Colin MacLean is the the assistant managing editor of the Journal Pioneer and lives in Southwest Lot 16, P.E.I. Photo by File /Journal PioneerArticle contentI’m a bit of an odd duck sometimes.THIS CONTENT IS RESERVED FOR SUBSCRIBERS ONLY.Subscribe now to access this story and more:Unlimited access to the website and appExclusive access to premium content, newsletters and podcastsFull access to the e-Edition app, an electronic replica of the print edition that you can share, download and comment onEnjoy insights and behind-the-scenes analysis from our award-winning journalistsSupport local journalists and the next generation of journalistsSUBSCRIBE TO UNLOCK MORE ARTICLES.Subscribe or sign in to your account to continue your reading experience.Unlimited access to the website and appExclusive access to premium content, newsletters and podcastsFull access to the e-Edition app, an electronic replica of the print edition that you can share, download and comment onEnjoy insights and behind-the-scenes analysis from our award-winning journalistsSupport local journalists and the next generation of journalistsRegister to unlock more articles.Create an account or sign in to continue your reading experience.Access additional stories every monthShare your thoughts and join the conversation in our commenting communityGet email updates from your favourite authorsSign In or Create an AccountorArticle contentCase in point.Article contentArticle contentA couple of years ago my wife came home to find me face-first in a sizable hole in the ground that had not existed when she left for work that morning. I was using my bare hands to scoop out handfuls of earth.Article content“Why are you in a hole?”Article contentI looked up at her reasonable question and without the slightest whiff of irony or sarcasm proclaimed, “Digging for treasure, why?”Article contentArticle contentShe blinked at me, shrugged, and went into the house. Probably questioning her life choices. I would not blame her. It wasn’t the first time it had happened.Article contentSue me. I like digging.Article contentI never know what I’ll find.Article contentEvery time I stick a shovel in the ground on my property, I unearth something interesting.Article contentMind you, I usually don’t just go digging random holes in the yard.Article contentThat day, I had dug out a rotted tree stump. In my mind, the chance of finding treasure under the stump was admittedly low – but not zero.Article contentIt’s like that every time I expand my garden or do any number of other mundane activities involving a shovel; it takes longer than it should because I’m stopping to pick up pieces of pottery, porcelain, glass or iron.Article contentArticle content“Every time I stick a shovel in the ground on my property, I unearth something interesting.”Article contentArticle contentOur home is, we believe, about 200 years old.Article contentMy understanding (I’ll hear about it if I’m wrong) was that it was owned by a family of MacNeils before my great-grandparents purchased it as a homestead for my grandparents.Article contentArticle contentThat’s a lot of years of human activity – and garbage, so much garbage.Article contentI think people used to burn their trash and bury it because I often find charcoal along with everything else. And it would help explain the volume of material I find.Article contentThe most common things are small bits of porcelain and pieces of iron you’d expect to find on a farmstead, like forged nails, spikes, machinery, and various metal things of indecipherable origin. The latter I understand, but the former mystifies me as to its sheer volume. It’s like someone walked around the yard skeet-shooting dinner plates and just left the pieces where they fell, to be covered by the slow march of time.Article contentWhatever the reason, I have a good-sized collection of these more common pieces now. I have no idea what to do with it all, but I have it. Maybe someday I’ll make a mosaic, or more likely farm it out to a more artistically inclined friend.
COLIN MACLEAN: Backyard buried treasure
