My grandparents house - the smell, mothballs. The wall decor, conservative.
My grandfather, Bill, goes on an elk hunt every year with his band of young hearted, accident-prone, droogen brothers. He's over 80 years old, along with his good friend Earl (no joke), and they still saddle up their horses, nock their arrows, and make cow-elk calls while huddled in the most camouflaged bush in the frozen wasteland of Eastern Oregon.
The stories he tells upon his return to the table full of Sagers are comical, incredible, and most certainly not true. Regardless, he's quite the storyteller so despite the obvious embellishment, I'm always drawn in.
My favorite of his stories I heard for the first time a few years ago, and it has everything to do with the severed elk head reflected in the window above my cousins in the image below. I live in a VERY liberal town. People here really like living animals. They're the 'everything is apart of the same consciousness' vegan type. They aren't that into animal head-body separation, or large trucks, or probably the elderly in general. This story has all of those things.
Bill and his droogs were arriving back in Ashland after a very successful hunting trip. They were in an old, gas-guzzling f-350 with an attached horse trailer and a very dead bull elk in the bed of the truck. This was one of the rare years they actually came home with a bull so they were feeling especially giddy and decided to show off their success to the unimpressed Ashland community. Earl and Bill put their minds together and decided to take the severed elk head, strap it to the front of the pickup and parade it through the streets of this liberal safe-haven. They ran a rope through the skin of the neck of the bull securing it to the front grill, then attached two more ropes to the antlers and held those ropes while hanging out of each backseat window. This is one of my favorite mental images - two 80+ year old grandfathers smiling ear-to-ear as they cruised slow through Ashland, hooping and hollering over their brilliant idea.
Aside from how funny I think this story is, I find it very refreshing to know that no matter how old you are nothing seems to change from when you were scheming an ambush on the girls in your third grade class at the start of next recess.