Oh, Deer!

There is a little, nondescript block building in Gladstone, Michigan.  It has an unusual sign on its side.  The entrance is around the back, through a service door.

Here is a closer look at the sign.  Last year, a little after deer season, I admired a pair of gloves my son-in-law had.  They were made of deer skin.  You get them by trading the raw hide off a deer you just shot, or by paying $12 cash at this place.

Intrigued, I visited this place.  An older woman with coiffed hair and makeup, wearing insulated everything, pushed a coal shovel around the floor, re-distributing salt.  There were piles and piles of raw deer hides.  There were a few deer heads with antlers laying around, probably waiting for delivery to the taxidermist.  There was an unlovely odor.  Michele would not have stayed.

I chatted with the woman and learned that the hide business had dropped off a lot in recent years.  Time was when they took in so many thousand, but now not so many.

After a little bit I left with two pairs of gloves, an interesting story, and, I hoped, not too much of that cloying scent.