The Rock

Let me tell you a story about my father. We were hiking in the streambeds near Tofte, by the lakeshore, you know, where Clyde had a house and swore a lot.
I didn’t get to spend much time with Dad, there was just too much work to do for him, so this time out hiking was especially precious. On the east bank of the stream, there was a stone that looked out of place, and was. It was as if two chunks of molten rock had merged together in part, creating a new meteoroid with hammer hands…if Thor would have been around, he would have created another mjolnir.
It stood out in the dappled light, dark iron black.

Earlier that weekend, we had gone to the nearby resort…supposedly so great for food and fancy dining. They had a huge polar bear (actually a grizzly cross dyed to look like one) in the front entrance. I liked the teeth. We waited for over half of an hour to get seated, and when we did, we were all handed nice handwritten menus.

Dad had a fit. Ten bucks for a hamburger, who are you kidding? We left quickly, and returned to the dockside restaurant that served perfectly seasoned Lake Cod, or what most of you would call Walleyed Pike (a type of zander, or perch). It was fantastic. The flakes of fish came off the skeleton in little bits, each one tasting of a bit of the animal’s life. You could see the green and blue agates rolling against the shoreline while you ate the animal that so recently came out of the water. It was interesting, to say the least.

Dad bought me a rock hammer that weekend, at a small gem and mineral shop by C’s house. I had expressed an interest in geology, and the blue handled Estwing fit well, even in my smaller hands. I tried chipping some agates, and ruined many.
Hitting the meteorite was a slightly different experience. Meteors are hard. Really, really hard.

Clyde couldn’t have given a tinker’s damn about the stone. He was mad that we were late for dinner. Dad told him of the hike, how we had to use the camera bag strap to hold the heavy (yes, it is still heavy) rock, and how the camera strap broke twice while we were getting back to the pale blue Opel.

Dad told Clyde about the fancy restaurant, and the prices, and how we had left to pursue another course.

“Damn fools, ” he said. I still don’t know if he meant them, or us.