If you have not had a chance to go back and read what the rest of the neighborhood had to say on Monday’s post, please do. There are some incredible words in there. The comments are still coming in, both privately and publicly. I’ve read all of them several times. Out loud. In quiet. In prayer. To Curt. They’re amazing. You are stunning, stunning people. I’m going to give it a couple of days to sink in and let a few other people in on the conversation before I jump back in.
It’s Thursday and we are on our way home from the Kaufman Children’s Center in Detroit. That’s an entire chapter of my life as well, and I cannot wait to debrief with all of you. You will make me sane again. It is too fresh, too raw, right now. I need to let it sit. We can talk about it next week as well.
Right now, I need something non-serious. I need something ridiculous. I need something that is typical of my life back on the farm. And that would be this story:
You will remember that Curt shot a buck this Thanksgiving. Yeah for Curt! It was such a trophy that we agreed it should be mounted even though we agreed LAST YEAR’S buck would be the last for a while. S’ok. So, Curt took the buck in to Jones’ this year, saving me a repeat of last year’s adventure. Thank you, Curt.
Jones’ called earlier this month to let me know that our ground venison was ready to be picked up, so Gus and I headed over there after we dropped Ry off at school. I walked in, gave them our name, and moved the car up to the door so I could slide the 50# of awesomeness in the car without waking up my little man in the back seat.
So, the nice lady at Jones’ brought out my box and even put it in the car for me… and as I was about to say, “Thanks Buh-Bye” she said, “Ok! I’ll be right back with the cape.”
In a blinding flash of understanding, I realized that the head was still inside… because they ‘cape’ it for you, process the meat, and then you take the cape to the taxidermist where he makes it all pretty and un-weird for your wall.
And sure enough, she came back out with a CLEAR plastic bag containing Buck in all his glory.
She carried like she does it every day, which she does, by the antlers. She was casual and confident. And, she put it right in the back on top of the packages of ground meat.
So, I headed home… now with only 30 minutes before needing to pick Rylie up. And, I knew I needed to get the mount out of the car. Because if it was still there when I picked her up, well… let’s just say we would be needing a different kind of therapy than what we’ve been doing this week.
Which meant I was going to have to transfer the beast. By myself.
It was negative degrees in the Mitten that week, which meant I could leave ‘it’ outside. I wouldn’t have to clear out my freezer or anything Praise The Lord Up In Heaven Above And All His Angels. But, I’d have to hide it from the barn cats and free-range chickens so that they didn’t…
so they wouldn’t…
so I wouldn’t have to…
you know what I’m saying.
I closed my eyes. And I grabbed it by the antlers covered in the plastic bag.
And, I put it in the Land Cruiser.
In the barn.
On the front seat.
Where it could enjoy a couple more hours of peace before Curt could come home and take it to its Maker.