Trawlin’ for scrap, suburban-style

Treasure hunter by Les Chatfield (Elsie esq.)

This past year I was given one of the strangest gifts I’ve received in quite some time, and the the more I think about it the more it makes me smile.

My folks gave me a metal detector. You know, the kind you use on the beach to find buried treasure.

Except I don’t live anywhere near a beach, and I’m pretty sure there isn’t any treasure other than very old manure in my cow-pasture-turned-yard.

But here’s the thing: I’m keeping it. And I keep looking for a reason to use it.

Because these are tough times we’re living in, dawg, and you never know when you’re going to want to trawl the neighborhood for scrap.