The Staff

By Michael L. Craner

If there is but one icon of romance, mystique, and power, for me it is the staff. Prior to the 1900’s the staff was as common as the telephone is today. In fact, the staff was perhaps, in a way, the predecessor to the cellular phone.

The staff was widespread to the common folk as well as the affluent. It came in many shapes, sizes and even names, from cane, walking stick, to staff, etc. It was used as a measure of wealth, aid for handicap, tool, and weapon. It is simply amazing to me that this artifact has become just that, and is employed so very little in this new age of man. These days the only time you ever see a staff or walking stick being employed is on the trails and nature walks which are so infrequently used these days, although that is fine with me, I enjoy the solitude and lack of people mucking up the place.

I suppose the staff all but died because it became no longer practical. In this day and age it is so difficult to carry anything that resembles a weapon. Besides, have you ever tried to cram a six-foot stick in your Nissan? They certainly don’t fit in the overhead bins on aircraft, and we tend to feel a bit strange carrying them around anyway.

However, where I live, on a small woodland ridge surrounded by farmlands, then towns and cities I have found an abundance of fine oak saplings, which are starved for sunlight and have little life left in them. I have begun walking the ridge, and listening. Listening to the sounds of nature, and pleas for a chance at immortality and respect. Trees, like humans long for the chance to be useful, and to live on beyond their expectancy.

I seek out these saplings, who have been struggling for life among the giants. Those who have grown tall and straight, who call out, begging to be transformed. Those who fit my hand like an extension of my own fragile body, each lending strength and purpose to each other. So far I have struggled with selecting the right sapling to take, and how to cut it, and develop it. Should I skin it immediately, at all, or should it season first? Should I stain or leave it natural? Perhaps in the winter I will begin carving on them, if I can find the trick to keep them from splitting after I have skinned them.

On one staff I have, I covered up a nasty split with waxed cord, carefully wrapped over a 1 ½ to 2-foot section, which happens to be within the "grip range" of the staff. The waxed cord makes for an excellent grip, covering the split, and containing the staff to help prevent further splitting, and it is appealing to the eye. A couple of ways to season a walking stick or staff I have found online is by boiling linseed oil and rubbing it into the wood with your hands, or a substitute which also works well is vegetable oil.

A good walking staff should come to the user's armpit, and be held even with the elbow. This allows for the best balance and functionality in woodland areas. A staff or walking stick that is to be used often should have a metal or rubber cap at its grounding point to extend its life.

One should also never use a staff unless there is a need to. By need, I refer to using it as a means of support, protection, or to the esoteric, "drawn to" necessity. Otherwise its use would be patronizing and ridiculous. No, as I said, the staff to me is an icon of mystique, power, and romance. To use one for the sake of its presence is precocious and demeaning to its nature. To me the staff or walking stick is a friend and consort, to be regarded with respect and dignity. Ancient wizards in faery tales, such as that of Merlin or Raistlin, regarded their staffs in the highest. These were tools that lived with their masters, even several masters, (which only heightened the powers they possessed). Think about that for a moment. What do you possess today that you keep by your side, day in and out, night and day, rely upon, even talk to?

It is no wonder the wizards of faery tales are regarded so highly as well as their staffs. The one thing I possess that I think the most of, and keep with me at all times is my wedding ring, and I don’t even talk to that. The wizards of olde talked to their staffs, relied upon their strength, and utilized them as crude weapons at best. If you really fall into the fantasy tales, the staffs have even more power, from light sources to fireballs and more.

Be it a symbol, an icon, or a tool, the staff shall remain forever, at least in my mind, as a memory of a more simple time. When folks worked for food and shelter rather than money, power and fame. A time when life was as it should be. Life. A simple reminder that we are all fragile and here for a short time, making due with what has been provided for us. We often forget that these days, thinking we make our own destinies, but are we really so different?

Today the cell phone is our staff, that tool we rely upon for support, which connects us to others, even protects us in its non-aggressive manner. We still travel great distances, seeking out new paths, customers, etc. We still work for food and shelter, but now our staffs are made of plastic and silicon. Their power reaches beyond the tree line, but can they support our weight? Do they aid in fending off rogues and reptiles? Do we value them as our greatest asset? Many folks do, but when was the last time you touched your cell phone and felt the life, and strength within? When was the last time you caressed your cell phone and recalled your past?

Once when I was deployed, far from home and family, with very little of modern comforts or distractions, I created a modern day staff, or stave as I call it. It began as a simple stick, about the size of a fat pencil like pre-schoolers use, though shorter. It started out as a simple calendar. Something I used to track the days away from my son. Each day I would carve a notch in it, noting a day away from where I wanted to be. I kept this stave in my pocket all the time, and it reminded me of what I was fighting for, as well as how long it took. In a place where I had nothing but time, a pocket knife, and a stick, this stave became my staff. I leaned on it for strength in a psychological manner. It became a close friend because of the thoughts I had each day when I carved a notch in it. It was more than a stick, it was a kind of diary. I shared my thoughts and hopes with it. It was a moment of sanity in an insane reality.

From that time on I realized the value of the staff, more importantly to me, the stave, which was a far more mobile and socially acceptable staff. A simple stick. One which served a purpose both physically and mentally. Something to keep my hands busy while I thought about something, and something that I could carry with me, and remember.

We should all carry such a stave. Be it a diary, a stick, a staff, a bible, whatever. Something to occupy our minds for a few moments a day. Something we can put our trust and love into. Something that holds our faith of a better tomorrow, and reminds us of today and yesterday. Something we can lean on when times are tough.

Today, when I look at my little stave, I remember. . . I remember learning of the pregnancy, which brought forth my only daughter, my second child. I also remember the poor children jumping into our bon-fires digging out scraps of food to eat. How I vowed MY children would never have to endure such poverty. I remember the silent promises my friends made to themselves, how their cupboards never get more than half empty anymore. . . How I finally had enough of begging children, and how I threw the tree branch at the fence where the starving beggars pleaded for "1 dolla". Back then, my little stave bore a lot of weight, but it didn’t hold up to the pain that I had begun to feel. I remember the shock and horror in the face of one "unseasoned" female soldier with us when I threw the stick that would have struck the child had the fence not been there, and how I didn’t care. . .much.

I did realize that the third humanitarian mission was one too many. I had had enough and there was no staff that could help me anymore. It was time to get out of the military and pursue another path. Five years out of that country I am still coming to terms with it, and trying to figure out where I belong. I am so much happier now, living in the heartland, on milk and honey as the saying goes, but I know the problems have not been solved, I only got away from them.

Perhaps if we still carried the full-length staffs, and used them in war rather than rifles and missiles, it would be a better world. Probably not though. It would take a vast amount of understanding and compassion to make THIS a better world. Until then, I will continue to walk the woods, seeking out intelligence in nature, support, and silent companionship, and maybe even a bit of understanding and peace. Maybe then, the turmoil and nightmares will be quelled by the sacrifice and strength of a young oak.