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Joined: 06/03/2010

Copied from my post in another section. Chris S
I know this has nothing to do with guns but it does have a little history and since I'm telling it, my rules. My Grandmother (Grandma Lee) lived on the farm her father had homesteaded before the turn of the century, last century now. When I stayed with her I had the whole outdoors at my disposal from roaming the woods with my 22 rifle or fishing on the river that flowed through her land. She had already raised her family and I often wonder how she felt about "raising" me because I could be quite a handful in my younger days. I have written before about berry picking and such so this is just a continuation of my exploits on her place.
My Grandma Lee used to lease one of her farm fields out to a neighbor who planted various crops each year, some years huge corn rows grew and some years hay or alfalfa were planted, it varied as the ground needed replenishing with crop rotation. When the field was fresh plowed in the spring one of Grandma's favorite past times was walking the plowed furrows looking for arrowheads. You see, her land had been a prominent crossroads for various bands of Chippewas and Menominees, Ojibwas as the Nation is called. Over the years she had collected everything from flint small game heads to larger scrappers and even newer copper arrowheads as the metal gained prominence as a material for such things. Note: The Upper Peninsula was a copper producing area as well as the more famous iron ore deposits.
When I spent summers with my Grandma we occasionally walked the field looking for relics and I learned how to spot the flint and stone fragments that could be treasures. We would wash our finds in the old rainwater barrel by the back porch and then dposit them in old (wooden) cigar boxes she had saved from her dad. I didn't contribute much but did add a few and when it was a rainy day and I was stuck inside, I would dig out those boxes and spread out all the heads and dream of the days when that farm had been a wilderness populated by the people who had long disappeared from the area and what game, large or small, had this arrowhead taken or was it a gift to trade for something else, or perhaps a present to a son on his first hunt, the possibilities seemed endless.
When my Grandma got older she could no longer spend the whole year at her beloved farm and had to spend the winters with my Aunt. The farm was sealed for the season and left alone and during one of those lonely days some unscrupulous villain broke in to the house and stole many treasures including the boxes of arrowheads! I regret to this day that I never took some of the small treasures we had discovered before they were lost forever. It is a sad epitaph to a lifetime of collecting.