Every decade or so, my husband performs a thorough purging, almost purifying, of our garage. We are not hoarders, but we are not OCD people either—somewhere in between the extremes. Most things we keep are because parting represents a removal of memories, some too dear to be recycled. This year, we reminisced over Meghan’s box of bones, stored in a broken cardboard box strewn with spider webs and dust, sweet reminders of 4H children and county fairs, of raised animals and silly adventures.
Meghan, during her second year (a veteran) of 4H, decided for her county fair project to display the bones she acquired through countless hikes and ravine roaming. A random deer skull here, a tibia there, a jawbone found in the bushes, a vertebrae recovered from the gully—all collectables that would stand up against the best of other 4H exhibits. Usual displays included perfectly boxed match cars, Ken and Barbie and Polly Pockets (not a family that I know) and their accessories, horse-cow-pig-goat-or-other-animal ribbons, and the ubiquitous baseball card collections, but our Meghan was a budding scientist, and her collection reflected her scientific inclinations. Each bone within this box had its tale, along with its date found, location, and identification.
Meghan, age 10, approached the stern directors of the collections exhibits at the Monterey County Fair, Exhibit Hall “A.” She carefully placed her meticulously itemized and organized bones on the table and smiled, and Meghan looked perfect in her uniform. The two gray-haired, experienced veterans of “supreme collections” smiled in return. 4H children in their crisp, white shirts adorned with green hats and scarves, are the embodiment of perfect children—wholesome, spunky, yet respectful, and most importantly, sparkling clean. The elderly women nodded as they took Meghan’s box and handed her the receipt for retrieval at the end of the fair. We would know the results of the judging by Friday.
The box included one three-foot vertebral column from a steer, complete with beef jerky between each vertebrae. Meghan dragged that still moist and meaty spine for over a mile to our house. I said, “I am not taking that home,” and she said, “Fine, I will,” and then she proceeded to heave it all the way. I was sure it would be dropped somewhere between our house and the backwoods we hiked, but my daughter proved me wrong, pulling that thing all the way home. Five random deer skulls also in the box showed the insatiable appetite of our local mountain lion. The mountain lion snaps off the deer snout with brute force, suffocating in a quick swoop. Finally, the box contained numerous other bones, such as jaws or humerus—mostly remnants of deer who once roamed our neighborhood.
Friday morning, after feeding their county pig, Meghan and her sisters ran to the Exhibit Hall. There, in the glass case between the sewing projects and scrapbooks, rested Meghan’s display of bones. Carefully placed just as Meghan would have done herself, the “Ladies of the Hall” found a way to display a child’s precious memories—moments of learning, moments with family, moments of fun. And, best of all, was the Best of Show ribbon, the purple ribbon that carried a check for $13.98. How can I possibly get rid of this?
Love is Complicated 