Souvenir Hostage

There was this trip Isabelle and I took, a relocation trek from Western Mass to Baton Rouge. We took about three weeks along the coast, Route 1 and I-95, down to Georgia, then inland to Louisiana. Along the way we picked up shells and rocks ... This scored this one particularly large shell, grapefruit-sized, conch or who knows what mollusk, and placed it on the dashboard. Somewhere in the stinky pine forest and lumber mill zone of western Georgia, the thing started to budge, shake, then crawl across the dashboard. It's alive! Shit, a hermit crab! Already half-broiled and shaken, dehydrated, dislocated, the sad thing. We didn't think it would survive, but not knowing what else to do, so far from salt water, we left in a cool, swampy ditch somewhere along the GA-FL line. We hope it lived out its retirement days there, maybe near Bainbridge, or the Chatahoochie River. We are forever sorry.

- Ethan Gilsdorf

Sticky Souvenir

There is a companion that travels with me when silvery wings carry me gleefully westward. Slight is his build, yet he's strong and holds many secrets of far away places we have been together. Upon his crest is a painted feather of a mighty raptor to remind me of days in Yellowstone. Night walks of hissing geysers and thermals, buffalo and moose. Entwined there-in is a medicine pouch, recalling the dead (much to my relief!) rattle snake that once startled us in the Garden of the Gods. Inside this pocket of leather are rocks, each personally plucked from different mountains. Pikes Peak is red granite, Rainier is represented by a pebble, the Grand Tetons gave me smooth black stones and dried sage to keep this spirits vessel pure; and of course a peanut. (You never know when you will come across a hungry chipmunk) The wind tosses the tuft of moose beard found in the woods of the Arctic Circle (when off road to take care of the call of nature) and a bear bell to keep me safe upon my trekkings. (Sure, the one time I take it off to go hiking I actually SEE three bears, and they didn't have any porridge cooling on the table for me.) Beads of red and purple to keep the spirits of health and endurance close at hand according to Native lore. I have adorned him with wooden buttons collected with a special friend, the gifted flight feather of a majestic sand hill crane and a cotton boll plucked from last year's crop left gnarled in the spring fields.

This is my walking stick. An amusement to all who see it, young or old. I am often stopped and asked if I am a medicine woman in the airports which always produces a chuckle and a few sideways glances. On one of our most recent trips, the pilot mentioned to me his use of my magical stick for plane repairs in Dallas on our way out west. (Must have worked as we arrived in Denver late, but in one piece)

He is my comfort in the rocky slopes and the rushing waters, for he goes before me and tests the passage I choose, telling me if safe to follow. He spares me the tumble more than I care to admit and he serves me most loyally. He chronicles our adventures with souvenirs that hold no cosmic values that e-Bay would be interested in, but each time I look at him, I am taken back to the places I love most.

Gail Boysen Preset