What I love about my dearest Eskimo neighbors is that they truly love wild game. I too prefer the natural version to the farm raised. But that's not the point I'm attempting to reach. Rather, it's that they throw the bones into the river, where earth cleans them to her natural ability. And a few months later I can walk the wave ravaged rocks and find myself my own intricate designs of animal's lives passed. I collect the teeth, skulls, claws, even knee caps. Store them away in the pockets of my apron and make my way home. I brush off the dirt, wash off what's left. And then I use them. From salmon vertebra I make beads. From claws and teeth I make charms. I paint the bones with simple designs. I find peace in knowing no part of an animal is lost in value when I am near. I appreciate every part of their sacrifice. Never do I associate myself with the cruel goodbyes of a living being. But once the deed is done I am forever grateful for their life and death. Collecting the peices of them left behind gives me closure they are appreciated even after their soul has passed. For it is with every peice of them that I love and cherish their fellow living companions.
