About Beth Beverly
I am a State and Federally licensed taxidermist who graduated from the Pocono Institute of Taxidermy in 2010 with high marks. I have a deep respect for this craft and those who strive to preserve it.
It is my pleasure to work on any trophy mount, be it a shoulder, life-size, rug, or fish.
I accept custom orders for fantasy mounts, wearables, and bridal hair pieces.
Sculptural mounts and hats are available for rental provided they are in stock at time of inquiry.
Contact me describing your wish and I will be delighted to make it so.
Diamond Tooth Taxidermy Blog:
Yesterday I was a guest of the Holmesburg Fish and Game club for their annual outing day. There was a flea market, a raffle, shooting demos, games, and me, the taxidermist. It was a bleak rainy morning and the crowd wasn't much of a crowd, however. I felt daunted at first, as I get pretty shy and self-conscious when I'm not in my environment. I could hear grumblings from some of the vendors about moving their tables inside and to the correct rooms and the mood just felt...surly. As I was setting up my table an older guy brushed past me and said, "Looks like we got the apprentice here again"...and I, being a typical American girl socialized to always smile and be friendly and never question other people, just gave him and goofy grin and giggled. And then I spent the next thirty seconds cursing him in my head, wondering what he meant by that remark and kicking myself for being friendly. Was he saying that based on the quality of my work? Could he see through me? I've always dealt with the fear that really I'm just a phony and someday the curtain will come up and everyone will see me for what I truly am. About a year ago I had a great talk with a dear friend; he's older, far more accomplished and has racked up a significant amount of life experiences. I expressed this fear to him and he simply said, "Beth, we're ALL phonies. We just keep plugging along until it works. No one should ever be judged for being at the stage of growth which they're at. " I have held his words close to my heart and they do me well at times like this when I feel intimidated.
My husband Jim thought the guy said that just because I was young (I may be in my thirties but the median age of this group was about 60) and a girl. I think being a female in this industry cuts both ways. I like that simply being a member of the fairer sex seems to immediately bring the guard down of just about any thick-skinned, ornery old man and I'd be lying if I claimed to never have batted my eyelashes to get on some guy's good side. However, I feel like I have to prove myself, as cliché as that sounds. I wouldn't trade it for the world though. I love being a girl.
I didn't dress like a mountain woman on purpose, but it certainly helped me fit in with my surroundings.
Did I mention it was the 80th anniversary of the club? I spoke with one gentleman who was 82; he was the longest living member, having joined in 1945. Sweet guy.
Did someone say cake?
I put some of my cards on the bulletin board, under the watchful eye of Foxy up there. I'm enamoured by the idea of a club, the brotherhood and unity of it all. Guys post photos of their prize catches, they keep up on family info, and support one another when it's needed. So many of them are vets, and seeing the way our country as a whole treats its veterans (like crap) it's good to see a group of them laughing, happy and healthy in a place where they can feel safe.
As the day went on things got better. I chatted up a bunch of hunters, gave out many cards and could possibly have some leads. There were some great hunting stories, too, about 800 pound bears ("and that was AFTER it was field-dressed!"), bobcats, coyotes being mistaken for German Shepards, and so forth.
The day's menu: I think it's a riot that people still say "freedom fries".
Priceless, in fact.
The real action began when the rifle team arrived with some heavy artillery. To the left is a 1919 Browning Machine gun and on the right is a Gatling Gun.
The Gatling in action. There were tracer bullets in the magazine, every 35 rounds. They appeared as red flares flying out of the gun. I couldn't believe how fast that thing shot, just from a simple hand crank.
While that one was loud and very impressive, the Browning was like an earthquake. Of course I forgot my "ears" so I just plugged my fingers in my head. I still felt every part of my body vibrating though, including my eyebrows. It was insane.
The range just got more and more smokey as the shooting continued and the smell of burning stuck in my nose for most of the day.
It was a real treat to see, and just about every one of us was in awe. I left with a Holmesburg tee shirt and a positive outlook on the day.