 ‘Will you be mad if I tell you something?”
How exactly does one respond to such a question from a mother?
The question implied that the Something could be
disturbing, even anger-causing. If I responded, “Probably” - an honest
answer from a child of passionate ancestry - the Something would remain
unknown. If I said, “No,” I cannot be angry, which would be a healthy
attitude but a challenge. The question and the timing were perfect, a
perfect trap. Moms go way beyond reverse psychology into quantum
psychology.
Mom posed this question as I headed to the basement for the
umpteenth time - an accurate measurement of a thing that I’ve done for
10 years running - to find my favorite stuffed fox who went AWOL after
a basement flood when I was 10. I loved that fox. Won by my eldest
brother, Butch, at the fair, the hard-packed body sported a plastic
face with a sharp pointy nose and rounded cheeks.
Growing up in a wooded area means lots of animals as neighbors. So
stuffed foxes and bears held more interest than Barbies, none of whom
lived in my neighborhood.
The last I had seen of Foxy was in my make-believe veterinary
office among my other stuffed animals and a few plastic horses wanting
attention. Then came the spring flood - my make-believe insurance did
not cover it, by the way - and Foxy went missing. Other animals may
have migrated out at the same time, but it was Foxy that I needed. Now
I was headed off to college and looking, one more time, for that fox.
He had to be down there somewhere. After 10 years, I simply needed to
know.
“I won’t be mad.”
“The fox mildewed. I burned him 10 years ago.”
Funny, I really wasn’t mad, maybe a little numb. This was a
10-year-old mystery solved. No, I wasn’t really angry, but I wasn’t
happy. Guilt can be a useful tool, as my Swedish mother taught me.
“I wish you had told me sooner. I could have been dating all
of those times when I was searching the basement on weekends. Now, I’ll
probably never get married.”
I did get married (at age 41). And I have an extensive
collection of foxes - ceramic, stone, paper, even a corncob fox. None
as loved as the original. Everyone needs an animal with which to
identify.
In this issue, you make the acquaintance of a real family of foxes
thanks to a regional photographer who took time to make friends.
We also take a look at a few water quality issues facing our
lakes, and hence facing us. Among the things I’ve learned is that
backyard burn barrels can be a significant source of air-borne toxins,
especially burned plastic. (I knew that Mom should never have burned
that fox.)
In another story, a visit to a true lake culture introduces
the stars from an Ojibway perspective, where one finds Moose, Fisher,
Loon and Winter Maker.
 Even
today, Lake Superior and its woodlands sculpt the lives and thoughts of
those of us who live here. They influence what we see, what we desire
and appreciate, what we look for. As for me, I search the night sky for
a stuffed fox, transported by smoke and hidden, perhaps, among the
stars. It’s gotta be somewhere!
Konnie LeMay
Editor
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