Then and Now: Time Travel ‘He Thought It Was The Nest of A Bird’
A a dinosaur nest in Baileyville, Connecticut. How can this be? After jaw drop, thinking if there was one, can there be others? (More about tracking it down as research leads to more discoveries.)
An image of an image in an exhibit at Levi Coe Library April 2023
On a local library shelf, a slim book. Local history research, so many years ago about a quarry, a dam, mills and factories. Learning yet again that original sources speak clearly. As in the children’s game of “telephone” over the years a story can blur and gain wordiness, lose meaning taking all in.
From the archives (2014), the dam in Baileyville.
Inside the pages, this:
“To-day, an observing person will notice them as he walks along the dam. A formation in the shape of a nest, six inches deep, four feet in diameter, and apparently showing the impression of three eggs, was found during the work. Father had it carefully laid aside and planned to carry it to Wesleyan University, but during a heavy thunder shower, it became partially filled with water and the walls crumbled in. This was a great disappointment to him, for he thought it was the nest of a bird and wanted it examined by a person competent to decide.”
Not a bird. A relative from deep time, long ago.
Gone is the tower once here that we jumped from, but the dinosaur tracks Bailey found do remain, a delight to find after recent improvements to the dam.
Ripple marks from long ago, fossil evidence.
Wind knocked it down, look at the materials that include feed bag strands and bits of mud.
Then a stop to see an old “friend,” a curved stone dam.
Stories swirling. Let’s go take a look. King Road has changed, the ice houses gone and cottages replaced by large new homes. An original Quonset beside the lake remains.
Walk, look. Sweep away the dust. Back to the archives, home. Pull that story.
Reading the newsprint story with images (the whole print issue intact) again provokes memories. Lloyd’s is no more, Lloyd Blair retired and lives up the road, a walk away from his restaurant’s location in Baileyville (Middlefield, CT). Fresh vegetables are for sale, summer; maybe stop by.
Sitting beside Editor Marilyn Spencer as she spoke the written words as she honed, corrected, punctuated as needed. Made it better. Questioned the writer, that’s me. Learn by doing, an irreplaceable education from a master. Thank you. Thank you. Absorbed every word, action, experience and thirsted for more. Knew the value, couldn’t believe I got the job, a reach that day so long ago. Calling because was offered a bookkeeping assistant’s role, but wanted what was a dream. Tried once more; she said yes, bring clips.
(That’s another story.)
This one, published Feb. 7, 1991, is from a lifetime ago. Picas. A measure; coding in its earliest form to create big letter indents and drop quotes. Woe to anyone who forgot the proper coding for a quote because the output to do pasteup would then go on for pages on production day at Shoreline Times inside the former schoolhouse stone building (now condos, very beautiful ones too), Guilford. Her name is forgotten, but her production role in outputting that shiny paper–and wrath at waste–is not.
Excerpt:
“What remains of Baileyville’s 70-year-long bustling scene of commerce are brownstone foundations, a now straightened curve in Route 147 and memories of busy shops, markets, wooden wringers, sawmills, gristmill and the power of water harnessed.”
Story, below the fold page one, jumps to full page three. The dam and a small quarry intertwine with what once was a swamp–and dinosaur tracks discovered, placed by Mr. Bailey who built a dam.
To move forward, find water. Listen to the flow. Yet unseen currents that can pull you under, lead elsewhere; memories. Power and inspiration. Water. Tidal time, rivers.
Having witnessed firsthand the Roanoke River raging out of its banks, a beast that gulped land, bridges, all in its path–higher, higher, higher. Have deep respect for the power of water. Do not underestimate, do not linger, do not live in its path, check floodplains and hidden hazards. Sleepy brooks don’t stay that way in flash floods, incessant rain.
Pay attention to the weather.
Wind knocked loose a nest, now weathered to bits on a chopping block stump. One ideas sparks a slew of them. Write down the details, date, source, context. Include your name, date, sources.
Shall we go? Chart a course, head out. Remember that every “no” is a redirect. Listen and pay attention. Go.
Editor’s note: This story includes portions first published in June 2022; it has been updated. To be continued.
Passing through.
— Moo Dog Press (@moodogpress.com) August 24, 2026 at 4:08 PM