Once or twice a year someone gets a bad mental disease and decides he is going to organize a bow trade. People then jump in like absolute maniacs and start digging thru their piles of unused wood with the intent of building the best bow they can muster for someone they, in all likelyhood, have never met, other than text on a computer screen.
Everyone that wants to be involved sends a message to the organizer with their preferred stats (for example I like something 50-55 lbs of draw weight, 26 inch draw length, and I shoot right handed without the use of an arrow shelf). The organizer then starts drawing names out of a hat and sending them on to all the participants. There is a deadline by which you are supposed to have your bow finished and shipped. You, of course, balance rushing to finish along with doing your best work, and get your bow shipped out to someone that has no idea that it is you that is working feverishly to make him/her their soon-to-be absolute most favoritest bow in the world.
And in turn, you rush madly to the mail several times daily until one day when that gloriously long and narrow package arrives at your home. Your knees get weak, drool runs off both sides of your chin (because you are level headed, you know), and you can't get the package open fast enough. When you do, you are ready to cry when you see it. There are angels singing, a shaft of the purest white light falls from the skies on you, and all you can see is this incredible bow in your hands.
And that's exactly how it happens for most people. Sadly, this time there were a few glaring exceptions. Now is when we as a community step up to the plate and new people volunteer to get bows finished at the last minute for those that didn't live up to their end of the bargain.
