How did you get into taxidermy?

Almost every person I introduce myself to as a taxidermist wants to know “how I got into it.” I don’t know what story they want to hear. And I don’t know how to tell them it’s really a love story. How long do they want to listen for? Not that long.

But maybe it’s worth telling.

The barred owl. A spectacular beast with a large look and presence. Their song is one of my favorites to imitate. “Who cooks for you, who cooks for you allllllll!” I heard their call growing up on cold nights under the stars outside our home. Who cooks, who cooks, who cooks for you all? My uncle John does my favorite imitation, with such vigor. The human call of someone that spends more hours outside, in the woods, and among nature than anyone else I know. From child through adulthood, he has worked the fields of farmland, traversed the hills in hunt, hiked on ice for fish, and found joy in nature.

The call would come when we were together as a family, standing outside. Maybe we were returning from a night walk or hugging each other goodnight after an evening of too loud laughter and silliness. “Who cooks for you, who cooks for you alllllll!”

Leaving my hometown for college was an escape, but at a huge cost of being separated from family and home. The love and pursuit of studying animals and science created many opportunities. One of my favorites was being an intern at the Center for Wildlife in Maine. This wildlife rehab was run and funded by incredible people. Compassionate, patient, and yet realistic. My affinity for birds was sealed after caring for them that summer. I can easily think of a love story for a dozen birds from those three months. Though this is about just one.

As an intern, we could help assist in holding animals for checkups and procedures. I was to help with one brought in sick; full of mites and underweight. The feathers can disguise it all, you have to feel the breast bone to know how malnourished they are. There he was, the barred owl.

Raptors are regal. When I lifted him, he was like moving air. The little body inside the feathers so small, so delicate. A complete mismatch to their personas. Yet his talons were still terrifying even in the protective gloves. It was unbelievable to hold this animal and saddening because he was so unwell. Although the interaction was brief, it was another transformation for me. Another poem in our human existence and how fleeting everything is.

That summer we released many birds and mammals back to the wild. Many others had to be euthanized. Too injured to ever be able to hunt again or their bodies succumbed to infections. Most injuries were caused by humans, with cars being the biggest culprit. The refuge had many resident animals that were unable to be released, but were cared for and kept to help educate the public on interactions with wildlife. 

Seven years had passed from my internship in Maine. I had moved to the PNW and met Kellen, the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with. I was in pursuit of a path outside of college and an escape out of food service. Kellen and I were on a road trip down the coast for his grandmother’s funeral. After the funeral he was going to head onto San Francisco and I would drive back to Seattle with my dog. We camped a night in the Red Woods and had made an obligatory stop at the Humboldt State Visitors center. I have always loved state park visitor’s centers. What story have they decided to tell the public? Will they use taxidermy dioramas or will they have interactive exhibits? I was in luck, as this one had taxidermy but I only remember one piece from that day though.

The Barred Owl. It was a well-done and I remembered everything I ever learned and loved about this bird all over again.  A person had somehow turned a dead specimen back into an owl. To me, it was powerful. Observing this taxidermy bird across the country from where I grew up, traveling to a funeral with a man I loved, and being reminded of all the love I had been able to have and hold up until that moment.

I had to know how it was made. How is taxidermy created?! I needed to understand. Somehow Kellen understood, without me telling him this entire story, he knew me and saw me.

The return drive home was lonely. I missed my family, grief (even if not your own) brings so many emotions and experiences with it.  I could not wait for him to come back after he spent extra time catching up with friends. When he did come home, he brought me back a book of Walter Potter’s taxidermy creations and I started searching on how I could learn taxidermy.