A Trunk in the Attic

by Taffy Cannon

I wasn’t looking for a coonskin cap when I walked into the gift shop in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon last summer. But straight ahead stood a furry six-foot tree of them in various sizes and I knew immediately there was no way I’d leave that shop without one.

Why? I can’t exactly tell you, though I’ve always loved playing dressup. I never had a coonskin cap as a kid, though my husband did, back when they were all the rage and everybody was singing about Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier. I dressed in Annie Oakley buckskins back then, with fringed vest and skirt, a spiffy cowgirl hat, and shiny six-shooters on each hip.

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by Taffy Cannon

I wasn’t looking for a coonskin cap when I walked into the gift shop in the Cascade Mountains of  Oregon last summer.  But strai

ght ahead stood a furry six-foot tree of them in various sizes and I knew immediately there was no way I’d leave that shop without one.

Why?  I can’t exactly tell you, though I’ve always loved playing dressup.  I never had a coonskin cap as a kid, though my husband did, back when they were all the rage and everybody was singing about Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier.  I dressed in Annie Oakley buckskins back then, with fringed vest and skirt, a spiffy cowgirl hat, and shiny six-shooters on each hip. Continue reading “A Trunk in the Attic”