Trophies aaaaAny lost citizen of the wild wandering our land didn’t live very long. Most were consumed. A few undressed to brighten the side of the machine shed. Nailed in place, their skulls witness and weather down to the color of salt. Jawbones like lopsided boomerangs gnaw the wood whenever the wind blows. aaaaHere lives our heritage haphazardly decorating the rough-sawn planks, our tribute to generations of game downed by generations of brothers. From hollowed-out horn, uncured pelts and the...
