Even before I started metal detecting, I’d always had a weakness for old homes–the crumbling stone facades, the weathered brick, and paint-peeled clapboards. These properties–with their overgrown vegetation, collapsing outbuildings, and crooked shutters–possess some sort of decrepit beauty that I’ve always found to be both haunting and mesmerizing.

I think sometimes we forget that these sad structures were once the pride of a family name, a booming industry, a community, or a righteous cause. Now, they stand in ruin and waste away to the tune of the passing decades… until someone like me comes along.

As a relic hunter, I recognize the importance of wiping away the layers of dirt and listening to the stories that these properties would tell–if they had a voice. I want to be their voice and digging helps me exhume their stories. Every property has a story.

Most of you know, I often prattle aloud to the past property owners as I pace with my detector. I’m not really expecting a response–even though that might make for an interesting installment in my blog–I usually just explain my reasons for being there, assure them that I mean no disrespect, and ask them to tell me their story. Sometimes they’ll give me a nudge in the right direction, but other times I get nothing.

I’ve visited a lot of abandoned properties–with permission of course–and I’ve never felt intimidated by the energy on the property… until the Witmer House. The Witmer House is my most recent permission–you might recognize it from my previous post about the random-hole-digging-method.

Now, I’m not saying this place is haunted. It could be, but I’m not the sort of person who steals away in the middle of the night enticing spirits to reveal themselves… I’m more the sort of person who has pee running down their leg every time the hinges squeal, the doorknob jiggles, or the curtains stir for no reason. Don’t get me wrong. I can chit-chat all day with dead people–but only when the sun is shining and there aren’t any creepy shadows lurking about.

Then again, the sun was shining the first day we visited the Witmer House. As a matter of fact, the heat was almost unbearable. Despite the sun and the lack of creepy shadows, there was a quality about the property that gave me the heebie-jeebies. You know that feeling when you walk around a forgotten cemetery or a battlefield–that grave and solemn feeling? That’s the same feeling I experienced at the Witmer House. None of my other permissions harbor such a foreboding feeling–even the Wright House which you would expect having been a part of the underground railroad.

The heebie-jeebies that I got from the Whitmer House led me to do some more in-depth research… Through that research, I happened upon an excerpt from the Annals of Cumberland County describing the family who lived on the property:

Their six children were: Elizabeth, born Sept. 15, 1864, died June 25, 1866; Anna Mary, born May 29, 1866; Joseph, born June 4, 1869; Benjamin Emerson, born Nov. 15, 1871, died Oct. 29, 1872; Samuel, born Oct. 2, 1873, died Oct. 19, 1880; and Abram.

Three of the six children living at the house died before they were eight years old… I think that would give anyone the heebie-jeebies. Oh… but there’s more. The family who lived there prior to the account above had nine children and only three survived to adulthood. Are you noticing a trend?

Well… you can bet that I won’t be lurking around the Witmer House after dark but I’m really hoping that my Racer and I can conduct a little investigative metal detecting and learn more about the families who lived in the house–besides what I’ve already learned from visiting and researching the property… i.e. they were Republicans who ate a lot of oysters.