Fossils! The fossils in the area have delighted me. Walking along with my hammer I can see 1000's of marine fossils dating back to 500 millions years ago in the Cambrian era. During this time, New York State was at the equator and covered by a shallow warm ocean. I chipped away a couple of nicer specimens to take back, however to be honest there was one boulder that was simply covered with fossilized sponges and brachiopods that I wanted to haul home with me. However, they probably wont let me take it on the train.
Train conductor: Hey boy, what you got there?
Me: (Charlie brown voice) I got a rock.
I wanted to go down for some more but last night a large thunderstorm blew threw the area. I was annoyed because my parent’s giant black dog is terrified of thunder and ended up whining, pacing the little trailer, and trying to jump into bed with me. The next morning I wanted to sleep late but my mom was up at the god-awful crack of dawn banging things around in the ‘kitchen’, which happens to be about two feet from where I sleep. I woke up to her loudly asking if she had womkn me up and when I said ‘no’ she offered me breakfast.
The next day the level of the river had risen, and I could no longer walk over to the exposed limestone wall where I had harvested my fossils. No trilobites for me.
During the day my mother and I took a ride over to the town of Old Forge, which was a pleasant contrast to the depressing little town of Booneville that our current campsite is next to. Old Forge is filled with neat little shops and restaurants and sights to see. I picked myself up some fir incense and some Pine scented soap.
Later that afternoon when we were back at the trailer some old geezer that lived a couple of trailers away (and knows everything) came over to inform me that after a big rain and using a worm as bait it was ‘impossible’ to catch a fish in that river. Using a pole I borrowed from my uncle and a fat nightcrawler, I went down to the river and within 30 minutes had caught myself a nice fat trout. I brought it back to the campsite Intending to clean it and eat it, but my mom saw the flopping fish in my hand and screeched ‘throw it back in the river!’. Annoyed, I did so. Later on my Uncle showed up and wanted to see my fish. When I told him I had thrown it back in the rover he looked at me like I was an idiot. Sigh.
The cabin seems to be coming along good. It was supposed to be nearly finished by now, however the construction crew has been taking their sweet time. Thus I have been staying here in the trailer. I could go out and camp on the land, but to be honest camping in the woods is one thing, camping in a construction site does not hold a lot of appeal for me.
Tomorrow I am going to do a little early fishing and then go for a car ride to visit my old roommate, who lives in a small town about three hours from my current location. Friday night, the night before I leave for my train ride, I decided to get a hotel in the town of Booneville so I could sleep in a proper bed and have a good shower before my trip. The few hotels in Booneville are amazingly old, dating back to the 1800’s and some of them looking like they have not been repaired since that time. Some yokel who lives in the campground (every hour or so we have some yokel to stop by and yak at us, that’s trailer park life) informed me that local legend claims that one of the hotels I was looking at was known to be haunted. I might stay in it, but to be honest I’m a bit of a puss about things like that. As much as I like ghosts I have a highly overactive imagination and I can just picture myself in some hotel room with the covers up to my nose and my eyes darting back and fourth at every creak and groan that the room might emit.
But, then again, the hotel has a bar in it so chances are I would be so lubed up that any ghosts I might see I would probably offer to buy a drink.
2026 Update
Dialing the machine to February 5, 2008, where Ed is smuggling Cambrian rocks and losing trout to his mother.
Ah, 2008. A time when a man could wander New York with a hammer, filch five-hundred-million-year-old sponges, and merely worry about what a train conductor might say. Today you wouldn't get two steps before somebody filmed you, uploaded you, and roasted you as 'Fossil Hammer Guy.' The thunderstorm would have been on your phone with radar 48 hours out, and you'd have a little app to tell you if that trout was safe to eat and another to post a trout selfie before Mom could screech. Meanwhile Mom would still be banging pans, obviously; that part has not changed. The haunted hotel, now that's a lost pleasure: every 'old' place has been gutted into a luxury boutique with vinyl plank flooring and a QR code for the ghost. You couldn't even get properly lubed up in the bar because the bartender would want to scan your ID and compliment your phone case. The only thing that hasn't changed is construction crews taking their sweet time on the cabin. That is eternal.
“2008 Ed, why would you confidently haul fossils back from an ancient seabed but then cave to your mother on one perfectly good trout—was the rock really worth more than supper?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2008 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, that's a fair question, and the answer's got layers, like a good sedimentary deposit. That rock was five hundred million years old, a piece of an ancient ocean floor, and it didn't flop around demanding I explain myself to my mother. A fossil just sits there, patient, covered in brachiopods, minding its own business. A trout, on the other hand, was alive and thrashing and made my mom screech like I'd brought home a small alligator, so what was I supposed to do? Argue with her over a fish? I've learned that peace in a cramped trailer is worth more than a trout supper, even a fat one. My uncle sure thought I was an idiot, and maybe he's right. But that rock? I still have it. It didn't get thrown back in the river, and it never once asked me for breakfast at dawn.
