My aha moment was the seal clubbing in Newfoundland/Labrador that was being reported on in the '60's. I had a small stuffed toy seal (with real seal skin, for which I felt no sense of the irony) that I kept on my shelf and to which I vowed that I would go out onto that Arctic ice and join the protesters one day.
My aha moment was the seal clubbing in Newfoundland/Labrador that was being reported on in the '60's. I had a small stuffed toy seal (with real seal skin, for which I felt no sense of the irony) that I kept on my shelf and to which I vowed that I would go out onto that Arctic ice and join the protesters one day.
I love that. And now I have to share the stuff I wrote about visiting Newfoundland in the seal hunt era.
Reposted and may I offer a brief 2023 flash fiction tale that is complementary: Big Feet
It was name-calling that crafted this career of mine.
Cruel children. They were like their parents. Carbon copies. Anything different and it was to be spurned, shunned, scorned into dust.
Silly children.
They called me Big Feet. Not Foot. Feet. Got it wrong by one. I had two.
They were always big.
I’d never heard of Big Foot or Sasquatch before then.
Sheltered, I suppose.
Mother comforted me. My parents were both…large people.
With humongous feet.
My path was set.
The Himalayas seeking the Yeti.
A thousand other locales.
People paid good money to have me hunt their hallucinations.
I love this. And such an awesome nickname.