While reading about our conscientious congressman Thomas outing a taxidermy hoax ripping off taxpayers, I will be forgiven for a certain amount of cynicism. Such loopholes do need to be exposed and closed, but the bigger fish that need to be fried seem to continue getting a pass by those in Congress. Years ago I read a story about one congressman complaining about government spending (for the sake of his constituency) exclaiming “Why, a few billion here and a few billion there and pretty soon we are talking about real money!”

But the story about Thomas and Taxidermy brought to mind something that occurred while I was a boy living on the mining claim. Life without electricity or indoor plumbing here on the mining claim in the Kern River Valley when I was a boy was difficult. Yet one thing we did not do without was Collier’s Magazine, The Saturday Evening Post, The Country Gentleman, and The National Geographic. And grandad being an NRA member we also received The National Rifleman (now The American Rifleman), a magazine I really devoured. These and a battery powered Zenith radio were contacts with the world outside the valley.

However, appreciating my intense interest in being a “mountain man” my grandparents also subscribed to Field & Stream for my benefit. As with the NRA publication I would devour every issue of this marvelous magazine, picking up all kinds of knowledge about fishing and hunting, the lore of woodsmen throughout America and even far off lands mentioned in the Geographic.

But the ads in the magazine were of great interest to me as well. Since I was responsible for supplying the wood for heating and cooking I yearned for things like a power chain saw and exploding wedges. Cutting down trees, sawing them up, and splitting the rounds with nothing but hand tools was by no means “child’s play,” though grandad insisted a two-man saw could easily be handled by one boy. So I handled it, learning things like filing the teeth, maintaining the set of the long heavy saw with ball peen hammer so the kerf in the cut was wide enough, and applying kerosene from a coke bottle with a rag in it (Molotov Cocktail) to the saw as with the proper set of the teeth to keep it from binding because of pine pitch.

Looking back such chores today required of children might very well be construed as “child abuse.” But when children know they are loved, such chores are never considered abusive; and moreover things like my supplying the wood for heating and cooking gave me a sense of self-worth and self-esteem knowing I was making a needed and valuable contribution doing my part for our family. Even so, it was hard work and I yearned for the tools that would make such work easier.

Apart from the tools that would have made the work easier, there were other ads that excited me. Along with ads like “How to raise bullfrogs for fun and profit” one offered a correspondence course in taxidermy.

One part of living a pioneer lifestyle required hunting and fishing for the family pot, something that unlike providing firewood was one of the most enjoyable of my responsibilities. But I had wanted to learn how to “stuff” critters like tree squirrels, birds, and fish; so I sent in the required 50 cents for the first lesson in taxidermy.

When the small booklet arrived I found the information needed to begin with mounting a squirrel. Immediately taking my gun and acquiring the needed critter I set to with a will. Sparing the more sensitive reader details of the procedure, the result of this first effort was quite satisfactory. I had mounted the squirrel posed sitting upright with a walnut in its paws. It was truly life-like, so much so my grandparents were quite suitably impressed with my efforts; and it was a treat for me to show it off at school. Many of the kids then wanted me to teach them how to do it, and of course I was a most willing instructor. That even the girls wanted in on this was a real plus.

But another effort in response to an ad did not fare as well. Some of the ads had to do with companies promising payment for animal pelts. Since we had rabbits it was my job to stretch the hides after butchering and properly cure them with salt. I had also accumulated a large amount of tree squirrel pelts, since the squirrels were especially good eating.

I asked grandad one day, “Why don't we send some of the rabbit and squirrel hides to one of those places that advertise in the magazines for pelts?” Grandad agreed it sounded like a plan.

At the time of this experiment in fur entrepreneurial activity, about sixty pounds of pelts sat at the ready, and selecting one of the advertisers, we boxed and shipped off the hides. The cost of shipping came to $1.64 (this was a long time ago). Anticipating sudden riches, I waited impatiently for the check to come in the mail. In about six weeks it did; in the amount of 68 cents! We had lost 96 cents on the deal, not to mention all the time and trouble of skinning, stretching, curing, boxing and shipping. It was at this point that a good vocational counselor should have recognized my genius and groomed me for work in the Pentagon or Congress.

But you know folks, notwithstanding the hardships the life I had as a boy on the mining claim here was one I wouldn’t trade for all the tea in China; and I wish all children could have learned the things I did as a boy in like fashion. Would that all children could be so “deprived” as I was here in the Kern River Valley those many years ago.