The Pyrite Pirate

There was a hay field across the street from the house I grew up in. I’ve written of it often. It was called the Bean Field because at one point in history it was a bean field. At the opposite end of the field was an exposed area like someone quarried dirt and rock from the hill side at one time.

The biggest attraction of this cut away was that it was the home for the most fascinating rocks and fossils I had ever seen. I recall spending hours rooting around discovering all sorts of sedimentary beauty. It was a rock-hounds wonderland.

A lot of the rocks were full of pyrite, better known as fools’ gold. On a sunny day they sparkled like gem stones. I recall when I was about seven years old I found one boulder that was quite spectacular. It was really big probably weighed more that I did. I just had to have this rock so I went home and got my red Radio Flyer wagon.

I returned to the rock and I recall struggling to roll it into the wagon bed, but I managed. The most difficult part was wheeling this heavy cargo across the bumpy surface of the field where clods of grass nearly upset the wagon on a few occasions. Once I got it to the road it was easy to get it home and I rolled it off the wagon next to our well house. This trip severely damaged my wagon. One of the axles was bent and it never served me well after that.

This rock was worth it. I recall offering to sell the rock to my uncle. He offered me fifty cents under the condition I keep the rock. What a deal, but that meant if I accepted the 5o cents I wouldn't be able to sell it to someone else for a higher price. I think I took the 50 cents.

I haven’t been home in at least 20 years, and I wonder if that rock is still there behind the well house. That uncle is now dead, so I could resell it.