Since I started metal detecting, I've met fellow diggers from all reaches of the country and even the world. On occasion, I'll get a private message from someone jabbering at me in Arabic... to which I respond with a confused ice-cream emoticon. They'll reciprocate with photos of ancient coins... to which I respond with another more surprised, but equally confused ice-cream emoticon. I've mastered the art of carrying on entire conversations through the use of emoticons. Admittedly, I'll sometimes pass the phone off to my two-year-old and let her correspond with whatever stickers she deems...

I am an enigma. The more I interact with experienced diggers and historians, I've begun to realize that strangers have a tendency to underestimate me. I'm underestimate-able. You aren't likely to find underestimate-able in the dictionary--however--I do like the ring of it. (Underestimate-able, adjective: a person, place, or thing that is thought to be smaller or less than it actually is.) For all intensive purposes, consider me underestimate-able. A few years ago, I embraced that perception. When I was picking for profit at yard sales and estate sales, I took full advantage of my clueless...

This weekend was epic--my husband hates when I use that word, but I would be robbing the experience if I used any lesser word. Allow me to begin with the story of Daniel Kaufman. Mr. Kaufman was an abolitionist icon--if you will--and those who supported slavery attempted to make an example of him in order to deter others from helping slaves find freedom. If your happen to drive through the quaint town of Boiling Springs, you will see a large brick home with a historical marker. The marker reads: "Daniel Kaufman: An Underground Railroad agent from 1835 to 1847, when he was sued by a Maryland...

As I left my house this morning--without my winter coat--I couldn't help but delight in the sound of birds singing in the trees. The snow is finally melting. The sun is finally shining. Spring is here, my friends. Spring is FINALLY here. One of the greatest signs of the changing season--in a my opinion, anyway--is to see people emerging from their homes. Everyone is so eager to finally shake those winter blues and taste the fresh air--this is the perfect opportunity for hobbyists to seek permissions without knocking on doors and catching people at an inopportune time. I witnessed this...

I wanted to share a bit about my trip to the historical society on Wednesday. My goal was to uncover more information on the Wright House--my new underground railroad permission--as well as more information about Latimore Township. I wanted to share an excerpt with you from one of my readings at the historical society: In the early part of harvest, 1851, four slaves came to William Wright's house from Maryland. They were in a state of semi-nudity, their clothing being nearly all torn off and handing in ratters. At this hospitable home they were furnished with clothing and shoes. Learning that...

Today, I told my son a story today about the good guys and the bad guys. The bad guys chased the good guys to a house where they hid in the walls and the attic and the basement. When the bad guys came, they looked everywhere for the good guys, but they played hide-and-seek so well that the bad guys couldn't find them anywhere. So the bad guys left and the good guys went to hide in another house and one day lived happily ever after. I introduce you to the Wright House--this picture is from six years ago but I think you get the gist. This sad looking stack of bricks may not look like much,...