Stonewall,
I am honestly moved by your video. So much to say there, and I know and feel it too. I was born in and grew up in Virginia, most likely not farther than an hour or at the most two away from you.
The greatest thing about this video is that the memorable things there are not necessarily the greatest finds, but the interesting, small moments. Or perhaps even the moments that happen so often that we forget to think about them...like putting on our boots.
So it got me thinking back on 20 years of detecting. And although this is your post, and if you'll allow me to, I feel moved to share a few memorable things here.
I started detecting when I was 13 years old. I saved up money in a metal Band-Aid tin from cutting grass until I could afford my first detector, which was a 1266-X that I kept for 18 of those 20 years.
At that age, metal detecting was a reason to have my homework done so that I could dig in the afternoons. So I sat on the bus and did my homework so I could go detect.
With no car or transportation, I walked everywhere, which meant that every patch of ground in my tiny little town I detected.
Sometimes I stumbled on sites. Sometimes I researched and found them. I knocked on every door of the 132 families homes that lived there. I know how may families there were, because my part-time job was reading their water meters for my uncle who owned the water company.
I found my first silver coin in a yard of an 1890s whiteboard farmhouse. I must have stared at that 1941-D Mercury Dime for half an hour.
I remember cowering under trees in cow pastures during rain showers, setting off to dig but getting distracted by the beautiful scenery and going for a drive instead, and long walks to explore caves, hills, and any other geographic features I found interesting, for no other reason than because they were there.
I remember everyone in my tiny town giving me permission to detect because they knew my parents, and it seems that it was several years before I was ever told "no."
I located a ball field (now cow pasture) that was used around the Great Depression through WWII. I dug a brass tag from a baseball glove with initials on it, and found out that it belonged to a 75 year old man who had lost it as a child playing ball there. I returned it to him, and he had the original glove that it came from still in his possession. That experience changed me, and the way I think about the past...forever.
Thank you for your heartfelt video.
Every Good Wish,
Buck
