As a boy, I was obsessed with dinosaurs. The walls of my wood-paneled room were covered with posters of Tyrannosaurus, Triceratops, Brontosaurus and Stegosaurus.

One of those posters, long and narrow, ran almost the entire length of the wall above my mirrored dresser. I fell asleep in my twin bed most nights staring at the creatures on that print in the dim glow of my nightlight, imagining what it would have been like to have lived among them.

I dreamt of that poster this past weekend as I slept on a sleeper chair in my dad’s hospital room. Actually, dreamt and slept would not be the most accurate descriptions of what occurred, just as “sleeper” is an inaccurate description of the medieval torture device that is the convertible hospital sleeper chair.

What actually transpired was more of a fever dream sandwiched between contortion and exhaustion. Dad had been sick at home for a few days and had not eaten or taken in enough fluids. As a result, he had become dehydrated which necessitated a weekend hospital stay.

While he slept, I passed the time reading a couple of books, one of which I credit with the inspiration for the dream about my dinosaur poster. In the chapter of Gary Snyder’s “The Practice of the Wild” entitled “Tawny Grammar,” Snyder discusses his time spent visiting the Finnish paleo-taxidermist Erik Granquist in Alaska.

Granquist was there restoring the body of a Pleistocene bison that had been frozen in the permafrost some 36,000 years ago and recently uncovered by a hydraulic mining operation.

After reading the account, I sat there fascinated by the story, by Granquist’s work, by the fact there is such a thing as a paleo-taxidermist and by another “tasty” fact that the taxidermist shared with Snyder. It seems that “on his birthday and at the end of the reconstruction, he had sacramentally eaten a tiny bit of the flesh that had been frozen for millennia and then helicoptered to a freezer.”

Outside of the cartoon realm of Fred Flintstone’s brontosaurus burgers, I had never considered the possibility of actually tasting prehistoric flesh. I found myself wishing that I could ask Granquist what it tasted like. Having thought about it more this week, I’m fairly certain that his answer would be outside the realm of the typical “it tastes like chicken” response.

Aside from the dinosaur posters in my room, I also had quite the collection of fossils. Most of those came from searching the gravel found in endless supply on the dirt roads I traveled with my bike as a boy. I was quite the amateur paleontologist and, later in my boyhood with the collection of arrowheads from the surrounding fields and creeks, archeologist.

Tuesday, while driving along the frontage road, my thoughts still on dinosaurs and fossils, I noticed the Red Hot Truck Stop sign and I was reminded of the fact that Meridian is actually a famous location when it comes to fossil discovery. Paleontologist Chris Beard spent nearly two decades doing research at what in the paleontology world is known as the “Red Hot site.”

Beard and his crew unearthed thousands of prehistoric sharks’ teeth as well as the teeth of a small primate. According to a 2008 article in Carnegie Magazine, “Beard and his colleagues concluded that the primate fossils came from a wee gremlin-like creature that weighed no more than a heaping tablespoon of sugar. They named the extinct species Teilhardina magnoliana in honor of its discovery in the Magnolia State.”

Based on Beard’s calculations, the primate would have been the first in North America. How cool is that! The earliest known North American primate, a tiny fur-covered tree-dweller with a long tail, was discovered right here in the Queen City behind a truck stop.

I’ve often wondered why there are no historic markers (other than the Red Hot sign) to explain the significance of the site. Perhaps it’s because I’m a lifelong dinosaur nerd, but it seems like a pretty big deal to me.

If we only had permafrost like Alaska then maybe, just maybe, Beard would have discovered an intact Teilhardina magnoliana. As I pondered the thought, I began to wonder if Beard, like Granquist, would have taken a bite. Who am I kidding? No one wants to eat a tiny monkey, but a bison? Now that’s another story.

The first few days of this week, I’ve caught myself thinking that perhaps I missed my calling. I think I would have made a pretty good paleontologist, although I envision myself as more the Indiana Jones type, and, alas, Indy was an archeologist.

Also, I must admit that I, too, would probably have been tempted to sample that bison. However, for now, it looks like the closest I’m going to get to that will be a bacon cheeseburger from the Red Hot Food Truck. Anyone happen to know where it is this week?

Until next time here’s to never giving up on your dreams, and here’s to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.

Email outdoors columnist Brad Dye at braddye@comcast.net.