I just need to get this off my chest. It’s been a few weeks now, and I’m still processing, mostly trying not to think about what I saw, but I think I have to share it. Otherwise it’s going to keep eating me alive. On July 2nd I decided to take the kids out to the Crystal Springs Museum. If you follow the news at all, you already know what happened, but if not, well, I envy you. I thought it would be good for them, you know, see some First Nations history, cool animals, and hey, they’re old enough to start thinking about this sort of thing seriously, you know? God, I hope they can forgive me one day.

It all started like any other summer day. Ridiculously hot already, and more humid than I’m used to, being from up north. It was a long car trip, so the three of us were happy when we saw the dinky little sign that shows where to pull off to get to the springs. I was happy to hear an end to the endless “are we there yet?”s, to be honest. If you haven’t been to the museum before - and I can’t blame you if you’re not planning to - there’s this big blue heron they’ve posed up on a stump, and the sign hangs off its bill. It’s a pretty slow day on account of the heat so we got in pretty fast. The main lobby area is all decorated with more animals like the heron - preserved in the exact state that they were in when they emerged from the springs.

I’ve heard lots of confusion and misinformation about what the actual preservation process is that causes the springs to solidify anything that is submerged in the water. The tour guide gave us a rundown, and while I can’t pretend to fully understand the biochemistry involved, it seems like there’s a unique mineral compound the spring brings up from deep underground. Using oxygen as a catalyst, it pretty much instantly transforms into something like diamond after bonding with organic material. Everything you’ve ever seen from there - the animals in the lobby, the little frog and bug trinkets they sell in the gift shops, the touring exhibitions - is frozen in the pose it was in when it came out of the water, forever.

So the main hall of the museum is actually a collection of Native American artifacts. Of course they knew the properties of the spring ages before any white people were on this side of the pond, and some of the Shoshone would use it to harden weapons and such. That’s not to mention the artifacts that were accidentally preserved over the years. This area has everything on display out on the floor, no glass or anything. If you don’t know, here’s a tip: security’s watching. Anybody who looks like they’re too touchy or too grabby doesn’t get to move on to the next area. My youngest almost didn’t pass the test. I wish she hadn’t. She was allowed into the Statue Garden.

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Over the years, seventeen people have fallen victim to the springs. Seven pre-colonial Native Americans, five more between the sixteenth and twentieth centuries, three in the twentieth century, not including the two who were coated during the construction of the museum and the statue garden. Not all have names, especially the oldest ones, but the public won’t soon forget the names of Simon Bradley, Chantal Park or that Olympian from the ‘80s. There’s also limbs and other body parts that have been amputated, but those aren’t for public display. Just the people.

Not a lot of people have been inside the statue garden, and they don’t allow photography in there. So you might not know that it’s like a greenhouse in there, they’ve built up around the entire actual springs so that the only way to get to the water is through the museum. It gets humid! The spring is blocked off only by glass railing so that maintenance can get in with their suits and tour guides can do demonstrations with live mice and such. The minerals get absorbed back into the ground, so the water’s pretty safe not too far downstream. The seventeen statues are arranged “artistically” around the perimeter, with placards with all of the information that we know about each one. There’s live music and book readings and stuff always going on, maybe to distract us from the fact that we’re surrounded by petrified people, or maybe it’s enrichment.

At 3:52 the accident you’ve all heard about on the news occurred. Craig Ashkani, ten years old, was leaning on the railing when the glass pane came loose, and he fell straight through into the water. It was instant chaos; people running every which way, screaming, splashing. His dad and a stranger ran into the water after him, pure instinct. Another kid was knocked into the water by the mob. All the splashes of water caused minor injuries to three more people, my son included. He lost his right leg. The screams of horror and terror and pain weren’t quite enough to drown out the screams of the four people who emerged from the water. I’ll never forget that sound. You can’t imagine what the last sounds out of a throat that is about to be forever petrified are like.

The museum is facing a lot of pressure right now, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to be shut down completely. Nobody knows yet what they’re going to do with the four new statues they have in stock, the most that have ever been frozen at one time in history. They’re talking about returning at least two to their loved ones, where they can be cared for for as long as they can stand to. Maybe there’s some kind of hope for them but I don’t think anybody but the families are holding our breath. Only two of the now twenty-one people who have been preserved by the spring over the last 15,000 years have ever had their measurable brain activity cease.