Spring Treasures

Spring was always such a wonderful time of the year on the farm. The grass turned green, the timber greened up, baby animals were born........and Dad would plow the garden. Granted, that meant seeds would be planted and hoeing was to come. But for me at that time of the year, having that garden plowed meant fun.

I don't know if at some other time in history there had been an Indian settlement there or not. But every year when the plow turned the earth over, I spent countless hours walking the furrows and finding arrowheads. Yep, I said “finding”, not “hunting for”. I occasionally found some other rock pieces that looked like they might be other weapons or tools. But the arrowheads were always there to be found.

I must have started finding them when I was very small, because I remember that scouring of the garden soil as an annual event. It was always fun to find them.

We had an elderly neighbor who had quite an extensive collection of arrowheads and other Indian artifacts. Yearly, when I was certain I had everything found that had been unearthed, we would go visit him. He would sort through my treasure trove of arrowheads and pay me for the ones he wanted to add to his collection.......something in the gray matter is telling me I got ten cents apiece for them, but I can't say that for certain.

I can't remember at what point we moved the garden spot. But I know by the time I was a teenager, we were no longer plowing up that earlier area. The new garden spot never gave up any treasures, other than the usual green beans and tomatoes. Neither did Dad's back-of-the-farm watermelon patch.

Years later, after my cousin purchased the farm from my folks, I know he looked for arrowheads. He never found any.

That elderly neighbor who paid me for the arrowheads was an interesting character – and he was married to an equally interesting character. Even after they moved from our neighborhood, we would make a point of visiting them a time or two a year.

The wife, Miss Willie, was a former school teacher who truly had a teacher's heart. She had a manual typewriter that she would always load up with paper so I could write stories while they visited with my folks. She was always loving and encouraging. He, on the other hand, always worked at being cantankerous. Those visits were always interesting.

That neighborhood where I grew up had such a wonderful canvas of interesting people. I'm sure it's been said before, but I wish I could go back to that time and those people, knowing what I know now about appreciating and embracing everyone's uniqueness. It would be a wonderful, educational trip!