memories of totem poles

On a night hike with my family, I hear the faint hoot of an owl in the distance, and I smile. Suddenly I am no longer in the shallow, light-polluted woods of central New Jersey.

In my mind I am in downtown Juneau, gazing up at the staggering height of a totem pole with my cousins, at the plaque describing the Native Alaskan tradition of honoring deceased relatives through capturing their spirit animals on a totem pole. Colorfully painted wooden animals stretch up towards the sky, one stacked on top of the other, as if building a ladder to Heaven. My inner poet smiles as I think of my grandmother.

It was her gift that brought us to Alaska, and her death that reminded us to live every moment of the trip to the fullest. My grandmother passed away just months shy of her and my grandfathers’ 50th wedding anniversary, transforming the trip-of-a-lifetime into the celebration of a life. Every beautiful sight was a reminder: the daisies, her favorite flower, spotting the fields of the Alaskan valleys, her favorite songs blasting from the cruise ship’s speakers. 

All this played through my head as my cousins and I pondered the question: what animal would Grandma be on the totem pole? I thought of all the animals we had seen so far on our trip, weighing the pros and cons of each before settling on the owl. My cousins agreed: our grandma had been a watcher, a listener, a giver of wisdom and a fountain of unexpected humor. The owl, with its feathers specialized for silent flight, its enduring adaptability, its keen senses of sight and hearing, seemed a perfect match. 

Several days later, on an expedition through the seemingly endless innards of the cruise ships with my cousins, I discovered what I hadn’t realized I was looking for: a hand-carved wooden owl, about six inches high, beautifully stained a dark, natural wood color. I did a quick calculation in my head. With a small contribution from each of the five grandchildren, the wooden owl would be Grandpa’s. 

And that was what we did. The last night of the cruise, in the fanciest dining room I have ever been in to this day, we presented our treasure to Grandpa. Looking back, I am glad that the best gift I ever gave happened during the trip that was the best gift I ever received. 

Years later, I come home from a hike with my family. It is late, and I make my way inside through the dark house. I stop by a marble-topped dresser in the foyer, and pick up the wooden owl. 

I think of my grandparents, and the trip to Alaska, and the experience that shaped the person I choose to be. Since then, I keep my eyes and ears open. I take the world in, and treat every day as a learning experience. I spread my wings, and take great delight in exploring the beautiful world. I listen to those who need a listening ear, and I hear what they have to say. I try to keep an open mind. 

I think of my grandmother’s ability to make everyone smile, and my grandfather’s irrepressible curiosity. I think of their house, my second home right up until the day it sold, and the odd feeling as we cleaned it for the last time, a few months after the Alaska trip, soon after my grandpa’s passing. I think of my aunt as she held the owl and told me I should have it, my parents nodding in silent agreement. This seemed a great honor, as well as a great responsibility. It was as though my family was telling me that they trusted me with their memories.

Lastly, I think of my family. I think of my grandparents sitting in the comfiest chairs in Heaven. And I see the world with fresh eyes.