Picture a Saturday in February, a crisp walk for two on a Cape Cod salt marsh. Each step meant testing the ground in front of us, given the recent snowfall and thawing earth.
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Picture a Saturday in February, a crisp walk for two on a Cape Cod salt marsh. Each step meant testing the ground in front of us, given the recent snowfall and thawing earth.
As an undergraduate, I was fascinated by teeth. In organismal biology, teeth often tell the story: based on their shape, number, composition, and condition, we can infer how an animal amassed food, how it migrated, or how it diverged from similar creatures.
Indian Affairs officials from Washington D.C. to the Lower Colorado River believed that milk, dairy, and beef (in other words, cows) would save the Indians in more than one way.
It was with a certain amount of trepidation that I signed up for a taxidermy class. I am researching nineteenth-century British taxidermy production and wanted some hands-on experience.
To flesh out the labor between humans and animals, I sometimes find myself struggling to write between the “real” and “representational” interactions I experience on farms and see on paper in the archive.