September 15, 2013
Dear Cheryl,
I’m just going to come right out and admit it. You skunked
me.
I shall even hazard to say that this weekend’s skunking of
me, your friend Whitley, may herefore be referred to as the Skunking of the
Ages, a skunking by which all other future skunkings will be measured.
(As this isn't, of course, actually a letter, but a blog
post, I’ll recap a bit for the clamoring public.)
First, this weekend was the most beautiful in many weeks,
with morning temperatures in the 50s and reasonable highs. Overhead: the bluest
of skies, dotted with wispy wisps. Cool breezes. It was prime for digging and,
Cheryl, you know as well as I do how badly we both needed this weekend. Our MD
mentor, The Aptly Named Doug, had scouted out a construction site in the small
town of “Borgnorf”, a few miles northsouthwest of Nashville. Between a
marshmallow factory and a pelican ranch.
(Sorry, folks: Cheryl and I will never tell you where.)
It was going to be so FUN.
And then, suddenly, I could not go digging on Saturday, as I
had to teach dance to underprivileged children. Hungry, underprivileged
children. (Disclaimer: the children I taught were neither hungry nor
underprivileged but I still had to teach them. On a flawless Saturday, wrought
by God for metal detecting.)
As I left the studio, Cheryl, you called me with excitement
in your voice.
You’d found your first US buckle. You texted me a photo of
it and it’s indeed a beauty! I was so happy for you! I really was. Later, I
told a friend how cool it is that when one of us finds something, the other one
is really, truly happy. There is never jealousy. Never.
I will say, however, that your buckle did quicken my pulse.
Sunday could not come soon enough. Saturday evening, I became so desperate that
I visited a neighbor’s yard and quickly pulled out these nifty 1950s-era house
numbers. Pretty cool, huh, Cheryl?!
Which brings us to this morning, Sunday. We met at the site
in Borgnorf. You were right, Cheryl: it’s HUGE. A massive, unfenced, unposted,
drool-worthy construction site in a rugged and ancient area that will soon be
peppered with subdivisions named “Briar Mount” or “Craggy Landing.” We pulled
in and got started.
It was hard going. The bulldozers had turned the gentle
fields and forests into the surface of the moon. We immediately split up and
started swinging our twin Fisher F75s. I instinctively headed for the edge of
the site – it was bordered by thick woods. Here’s the first thing I found:
(It’s brass or copper with a nice, green patina, so I was
pretty excited.)
 |
| I had high hopes for this, but it's just a lid. |
Also this:
 |
| Yes, a buckle, but not really what I had in mind. Still, nice. I guess. |
There were hundreds of pieces of porcelain and pottery that
spoke “old home site” loud and clear
 |
but there were also tons of beer cans that spoke “assholes who litter.” I didn’t find anything else for a
long time. I fell down twice. Found a harmonica reed just lying on top of the ground.
 |
| Who played a love song on this, so far from home? |
I kept looking at the woods. They were very enticing. I
noticed one tree in particular that stood tall above the rest. An old timer
that had surely sheltered soldiers in their camp…
And here, Cheryl, is where I must thank you for saving my
life… for when I pointed out that tree
and told you I was going into the woods to check it out, you told me NOT to
because rattlesnakes are at an all-time high in September and I believed you.
And then, not THREE minutes later, we heard a huge, earth-shaking noise and a
massive branch from that very same tree
came crashing to the earth. For no reason.
Right where I would have been standing had you not warned
me.
Yup.
So thank you, Cheryl. Your kind warning makes what happened
later a little easier to bear.
For you, Cheryl, had to go and turn up the skunk. First: a
beautiful rosette that totally surpassed my – let’s-face-it – old lid of something.
 |
| I am kind of in love with this item. |
Then you found another buckle. This time, with an eagle on
it.
 |
| Nice. If you like that kind of thing... (Interesting to note: despite the fact that troops were obviously here, neither of us found any bullets. Not one. Very strange.) |
Sigh. Oh, Cheryl, Cheryl, Cheryl…
You have every right to dig multiple Civil War buckles. I
support you!
But this was a little much, don’t you think? Two in one
weekend? Really?
I became frenzied. I dug my little heart out. I wanted a
buckle – or ANYTHING – so bad. I did manage to dig one plain, little flat
button. I showed it to you, triumphant.
Then you showed me the numerous highly decorated flat
buttons and military buttons you’d been digging all afternoon without fanfare and a little part of
me died.
Finally, you were ready to call it quits. I agreed – it was
so hot – But I found I could not give up! I got a weird signal and – zowee! –
dug an ancient spoon. The scales were tipping.
Then, I got a GREAT signal and dropped to my knees, scrabbling
in the dirt like a crab. You watched, pityingly, from your car. “Go home!” I yelled across the acres of
bulldozed earth, but you would not leave me there alone. Instead, you joined me
and helped me dig. And when I pulled it out and screamed, “FUCK it’s a GAS
CAP!” you turned it over and showed me that it was actually an old oil lamp and
assured me that it was cool.
 |
| Delicate oil lamp parts. They just don't make things like they used to. |
You are a good friend.
And so, I am happy for you and your buckles. You deserve
them. And, after I find some of my own, I hope you find many more.
Here are my finds of the day.
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| From top left: ancient spoon, round thing surrounding smaller round things (possibly clock parts), the Lid Thing, buckle that is not even close to being the kind of buckle I want, harmonica reed, cool spikey thing surrounding porcelain bit and flat button, round spool thing (actually kind of cool). Center: oil lamp parts. |
I broke the spoon.
