Every now and then, you knock on a stranger’s door hoping to obtain a permission and you get a surprising response–sometimes its a face full of front door, sometimes its a explosion of profanity, and sometimes its the business end of a twelve gauge and a strong verbal warning to skedaddle. Then, sometimes… its a tour of the one room school house, a complete history of the area, and free rein of the hundred-and-fifty acre property.
Sometime last Fall, I turned down a country road in search of a rumored property. I snaked my way through the orchards, the cornfields, and the pastures of grazing longhorns. Eventually, I spotted the handsome brick monument on a secluded crossroads.
There was a gentleman cutting firewood and I stopped to chat. He turned out to be a neighbor rather than the property owner, but I still asked whether I should bother speaking with the owner about metal detecting. The neighbor assured me that the owner would most likely decline due to ongoing issues with vandals and trespassers. I was disappointed, but I went on my way.
Just last week, I was driving passed the property and decided to throw caution to the wind. I turned down the long driveway. Sweet Sis had been snoozing in the backseat, but the jolting of the tires over the gravel caused her to stir. Despite the warning from the neighbor, the Victorian looked strangely welcoming. A wrap around porch boasted neatly crafted trim and scarred floorboards from heavy boots and little feet.
A pair of friendly mutts announced our arrival as I circled the Subaru to free Sweet Sis. She had fallen asleep while eating a brownie and the remnants were smeared all over her face.
Within a few moments, a woman emerged from the house to investigate the commotion. I introduced myself and Sweet Sis–who had somehow lost a shoe as I wrestled her out of the child restraints. (She was a mess.)
After introducing myself to Cheryl, I explained my fascination with local history. I eventually worked up the nerve to ask permission for poking around the property with my detector. She barely even hesitated to give me access–which knocked me back a bit. I expected a very different reaction from someone who was weary of trespassers and vandals.
By the time Sweet Sis and I were heading back down the driveway, I was kicking myself for having wasted so much time drooling over the property and psyching myself out. Now I had unrestricted access to one-hundred-and-fifty acres! Still standing on the property are the schoolhouse built in 1885 and the brick home built in 1874. The properties that are no longer standing include two early log homes and another schoolhouse that served as a church every Sunday.
Yesterday, I hauled my kids and husband back over to the property. As were were detecting around the schoolhouse–which was built in 1885–Cheryl’s husband started towards us across the lawn of the Victorian. He carried three bottles of water, which had already started to condensating in the heat. “Do you want to see inside the schoolhouse?” He asked when he reached us.
My husband stayed outside with Sweet Sis, but Ashton and I took him up on the offer. John explained that the schoolhouse had been purchased by his father in 1947 and converted into single-family home. Together, him and Cheryl have started the process of renovations. They hope to eventually rent the property out.
After the tour, John returned across the freshly-mowed lawn. Within moments, Billy came around the house with a huge smirk. “Look what I found.” He shouted, waving an object in the air. As I strained against the setting sun, I realized that the sucker had a spoon. He had found a silver plated spoon from Gerber–completely intact despite fifty years in the ground.
