No matter how bad the economy gets, it seems, the politicians and economists seem to be afraid to say the “R” word (recession). I suppose they do not wish to cause a panic or otherwise rouse us from our comfort zone. They would have us ignore staggering national debt, rampant business closings, massive corporate failures, 700,000 job losses in the past year, and the tangle of woes that have struck from Wall Street to Main Street.

It reminds me of the story about the hunter who drove deep into the forest to his tiny cabin, his favorite spot in all the world. The excited hunter quickly scrambled out of his jeep, unloaded the several bags of groceries he brought along, and hustled them inside.

In a few moments, he dashed back to retrieve his shotgun, pistol, .22-caliber rifle and fishing gear. As evening approached, he relished the thought of a week of hunting and fishing, alone with sun and sky, bubbling streams, fish and foul and, who knows, maybe even a giant grizzly.

Once inside the cabin, he threw a few logs in the oversized fireplace, lit them, and, in just a few minutes, billows of white smoke puffed from the chimney. He then began to prepare the beef, onion, potatoes, carrots, and other ingredients for his “cabin stew” recipe. In another minute or two, the aroma of his special stew filled the cabin. Yum!

At just about that time, a little bird flew onto the windowsill, his head bobbing up and down as he took jittery side-to-side steps. The hunter watched the bird for a few seconds then, to his surprise, the bird spoke. “You’d better not be here when Jazzbo comes!” The little bird then took to the sky.

Although the hunter was a bit puzzled, he continued with the preparations for his meal, and whistled while he prepared the cornbread and lemonade that made the stew something special. Every once in a while, he’d walk over to the stew pot, sample a spoonful, then sprinkle in whatever spices it needed to be just right.   

That’s what he was doing when a rabbit appeared at the window. The hunter offered the little creature a bit of celery, but the rabbit would have none of it. He just stared. Then, in his tiny rabbit voice said, “you’d better not be here when Jazzbo comes!”  With that, the bunny hopped into the tall grass, and out of sight.

Although he found the talking animals and the message disturbing, the brave hunter kept right on preparing his meal. Then, crash! A grizzly bear had smashed the whole window frame. Too startled to reach for his shotgun, the man heard the slobbering grizzly growl: “You’d better not be here when Jazzbo comes!” The bear then turned and disappeared into the night.

The hunter, understandably, was more than a little shook up. After a few moments, though, he took heart. After all, the strange appearance of the bird and other animals encouraged him that this just might turn out to be his greatest hunting adventure ever. Whistling nervously, he prepared his meal, poured a Mason jar full of ice-cold lemonade, and sat down to eat.

He had barely tasted the stew when thunderous, new noises began. Bam! Crash! Balamalama! Boom! After the terrible noises stopped, standing in front of what used to be the cabin window was a huge, two-legged, hairy, red-eyed beast the likes of which he had never seen. He carried with him the smell of rotting flesh. The hunter took cover. 

In a blur, this ugly, stinking beast started tearing through the cabin. First, the monster swirled through the cabin knocking pictures off the wall and overturning everything.  Then it reached into the fireplace, grabbed the whole pot of boiling stew, and drank it like water. Next, it scooped up the still-glowing fireplace coals, shoveled them into his mouth, and scarfed them down.

Through glowing eyes, the snarling beast then turned in the direction of the horrified hunter and bellowed: “YOU’D BETTER NOT BE HERE WHEN JAZZBO COMES!” The nearly speechless hunter stammered, “Aren’t you J-J-Jazzbo?” 

With that, the beast turned and ran, leaving only the outline of his body where he had crashed through one of the cabin walls. In short, in spite of what the politicians and economists tell us, folks, I think Jazzbo might be on his way. In the meantime ...

Have a nice day!

Primus Mootry is an Anderson resident and a high school teacher.