I See Dead Things — The point | Terre says | ENTERTAINMENT
I See Dead Things — The point
January/06/08 01:42 PM Filed in: Terre says
A friend of mine commented that she found my blog
a little, uh, distasteful, even a bit morbid. I
would like to state for the record that I am not
obsessed with deceased parrots or other dead
things, just infinitely curious. When the
universe presents us with an opportunity, we
should feel at liberty to take advantage of it
(though this is not especially good advice to
offer kids - especially adolescents - without
some sort of caveat).
In any case, I chose to look at my beautiful red fox specimen, not as some scavenger’s dinner but as an opportunity to learn something new. I never took biology in school. I missed the opportunity to dissect the standard offerings of slugs, crickets and fetal pigs, opting for Astronomy and Geology instead.
It wasn’t like I was squeamish or any thing, just more interested in boys and clothes than the internal organs of dead animals. I actually grew up in a family of hunters and, for better or worse, was accustomed to stumbling across the carcass of whatever animal my brother, dad and uncles brought home.
I was never particularly interested in the whole affair, the killing, gutting, cleaning. Instead I was the kind of kid that would have funerals for the animals my big brother would kill.
The animals that cross my path now, all these years later, are dead through no act of mine (other people’s road kill) and much like human bodies donated to science, I suddenly saw them as an opportunity to understand nature and thus my own existence a little better.
So, with that beautiful fox resting in the trunk of my van, I set about the task of learning to do something I’d never done before: skin an animal. There are not many ready resources for lay taxidermists, but I did manage to find a book in the local library to provide me with the fundamentals. Without going into graphic detail suffice to say skinning my first animal was a tentative, squishy process. Honestly though, the first cut was by far the worst. I can imagine that a surgeon feels that pang of discomfort when they make an incision. At least I’d like to believe they haven’t numbed themselves completely to pain of others.
In any case, I felt like a surgeon when I was removing the fur from these animals, revealing the most magnificent workings imaginable. Muscles, sinew, ligaments, and bones: all so beautiful, so intricate. Those old naturalists knew that beauty when they collected those specimens from all around the world. Bending the fox leg, I imagined myself Darwin, peering at a bird in the dim cabin on his sailing ship. I could see delicate tendons, minute veins and the slackness of muscles when severed. It was a miracle of nature to me. I was in awe.
Occasionally one of my mother’s neighbors would stop by curious about what I was doing. I would hold up a pelt and announce without apology, “I was flaying a fox!” The neighbor would usually smile with feigned appreciation and then politely move on.
I felt totally empowered. No apologies, no need to explain why, other than I was curious.
I had given myself permission to experience something very human – curiosity – the thing that caused explorers to seek the source of the Nile, scientist to discover how to clone animals, engineers how to create nanotechnology.
I don’t expect my curiosity to lead me to discovering anything new about quarks, black holes, or new uses for inconvenienced electrons, but I am pleased that it has taught me more about myself, my aesthetic, my place in nature. I skinned dead animals, I learned new things about how bodies work, and I appreciated something beautiful. And to think, no one gave me permission and I didn’t offer any apologies.
My experience made me consider, briefly, a career as a taxidermist, undertaker or even a medical examiner. They were passing thoughts but who knows? The point is that when you reach a certain age you no longer need to wait for permission before you can follow your dreams, passion, curiosities. And when you do you should not have to make any excuses or apologies. So hike the Appalachian Trail, learn Farsi, take up belly dancing, or skydiving, cook, travel, taste wine, paint, take up hula-hooping. Whatever you need to do to feed your soul – DO IT!
Don’t wait for someone to give you permission. Carpe diem.
In any case, I chose to look at my beautiful red fox specimen, not as some scavenger’s dinner but as an opportunity to learn something new. I never took biology in school. I missed the opportunity to dissect the standard offerings of slugs, crickets and fetal pigs, opting for Astronomy and Geology instead.
It wasn’t like I was squeamish or any thing, just more interested in boys and clothes than the internal organs of dead animals. I actually grew up in a family of hunters and, for better or worse, was accustomed to stumbling across the carcass of whatever animal my brother, dad and uncles brought home.
I was never particularly interested in the whole affair, the killing, gutting, cleaning. Instead I was the kind of kid that would have funerals for the animals my big brother would kill.
The animals that cross my path now, all these years later, are dead through no act of mine (other people’s road kill) and much like human bodies donated to science, I suddenly saw them as an opportunity to understand nature and thus my own existence a little better.
So, with that beautiful fox resting in the trunk of my van, I set about the task of learning to do something I’d never done before: skin an animal. There are not many ready resources for lay taxidermists, but I did manage to find a book in the local library to provide me with the fundamentals. Without going into graphic detail suffice to say skinning my first animal was a tentative, squishy process. Honestly though, the first cut was by far the worst. I can imagine that a surgeon feels that pang of discomfort when they make an incision. At least I’d like to believe they haven’t numbed themselves completely to pain of others.
In any case, I felt like a surgeon when I was removing the fur from these animals, revealing the most magnificent workings imaginable. Muscles, sinew, ligaments, and bones: all so beautiful, so intricate. Those old naturalists knew that beauty when they collected those specimens from all around the world. Bending the fox leg, I imagined myself Darwin, peering at a bird in the dim cabin on his sailing ship. I could see delicate tendons, minute veins and the slackness of muscles when severed. It was a miracle of nature to me. I was in awe.
Occasionally one of my mother’s neighbors would stop by curious about what I was doing. I would hold up a pelt and announce without apology, “I was flaying a fox!” The neighbor would usually smile with feigned appreciation and then politely move on.
I felt totally empowered. No apologies, no need to explain why, other than I was curious.
I had given myself permission to experience something very human – curiosity – the thing that caused explorers to seek the source of the Nile, scientist to discover how to clone animals, engineers how to create nanotechnology.
I don’t expect my curiosity to lead me to discovering anything new about quarks, black holes, or new uses for inconvenienced electrons, but I am pleased that it has taught me more about myself, my aesthetic, my place in nature. I skinned dead animals, I learned new things about how bodies work, and I appreciated something beautiful. And to think, no one gave me permission and I didn’t offer any apologies.
My experience made me consider, briefly, a career as a taxidermist, undertaker or even a medical examiner. They were passing thoughts but who knows? The point is that when you reach a certain age you no longer need to wait for permission before you can follow your dreams, passion, curiosities. And when you do you should not have to make any excuses or apologies. So hike the Appalachian Trail, learn Farsi, take up belly dancing, or skydiving, cook, travel, taste wine, paint, take up hula-hooping. Whatever you need to do to feed your soul – DO IT!
Don’t wait for someone to give you permission. Carpe diem.