I wrote a poem about my experience with the infamous Jackalopes. My friend, Linda A., remembered that poem, and on her recent travels she was nice enough to bring me back a little gift.
Isn't he cute?!
Thank you so much Linda!
I will treasure him!
Below is my poem.
Travelling from Southern California to Missouri and back
in a station wagon with four young, rambunctious children,
two boys and two girls, my parents were creative
in finding ways to occupy our time and avoid battles.
“Watch for jackalopes,” my father commanded as he drove.
We’d seen a stuffed jackalope in a tumbledown gas station;
a large gray-brown jack rabbit adorned with antelope
antlers, were bewildered by this unique animal.
We were to count how many we spied frolicking
out in that dry wilderness among the tumbleweeds
and scrub brush. Four vigilant children, eyes scrutinizing
the landscape for movement of these quick creatures.
So plentiful were these remarkable animals!
We spied hundreds as we travelled along,
so engaged with this assignment, excitedly pointing
them out to each other, sharing in our success.
But each ensuing summer the jackalopes diminished
in number, their sightings less frequent. I was the first
to discover that my interest and their appearances
simultaneously waned until I lost the vision altogether.
Gliding out of childhood, as we slowly drifted away
from the magic and wonder youth held,
the jackalopes became extinct, a remembrance
of those travels, those shared experiences when we laughed
and took pleasure in observing the cavorting
of fantasy creatures, an experience
which bonded four siblings travelling
from Southern California to Missouri and back.