why I am a pack rat
May 7, 2014
When I was in around fifth and sixth grade, one of the leaders of my Girl Scout troop was an ornithology professor at the University of North Dakota. She found out I liked birds and birdwatching and, well, took me under her wing. On one of our hikes, she found me an owl pellet and we dissected it together, finding pretty much the entire skeleton of a tiny little vole. I kept the skull and a vertebra, tucked them away in a box with other bits of bone and fossil and rattlesnake rattles and so on that I’d collected.
During the recent purge/clearing out, I found the box with the little vole skull in it.
The other thing I’ve been doing is sorting out my bead stash. (Boy, did it need it. I did not realize I had three bags of the same kind of bead in three different places.) Awhile ago I got these little bottle pendants thinking I’d do something with them, fairy charms or whatever. Turns out, the bottom jaw of the vole skull exactly fit inside one of those bottles, and I made this:
This is why it’s so, so hard to stop being a pack rat. Because I can sit there and ask myself, “Do you really need this? Are you really going to use this in 5/10/30 years?” And the answer may very well be, “Yes!!!”
(That’s a piece of garnet and a bit of cotton batting there with the jaw bone.)