The Box: Part II

When I ponder “The Box,” John Denver’s song, “Follow Me,” comes to mind:  “Follow me where I go, what I do and who I know, make it part of you to be a part of me. Follow me up and down, all the way and all around…make it part of you to be a part of me.”  The Box has done that for over 65 years!

The baby groundhog that came in that plain, unfinished wooden box did not survive, but the box has been with me ever since—some 65-years.  The box has been a sort of companion you might say.  How do I tell the rest of the story of an old box in a few paragraphs?

When I joined the Boy Scouts at age 11,  I saw an advertisement in Boy’s Life magazine about the Northwestern School of Taxidermy in Omaha, Nebraska.  The correspondence course offered by the school was expensive (I believe it cost $12 or $13).  Churchill, a special family friend and sometime mailman, who had given me the box, also gave me a dollar to help meet the first payment for those taxidermy lessons.  Soon I was mounting birds and chipmunks.  Several neighbors encouraged my new found skill providing peasants, grouse and other birds and animals for mounting.  (The last time I exercised my taxidermy skills was in 1967 when I struck a deer with my brand new car on a snowy night in West Virginia—and mounted the deer’s head—just to see if I could).

What does taxidermy have to do with the box?  My Grandad saw the box and its potential for his budding taxidermist grandson.  He suggested painting the unfinished box black—just like a doctor’s bag.  He even suggested a way I could store my scalpels, scrapers, and other tools with an elastic material tacked to the inside of the lid.  Willie, who ran the garage next door, provided the glossy black paint (a lead-based automotive product).  A handle was found and a hasp installed and the box that once held a a baby groundhog became my taxidermy toolbox.

When my taxidermy days began to wane, the box became a storage place for mementoes and served all kinds of other purposes through the ensuing years.  Eight years ago, I decided to renew the box—stripping off the black paint (no easy task)—but then set it aside, only to pick up on the project the next year—and then the next—and I still haven’t finished it yet!  Why did I decide to start such project?  Was it an attempt to feel the memories the box held for me and perhaps to listen to the story the little box had to tell?  I mentioned the box to my older brother during a visit and to my surprise even he remembered the box!  So, once again I am working on renewing the box and listening ever more closely to the story it tells.

Pondering The Box is similar to my granddaughter
looking at herself in the mirror.