- Dec 12, 2009
- 2,817
- 3,356
- Detector(s) used
- Garrett AT Pro, Tesoro Vaquero, Bounty Hunter Land Star, Teknetics Delta 4000, Minelab Equinox 600, Garrett Carrot
- Primary Interest:
- All Treasure Hunting
When I was growing up my mom and dad would sometimes take us six kids to her sisters plantation home for parties and funerals and such. It was a huge old house, on lots of acres, with a pond out in one of the fields. We use to fish with cane poles and grasshoppers for bait.
We'd heard stories of slaves that were buried in the fields and on occasion, Uncle George would unearth a human bone with his plow. We never saw them, we were kids but the tales always left us wide-eyed and we always kept our eyes to the dirt as we walked to the fishin' hole.
The side entrance of the old house was now used as the front but the actual front of the home still had that classic mid 1800's plantation look. It sat up high on a hill with a gravel driveway that had to be a quarter mile long. I'm not sure what the style of home it is. In that side yard, under a grove of trees there are several headstones.
Fast forward to now. I'd been itching to get out there to detect. I had lost contact with much of my family on my moms side because of her passing, the military, living out of state, divorce...the same cats in the cradle excuses we all have for not staying in touch.
It wasn't easy but I got up my nerve and headed out there. As I drove up the long driveway I was taken aback at how much it had changed. The barn and shed, (once the slave quarters) were gone. The house had changed from bright white to a dried mustard yellow color. There were wagons and tricycles in the yard. A large heavy set guy with long black curly hair answered the door with a young boy about five years old behind him and an equally large black curly haired dog.
I asked if this was still the (uncles last name here) residence to which he answered no, he is the renter.
I told him who I was, told him a bit of the history of the place and would he mind if I swung a detector along the driveway and in the side yards. I also discussed the treasure hunters code of ethics and assured him that the cemetery would remain un-touched. He had no problem with it but I needed to clear it with the owner first. Apparently the property was sold to a local attorney who owned the farm just down the hill.
I drove over there, no one answered the door so I went back to the plantation home where Dave the renter gave me the owners number. I called the gentleman on the phone while I sat in my car. I explained everything again and I really thought I was about to get permission when the old guy told me that he had to plow a lot of stuff over when he bought the place from my uncle and would rather I found another place to detect.
I politely thanked him and drove back home dejected and in a state of mourning for the loss of my uncle and a magnificent estate.
We'd heard stories of slaves that were buried in the fields and on occasion, Uncle George would unearth a human bone with his plow. We never saw them, we were kids but the tales always left us wide-eyed and we always kept our eyes to the dirt as we walked to the fishin' hole.
The side entrance of the old house was now used as the front but the actual front of the home still had that classic mid 1800's plantation look. It sat up high on a hill with a gravel driveway that had to be a quarter mile long. I'm not sure what the style of home it is. In that side yard, under a grove of trees there are several headstones.
Fast forward to now. I'd been itching to get out there to detect. I had lost contact with much of my family on my moms side because of her passing, the military, living out of state, divorce...the same cats in the cradle excuses we all have for not staying in touch.
It wasn't easy but I got up my nerve and headed out there. As I drove up the long driveway I was taken aback at how much it had changed. The barn and shed, (once the slave quarters) were gone. The house had changed from bright white to a dried mustard yellow color. There were wagons and tricycles in the yard. A large heavy set guy with long black curly hair answered the door with a young boy about five years old behind him and an equally large black curly haired dog.
I asked if this was still the (uncles last name here) residence to which he answered no, he is the renter.
I told him who I was, told him a bit of the history of the place and would he mind if I swung a detector along the driveway and in the side yards. I also discussed the treasure hunters code of ethics and assured him that the cemetery would remain un-touched. He had no problem with it but I needed to clear it with the owner first. Apparently the property was sold to a local attorney who owned the farm just down the hill.
I drove over there, no one answered the door so I went back to the plantation home where Dave the renter gave me the owners number. I called the gentleman on the phone while I sat in my car. I explained everything again and I really thought I was about to get permission when the old guy told me that he had to plow a lot of stuff over when he bought the place from my uncle and would rather I found another place to detect.
I politely thanked him and drove back home dejected and in a state of mourning for the loss of my uncle and a magnificent estate.
