thoughts to which putting a few dozen plants into the ground gives rise…
There’s much to contemplate here, to be sure. Fortunately, I’ve no need to do so on some mountaintop in Tibet. I can do it right here, in the garden, which I am increasingly growing to see as a metaphor for my own life.

Having worn myself out both physically and emotionally, I ate a very small dinner, and was “out like a light” before sundown. This is why I’m sitting here writing at four in the morning. Why you’re sitting here reading it at whatever hour is yours and yours alone to know. :-D

Take care.

©2006, David Jefferson Bean

Comments

[Laser pointers]

well, I can say that you're post was so interesting. I really enjoyed reading this post. Thanks for sharing. Keep it up.

[Green Laser Pointer]

yeah, the thoughts to which putting a few dozen plants into the ground gives rise…

[William miller]

Where can I find replacement parts for the cf 111 mini crossbow

[Dave]

I've had no luck finding replacement parts, unfortunately. One of the nocks on mine broke a couple of years ago, and to the best of my knowledge, there's no way to replace it without fabricating a new one.

[Trish]

http://www.unlimitedwares.com/50lb-crossbow-replacement-string/

I found a few here. .