Fossil
 On
special Sundays in the 1950's, after we had all been to Mass, my parents
and we six kids would pile into our red, white and green Dodge station
wagon and drive the twelve miles out to my grandfather's camp. The camp
building contained a large living area, off of which were numerous small
sleeping rooms filled with musty bunk beds. On rainy days we did our
playing inside, and to this day I associate the smell of mildew with
afternoons spent rereading ancient comic books, playing "bored" games,
and praying that the rain would stop. When the rain did stop, we kids
would explode into the outdoors to build dams on the brook behind the
cabin, take Jeep rides without seat belts on barely passable logging
roads, explore the dank and steaming forest which surrounded the place,
and lift the lid of the camp spring in search of camel crickets and
other outlandish dwellers in the dark. If the day was warm enough, we
would walk down the camp road for a quarter of a mile to the old
swimming hole on Toby Creek. This road was covered with river gravel, to
keep it from turning to mud, and as we walked we look neither to right,
nor to left, but always downward ---- searching for the small fossilized
shells and marine plants and the pieces of rose quartz that could be
found mixed in with the gravel of the road. When we got to the swimming
hole, we waded and splashed in its dark red waters, dyed that color by
dozens of abandoned gas wells upstream. At the end of the day, we would
make our way wearily homeward, our small bodies scratched and bitten and
covered with red goop and our pockets full of fossils and other
mementoes of a glorious day.
In 1959 I started attending Clarion-Limestone High School, having
completed the elementary grades at the Catholic school in Clarion. The
first day was a very nervous one for me. I got on the yellow school bus
and was driven eight miles out into the country to where C-L stood in
the midst of corn fields and cow pastures. A kid on the bus told me that
C-L stood not for Clarion-Limestone, but rather for Cattle and
Livestock, and by the end of that first day I had begun to think that
this might be true. I found my home room, which was presided over by Mr.
George Keener, and he introduced me to my classmates, most of whom were
from farms and small villages. They thought of me as a city kid, since I
was from Clarion, a town of 5000 people. Still, they were friendly, and
it was some compensation that, whereas I had been no better than an
average student at Immaculate Conception, here I was viewed as a brain.
As with all such beginnings, the first moments were the worst, and as
the day progressed, I steadily got more comfortable with my new school.
Mr. Keener was the Agriculture teacher, and just off our home room was
the agriculture shop, where he taught the maintenance and use of farm
machinery. At the end of the day, he showed me around his domain and
asked me how my first day had gone. As we walked along, he picked up a
fossil that he said was part of a complete fossil fern tree that he had
found lying in the field of a nearby farm. The fossil was about six
inches long, brown, and shaped like half of a cylinder. The round part
was covered with a symmetric pattern of scales, and indented into the
flat back of it you could see where the inner stem of the plant had
been. I really liked this fossil, and, with much apprehension that he
might refuse, I offered to trade him some of my marine fossils from camp
for it. Good man that he was, he agreed. Today, this fossil
lepidodendron sits on my book shelf, and every once in a while reminds
me of that first day at a new school.
I started college as a geology major, and though I didn't end up one, I
have always retained an interest in matters geological. My one memento
from those days in geology is a small book called Fossil Collecting in
Pennsylvania, which gives instructions on where to find fossils in 63 of
the state's 67 counties. Pam and I have occasionally used this little
book as a guide to adventure. After choosing a destination, we get
together a hammer and a cold chisel, some bags and some newspapers, and
go hunting for fossils. Over the years, we have found Ginkgo leaves in
Green County, trilobites down around Harrisburg, and brachiopods right
here in Clarion County. Every one of theses outings has been a day worth
remembering. You can go to any museum of natural history and find
fossils that are better than any you are likely to find searching on
your own, but these "tame" fossils make little impression on me. I much
prefer my own little collection that I can see every day and that was
collected by exploring the river beds, quarries, and strip mines of
Pennsylvania. Each fossil takes me back to the day of its discovery and,
for some reason that I don't quite understand, even further. Holding one
of these fossils in my hand, I seem to hear a very faint echo of the
life and prehistoric times that it represents. |
 
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