A Fossil’s Tale
Old but not washed up
Harold Witkov found a fossil and took it home. After learning of its prehistoric background, he came to appreciate the aged possession. As he pondered the fossil’s tale, he saw it as a metaphor for his baby boomer life.
Some 10 years ago I visited a longtime friend living in Traverse City, Michigan. One day we went to the beach and, at the water’s edge, he picked up a stone, studied it a moment, and handed it to me. Matter-of-factly, he asked me, “Would you like a fossil?” (Evidently there are many such stones where he lives)
I found the fossil fascinating, and I brought it home. I showed it off to a few select people, and eventually placed it unceremoniously on a downstairs shelf. For years it just sat there, pretty much forgotten.
A few weeks ago I had an inspired idea. Wondering what AI might have to say about my fossil, I took a photo of it and sent it to ChatGPT – asking for information. I was promptly informed that it was a fossil common to the state of Michigan, a Petoskey stone – fossilized coral colony heads of a sea life called hexagonaria percarinata that lived 350–400 million years ago during the Devonian Epoch.
A little bit of knowledge does go a long way, and what a world of difference a fossil’s name made to this fossil owner – even if it’s a phylogenetic name that I can’t pronounce. And what a difference it makes knowing the age of my fossil – even if I may be off 20 or 30 million years! What do I care, my fossil is from an epoch that predates the dinosaurs and that gives me goosebumps!
I am truly blessed. I can’t explain it but I have a fossil, a trace of life long gone that makes me feel more here now. I have a fossil to gaze upon and to hold in my hand, and talk about and share with all – including beautiful grandchildren. How lucky can one guy be!
As it turns out, my Petoskey stone from the Traverse City beach is not the only Petoskey stone in my home. In my wife’s possession is a beautiful polished Petoskey stone tucked away in her jewelry box that she received long ago from her mother, a onetime “rock hound.” To untrained eyes like ours, however, the two stones have nothing in common.
So I think it is fair to say that there are two types of Petoskey stone fossils. There is the Petoskey stone like the one I brought home from the Traverse City beach. And there is the Petoskey stone that has been unearthed and then painstakingly polished and smoothed by some rock hound, or by a professional lapidarie.
To contrast the two Petoskey stones I have at home, the rough jagged one and the one that was meticulously smoothed and polished, provides a nice closing metaphor opportunity for this Boomer. Though some may consider me a bit of a fossil these days, I’m anything but. I’m a self-polished individual with a long list of hard work accomplishments under my belt. I am, so to speak, a finished product – only I’m not done yet.
Harold Witkov lives in the Chicago area and is retired. He worked 35 years in textbook sales. He is a writer and his specialty is the personal narrative.
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