Monday Meanderings - 2.18.2019

Did I ever tell you about my bear-skin rug?

Seriously. An honest-to-goodness, fresh-off-the-bear rug. You know, like the photo lay-outs of the rug in front of a fireplace with someone lounging on it? Well, maybe that's not the most appropriate way to describe it, since I didn't have a fireplace then, and certainly no one lounged on it.

Plus, it was rather small. At best 4 feet long. Perhaps better suited as a bathmat than a lounging rug.

I came to possess this rug as a gift from my Great-Uncle Jess - my Grandmother Anderson's brother. I have blogged about Uncle Jess before. He's the relative who went off to Canada with his daddy to seek fame and fortune in the gold fields of Canada. He found neither, but liked the place. married a nice Norwegian girl and settled down to live a back-country life in some of the more remote places of British Columbia, Canada.

The best story about Uncle Jess and his wife, Mariene concerns the killing of the moose. Here's a link to that story.

In Jess's later years, he and Mariene would venture down into the lower 48 during the winter months, avoiding BC's brutal cold. They always drove, visiting interesting places and people during their travels. After one trip south, they invited Grandmother Anderson to join them on the return trip and visit Washington state (her childhood home) and British Columbia.

When Grandmother returned, she brought me the bear skin as a gift from Uncle Jess. He  had shot the bear at some point, and tanned the skin, and it was an amazing link to an amazing relative. I proudly placed it beside my bed, so that on chilly mornings I could step out of bed onto my own, warm bear skin rug.

The was just one problem. It stank. It was odoriferous. Pungent. Malodorous. Rank. As a friend used to say, "It would gag a maggot."

I don't know if the odor was a result of a faulty or incomplete tanning process, or was unique to small black bears from British Columbia, or just what the deal was, but it certainly made me wonder about all the western novels and movies about the noble Indians clad in their bear skins and buffalo hides. I'm pretty sure there was no way a hide-wearing Indian could sneak up on an unsuspecting settler, so I'm not sure the history books are totally accurate.

As I recall, the bear-skin was quickly re-gifted to Grandmother Anderson. Where it went from there, I don't know, but I'm pretty sure it did not end up in front of a fireplace. In a fireplace, more likely.