She wasn't the least bit shy. When Jane asked what she liked best in school, she said "Dinosaurs." Then she confided that when she grew up she planned to become "a paleontologist."

"A paleontologist!" I exclaimed, amazed that a young lady the age of this three-foot cutie who dangled her legs in the same hot tub as my wife and her husband enbraced such a complex word.

The encounter occurred at an athletic club where Jane and I work out. The little girl with the cherubic smile was there with her mother and father to take swimming lessons (her father was there, too, to observe his youngster's progress). The girl nodded smugly when I expressed amazement at her assertion that she wanted to become a paleontologist. She also said she read every dinosaur book she got her hands on and even tripped off a couple of other tongue twisters like "brontosaurs" and "Tyrannosaurus rex."

It turned out the young lady will start the first grade this fall. Her mother smiled benignly when I remarked on her daughter's precocity. Jane asked the girl's name?

"Maya."

I asked Maya if she knew that my wife finds dinosaur fossils? She looked at Jane with a new appreciation. "In fact," I told Maya, "I will bring a dinosaur fossil to your father for him to give to you. Okay?" She glanced at her mother, then nodded shyly. A few days later, I gave her father a couple of ammonites Jane and I picked up on some of our wilderness horseback travels.

A week went by, then Jane handed me a letter saying, "You have a note from an admirer."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm a little boggled by a six-year-old girl who so clearly knows what she wants to do with the rest of her life; I'm certainly a believer in goal-setting as the best way to goal-achievement. But paleontology? For a six-year-old? Certainly infatuation with dinosaurs is more widespread among today's youth than it was during my pre-war childhood. Our grandson was crazy about dinosaurs when he began school, but not so crazy as to make their study a career; especially since actually studying their prehistoric life through risidual bones meant doing the math and sciences to enable that future. And it's possible he lost most of his passion for pre-history while serving in Iraq and Afghanistan.

I liked it, though, when Maya wrote, "I'm a young paleontologist myself and am already starting a collection." I liked it when she said her "dad showed me pictures on the computer of other ammonite fossils." And I liked it even more when she wrote "and he even showed me your web page. Cool!" Then I dripped a tear when she added, "I hope your back feels better soon. See you in the pool!"

I like Maya Schroeder so much that I sent her a picture or two of Jane, in the field, actually discovering bones from the age of dinosaurs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I like Maya Schroeder and wish to encourage her in pursuing her dreams.

Actually I want to do that for everyone. That's what Trails To Outdoor Adventure radio programs, my Campfire Culture blog, and my www.rolandcheek.com website is all about: dreams . . . dreams leading to adventure, usually in the outdoors, all the time in a spirit of learning together.

Jane and I have been together nearly 56 years and still haven't had enough--either of one another, and of the life we lead. May Maya do as well in life and love.

She seems headed in the right direction.

 

* * *

 

What Maya meant when she wrote: "I hope your back feels better soon," is that I'll be going in for back surgery on September 9th. When our daughter Cheri wrote asking what the surgery entails, I flippantly replied:

A frontal lobotomy and rectal hysterectomy, coupled with massive transfusions of saintly virtues and licentious anti-matters as needed for survivalistic recovery and coherent immersion in an advanced life form. Ordinarily such operation would require multiple teams of skilled neurosurgeons and support staffs working alternate ten-hour shifts. But since, in this case, there's so little lobe and so much rectum, I'm told a Labrador dog could do it between hiccups.

Actually the operation will be a laminectomy, a spine operation to remove the portion of the vertebral bone called the lamina and open up the spinal canal. It will NOT, as we thought, require the even more intrusive fusions, but it will still be major in requiring a quite lengthy recovery period.

This will, in part, be good as it will allow me to watch television and munch popcorn most of the winter while Jane shovels snow and packs wood from daylight 'til dark.

 

Next week? Another walk on the wild side.

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