Fishing for TreasureAdventures in Junk

Bill and I set out exceedingly early one Saturday to visit a flea market far out in the country and sell a couple of black powder long guns. He used to collect them, but got tired of pouring powder or biting cartridges or whatever the obsolete operating system was.

Now, it’s getting more difficult to sell firearms at most flea markets. In between the folks who test the product by firing over the heads of the crowd, and the ones who peddle illegal stuff out of their trunks to finance their favorite kinds of mayhem, the markets have gotten pretty skittish about weapons.

Now, Bill has never been afraid of snakes. Family lore has it that as a boy he went on missions to clean water moccasins out of the swimming hole. He would lay out fishhooks and lines on the bank to capture them, and then string the trophies together to impress the other kids.

I only heard of him bringing a snake into the house once. It was a copperhead in a jar. He’d decided to keep it in his room. Luckily, his Dad found it before his Mom did. If it had been the other way around he’d have likely finished his childhood in military school.