Dinosaur Turnpike

August 24, 2011

I’ve spent more than a few hours of my life stomping through the mud–sometimes intentionally.

(If you grow up in Rural Georgia, mud is the kind of thing you learn how to co-exist with.  Want to go to into the woods in spring?  Better plan ahead which shoes you’re willing to ruin.)

And I never get tired of watching my footprints along the waterline of a beach. 

(I just think it’s cool to see the dry spots in the wet sand, and be all, “Hey!  I did that!”)

But I just really, really, really don’t understand how we get fossil records like this:


*My* footprints never get immediately covered with the kind of silt that makes a permanent impression.

It boggles my puir little cranium that something as ephemeral as a footprint becomes a permanent natural feature when things like a metal tractor are completely dissolved within fifty years. 

(Hey–everyone has that uncle, grandpa, or neighbor with the 79% bucket-o-rust under a shed in the back yard.)



  1. And, you have exactly defined why fossils are so rare – it takes very precise conditions for them to form; as I am certain that you know.

    God must have loved dinosaurs, he sure made a bunch of them.


  2. One of the basic tenets of my childhood was the repeated instruction that God loves everybody and everything.

    I’m glad. *Somebody* has to.

    As you will guess, I NEVER caught the dinosaur enthusiasm that seems to sweep second-graders everywhere.

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