Benjamin Scribner's Blog, page 2

Nighthawks Diner, Part 2

Nighthawks Diner

Part 2

All of the usual customers were there, the boy noticed while recalling that his uncle called them the Nighthawks. Charles and Gertrude were at their normal place near the far end of the counter, while Frank sat around the corner from them. His uncle was putting things away under the counter as, this time of night, he was not only the cook, but took the orders, washed the dishes, and cleaned everything up as needed, all while the regulars talked. Charles lit a cigarette while Frank drank his coffee, and Gertrude rambled on about nothing in particular. This was their same routine as the night before, and the same routine they expected to repeat the next night.

Little did anyone know that, in a few short months, their world would be shattered by the events on an island they knew very little about, their veil of innocence shattering as the world slipped into war. Oh, they knew of the war, but it was “over there,” so it was of no concern to them. They went about their lives of lonely misery in a city with thousands of other lonely people just trying to find their way.

The boy didn’t know any of this, he just took in the sights and smells of the diner, one of his favorite places to be, with it’s grimy floors, grease-stained walls, and dim lights. To him, it was a magical place because his favorite uncle worked there.

When the call came, Charles joined the Marines, made the rank of Sargent, and was wounded so badly on Iwo Jima it took two years in the hospital before he learned to walk again with the aid of a cane. Gertrude pushed war bonds, collected scrap, and went to work in a factory building tanks. When Charles arrived stateside, she went to visit him while he was in rehab. She was there to encourage, bully when necessary, and be a shoulder to cry on when it all became overwhelming. Her presence by his side helped him to walk again, enabled him to find the spark within himself to push through the pain. Without her, he would have given up. They married soon after he was discharged, and moved into a small apartment near the diner they had often frequented before the war. Remaining childless, they spent the rest of their years in this same apartment. After Charles’s death, Gertrude would spend some of every night sitting at their spots in the diner remembering their life together, until she finally followed him a couple of years later.

Frank trained as a bomber pilot, was sent to Europe, and flew a number of missions over Germany. On his 24th mission, his bomber was badly hit by flack. He managed to get the plane turned around and headed for the English channel. Other pilots said they saw him go down just off the coast, but when boats went looking for survivors, not a trace of the plane or crew could be found.

The uncle joined the Navy as a cook and sailed the Pacific on a destroyer. He had one ship blown out from under him, and survived a kamikaze attack on another, because, as luck would have it, he wasn’t in the galley when the plane hit there. He came home with two purple hearts, as well as other medals, and never spoke about his time in the Navy, quietly going back to work at the diner, still on the night shift, waiting on other lonely souls. Some were like himself, broken souls from the war, and still others were just broken.

Charles and Gertrude wandered in one night taking the stools in their old spots. Charles nodded to the uncle, who nodded back in return, each acknowledging what they all had lived through without having to say a word. They would get together at times, when they had a day off, and find a quiet bar where they sat drinking beer, each lost in their own thoughts, yet each knowing what the other was thinking, yet not a word was spoken. They would often raise a glass to toast their fallen lonely friend who never returned.

The boy still came around at night, but it just wasn’t the same. He didn’t know what had happened to his uncle, just that he wasn’t the same favorite uncle that had gone off to sea. Somehow, his uncle was sadder, quieter, and more guarded then in the past, and this, in turn, created a sense of confusion and loss in the boy. It wasn’t until many years later, as an Infantry Captain in the jungles of a small country called Vietnam, that the boy finely felt he understood…

Those many years later, the uncle remembered as well: the old bike left by the delivery doors, the late nights watching from the kitchen as the uncle worked, the sodas perloined from the fridge, and the happy boy he loved. He remembered all of this whenever he went to Arlington to visit his nephew…

And so concludes part 2, and the tale itself is told. I hope you enjoy.

The weeks news. A story written around a famous painting. Part 1

It’s been a quiet week up here on the mountain, and I’m going to leave it there. I had intended to write a story from my childhood about a cow I had many years ago. Instead, I have been inspired by a work of art, and a model builder, to write something very different, so after a brief visit with the news up here, I will dive into it. Earlier this week I happened to give a quick glance out the window before taking one of the dogs out, and chanced to see a young bull moose rubbing his head on one of the cedar posts I installed at the end of the driveway. Not wanting him to knock it down, I stepped out on the porch to yell at him. There was a rope coiled up in a hook on that post we used as a gate when we weren’t here. Well, when I yelled, he managed to get his antlers tangled in the rope before heading up the bank. Now, somewhere on the mountain, is a young bull moose with rope wrapped around his antlers. In January, when they loose their antlers, some shed hunter will find them and wonder what the hell happened. I wish I was going to be close for that story when that person tells their friends about it. Now, on to the story and an introduction for its inspiration. There is a fairly well known work of art hanging in the Art Institute of Chicago titled “Nighthawks”. The artist was Edward Hopper and he painted it in 1942. It depicts a scene of four people in a diner, three patrons and a cook, and is meant to showcase the feeling of being alone in a city full of people. As for the model builder, he’s a Canadian gentleman on YouTube I know only as Boomer Diorama| River Railroad, the man is a craftsman in model building, and has taken on building the Nighthawks diner scene. Now, in that painting, you only see about a third of the diner, so Boomer has taken it upon himself to build a complete model of a 1940’s diner. So far, he’s done a really good job with it. Yesterday, he added a smaller scene to it, a child’s bike sits by the open double delivery door. He talked about making a story from that mini scene, and how many possibilities there were, as well as stories one could come up with. So, that is what I’m doing. Now, I know the painting was done in 1942, but for the purposes of this tale, I have moved the scene itself back to the late summer of 1941 (writers prerogative), and the reason will become apparent as the tale unfolds. This will be a story told in two or three parts over this weekend, since I don’t wish to overload the reader. So, without further ado… Nighthawks DinerPart 1 It was a hot summer night in late August, the kind of night where the humidity weighs you down such that you feel like you’re treading water, and your cloths stick to you like a second skin. He was on his way home; he’d been hanging out with friends and lost track of the time. Mother would be mad, but he decided to stop quick by the diner where his favorite uncle worked, and grab a soda pop to beat off some of this nasty heat, as well as one for his mother to hopefully placate her when he got home. He parked his bike next to the open delivery doors, his uncle always left them open when it was this hot, and went inside. He grabbed two pops from the new refrigerator in the rear of the kitchen, then took a peek into the dinning area. That concludes Part 1.

The weeks news. Winter has arrived, for now, and a story about my sister and a pony.

It’s been a quiet couple of weeks up here on the mountain, my little slice of heaven in the great northwest. Things have slowed down a lot. We had another showing last week, then got a bit of snow this week. It was a sizable system that started with lots of snow, followed by freezing rain as temps warmed up slightly, then overnight, high winds hit along with rain, melting off most of what had fallen during the day as well as knocking down a few trees and our chimney pipe. The pipe is temporarily repaired, but I will need to grab a few items next time we go up to the city to repair it correctly. Sadly, we can’t find the necessary parts in town, or I would have them already. The wind also destroyed the small shed on the lower lot that my son and his family had used to store their pellets in, strewing debris from one side of the lot to the other. It had withstood other wind storms just fine, but apparently, these winds hit at just the right angle to send it flying. Without a floor to give it some stability as it tumbled, it came irreparably apart. Aside from those couple of things, we made it through the storm unblemished.

The moose have been around recently. First, a young bull I believe is the first offspring of one of the twins and his “aunt” were down on the lower lot when we came back from town. Then, later this week, mamma and this year’s calf were around. It’s always a treat to see them here. We will definitely miss them when we are finally able to move.

I don’t often write about family, but this popped into my head the other day, and I thought I would tell you all the story. My family and I were at the Sandwich Fair, a one day fair held every fall in Sandwich, New Hampshire. I was around 13 at the time, and my sister was around 12. When we arrived, my sister found out there was a drawing for a pony later that day, and took her own money to where the tickets were being sold. I don’t think my mom or dad thought she had a chance of winning, and at the time, we lived on an acre of land in what was supposed to be a housing development in the small town of Brookfield. We had no barn for a pony, or any other livestock for that matter, but they didn’t say anything when she bought the ticket. We wandered around the fair grounds, taking in the livestock barns (my favorite places to wander) then heading for the concession stands for the junk food everyone loves at fairs. Sometime about mid-afternoon, there was an announcement that the drawing was about to be held, so we made our way to the booth.

When the number was called, my sister just stood there in shock. It took my mom grabbing her by the hand and shouting that she had the winning ticket to get my sister moving. My sister walked to the platform, was handed the lead that was attached to the pony’s bridle, and still in shock, headed off into the crowd. Mom and dad had to chase her down, bring her back down to earth, and then, since mom had to go to work, dad and I had to get the pony loaded into my dad’s work truck (it had a utility box, high sides and a rack for ladders, so a good safe place for a pony to be tied off and ride home), get my sister into the truck’s cab, instead of the back where she wanted to be, and go home.

Now, things had to move in a hurry. Lumber was brought home for dad to build a corral, followed by a three-sided lean-to, and finally, a barn big enough for two horses, a cow (I was not about to be left behind in this livestock “arms race”), tack room, grain bin, and a hay loft. A chicken coop with six chickens (mine) would come next, as did a couple of horses, another pony, a goat (another one of my requests). A horse trailer was bought, along with a vehicle big enough to pull it, then came many horse shows, jumping, dressage, etc, where my sister started winning awards. I was dragged along, mostly against my will, though there was an abundance of cute girls, in tight English riding attire, at all of the shows, so it wasn’t all bad. There were, however, times when I wanted to just hang out with my friends.

A number of years ago, I happened to be back in the old neighborhood, and thought I’d take a look at the old house where everything started. The corral is gone, as is the barn. I’m pretty sure the chicken coop, which my friends and I moved out beyond the barn, is also gone; the place just didn’t look the same without animals around. That is the story of life, I guess; things change over time.

Maybe next week I will tell the story of the cow I had. It might make for interesting reading, after all, it was an interesting time in my life, and everything was possible.

Well, that’s all the news for the week. Bye for now.

The weeks news. Making new plans, and a little freshening up around the cabin.

It’s been a hectic few weeks up here on the mountain, my little slice of heaven in the great northwest. I meant to get this out a couple days ago but reference the aforementioned hectic.

We listed the cabin a couple of weeks ago, and the first week was a flurry of showings, at least five in as many days. No one made an offer, though one couple did express an interest, it went no further. Things have settled down a bit after that first week, with a showing every few days or so. We’re hoping someone makes an offer before the snow flies as we will need to pack and get everything off the mountain while we are still able to get the pickup in.

We had been looking for a house in Maine, and even thought we had found the right place. But, after the inspection, it fell flat. Far too many things wrong with it that don’t show up in pictures. Including mold, and the garage, which had been converted into two bedrooms, sliding off it’s foundation. Turns out, whoever did the conversion didn’t know what they were doing, and failed to make the proper additions to the concrete slab floor of the garage. The house was a foreclosure, and the bank holding the deed will most likely end up loosing money on it because it will never pass an inspection. It was $450 well spent as far as the lovely wife and I are concerned.

The stress of trying to sell a house while, and buy another one 3,000 miles away, was getting to both of us. So, we decided that for now, we will try and get this place sold, then pay off what few bills we have, buy a motorhome (we have found a few that have low miles, and not that expensive), put the rest of the money from the sale into the bank, then head to Florida for the winter. That is, if this place sells soon. Then, we will head to Maine in the spring and find a good place to set up a base camp so we can go look at houses in person. Also, with interest rates going up, maybe by next spring they will start going back down, as will prices on homes. Couple that with the very good possibility of my disability rating from the VA being raised to 100%, and we will be able to afford more house for less money.

While we wait for someone to look at this place and make an offer, we have been doing a few minor things to improve its “curb appeal”. Just this weekend, we painted the bathroom and finished some trim work and other things that I have been wanting to do in that room. We also repainted the kitchen, since the paint was not looking all that great, and we needed to patch a few nail holes in the walls in that room where shelves had been removed. Nothing major, but it might be just enough for the next person who looks to want to buy.

It also takes a certain kind of person to live off the grid. With no running water (it has to be hauled in), no septic (compost toilet and outhouse), very little solar, and 110-volt electricity provided by a generator, this life isn’t for just anyone. So far, though many have tried, only myself and the lovely wife have managed to make it for any length of time. Fingers crossed that something happens this month.

Well, that’s all the news for the week. Bye for now.

The weeks news. Getting closer to Maine, moose, and a pencil drawing that perked my interest.

It’s been a quiet week up here on the mountain, my little slice of heaven in the great northwest. The temperatures have been cooling off a bit, and last night I lit the stove for the first time this season. I don’t think it will be needed for a few more days, but winter is coming.

We found a nice little house in a small town in Maine and got in touch with the Realtor who had listed it. She will be forwarding paperwork for us to sign, so the process is moving forward, and like a locomotive, it starts slowly, then builds steam, until it’s up to speed. The Realtor who will be listing this cabin should be back from her vacation this coming week, and we will sign some more papers with her so she can list it. She thinks this place will sell fast, and that’s what we are hoping for. Towards that end, we are starting to sort through what goes with us and what we are leaving behind or throwing out.

The twin sister to the moose that has given birth near the cabin has been in the yard this past week, and as usual, she didn’t seem to mind me being close, didn’t mind the sound of the generator running, or even the dogs. She munched on a few leaves, looked at me as I talked to her, then ambled off up the bank behind the cabin.

A few days ago, my sister emailed me a picture of a pencil drawing she found at her boyfriend’s house, and wanted to know if I could identify what military the person in the drawing had been in.

It was a beautiful drawing of a young German officer, and it looked as if it had been drawn only a few days ago. It was drawn in1915 in the town of Lille France, a town that had been occupied at the start of the first world war and remained in German hands for most of the conflict. There was some writing in one corner, and my sister wanted to know if I could figure out what it said.

Well, between the lovely wife and myself, we think we have managed to translate it. The lovely wife had taken German way back in college, and still remembered a lot of the verbs, nouns, etc, so she got most of it, though I managed to stumble on a couple of things that helped her figure it out. Roughly translated it says: “His Feldwebel-Lieutenant/ For good camaraderie/ dedicated to von A Reinecke/ 1914 Lille 1915.” Feldwebel-Lieutenant could be attained by an NCO who had risen up through the enlisted ranks. However, even though a Lieutenant himself, he would still be considered below the lowest Lieutenant of commissioned officer ranking.

My sister said the frame fell apart as she was moving it, and there at the bottom of the paper was the artist’s name, a French girl by the name of Yvonne Valembois, probably trying to make a living in an enemy occupied town. It seems likely that the German officer had just attained this rank and was celebrating by having it memorialized on paper for family back home. It must have been framed as soon as it was finished, since it didn’t have a crease, smudge, or blemish on it, and it would have had to have been shipped back to Germany shortly after it was done. My sister is going to get the frame repaired, and write everything on a piece of paper to leave with the drawing so future generations will have some idea of what it’s all about. Quite an astonishing find!

Well, that’s all the news for the week. Bye for now.

The weeks news. Dinner with friends, and more of my scattered thoughts

It’s been a quiet week up here on the mountain, so quiet, in fact, that there’s really nothing exciting to write about. We are now in a holding pattern, between the last hurrahs of summer and the death grip of winter.

The lovely wife and I had a dinner invitation this past week at a couple’s cabin near ours. They bought the land a few years ago, built a small cabin, complete with an outhouse with a real flush toilet, sink tub and shower, along with a fire tower where they like to sleep, looking out over the town below them. Mike and Dru only come up occasionally, staying for a few days before heading home. They’re, roughly, our age, and from the first time we met them, they have become good friends. We will miss them when me move, but have promised to stay in touch.

While talking with Dru, I mentioned that I didn’t know what I was going to do with my blog site once we no longer lived off grid, she told me that I would think of something. I might write about writing, maybe even throwing in a few blogs about model railroading. Who knows, the possibilities are endless. Towards that end, here’s my first attempt at something besides life off the grid.

I am a reader, and as such ,I have read many different genres, ranging from the classics, science fiction, fantasy, as well as writers such as Robert Fulghum, Richard Bach, Ernest Hemingway, and more. I have even read two books by George Carlin, and some of the musings of Garrison Kellor. Like many, I have enjoyed the different writings of each, though many authors of a hundred years ago or so can be very hard on the brain, the language they used far different then what we use today, and can put a strain on the most fervent reader. However, what will future generations think of our written words in a few hundred years time? What we wrote in the latter part of the last century, and the beginning of this, might just give future readers the same headache many of us suffer through now reading the old writings.

Many readers wish they could write, as I did. I just took that step because, damnit, I had something to say, and it needed to be put down on paper. So, I wrote, first, a book about my first year in my off grid cabin, then a few children’s books, and then a book containing many of my short stories. I have many other things written, in many different stages of completion, and with any luck, they will see print before I leave this world.

I have learned a lot about writing by reading many of the authors I have mentioned, and as a result, my writing style has improved greatly over the years, and it will likely continue to improve until they shovel dirt over me. Even then, I might be trying to finish one last book before the headstone is put in place. Because, let’s face it, writers are never satisfied with their work, even after it’s on the printed page, claiming that there was room for improvement. “I think, therefore I am.” Wise words, but I would add, “I write, therefore I am as well.”

That’s all the news for the week. Bye for now.

The weeks news. A chat with a Realtor

It’s been a quiet week up here on the mountain. My little slice of heaven in the great northwest.

The lovely wife has started hauling teams to games, though school won’t start until after Monday, then shortly afterwards, things really start to get busy. We’ve been prepping last minute things up here before the cold sets in. The UTV is in town at the shop, waiting in line for service. They assure me it will be returned before snow flies, and I am sure it will. Today, we got the pellet stove ready by vacuuming it out and making sure the pipe was clear.

Last Monday, the lovely wife and I were heading up to our only neighbor, Joe. We were hauling ramps up that needed to be welded. These ramps are for driving the UTV and snowmobiles onto our big trailer, and they were in need of repairs. Anyway, as we got to the road up to his cabin, there was a pickup blocking the road with a woman trying to plant a “for sale” sign in the rocky ground next to the road. It turns out her and her husband are Realtors, and were listing a property up at the top of the mountain. I jokingly said we were planning to put our cabin up for sale soon, and she said she would love to help us. We made an appointment with her for Wednesday, and now, she will be listing our cabin at the end of this month, if everything goes as planned. I won’t tell you what she said we should list it for, but when I told her we were open to leaving the UTV, along with the big trailer, snowmobiles, 4-wheeler, ATC, and the 21-cubic-foot fridge, she seemed to think this place would sell quickly. We weren’t really wanting to leave before the first of June 2023, but if someone wants it that badly, we’ll be moving. We have found a little place in Maine we really like. It’s near the coast and on a dead-end road with 2 acres of land, some of which we can fence off for the dogs to have a yard to run around in. I only hope it’s still available if we sell this place as fast as the Realtor thinks it will sell, then one of us will be flying back east to buy a home, while the other one starts packing for the move. Yes, we will have to move quickly before winter hits, or we won’t get off this mountain until mid May.

Neither of us have a problem selling the “toys”; when you use them as a means of transportation every single day, you really don’t mind selling them off, never wanting to see them again. Besides, if we really decided we wanted another UTV, or snowmobile, etc, I think we can buy them back east. Also, we have been looking at peddle kayaks that have a small electric motor and paddles. They look like fun, and a couple of them would get us out of the house during the summer and onto a lake. We think we just might buy a couple next summer, or perhaps even before we move, though, I really don’t want to haul them east as that would mean hanging onto the big trailer. We don’t want to haul that if we don’t have to.

Well, that’s all the news for the week. Bye for now.

The weeks news. Sports starting, Labor Day coming, and more thoughts.

It’s been a quiet week up here on the mountain, my little slice of heaven in the great northwest.

It’s the weekend before Labor Day, and shortly after, school starts once again. The lovely wife has already been busy hauling teams to games. The days are getting shorter, the nights are cooling down, and it feels like fall has begun, though summer doesn’t end for a while yet. Moose are on the move; one of the twins was in the driveway earlier this week, and while on her way to work, the lovely wife spotted the sister with her calf down in the clear cut area, a young bull was also nearby. The bumblebees have finished gathering their winter supply of food, making a few last minute stops at the wilting Fireweed before it’s gone. Chipmunks and squirrels can been seen, and often heard, as they go about their last minute food gathering. As for the human population up here, we are now prepared for the coming cold. Our five tons of pellets are stored and covered, waiting for me to light the stove for the first time. Propane tanks will be filled shortly, as the seven 20-gallon tanks must last the winter. To this end, I prefer to wait until just before the first snows hit to minimize our chances of running out. One tank seems to hold the gas range until spring, but the refrigerator goes through one tank in two months. We also have a few five-gallon tanks that need filled; these are the ones we use for the shower water heater and the small backup heater we keep in the bathroom for those really cold nights when we really don’t want to get out of the shower to a chilly room. The backup heater has also been helpful when the temperature dropped to below zero, taking the chill out of the bedroom before we climb into bed.

Since I stopped hauling in logs, doing the cutting, splitting,and stacking of our winter’s supply of firewood, I find I have a lot more free time to do other things around here. Yet, some days I find myself a bit lost as to what to do. I have been doing some writing and reading, as well as building model railroad buildings for a future train layout, but still find myself wondering what to do with the rest of my time. I do have a few last minute things that I have been taking care of, but those only take a half hour at best, leaving me stranded once again. Maybe, when we are settled into a new home, I can start walking to take up some of my time. Walking up here isn’t easy; it’s either up hill or down, then you have to do the opposite to return, something my feet and legs can’t handle. Walking on level ground would be much better, and with a destination in mind, say, going for coffee or a snack, it will be incentive to get moving again.

Well, that’s all the news for the week. Bye for now.

The weeks news. Something about a plan, but mostly my scattered thoughts.

It’s been a quiet week up here on the mountain, my little slice of heaven in the great northwest.

It’s been a while since I have written a blog, but life is like that sometimes. It’s been busy around here, but nothing exciting to bother writing about. The person who was interested in buying our land seems to be having second thoughts now. Yes, he really wants it, according to him, but he’s just not sure if he can afford it right now. So, we’re back to square one. We do have time, though I would like to have something in writing before winter sets in, and we really want to be moving as soon as possible next spring. It will happen, I’m sure.

A few weeks ago I said to the lovely wife, “Honey, by the looks of the counter in the bathroom, it looks like a couple of old people live here.” She gave me that look every man is familiar with, that I-love-you-but-you’re-an-idiot look, and told me to go look in the mirror. I did, and discovered my dad staring back at me. When did I get old? It seems like just last week I was in my twenties and roaring through life at a rapid pace. I guess I can’t complain too much, since I wasn’t supposed to live past the age of 3. Some kidney ailment I don’t remember the name of damn near ended me then. Doctors told my parents that they should go home and make funeral arrangements.

Religious people tell me that god has some plan for me, so it wasn’t my time to go. Well, I really do wish whichever deity that is would inform me on just what the hell that plan is. It just seems like I have been wandering through life on auto pilot. I did join the Navy, but I wasn’t an outstanding sailor; I didn’t want to be. I just wanted to get out, but, instead, ended up staying in for ten years. Years later, I served in a war, coming home with a few disabilities, and crippling PTSD. If that was part of god’s plan, god can stuff it. Yes, I do write, but I’m not a best selling author, and probably won’t be. I’m okay with that, but if a god has some plan, I would hope that the deity would have made it known long before now. After all, I ain’t gettin’ any younger here. Anyway, if there is a deity out there, if you’re bored, could you please let me know what the plan is? I would greatly appreciate it.

In the meantime, I’m trying to figure out just what to do with my blog site after we move. We will no longer be off grid, so there really isn’t much of a point. I will think of something, maybe I will blog about writing, or model railroading, or try my hand at any number of things that might pop into my already confusingly crowded skull. For now, I will continue blogging about the goings-on up here as interesting things happens.

Well, that’s all the news for the week. Bye for now.

The weeks news. A proud mamma, and digging up fossils

It’s been an interesting week up here on the mountain. My little slice of heaven in the great northwest.

The lovely wife has had a busy week driving the after school program here. She doesn’t normally do an entire week’s worth of activity runs, but this year ,she volunteered for the entire week. Monday turned out to be a bust, as it was raining, and the group was supposed to go to the nearby state park. Tuesday, while she was gone, our mamma moose brought her week-old calf right up to our porch, as if proud mamma wanted to show her new babe off to me. Unfortunately, the dogs got a whiff of moose, started barking, and scared her. She took her youngling down to the lower lot where the mineral licks are, then moved on from there. Her and her calf looked healthy, so another generation will grow up near the cabin. Our Dusky Flycatchers are back, and I think we have two pairs this year. One pair seems to have built their nest in the log shed, while the other pair has built theirs in the eves of the porch roof, once again. Their first attempt was blown out by the wind and rain, but they started another one soon after, and I think there might be eggs in it already. The cycle repeats itself once more in both beast and bird.

I think every young boy, as well as a few girls, wants to be paleontologists when they are in grade school, and I was no exception. We lived in Castine, Maine, at the time, and I attended a four-room schoolhouse, with two grades to a classroom. I drew dinosaurs on everything, as did a few of my classmates. My obsession even went so far that my parents bought me a four foot tall T-Rex skeleton made from Styrofoam, one Christmas; I believe the year was 1968, and I would have been seven at the time. I used that T-Rex in the next summer’s 4th of July parade, calling him the first patriot, (I’m pretty sure my mom had something to do with that) and even got my picture in the local paper. And since then, my love for old fossils has never really abated.

Every year, one of the summer programs for the kids goes to a local place not far from us called the Fossil Bowl, where they can dig up 15 million-year-old fossils of leaves, and the occasional fish, from the clay shale. I had been wanting to go since I found out about the place, but every year, something has prevented me from tagging along. Well, since this is our last year here, I managed to put everything else aside and follow. From what the guy giving the kids a lesson said, there was a lake in this spot 15 million-years-ago, created when a trench volcano erupted damming off a river. With all the rain we have had, the place was a muddy mess, and everyone was coated in mud by the time the teachers called a halt. The kids, being very young, were pretty much covered in the stuff, while the lovely wife and I had some up to around our knees. A few times, I wished I had worn my boots instead of my loafers, as the mud tried more than once to remove them from my feet. Two of the kids did find fish fossils, but myself and the rest found only leaves. The lovely wife and I wrapped ours up as best we could in newspaper where they need to dry for at least two months, then we will keep the best of them for display later on. I felt like a kid again, my dream of digging up old bones coming true, even though the “bones” were only those of leaves. I would like to try my luck once more before the summer is over, and after it drys out a lot more. Who knows, maybe I will hook a fish fossil.

That is all the news for the week, bye for now.