Memories to share

The adventures live on.

Snapshots are a common way of capturing a memory. Sometimes it’s a special shirt to mark an experience. Formal collections like place-based spoons or mugs have had their day.

I’ve often felt those tokens that you created carried the most meaning and memory. They could have been friendship bracelets, a mix-tape or some make-and-take. In my case I did a make-and-give, to share my outdoor adventures through two fur hats.

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The only time I really sewed anything was a pillow I made in the seventh grade home economics exploratory cycle at Tomah Junior High School. Ms. Rasmussen was my teacher. I remembered her because she wore nifty cowboy style shirts that were made from a special shinny material I later learned was polyester.

How hard could it be? My raccoon and beaver pelts were begging to be freed from the purgatory of storage so I sought to reanimate them in the forms of a Daniel Boone coonskin cap and a pillbox hat in beaver.

My wife had some technical advice but let me know I was on my own. Mom was interested in following along with my progress, but she was over two hours away. Moral support was all I got.

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I ordered a pattern from a cottage furrier from Michigan. She promised her patterns and instructional videos were so step-by-step that even a neophyte like me could succeed. Since I teach teenagers for a living, that promise seemed almost too good to be true. Yet, nothing ventured — nothing gained. I exchanged money for access to internet-based materials and the next thing I knew I was boarding pelts in preparation for cutting patterns.

Handicraft is unfortunately the exception in our lives. Our economy and culture demand cheap and plenty. The tradeoff has been mass produced, mostly synthetic, and utterly replaceable “stuff.” I counted my crafts as a small push back against the immovable object.

I had enough fur to be careless but that would have been wasteful and disrespectful to the animals. I wanted to further the remembrance of their lives, not denigrate.

As the parts came together with needle and thread into a larger whole, I really did sense a re-investiture of life into the material. I remembered the smell of the crisp November air when I caught the raccoon. The river in late winter had a distinct smell; I returned to there remembering vividly when I pulled the beaver from the deep water.

The experiences lived again for me with every stitch. The trickiest part of the process was attaching the face to the coonskin cap. Although not necessary, it added so much vitality I couldn't imagine the hat without it after the fact.

When the children of my college roommate opened their package, the stories got two more hosts. Their youth guaranteed the memories’ life beyond my own.

I’ve got more plans, and Christmas is about at hand. Someone is in for a big surprise and custody of an authentic tale.

Looking up, looking ahead, and keeping my pencil sharp.

John Lawrence Hanson, Ed.D. teaches at Linn-Mar High School. He sits on the Marion Tree Board, and is a member of the Outdoor Writers Association of America