As much as I love digging in the dirt, I've only gotten to do so a few times in my life.I remember when I was a little kid in Dartmouth, Massachusetts, playing with my best friend and our toy trucks on a huge pile of dirt that had been excavated to create a cellar hole. As I pushed my Tonka truck through the dirt, it uncovered a piece of a very old dish, then another, and another. Then a clay pipe bowl. Then more stuff. Something primal just took over and I parked my Tonka and started digging for the stuff. My little friend thought I was nuts and kept playing with his truck. He was right - I was crazy and still am: I love to dig for evidence of people who stood on the same ground long ago.
When another friend showed me the site of a small dump on a hillside in Saugus, Massachusetts, you would think I was at Sutter's Mill in 1849! I dug like a crazed archaeologist! I found a few clay marbles, a few Chas. Crompton & Sons bottles, an odd-shaped goldish thing with a decoration on it, an engraved silver bottle top, and an Indian Head penny! I was in hog heaven.
Then there was the dig with my sons in Maine. They were about 8 and 7 years old and this was their first time digging with Dad. You can see the "treasures" in their hands were just a bunch of junky bottles, a flower pot, and an old hubcap to put them in; you can tell from the smiles on their faces, they felt like they had just dug up the Hope Diamond.
That day, my friends, is when I found one of my greatest treasures - the memory of diggin' in the dirt with my boys.
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Awesome. :o)
ReplyDeleteLove this post! Very fun blog. Keep posting.
ReplyDeleteThough the details of the day are sketchy, it's still a day that I will always remember and cherish. Time spent with my father and brother was priceless indeed.
ReplyDeleteToo bad our deep sea fishing trip doesnt have to do with quackery =P That would have been a story, lol.
Keep up the good work :o)