I stepped over the threshold and the scent of a Northwoods gift shop greeted me like a long-lost friend. Part birch bark, part pine scent, it’s the olfactory welcome-wagon greeting of any trip I’ve ever taken to northern Michigan. Normally that waft of tree scent means that I’ll find some fascinating trinket that accompanies me home, but on this trip, a much more interesting keepsake beckoned. One that, surprisingly, had ties to my life story writing practice.
I was traveling with a girlfriend on one of our “roadside oddities” tours – a freewheeling, long weekend of touring the back roads of Michigan, looking for interesting roadside attractions courtesy of Roadside America. We’ve done a few of these tours now and what we’ve found is that the artifacts alongside the road (Easter Island Head in Michigan’s smallest town, anyone?) are often the entry point to a far more interesting story: the humans who created the roadside treasure. We’re learning to relax into the moment when we meet these fascinating creators because their passion is inspiring.
Such was the case when my friend and I happened upon a unique locally-owned establishment (billed as a “taxidermy shop and museum”) on one rainy September morning. We had actually arrived at this place to photograph the large mastodon sculpture on their front lawn. We had planned to snap a quick selfie with the prehistoric beast and move on, but our conscience scolded us into stepping into the gift shop to make ourselves known.
The Mastodon, Guntzvillers Taxidermy
We were greeted by the proprietor himself—Voss—”That’s ‘sly fox’ in Danish,” he promptly informed us—with a sly twinkle in his eye. And we were off to the get-to-know-you races. At some point, the family friend running the cashier register (she declined to give her name) chimed in about her family history that originated in France, a fact shared by my traveling companion. Before we knew it Voss was offering to give us a guided tour of his family’s museum next to the gift shop. This museum, which is filled with dioramas of native Michigan animals in gorgeously painted settings and intricately designed details, is a labor of love for Voss’ family and spans three generations of family members who earn a living as taxidermists.
It is here that I must stop and confess that taxidermied animals . . .are, well . . .not always my thing. But my friend is married to a hunter and she herself is an avid fisherwoman, so we sallied into the vast room filled with all manner of Michigan flora, fauna and artifacts. But I do love a meticulously constructed diorama. And history. Oh, how I love history! I was soon drawn into Voss’ storytelling. His folksy style of delivery belied a truly deep knowledge of the lands, animals, people and culture of northern Michigan. Since the day was rainy and it was early, Voss was generous with his time, giving us a private tour. Eventually, duty called from the gift shop and we three traipsed back into the retail side of the establishment.
At this point, I met Voss’ wife of 50 years, Pat. We chatted and when I mentioned I was a writer who helped people craft life stories for legacy purposes, her ears perked up. “I’ve been trying to get Voss to write all this stuff down for years!” she exclaimed. Pat is a very wise woman who understands the power of oral history . . . and she was concerned that the stories Voss tells to his customers may be lost to the wind if someone doesn’t capture them. They have two sons, both of whom help out with the family business as time permits, but they aren’t able to take on the museum full-time due to their other obligations. It’s a common refrain we life story coaches hear and it never loses its poignancy: who will tell the stories when we’re gone?
And it’s not just the Voss’ family stories that need to be told. As he said to us during our tour, there are so few people who understand Michigan’s native species and how things looked generations ago prior to growth and development of the area. Voss sees himself as a story carrier not only for his family but for the indigenous peoples and wildlife that once inhabited northern Michigan. His pride in the work—how lovingly he has crafted the dioramas—even making them interactive for school children—is evident.
This suburban dweller came away from that experience deeply affected. We came for the giant mastodon, but stayed for the rich history, family pride and deep roots of northern Michigan. On the drive back downstate, my friend and I pondered the bittersweet situation family-owned business owners face. By the time the third generation comes of age, multigenerational family businesses often find themselves at a crossroads. Who will carry on the day-to-day operations? And even more importantly: who ensures that future generations understand the wisdom, sacrifice and contribution of one’s forebearers?
As we pulled away from the taxidermy shop, I realized we hadn’t just wandered into a quirky roadside stop; we’d stepped into someone’s living archive. And it left me thinking: what if our stories fade away before we get a chance to record them? Very few of us have a full-blown museum showcasing our life’s work.
This was the keepsake I returned home with: our stories matter.
Maybe it’s time to tell a few of them before they fade away, their lessons lost to time.
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