The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [103]
The second day in Hanko, we took a car to the site of the silver fox farms situated well out in the countryside with the timber and crisp air. I wore my coat, though once we got out of the vehicle, I didn’t need it in the balmy breeze. Here my education deepened, and I learned from Kalmar Martensen, our host, that my success would depend on how well I treated my animals. What he told me confirmed that I had the right instincts. Our ranch near Coulee City would be quiet and isolated, no trucks or car noise to stress animals. But I’d have to build covered cages and fence running areas to keep predators out, while also allowing the animals to run freely safe inside, maturing until the fur came into prime. We discussed breeding and birthing needs, space and nutrition. Winter housing requirements. It would be no easy operation.
The foxes disappeared in the underbrush and reappeared for feeding, their bushy tails and bright eyes reminding me of dogs. “Many tons of fish we give them,” Kalmar said in quite passable English.
“Fish?”
“We live near the sea, so is easy.”
I looked at Franklin. “I’m thinking chickens. And eggs,” I said.
“Could work,” Kalmar said. We took dinner at noon with Kalmar and his family. The conversation reminded me of the table discussion on the Mica farm, where Olaf and Ole and my mother too spoke of breeding and milking and selling our cows. It was a farmer’s life. Kalmar’s wife said, “Is your coat one of Tsoukas’s designs?”
I couldn’t answer, but Franklin did. “No, it’s a London designer. We haven’t been to Greece yet. We’ll go there after Paris. Miss Doré wants to see all aspects of the business.”
“You hope to farm fox?” his wife asked.
“To begin with. But what I really want is to breed weasels, for ermine. We have some of the finest in Washington State, though short-tailed.”
Kalmar leaned back in his chair. He shook his head. “Can’t be done,” he said. “Need the canine family to breed. It’s why foxes work. Wasted time to try other wild animals. I could sell you breeding stock from here,” he offered. “Don’t let the woman waste her time, Franklin.”
“I don’t control her,” he said. Then, “How much?”
Kalmar shrugged. “For you, one thousand dollars for the pair.”
“A fair price,” Franklin said to my surprise. “Will you consider it?” he asked, turning to me.
I knew that a single silver fox pelt could bring in well over one hundred dollars, more than ten times our little Presbyterian church’s budget for home and foreign missions. But acquiring the pair would be the least of my expense and worries. Getting the animals back to Washington would be costly, with no guarantee of survival. I wanted to raise game from my own land, not import them.
“I want to try it my way first.”
His wife laughed. “You could be Finnish,” she said.
Maybe the name Doré was.
“We’re this close to Norway,” Franklin said. “We could go to Christiania. Oslo. Your relatives came from there, isn’t that right?”
I hadn’t remembered telling him that. Maybe Olea had. “Why would I do that?”
“Because it’s where you began too,” he said. We strolled along the wharf at Hanko. “I think visiting Norway would give you a path on your family search,” Franklin continued.
I stopped and took a step away from him. Water lapped against the dock where we stood. What had I said or done that invited Franklin to speak of my family? It was more intimate than his kiss, which had neither been repeated nor discussed. “Have I said I’m searching for my family?” I asked.
He looked sheepish. “Memories can flow through blood.” He smiled and pulled my hand through his arm and we began walking again.
“My mother left Norway when she was quite young. I can’t imagine what I’d gain by walking where she walked as a child.”
“The land speaks to people, Clara. It does. Who knows what Norway might have to say to you?”
Franklin put his warm hand over mine as we walked, while memory threads to my family drifted around me like a spider web still being