Honour for Land, Animal, Man and Community
This past weekend I visited my parents following the passing of my grandfather. Across the kitchen table were strewn bits and memories. Naturally, I started looking through them, and found some issues of Bowbender magazine, a souvenir of decades past. I smiled briefly, remembering how much a part of our lives that publication was, but quickly moved on to other things and other conversations.
Later that night my own son, 13 years old going on 30, was presented with a column in one of those publications written by Broadhead Bill, known only to him as "great grandpa". My son began reading it aloud, and before long was incapable of doing so without snickers, and eventually guffaws. Before long, the kitchen was a cacophonic chorus of crowing amusement. The challenge as a listener now became attempting to decipher what my son was reading as the syllables he attempted to perform morphed seemlessly into hysterics.
I pulled aside the writing that left my son in stitches to reinterpret that which he attempted to present to us. As I rediscovered my grandfather's expert use of archery-based colloquialisms, I began to regain an appreciation for his facility with both Saharan humour and the English language. Perhaps I, a sometimes unnecessarily loquacious individual as well, came by it honestly.
I think he was far more eloquent than I. Ever since his passing, I have found it difficult to put into words any sort of reconciliation for why I do not feel as upset as I should. After all, I knew him for 41 years. I spent weeks with him playing "Pass the Pigs" and swimming at his cabin on Sylvan Lake, went birding with him and his chocolate labrador, and played piano for him as he sang with the beautiful tenor he hosted. We eschewed wisdom upon one another regarding Education, Politics, and Fatherhood, topics that turned out to be so common it even filled our last conversation. Why did my mourning not come with sorrow? Picking up the next edition of Bowbender, and the next, and the next again, I discovered why.
I began to discover that Broadhead Bill's self-deprecating yet obviously jovial take on archery and life was not simply a one-time affair. It was a persistent approach that made its way into every aspect of every article he wrote. As I reflected further, it became obvious why my mourning did not include traditional sorrow, but rather gratitude; this was an approach with which he lived a happy, full, long and wonderful life.
Reading through the magazine further, I discovered he was in good company. Many wrote for Bowbender, largely a family adventure both in print and in person. Each author espoused the simple life of honour for land, animal and man. The Bowbender family was more than just the Windsors (although it was certainly that too), it was the whole archery community. As a youth at the time I never connected to that concept.
While Bowbender was in action, my contributions amounted largely to cleaning up the cigarette butts left on the desk by the advertising manager so that I could stuff and affix the requisite postage tax to the next edition's shipments. The most appreciation I gained for Bowbender was its capacity to reduce my tongue to something akin to 20-grit sandpaper.
I missed the contents. But I suppose that shouldn't be unexpected, I had not yet gained the requisite facility with the English language to understand my grandfather's musings. It's possible that remains true.
A victim of time, both the magazine and my appreciation for it. However, thanks to the hoarding of my mother, Lady Paramount to the magazine once named Sports Editor of the Year (1988) for her work on the publication, I now have access to every edition of this resource. Although it seems as though it provided very limited value to the family bank account at the time, I am now acutely aware of its intrinsic value now. I think that my grandfather, my parents, my uncle, and the wider Bowbender community of authors and subscribers were always aware of that value.
Not just value to the Windsor clan. Value to the archery community. In fact, it's representation and service to the concept of "community" on the whole is invaluable. It is part of my grandfather's legacy. However, that only remains true if it is shared with you.
Thank you for suffering my verbosity. It is my intent to curate an archive of the magazine I now have a renewed appreciation for. This archive will grow over time, with any luck at the rate of at least one article per week, until the entire publication is immortalized. I hope you find this archival website just as much of a tribute as the publication was to that sense of honour to land, animal, man and community.
May your quiver remain full, your arrows fly straight, and your targets stand broadside,
Joel Windsor
Later that night my own son, 13 years old going on 30, was presented with a column in one of those publications written by Broadhead Bill, known only to him as "great grandpa". My son began reading it aloud, and before long was incapable of doing so without snickers, and eventually guffaws. Before long, the kitchen was a cacophonic chorus of crowing amusement. The challenge as a listener now became attempting to decipher what my son was reading as the syllables he attempted to perform morphed seemlessly into hysterics.
I pulled aside the writing that left my son in stitches to reinterpret that which he attempted to present to us. As I rediscovered my grandfather's expert use of archery-based colloquialisms, I began to regain an appreciation for his facility with both Saharan humour and the English language. Perhaps I, a sometimes unnecessarily loquacious individual as well, came by it honestly.
I think he was far more eloquent than I. Ever since his passing, I have found it difficult to put into words any sort of reconciliation for why I do not feel as upset as I should. After all, I knew him for 41 years. I spent weeks with him playing "Pass the Pigs" and swimming at his cabin on Sylvan Lake, went birding with him and his chocolate labrador, and played piano for him as he sang with the beautiful tenor he hosted. We eschewed wisdom upon one another regarding Education, Politics, and Fatherhood, topics that turned out to be so common it even filled our last conversation. Why did my mourning not come with sorrow? Picking up the next edition of Bowbender, and the next, and the next again, I discovered why.
I began to discover that Broadhead Bill's self-deprecating yet obviously jovial take on archery and life was not simply a one-time affair. It was a persistent approach that made its way into every aspect of every article he wrote. As I reflected further, it became obvious why my mourning did not include traditional sorrow, but rather gratitude; this was an approach with which he lived a happy, full, long and wonderful life.
Reading through the magazine further, I discovered he was in good company. Many wrote for Bowbender, largely a family adventure both in print and in person. Each author espoused the simple life of honour for land, animal and man. The Bowbender family was more than just the Windsors (although it was certainly that too), it was the whole archery community. As a youth at the time I never connected to that concept.
While Bowbender was in action, my contributions amounted largely to cleaning up the cigarette butts left on the desk by the advertising manager so that I could stuff and affix the requisite postage tax to the next edition's shipments. The most appreciation I gained for Bowbender was its capacity to reduce my tongue to something akin to 20-grit sandpaper.
I missed the contents. But I suppose that shouldn't be unexpected, I had not yet gained the requisite facility with the English language to understand my grandfather's musings. It's possible that remains true.
A victim of time, both the magazine and my appreciation for it. However, thanks to the hoarding of my mother, Lady Paramount to the magazine once named Sports Editor of the Year (1988) for her work on the publication, I now have access to every edition of this resource. Although it seems as though it provided very limited value to the family bank account at the time, I am now acutely aware of its intrinsic value now. I think that my grandfather, my parents, my uncle, and the wider Bowbender community of authors and subscribers were always aware of that value.
Not just value to the Windsor clan. Value to the archery community. In fact, it's representation and service to the concept of "community" on the whole is invaluable. It is part of my grandfather's legacy. However, that only remains true if it is shared with you.
Thank you for suffering my verbosity. It is my intent to curate an archive of the magazine I now have a renewed appreciation for. This archive will grow over time, with any luck at the rate of at least one article per week, until the entire publication is immortalized. I hope you find this archival website just as much of a tribute as the publication was to that sense of honour to land, animal, man and community.
May your quiver remain full, your arrows fly straight, and your targets stand broadside,
Joel Windsor
Broadhead BillBroadhead Bill was a regular columnist in Bowbender Magazine. His stories were often verbose and comical. These articles were certainly a reader-favourite as he became known as a patriarch of the Bowbender family.
Broadhead Bill, known otherwise as Bill Windsor, passed away peacefully after a long life well-lived on January 6, 2022. He was predeceased by his wife Ruth (May 1, 2021) who was a regular inclusion in his articles. You can pay tribute to Bill below. |
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