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The La Brea “Tar Pits”-Where History and Modern Science Meet

A person can put themselves back in the same place, with the same people and even the same time of year but you can not recreate a memory. You can find small things that bring back those memories but the world is an ever-changing place, constantly in motion. Times like these, where you try to immerse yourself back into your past, are when you realize that not only have you changed as you grew older, but so has the rest of the world.

Have you ever had a favorite movie as a young child that you went to re-watch as an adult only to find out it was much better in memory than in reality? If so, you will know what my day at the La Brea Tar Pits was like. Don’t get me wrong, it was still a great place to visit. It was just incredibly different than I remember as a child.

I was probably about 5 years old when my Aunt took me to the La Brea Tar Pits (Official Site) for the first time. The memories I have of the visit are a bit patchy, but here is what I do remember: Walking past the gated tar pits into the museum, looking at dinosaur statues, feeling the sample piece of “dinosaur skin” to see what scientists thought their skin felt like, and at the end she bought me a triceratops figurine and a photo slide.

Today the only thing that was familiar were the gated tar pits themselves. Political correctness and the evolution of scientific theory have changed the landscape of the museum in an entirety. There are no dinosaur statues in the museum, and with that the plaque of “dino skin” I wanted to touch again out of nostalgia was no longer in existence.

Here’s where the lesson in science comes in for all of you folks. No dinosaurs were EVER found at the La Brea Tar Pits. Considering the tar pits were formed well after the extinction of dinosaurs it would be impossible for this to occur unless someone decided to dig up some remains and dump them in the pits thousands of years later.

Most of the skeletons found in the tar pits are from the ice age, but the tar pits continue to ensnare small animals and bugs today. What you have pictured in your mind of the tar pits is probably inaccurate. It actually looks much like a big pond of water with some surface oil, much like a puddle in an urban street. Methane bubbles periodically work their way to the surface, making it look like a dying Jacuzzi tub.

Inside Page Museum at La Brea (yes, La Brea Tar Pits is actually quite redundant, seeing as “Brea” means Tar you are saying “The Tar Tar Pits”), there are numerous skeletons from thousands of years. One of the more numerous skeletons found in the pits is the Dire Wolf. They have a wall covered in their skulls, and these are only a portion of what they have found.


Some of the scientists here work in a literal fish bowl, just like you see in the first Jurassic Park movie. Walking around the back side of the museum you will come to the Paleontology Laboratory, which juts out into the room with a full-glass semi-circular build. The scientists work quietly inside, able to see everyone that mills around watching them tediously separate microfossils from minerals and sediment. It must take a lot of nerve to work under those conditions and I imagine they take turns sitting in the “fish bowl”.

After my brother and I finished the tour of the museum we walked around the ‘pond’ out front that has the mammoth statues tragically stuck in the ‘tar’. Around the walk are some art pieces, one of which looks like spare parts of a construction site. They are simply four concrete boxes. One of those pieces that starts the argument, between my brother and I, over whether art is the product or the intention of the artist’s talents. As we step down to cross the street I notice that tar has bubbled up through the street. Makes roadwork easy I laugh with my brother.

We try to go to Trader Joe’s to get another piece of my childhood memories: Fruit Leather. When I was young my parents used to pick up the fruit leather from Trader Joes for us to snack on. Once again my memoirs were blocked by time and reality: the parking lots were small, crowded, and full. No parking and there were several cars sharking around for spots just as I was. I decided that the fruit leather would have to wait and we headed back to my brother’s home city.

The drive home was through the mist that had remained throughout the day, the sun hiding behind the clouds. The memories I have of living in California mostly involve sunshine, or very windy days where we wore what was called a “windbreaker”, or in Midwestern talk, a light jacket. I don’t clearly remember any rainy or misty days from my childhood, probably because they were spent doing things of no monumental value, like playing legos inside or watching “Oprah” with my Mom.

The mist isn’t unpleasant at all, in fact it’s warm enough that with a jacket the weather is really nice. Comparable to a spring rain in the temperate regions. My Dodge Stealth still looked clean, mismatched wheel and all.

Yet again that I am reminded that memories are not only selective, but they are exactly that: memories.

A person can put themselves back in the same place, with the same people and even the same time of year but you can not recreate a memory. You can find small things that bring back those memories but the world is an ever-changing place, constantly in motion. Times like these, where you try to immerse yourself back into your past, are when you realize that not only have you changed as you grew older, but so has the rest of the world.

And it is in times like these that you realize something important you may have overlooked. For you to continue succeeding in life it is ok to change paths. When you can’t see a dinosaur exhibit, enjoy the comedy of the “fish bowl” scientists and the fascinating numbers of the Dire Wolves that were found in this little piece of Los Angeles.

The Dinosaur exhibit will always be a part of you, and it’s the reason you stepped into the next phase of life. It inspired you to learn something new and continue moving forward.

There is a lot in this world to see, and I have planned to see as much as I can of it, but there is a small factor that I continue to forget: the factor of time. I can take a picture of the world and try to see all of it as it existed in that picture, but I will never truly see all of the world.

To be a well rounded person I truly believe you have to experience the most of the universe as possible, and that’s what I try to attempt in my life. I may only be able to see the “dino skin” exhibit when I’m 6 years old, and the Dire Wolf collection at the age of 25, but every piece that I add to my collection of memories is going to be there forever. In another 20 years, perhaps, I will return in search for the memories of this misty day in Los Angeles and the bubbly waters of La Brea only to discover something new.

Remember: The memories last forever, and the new ones should be cherished just as much as the old.

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Life is Not An Adventure Without Risk: Ravenswood and the Abandoned Warehouse

The things most worth living in life are things you have to work for. Those where you step past your own boundaries and discover worlds previously untouched, unseen. It doesn’t matter the risk….you have to take a chance. These trials and errors are what will make sure you experience life to the fullest, and allow you to feel complete in knowing that at the very least, you tried.

October 28, 2009

It was a beautiful day for one of my adventures. Sunny, in the mid sixties and a breeze that blew the fall leaves around in little spirals. I packed up my adventure bag and wrote the directions that I had researched on Google Maps on the top of my hand. Today I was going to visit Ravenswood.

The location the map had given me seemed a bit strange. I was sure that Ravenswood was located in Boonville, yet the map indicated it was just outside of Sedalia. Not knowing exactly where Boonville was located, and deciding it was unimportant to find out, I followed the peculiar directions anyways. I always reach my destination one way or the other.

Onward I went, taking 50 hwy to Sedalia. There is a lot of repaving going on along this highway, and this made it a single lane heading east. Following the cars in front of you is tiring, always trying to guess if they are going to slow down or speed up, having to be on edge. I will have to say that this type of driving has one benefit: I know I’m not going to get pulled over for speeding. When you reach the end of a construction zone and it opens back up to two lanes I compare the reaction of the drivers to the likeness of NASCAR after the pace car leaves the track. Suddenly everyone sorts themselves out and speeds up to get in the front. Of course after a few minutes everyone realizes how fast they are actually going and about half of the cars end up slowing down again, but something instinctive tells us we need to be in front. It’s actually quite fun to watch, and even observe yourself react in the same way. The competitive side in everyone comes out after the end of a construction zone. We must win.

After the short-lived race on 50 highway, and driving past Smith-Cotton High School, I finally started heading out of Sedalia. In that transition area between city and country living was the road I was to turn left on, according to Google. I turned left and saw this AMAZING abandoned warehouse. At least 3 blocks long, covered in rolling doors and windows- Beautifully decaying in a field of wire spindles and rusting power equipment. I decided that after visiting Ravenswood I would stop by here and take some pictures.

It wasn’t long after taking the next left that I realized Google was incredibly wrong. I was driving along residential streets heading into Sedalia. Huh. I don’t have a map in my car, and I’m unsure of where else to go so I head back to that fabulous abandoned warehouse and pull into the parking lot of a manufacturing company next door. I grab my adventure bag and lock up the Stealth, and walk up to the door labeled with a small sign, “office”.

The yard of this company is covered in steel beams and other large pieces of rusting metal. A large track runs around the entire yard about 20 feet high. I wonder what exactly this track is for as I don’t see anything around that could run along it. Inside you can hear some loud banging and the smell of welding hits your nose. This might be an interesting conversation…

Inside the office is a man of about 50, a man maybe a little older than me, and an older lady sitting behind a desk. I walk up to her, as she is obviously the secretary, and ask her if she would mind if I took some pictures of the empty warehouse building next to them. She explains that the building is owned by some man that lives in Florida, and then the older man chimes in that there would be no problem with me taking pictures as long as I was careful not to get hurt (liability reasons, of course). I smile and thank them and they ask what I am taking pictures for. I say it’s for a project and they assume it is for school. I don’t correct them. I then ask them if they happen to know where Ravenswood is. The older man gives me directions and asks the younger gentleman about the place, stating that he knew he had been there. He tells me that it’s a pretty neat place to visit, and that supposedly (although he had not been allowed into the basement in his visit) there are still chains that hang from the walls in the basement. Remnants of slavery.

The lady looks at me and the other two men and says “I would never go there. It’s just too creepy!”. I smile and explain that I really enjoy historical architecture. She nods and says she still wouldn’t want to go into such a strange place. I thank them for all their information and head out to explore my new play land.

The warehouse is huge, and as I cross the field, winding my way between the spools of wire that are taller than I am and the old, rusty equipment I see that there are lots of railroad tracks crossing the field, mostly hidden by the overgrown grass and brush that has accumulated. Every roll-up door has a railway leading up into it and each bay door is labeled. As you get closer to the large building you start noticing pieces of plastic building panels all over the place, and I look up to see that they had fallen off the windows. The original windows had been covered with these panels in an effort to keep the building sealed off from the elements but had apparently weathered beyond use by this time. I casually wonder what this man in Florida even wants with this land, and consider looking him up to see if he’d sell it for a cheap price…

As I come between a small out building and the large warehouse I notice a sign that amuses me. “Fire Here Today Could Mean No Job Tomorrow! Be Extra Careful”. I bet this made employees nervous as they approached this door.

I finally figure out what this building was when I round the southern corner of the building. A big Union Pacific emblem is hanging high up on the brick façade. Something that explains all the railways that intertwine through the yard. This place is getting more interesting by the moment.


Although I had gotten the hint from the warehouse’s neighbors that I shouldn’t go into the building I still casually tried a few doors here and there. Several places I could have gotten into, but it would have been painstakingly obvious that I was entering the premises and I was trying to keep the low profile of a college student taking photos. There were a lot of really neat things still on the building, such as one of the bells that if you had turned the metal handle inside it would have hit the bell outside. Although rusty, it still works. Around back, on the west side, there was also a huge wing of the warehouse that was mostly windows. You couldn’t see through them very clearly as they had etched with age, but as I rounded the other side I saw a sign labeling it as the battery shop.

After spending about 2 hours wandering the property I decided it was time to head towards Ravenswood. I didn’t want to miss the last tour, to which I assumed would be around 4 or 5 pm as with most museums are.

Google maps was entirely wrong. I had to drive another 30+ miles to reach Ravenswood, which lies just south of Boonville on Highway 5. I pulled up to the house and couldn’t find a clearly marked parking lot so I parked amongst some other vehicles parked on the south side of the house. When I got out of my car I couldn’t locate an entrance or visitors office either, so I started wandering along the sidewalk that was lined with a black iron railing.

I winded along the sidewalk that echoed the exterior of the plantation, squeezing between some overgrown pampas grass. I had been there about 15 minutes wandering aimlessly with not a person in sight when I reached the side yard and noticed a bird dog laying in the grass. As I walked past him to head towards the front of the house I looked at him and said “So, do you know when the tour starts?”. He looked at me as if he had known me forever and turned back to face towards the driveway. Suddenly he perked up and barked towards an SUV that had just turned into the driveway. He stood there, as if he was ready to go retrieve the bird his owner had just shot, until the SUV began driving up the hill. Then he shot quickly down the hill to meet the car coming towards us in a manner that suggested to me he was guarding the house. Apparently I was no threat?

The SUV pulls up to me driven by an older lady and what I assume to be her husband in the passenger seat. He says that unfortunately they close when the weather gets cold and there are no more tours until spring. He tries to fumble through the center console to find his business card but comes up empty handed. He is out. He says I should feel welcome to wander around myself and take as many pictures as I want. Actually, I believe his wording was “Take some pictures” as if he was ordering me to do so rather than requesting. Then he instructs me to return in April for a guided tour and they drive on past towards the back of the property, where the farm buildings are.

Ravenswood is actually very interesting. The front of the house is awe inspiring. The porch floor is tiled intricately, the door accented with handmade door knockers and delicately-crafted door handles and skeleton key locks. The double doors are topped with a beautiful half-circle window where the chandelier that hangs from the top of the porch reflects. The house has its own water tower around the back in a courtyard, and even a built-in swimming pool. In the back yard I find a peculiar dead woodchuck, but the body isn’t torn or cut in any way. In fact I almost though it was just sleeping belly-up it was in such perfect shape. On the south side of the house is what, at first glance, appears to be a beautiful garden room that once had glass panels all over, much like a greenhouse. When you walk in, however, you discover that it was an indoor pool! What a treat this must have been in the 19th century.

After I take what I consider to be enough photos until I make my return in the spring, I head back to my car and drive down to the edge of the driveway. I want one last picture from the front of the drive. I take the picture and return to my car, but as I pull the door closed something happens that I SHOULD be used to by now. I hear the sound of a board shifting inside my driver’s side door panel and the window slowly slides down into the door.

So right there, in the middle of Ravenswood driveway, I have to get out my multi-tool that I had purchased on clearance from Lowe’s, and undo my door panel. It is almost routine at this point. 9 screws out and the panel comes out, pull back the moisture barrier from the black tar that holds it on, pull the window up, hold it up with your right hand while jamming the 1×4 into place inside the door, holding the bottom of the window up by wedging against the door’s interior bracing. The only thing that made it so out of the norm was that I was doing it in front of a 130 year old home, and I was certain that it must be some sort of sight for the owners of the property.

On the way back I stopped by a small conservation area that sat along the banks of the Lamine river. It was pretty out there, all the fall leaves littering the ground. I rested there for a little while and then decided it was time to head home. I was exhausted.

It’s funny how the littlest things can turn out to be so amazing. Every day we pass by places like the old Union Pacific building and we wonder what is in there? What did it used to be? What does it look like up close? Who owns this place?

Once upon a time I was that person as well. If the information came easily, I soaked it up like a sponge. But if it meant I had to put myself into an awkward conversation with strangers I would have to continue letting the mystery of the place turn in my head. Let random stories play in my head and my imagination run wild, but never satisfying that explorative spirit that lives so prominently inside me.

Today I push myself forward in everything. In every aspect of life. I can’t remember the verbiage exactly, but the saying goes something like “Live like there is no tomorrow and Love like you’ve never been hurt”. If anyone knows how that saying goes, please let me know! The general idea is that you don’t hold out for anything. You are never going to get answers if you sit by and wait for the information to come to you. You have to go out and get it, even if it means putting yourself in a place that is incredibly uncomfortable, and even sometimes hurtful. You only get one chance at this life and there is no sense in avoiding the unknown in fear of getting lost or hurt.

The things most worth living in life are things you have to work for. Those that you have to step past your own boundaries and discover worlds that have been previously untouched, unseen. Whether it be that you pass that 100 mph mark for the first time, you stick it out for a relationship because you actually have feelings for that person, or you ask a random stranger if you can wander around their abandoned property….you have to take a chance. These trials and errors are what will make sure you experience life to the fullest, and allow you to feel complete in knowing you at least tried.

Life is boring without adventure, and without risks there is no adventure.

My life is, and always will be, an adventure.