Traces of Other Lives Part 3

Jay and I found something out in the woods—some stone age fossils or something.

Now the guy's acting all weird. That's not so unusual, I suppose. I mean, he is a Paleontologist. But I don't think it's any big whoop.

The girls, though, are strangely excited by the find and want to see it tomorrow. I t seems odd to me they’re so interested, but I agree to go.

We spend the night drinking and playing board games and everyone turns in early. Life’s like that in the wilderness—must be the air.

“It’s not really wilderness,” Jay laughs as we hike back to the site the next morning. “You’re probably only an hour’s drive to the city.”

“More like ninety minutes,” I pout, trying to defend my point, while Ellie’s smirking and rolling her eyes.

We find the site—no problem—and Jay’s busy taking notes while Jan takes photos.

Again, I wander off, still feeling a bit miffed at Jay’s ribbing and Ellie’s lack of support.

Hey, I grew up in the city—anything without power lines or city water seems like the wilderness to me.

I kick through some dried leaves, heading to sit down on a fallen log when I notice more tracks—a whole trail of footprints, including a set of small prints that look like a child’s.

“Jay—You might want to look at this,” I shout. In an instant the three of them are beside me, staring open- mouthed at what I’ve found.

“You hit the jackpot, Bro—not just a footprint or two, but a complete set—a family, judging by the tracks.”

Jay actually slumps down and sits cross-legged on the ground. Ellie comes over and puts her arm around my waist, and we all go silent, gazing in reverential awe as if we were all at church.

“There was a family here on our land,” Ellie whispers, “ A Stone Age family actually lived here.”

Jay is still sitting stunned and speechless, with Jan beside him gently rubbing his back.

I don’t know how long we spent out there in the dry wash that day—I guess we all were a little dazed.

Jay showed us how to use a trowel and carefully scrape away surface layers, but we didn’t find any other tracks.

And finally, when we were all tired and hungry we headed back.

That night by the fire, Jay spoke quietly.

“It’s up to you, Bro, what you’re going to do. I know you and Ellie wanted peace and quiet, but this is a momentous find.”

“Do we have to report it?” Ellie asked.

“You don’t have to do anything—it’s your land, but eventually, you should share this with the world.”

I nodded. “Who knows? Maybe, I’ll leave instructions with Bill Kelly my lawyer to disclose it after we’re gone. Something like that.”

Jay didn’t argue. It must have been hard, him being a Paleontologist and all that.

“You can come up weekends and study the site—take notes—do whatever you have to do to preserve and record it, but I don’t want a bunch of people disturbing our peace.”

He understood. In a way, I think he liked it like that. Jay’s a weird bird—not into fame or fortune—he could have the site all to himself.

But it’s funny how something like that can change you.

That week after Jay and Jan were gone and the house was silent again, Ellie and I hiked up to the site and spent hours trying to figure out what it was like back then in the Stone Age.

I found some ancient flint spearheads called Clovis points. I did a lot of reading—some think these spear points were made by indigenous Indian tribes who came from Asia but others believe they come from the Solutrean culture of southern France around 15, 000 years ago.

It would be strange to think of a European Stone Age family living on our land.

It’s changed the way we look at things too. We don’t spend as much time on the Internet anymore or watching TV—we prefer hiking outdoors and sitting round the fire.

We’re beginning to grow our own vegetables now, and whenever a deer comes by, we’re out the door staring at it, like we do sunsets, or rainstorms.

Lately, Ellie, the career woman who didn’t want to be a housewife, is spending a lot of time talking about the child’s footprints up there on the wash, and wondering what it would be like to have a child of our own.

Isn’t it funny how life is? A set of footprints fossilized in shale has left quite a mark on our lives.

© 2017, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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