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- Crucible: Crucibulum Evolutum
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- Construction
- Evolution and Decay
- Interaction
- Organization
- A Chameleon Meadow-In Praise of Shadows
- Clemson Clay Nest
- Crucible
- Crucible: Crucibulum Evolutum
- Earthen Bridge
- Earthen Bridge Reconstructed
- Impressions of Lost Life
- Invisible Operations
- Natural Dialogue
- Ochun
- Sittin’ Pretty
- Spittin’ Image
- Stream Path
- The Devotion of the Sunflower
- The Space in Between
- Time Capsule
- Digital Archive
Spencer’s Pterodactyl
Invisible Operations: “Because they were engineers and science majors, they were fascinated by rammed earth; here was something scientific that was used in forming art and it was their formula that Karen McCoy used in the creation of her rammed earth.” -Professor Weaver
In October of 2006, my wife and I received word that our daughter and her five-year-old son were coming to Clemson from Charlotte to spend a weekend with us. A day or so later, I happened to be riding my bike through the S.C. Botanical Garden where I chanced upon the Clemson Clay Nest. Familiar with our five-year-old grandson’s latest obsession, I thought I’d pull his short legs a bit. I’d been saving wild turkey feathers for my sister to weave into dream catchers, so I had an ample supply for what I had in mind.
Since Spencer and his mother were arriving on a Friday, I rose early that morning and drove to the gardens with a half dozen of my largest feathers. After placing them and some egg shells saved from breakfast in and around the nest, I returned home to wait for our visitors.
After supper, I casually told the lad that I had discovered what I believed could only be a pterodactyl nest. He thought I was kidding, so I reminded him of the coins we had found buried next to the Ft. Rutledge “Pirate’s Castle.” I also reminded him that I wasn’t a paleontologist, and I’d been wrong before, but I was pretty sure I had made the right call this time. Then he wanted to see my find.
“When?” I coyly asked.
“Now, Gramps,” he replied heading for the door with his dinosaur book.
So I drove him over to the garden, pointed him in the right direction, and let him discover for himself the twenty-foot wide and twenty-foot deep pine-log-and-bamboo “nest.” Neither of us speculated how any creature could “get cozy,” as Spencer liked to say, in that. As he crossed the grassy ridge which had hidden the nest from his sight, he was speechless. And then I could not shut him up. When he calmed down, we both reached the same conclusion–the fledgling had hatched unexpectedly and flown away without its mother in a flurry of brown feathers. Of course, Spencer wanted to climb down into the cavernous structure to search for more clues, but I began speculating on the mother’s mood returning to an empty nest. Moreover, the university police had posted a keep-out sign. It was getting late, and he finally agreed that no carnivorous bird with claws on its wings and its feet was one to grapple with in the dark.
As of May 2010, I haven’t had the heart to tell him it was all a prank though there are videos of the lizard-bird on YouTube. He’s nine now, and while his interest in prehistoric lizards has tapered, every once in a while, he asks if I’ve seen any more evidence of pterodactyls in the enchanted forests of Clemson.
I wonder what form his revenge will take.
Best wishes,
Skip Eisiminger
