In the lumberwoods, “The Deacon's Seat” is a sort of hallowed space. While simply constructed of a split log, such was the seating area in a logging camp bunkhouse from where lumberjack's would spin stories and sing songs to regale their fellows. On reflecting upon this, I thought what a fitting analogy for some little spot whereby I might address travelers to my own neck of the woods. And so, herein traveler, one will find the ramblings, musings, addresses, vituperations, &c. of a not-so-serious sort.

At the turn of the twentieth century, hundreds of local rumors of natural absurdities sprang into existence. These imaginings were neither legendary in their proportions like Norse or Greek epics, nor, at any time, were they ever intended to inspire any sincere or moral convictions. Rather such stories existed mostly in the practical jokes and tall tales popular among people of a particular trade. Fearsome critters flourished at the turn of the twentieth century within logging camps near North America’s Great Lakes region.

The term "Monster Kid" is far bigger than the popular culture that inspired it. Largely associated with the "monster boom" of the fifties and sixties, it refers not to any one tangible article or piece of media (movie, comic book, toy, etc. ) but an intangible culture centering on a love of monsters that still echoes on to this very day.

The Lumberwoods, Unnatural History Museum, is a lost and found of forgotten lore, being both a repository of forbidden knowledge and holding cell for the things what trouble one’s sleep. Our museum of unnatural history ventures to explore the known of the unknown and, as occasion permits, the unknown of the unknown. Our museum’s focus is on the unnatural history of North America from the boreal forests of the Great White North all the way down to the verdant coasts of Mesoamerica.

Welcome, travelers of the hallow woods,—I am the call of the forest night, one among the lost, the figure along the shadowy moonlit path beneath the branches of a darkened hemlock tree. I, too, am that feeling, in the pit of your stomach, drawing you deeper and deeper into the wilderness where all else sounds for your retreat. I am all this and, yet, more things stranger still. But here, traveler, I am docent of these woods. Take my lead to the forbidden trails of the Lumberwoods.