North 2 the Future

There is a rotting elk head in my raised garden bed. As I write this, I realize that such a pronouncement might not raise any eyebrows here in our adopted State. Bruce carried the massive head, trailing tendons and furry flesh, out of the mountains of Afognak—a hard won trophy.

The head has assumed quite a presence in our lives. We take people out into the garden to see it, and they remark on it – its size and smell. Surprisingly dark antlers erupting from the bed’s weedy soil. Everyone is politely interested. They ask Bruce to uncover it, so they can see the skull, which is now brown and stained with earth. Bruce tells his stories and everyone pays their respects.

I worked in the garden this weekend, digging up giant roots and ripping out stubborn raspberries. I worry that each of these recent beautiful weekends will be the last of the fall. Turning over the soil I wonder how old it is, and who brought it to the garden. The head reeks. Its odor mixes with the smell of a crock pot roast from someplace nearby. I think about the head, and develop allegories for it, what it symbolizes in my life, our life.

A friend who visited with the head last weekend writes this morning, telling Bruce that he can buy brain-eating worms from a taxidermist.