I was a consummate golf-course angler and crayfish collector. I was exploring Little Dry Creek, probably looking for golf balls I could sell back to the pro shop, when I saw a square bit of metal sticking out of the muddy bank under a bridge. I excavated a bit, determined the metal was the bottom of a magazine, and came up with the .45 Auto that had been used in the homicide and then apparently tossed off the bridge. The authorities had combed the area for days following the murder, but it took a 7-year-old sportsman to produce the evidence.
While hunting rabbits and squirrels, I found a large obsidian arrowhead, completely intact, along the edge of a cornfield behind my grandparents’ house in Ohio. It was almost as big as today’s iphone, and its edges were sharpened at parallel angles. I always wondered if it was designed to spin in flight. It’s hard to imagine what people must have gone through to get that obsidian hundreds of miles back to Ohio in the days before roads and bridges. The nearest source for obsidian back in the pre-settlement era was probably the Yellowstone Plateau. I wondered about the person who must have treasured it, and how they lost it.
I brought the point to school to show my sixth-grade class. Our school had been built by a contractor that specialized in prison construction, and it was one of those modern buildings with exposed duct work and floors of stained concrete. Some bozo classmate of mine dropped the arrowhead onto that hard floor, and it shattered into pieces.