Post by Leslie Sarkany on Dec 31, 2022 14:20:35 GMT -5
Still some of the little kid left in this bouy
The 14 year old set out on foot with his used Garrett detector thinking that on the way to his school he could collect some pop bottles. He had a goal; to get enough money to buy a piece of coconut cream pie and a bottle of pop at Scotty's Restaurant which was right across from his home. He was on a time limit as ball practice was at 2 o'clock. To be late or not show up an hour early would be a sin. he was sure all his teammates on the Hubbard's Kingfishers would be there and on time!
The 68 year old man lumbered into the spare room of his abode. His favorite room. Housed here were many fond memories of past outings, friends long gone, detectors that had passed away and days that lasted long with no pain. Gingerly he bent over and retrieved Zen Guru. Throughout his detecting hobby he had always named his detectors. AT Pro was chosen one for the day. Even though the sun shone the old man double bagged himself to thwart off the chill awaiting him outside.
The the exuberance of youth of the young treasure hunter caused him to literally run from one end of the field to the other. His thinking at the time was that during their noon hour lunch break the dodge ball games were sure to make his school mates loose some change. The meter on the machine flickered, excitement rose and the boy dug in earnest with his butter knife. A crushed bottlecap....darn!
Parking Nogo Sojo in the street the senior citizen retreated to the trunk of the vehicle removing a spade, gloves and his detector. Slowly he crept up the embankment, turned on his machine and began a leisurely, measured practice swing. No gridding was intended instead he followed what his late digging buddy used to call the "Drunken Sailor Grid." Zen was chirping with every slow swing. No magical tone that denoted a good target was heard through his headphones. Faintly. Ever so faintly that familiar sweet sound echoed. The spade was put to use with some effort as the years had taken their toll on the old bouy. A look of satisfaction swept the detectorists face.....a penny!
A mere three hours later and the young lad had dug several holes on the field, in the driveway and in the paths around the school that led into the woods being careful not to leave any holes. Pennies were located and joyfully put in a pocket. Still full of "piss and vinegar" the boy headed home picking up discarded beer and pop bottles along the way. From past outings the lad was equipped with a bag to carry his new found wealth. Dropping the bag and detector in the front porch he grabbed his ball glove, a Don Gibson model he headed to the field of dreams knowing that once done practice a trip for pie and pop were in his cards.
More sweet tones. More coins. An almost quick trip to a wooded area, natures washroom yielded an unexpected treasure....a bag of school supplies. Memories of days long gone flashed through his mind. relieved he again headed to the field and continued swinging for another half hour. His body told him it was time to go home. Reluctantly the old man backed up and headed home. Once there gear from the rear was taken out. Up the stairs....an arduous journey. Home. A look through the phone book proved negative for the senior who felt sad for the child that had lost their school supplies. A deep thought passed.....a hobby built on the misfortune of others. This was replaced with a pleasant thought as his meds cut in...Marie has lots of young nieces and nephews who visit. The recliner was extended to it's maximum while the senior watched a hockey game on the tube.
The 14 year old set out on foot with his used Garrett detector thinking that on the way to his school he could collect some pop bottles. He had a goal; to get enough money to buy a piece of coconut cream pie and a bottle of pop at Scotty's Restaurant which was right across from his home. He was on a time limit as ball practice was at 2 o'clock. To be late or not show up an hour early would be a sin. he was sure all his teammates on the Hubbard's Kingfishers would be there and on time!
The 68 year old man lumbered into the spare room of his abode. His favorite room. Housed here were many fond memories of past outings, friends long gone, detectors that had passed away and days that lasted long with no pain. Gingerly he bent over and retrieved Zen Guru. Throughout his detecting hobby he had always named his detectors. AT Pro was chosen one for the day. Even though the sun shone the old man double bagged himself to thwart off the chill awaiting him outside.
The the exuberance of youth of the young treasure hunter caused him to literally run from one end of the field to the other. His thinking at the time was that during their noon hour lunch break the dodge ball games were sure to make his school mates loose some change. The meter on the machine flickered, excitement rose and the boy dug in earnest with his butter knife. A crushed bottlecap....darn!
Parking Nogo Sojo in the street the senior citizen retreated to the trunk of the vehicle removing a spade, gloves and his detector. Slowly he crept up the embankment, turned on his machine and began a leisurely, measured practice swing. No gridding was intended instead he followed what his late digging buddy used to call the "Drunken Sailor Grid." Zen was chirping with every slow swing. No magical tone that denoted a good target was heard through his headphones. Faintly. Ever so faintly that familiar sweet sound echoed. The spade was put to use with some effort as the years had taken their toll on the old bouy. A look of satisfaction swept the detectorists face.....a penny!
A mere three hours later and the young lad had dug several holes on the field, in the driveway and in the paths around the school that led into the woods being careful not to leave any holes. Pennies were located and joyfully put in a pocket. Still full of "piss and vinegar" the boy headed home picking up discarded beer and pop bottles along the way. From past outings the lad was equipped with a bag to carry his new found wealth. Dropping the bag and detector in the front porch he grabbed his ball glove, a Don Gibson model he headed to the field of dreams knowing that once done practice a trip for pie and pop were in his cards.
More sweet tones. More coins. An almost quick trip to a wooded area, natures washroom yielded an unexpected treasure....a bag of school supplies. Memories of days long gone flashed through his mind. relieved he again headed to the field and continued swinging for another half hour. His body told him it was time to go home. Reluctantly the old man backed up and headed home. Once there gear from the rear was taken out. Up the stairs....an arduous journey. Home. A look through the phone book proved negative for the senior who felt sad for the child that had lost their school supplies. A deep thought passed.....a hobby built on the misfortune of others. This was replaced with a pleasant thought as his meds cut in...Marie has lots of young nieces and nephews who visit. The recliner was extended to it's maximum while the senior watched a hockey game on the tube.
