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Mel has a new play pretty. He let a vendor at Canton talk him into buying a fancy metal detector. Convinced him he could get rich digging up buried treasure. The guy pulled out a stockpile of old coins, watches, Civil War medals, belt buckles, diamond rings, and other bounty dug from the ground in Southern Louisiana. Gave my husband a Texas map with lots of hot spots marked on it.
"Man, jist thank of all the ol' homesites aroun' we kin go to an' dig fer money an' stuff," said Mel, flipping the switch on his new treasure finder and scanning the ground on the way back to the truck.
"I doubt you'll find anything of value around dugouts and old homesteads. Poor dirt farmers and Depression era folks didn't exactly live in the lap of luxury," I said.
"Those is zackly the kind o' people that kept what few coins an' valuables they did have in the wall or bedpost or under a slat in the floor. They didn't trust banks," Mel noted.
"You're more likely to find some old plow points, pieces of wood stoves, axes, or bed springs. Maybe some spent shotgun shells."
"It's all about the hunt. It'll be fun, an' it's sump'n we can do with Jeffrey when he comes to see his Paw Paw."
On a recent excursion, we decided to explore the old school grounds at Kimball, on the north end of Lake Whitney. Mel began sweeping from side to side while our six-year-old grandson stood anxiously beside him with a small Army shovel in his hands. The detector emitted a tone.
"What is it Paw Paw, gold?"
"Nope. The monitor says its a pull tab," said Mel, reaching down and fingering the dirt. "An' shore nuff, it is."
Mel continued the sweeping motion, but wasn't having much luck. He had me distract Jeffrey, momentarily, while he reached in his pocket and "salted" the dirt with some pocket change and covered it up. When he waved the metal wand over the ground, the detector screamed.
"STOP PAW PAW! It's treasure!" Jeffrey shouted, scooping up a spade full of dirt and turning it over. He pilfered it and pulled out some coins. "LOOK! MONEY!"
The happy child collected the nickels, dimes and quarters and shoved them into his pockets. Mel beamed and winked at me.
Mel repeated this routine a time or two, privately dropping several coins and kicking dirt over them so Jeffrey could find them. Then he suggested we go try our luck down along the river's edge.
"The water's down. Might find some innerstin' stuff down here," he said, kicking some sand.
The boys ran the metal detector in circular motions and stopped to dig when it beeped. Jeffrey dug up several fishing weights, a small anchor made out of cement and angle iron, and some beer cans. Soon, however, he was ready to return to the area where he was finding money. Once again, Mel made sure there was some to be found.
"Do you wonder whose money that mighta been, Jeffrey?"
His little blue eyes danced. "Well, it used to be yours, Paw Paw, but now it's mine. Finders keepers!"
