Rabbit’s Foot

photograph and styling by Tom and Jo Ellen Stammen
text by Jessica Stammen

Rabbit Foot

On Easter I went to my parent’s house for dinner. As soon as I walked in the door my mom exclaimed, “I found a rabbit’s foot!” Sure, sure mom; what’s the joke? Her excitement was real. She held up a plastic baggie with a white-furred foot far too big for a tchotchke shop key chain. Apparently on her walk that morning she found some forest animal’s left over breakfast crumbs on the side of the road, including a foot. She brought it home (I know, I know) and promptly started doing some web research. She and Dad found out it was not just a rabbit’s foot – every member of my family swears we’ve never seen a rabbit in this state thanks to coyotes – but a snowshoe hare foot. No joke. I was impressed.

A couple days later my parents, both new owners of iPhones and therefore in their honeymoon texting phase, messaged my brothers and I a series of photos with…well, with the foot. I know, I know. But it was hilarious. Clearly they had had one too many cups of coffee.

Anyway, there you have it: there are rabbits in Maine.