But you are wrong to say that we cannot move about in Time. For instance, if I am recalling an incident very vividly I go back to the instant of its occurrence: I become absent-minded, as you say. I jump back for a moment. ~Time Traveller, in The Time Machine by H.G. Wells
You never know what you will find while digging in the dirt on an old homestead. Removing old fence posts at the sheep barn, we found a battered metal bowl, buried at least a foot underground against the base of a post. (Too small for livestock or even chickens, it must have been for a dog or the farm cats that used to roam freely and feed on their fill of field mice.) One year, a tiny pink Barbie slipper turned up in the soil as we were planting in the spring. Plenty of old socks and rusty metal tools have been unearthed here and there. And of course, we come across many animal bones of assorted varieties. Dean has called our situation "living on top of a museum." True to that metaphor, we have dug up and repurposed piles of old bricks (from deconstructed farm buildings) by turning them into artfully constructed hardscapes, encircling beds of daffodils, irises, canna lilies, rose campion, and other perennials.
Our above ground discoveries have been just as exciting. In the dry haven of the hay mow, we found my childhood Holly Hobbie purse, quite well preserved. Cleaning out our coal shoot, we found Dad's old bucket hat, lost decades ago. We repurposed the coal for landscaping as well, hauling it up from the cellar, one bucket at a time. It was on the rafters in the stone cellar that we came across one of the most interesting finds: an old washing machine manual. The manual was covered in dust, and some of the pages were damaged; however, inside of this manual, in an envelope, was the original warranty, in perfect condition. This warranty told us that the ABC Washer was purchased on December 23, 1937, in Lemoyne, PA.
It is impossible not to let the imagination go wild when faced with these discoveries. We can imagine a young couple, with newly added electricity in their home, choosing their first modern appliance. They decided to buy it for Christmas. She sat by the fireside, reading the manual, and he watched her, taking a moment's rest after he had hauled it down the stone steps and set it up for her. They dreamed of their plans to enclose the cellar doors in a mud room, and they talked about adding a summer kitchen one day. He went away to join in the war effort a few years later, and she went into town to stay with her family; the house and the washer were empty for a time, their dreams delayed. I think about her when I hang out the laundry.
Short of literal time travel, the details of some found items require imagination to fill in the plot points. Other finds, however, eventually come with explanations. An example of this occurred on our recent trip to Pine Grove Furnace in the Michaux State Forest. This has long been one of our favorite parks to visit, but we had not camped there before. When we arrived, we found a kind campground host, a level campsite, and a DCNR employee who informed us that we had just happened to schedule our trip on their busiest weekend of the year: the weekend of the Fall Furnace Festival at Fuller Lake. As we explored the historical exhibitions at the festival, we learned that the mysterious and precious pretty blue rocks I used to pick out of the creek and keep in my jewelry box are called slag: the discarded stone remains of the old iron-making process that ended in 1895. We also learned that this particular blue is the result of trace elements of manganese and may be unique to the area.
As we reflect about the treasures we find and those we leave behind, we wonder and imagine, to the future this time. Years down the road, people who live on our property will likely find buried guitar picks, rings of bricks, and daffodils coming up in strange places. What stories will they make up about the people who planted them there? What imaginative adventures might we inspire?
peace and love, Vicki and Dean
