parking lot in the Pearl
When I was a kid, I dug fossils from a small square of dirt at the bottom of my driveway, breaking tar chunks from the cracked, crumbling street and using them like shovels and drill bits, working until my palms blistered and my knees bruised blue from crawling. Every specimen was labeled, bagged, and placed on a special shelf in the garage.
This wall in NW Portland takes me back, makes me want to dig again. Sometimes I pretend the paintings are ancient symbols, the wall a ruin amongst hipster downtown galleries and lofts. What does the envelope mean? Reach out, open the flap, read the secret message sealed inside.
Comments (1)
When I was very young, I had a babysitter who we came to call Gramma Sarah. Gramma Sarah had a big ass yard in Sacramento, full of all manner of gardeny goodness. Rows of vegetables and bushes made for excellent staging areas for imaginative ninja turtle battles.
Anyways, one day I was outside digging in the garden when I discovered something amazing! I had found real live dinosaur eggs! It was, well, as I said, amazing!
I ran inside shouting "Gramma Sarah, Gramma Sarah! I found Dinosaur Eggs!"
I grabbed her hand and dragged her into the backyard, a knowing smirk on her face.
Upon showing her these dinosaur eggs, she smiled at me, patted my shoulder, and explained to me that I, in fact, had dug up potatoes. Yep. Just plain old potatoes.
Your post about fossils reminded me of this memory. Thank you!
--UJ
Posted by Ultimate Josh | December 11, 2003 3:32 AM
Posted on December 11, 2003 03:32