We took a little getaway last week, Thursday and Friday, to Rebecca's parents. Spent mornings on the boat on the lake (Rule #1 of waterskiing: when you wipe out, let go of the tow rope). They live about half an hour from the Serpent Mound and, having never been there, we decided to go on Thursday afternoon.
We arrived and walked through the little gift shop, then headed down the trail (using the term trail loosely here - it was three feet wide and paved) to a little observation tower. The tower was maybe 30 feet tall, made of steel and decked with 2x6 planks. The planks were far enough apart to allow you to see between them, and that was unsettling. I knew Rebecca was a little uneasy at heights, but she was on the verge of panic once she got to the top. Especially when Mr. E started climbing the railing to get a better look. I was bringing up the rear, camera in one hand and Jeep in the other, and realized that I needed to expedite my arrival at the top. Three of the four at the top didn't want to be, and the antics of the one who wasn't bothered by the altitude were putting them into fits. This is to say that I forgot about the fact that I was climbing up to see the Serpent Mound. So when I turned around the mound was an impressive sight.
In a little town (Locust Grove?) on the way in, we had noticed a sign for the above mentioned creepy sounding house and on the way out, having no fast plans, we decided to stop. Upon closer inspection of the sign we found out that The House of Phacops was a fossil and mineralshop, which was appealing to us. We piled out of the van and made our way into a dimly lit cinderblock shed full of fossils and mineral specimens, along with some vaugely unsettling art by a local artist, a skinned coyote, newspaper clippings concerning crop circles, plenty of cat hair and a world-class trilobite collection running along the back wall.
The collection was housed in a museum quality display, complete with explanations and everything. Turns out that the proprieter of the establishment, a Mr. Tom Johnson, was the collector of the specimens. This particular collection had been on display at the Smithsonian Natural History Museum for most of the 80s, and had come home to roost. Tom was very approachable and extremely knowledgable - and best of all he engaged and interacted with the kids. They had a million questions - ranging from 'is that fossil real?' to 'will the coyote skin bite us?' - and he answered them all. He got into fossil hunting as a kid and gave up a job at GM to do it full time - it's how he now makes his living.
So the real point to all of this is that next time you find yourself in Locust Grove, Ohio (it will likely be the first time) with a few minutes to kill, stop in. Even if you couldn't care less about rocks and fossils, or think that a flexicalemene meeki is a Jedi Knight, you'll be glad you did. Where else can you see the largest Isotellus Maximus trilobite fossil ever found?
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