Every day, walking into the living room, ferrets stand high above me. I see birds, sparse and dark, flying above the distant, snow-dusted mountains, the colors of sunset shining in the horizon. The ferrets, among the snow and bare bushes, lie beneath a tree, watching the crow’s lifeless body, blood beneath its head. The diorama had won second place in taxidermy at the Novgorod fair, and my family took it with them across their domestic moves, an ordeal in itself. It was highly important, especially to my paternal grandmother who owned it since childhood. It hung above her bed as she slept, even as a child. Unfortunately, they had to leave it behind when they immigrated. After some decades in the U.S, my father tried to bring it over during a trip to Moscow. From the center, he drove to the outskirts to collect the painting, before returning to the center to certify it lacked cultural value, necessary for exportation, before eventually driving to the outskirts to an art-moving company, which required proof the animals died before 1914, as well as fumigation. Nevertheless, he persevered and brought it home.  To me, it represents the ordeals of moving and how persistence is necessary. More so, however, it represents all that my parents went through to get to where they are right now, and get me to where I am right now, and every time I look at it, I marvel at what they have done for me.

– W.K.

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant