![]() ![]() I thought all cars came with shavings, and I felt sorry for my friend because she didn't have anything to play with.Įventually, I got old enough to notice that my father was, in fact, making things. I can remember the first time I rode in a friend's car and being amazed by the clean floor mats. This meant that I had an endless supply of shaving toys to play with on car rides, though I'm sure my mother wasn't happy with me for getting them all over the seat as well. This meant the car floor also had a constant covering of shavings, even though I can remember my mother insisting that he go vacuum it out once in a while. The flat shavings lined up to become roads or fences for my imaginary animals. Some even curled around my fingers for rings. I would sit on the floor and make jewelry out of them - the long, curly ones made good earrings, and the shorter, curly ones could be hooked together for a bracelet. Some were short and flat, some were long and twisting. They came in all kinds of interesting shapes. I just knew that he spent a lot of time down in his den, sitting in an old, brown, leather rocking chair with wide wooden arms, making a huge pile of shavings on the floor in front of him. When I was a little kid, I had no idea my father would one day have his own museum. It is the first in a series of eight essays - a series the author says likely will expand into a book. 9, 2011, on the Birds of Vermont Museum's website. The following remembrance was first published Sept. ![]()
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