Warm hellos to everyone here,
I've been something of a closet treasure hunter since I was a child (which I suppose is not that long ago...) after I kept getting in trouble with my mother for bringing rusty metal nails I found in the woods home, receiving a forceful, "WHY ARE YOU BRINGING TRASH IN THE CLEAN HOUSE?!" or, at least concerned for my safety: "YOU'LL CUT YOURSELF ON THAT!"
But my treasure affliction has only gotten worse. Luckily my father shares my love and has moved from humoring me to helping, and then happily joining in.
He still can't turn off his fatherly protectiveness, and the incredibly wonderful 100 year old dump on our property is still forbidden territory for me due to the layers of glass shards, jagged metal tins and rotten boards full of nails. Of course, I know all that because I've spent hours digging in it when he's not home.
For the most part when I try and engage the owner of a junk shop or salvage place in conversation I get snubbed or ignored. I'm in my mid-twenties but still have teenagers ask me what high school I go to, so I know I look young. But I'm not sure who else to talk to when most people my age couldn't care less about my interests, i.e. apprenticing for a year with a pocket watch maker, carrying my loupe around to haggle down prices for additions to my pocket watch collection, collecting old tins and bottles, wooden rulers, first editions.. getting my college degree in typography, letterpress printing and hand-lettering, picking locks for totally non-illegal access to abandoned buildings... the list goes on. Essentially, I'm looking for my people and thinking or hoping I might have found them here.
I won't ramble on, just finish with one of my happiest treasure dig stories. The finds might not look spectacular but they came from the swamp near our family camp in Manchester, Maine. The camp was originally a bicycle club built in the 1800's and then turned into a summer house. My evil father had "forgotten" to tell me that all those years the swamp was used as a dump. Which meant the mud I spent years hauling piles of leaves out into was actually the resting place for 200 years of treasure.
He gave in to my begging and that weekend we decided to start small and tackle one spot. Swamp land is particularly frustrating to work in since you quickly find that you're not so much removing dirt as filling a hole with water. But he let me do every bit of glorious digging and at the end of the day I walked away with these gems
(And the metal bits match some of the fixtures still in the camp!! I nearly died with happiness.)
Hope to talk to all of you more soon! Happy hunting
I've been something of a closet treasure hunter since I was a child (which I suppose is not that long ago...) after I kept getting in trouble with my mother for bringing rusty metal nails I found in the woods home, receiving a forceful, "WHY ARE YOU BRINGING TRASH IN THE CLEAN HOUSE?!" or, at least concerned for my safety: "YOU'LL CUT YOURSELF ON THAT!"
But my treasure affliction has only gotten worse. Luckily my father shares my love and has moved from humoring me to helping, and then happily joining in.
He still can't turn off his fatherly protectiveness, and the incredibly wonderful 100 year old dump on our property is still forbidden territory for me due to the layers of glass shards, jagged metal tins and rotten boards full of nails. Of course, I know all that because I've spent hours digging in it when he's not home.
For the most part when I try and engage the owner of a junk shop or salvage place in conversation I get snubbed or ignored. I'm in my mid-twenties but still have teenagers ask me what high school I go to, so I know I look young. But I'm not sure who else to talk to when most people my age couldn't care less about my interests, i.e. apprenticing for a year with a pocket watch maker, carrying my loupe around to haggle down prices for additions to my pocket watch collection, collecting old tins and bottles, wooden rulers, first editions.. getting my college degree in typography, letterpress printing and hand-lettering, picking locks for totally non-illegal access to abandoned buildings... the list goes on. Essentially, I'm looking for my people and thinking or hoping I might have found them here.
I won't ramble on, just finish with one of my happiest treasure dig stories. The finds might not look spectacular but they came from the swamp near our family camp in Manchester, Maine. The camp was originally a bicycle club built in the 1800's and then turned into a summer house. My evil father had "forgotten" to tell me that all those years the swamp was used as a dump. Which meant the mud I spent years hauling piles of leaves out into was actually the resting place for 200 years of treasure.
He gave in to my begging and that weekend we decided to start small and tackle one spot. Swamp land is particularly frustrating to work in since you quickly find that you're not so much removing dirt as filling a hole with water. But he let me do every bit of glorious digging and at the end of the day I walked away with these gems
(And the metal bits match some of the fixtures still in the camp!! I nearly died with happiness.)
Hope to talk to all of you more soon! Happy hunting
Welcome and good luck
What an interesting letter you wrote, a very enjoyable read. I bet you are going to post some very interesting, and a good mix of finds. I will be looking out for them.
Welcome to Tnet Scout. Enjoyed the story. Thanks and HH........
