This Fox Tail Still Smells Like Animal Butt

I live in Indiana. It's a state rich in history ... mainly the history of basketball, corn, or John Mellancamp, but sometimes we Hoosiers come up with something really good. It occurs one weekend a year in either September or October and this history lesson is called The Feast of the Hunter's Moon.

Despite having been to this Feast a number of times over the years (it's a mandatory field trip for all 4th graders within a two hour drive time), I have little to no idea what it is actually about. I know that there is an old French fort called Fort Ouiatenon, pronounced Wee-aught-non for you non Hoosier-French speakers.

Behold. Fort Ouiatenon

The Feast recreates the mid-1700s when the French and Native American tribes from this area were straight up homies. They did some chillin' and some fur tradin' at the Fort, which was a fur trading post/defense post against the British (didn't work, the Brits came in and mucked up the relationship between the Eurpoeans and the Native Americans for the next several years).

I don't know if all the cannon firing, drum marching, and sausage-on-a-stick eating took place during the original Fall gatherings or not, but that's what happens at the Feast now.

The mid-1700s do not represent my favorite time in history. I don't know if it's the lack of good personal hygiene and supportive undergarments or all the time spent rope making, but this era in time doesn't make my skirt fly up. In short, I skip the Feast at least nine years of every decade.

My husband and my youngest daughter go to the Feast together every year. They totally dig it and I think that's awesome. Their father/daughter time gives me a chance to be with my oldest girl doing what we do best: shopping at the mall.

I was informed by my youngest that there is plenty of shopping at the Feast. She bought a little purse made of real fur (fingers crossed it's rabbit hair and not something else, like opossum). I don't know if my husband just wasn't paying attention to what my child was buying at the fur trading post or what, but she also came home with this beauty:

That's right. It's a fox tail key chain. Just like folks in the 1700s used to have.

And yes. The fox tail key chain is hanging from a telescoping metal pointer because I am not touching that thing. Tis way grody.

My youngest, the purchaser of this fox tail, had this to say about her purchase: This fox tail still smells like animal butt.

I'm sure it a-ha moments like this that make all the hours and hours of tireless effort contributed by Feast organizers every year it worth it.


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