Dad's Historical Society connections and friendships sometimes yielded odd adventures when I was a kid. Looking for Indian arrowheads was one of the short ones I remember from one cold Spring morning.
A fellow came to town with the idea to look for Indian artifacts along the river which runs past my Grandmother's house and on through town. He and Dad asked a farmer's permission to carefully walk in his newly plowed field which followed the course of the river next to the big bridge. I was instructed to go along the rows and look in the furrows for stones which were shiny or unusual. I was rather young and I freely admit that what is adventure now was a cold, muddy Spring day to me at that age. At least it was until I found my first arrowhead.
I suspect now that the adults wanted me along for my being shorter, my vision, and my energy to cover ground almost at a run. I rather doubt they thought I'd be so lucky, but we took quite a haul that morning of shaped obsidian (plentiful as shale in that area of the country) and slate tools. Most of them went to the collector- it was his idea, after all- but I was allowed to keep a good one for show and tell at school. I dutifully mounted it on a bed of cotton balls in an old jewelry box Mom had kept.
I wish I could say I knew where it is now, but I lost the whole thing at recess to a bully who shall remain nameless here. (I wonder if he still likes cows on his daddy's farm the way he did back then?) So I'll call this story a lesson in archeology. Just because there's a farm or a building there now doesn't mean adventures didn't happen there maybe thousands of years ago. Always keep your eyes open for a shiny reminder of days gone past. Oh, and avoid bullies at recess if you can...
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