My friend Paul recently moved back into the area and took over the family farmhouse, established in the 1700’s. The home sits on the Pennsylvania farmstead which several generations of his lineage lived and worked.

In our fast moving technological world, I think we under-appreciate or perhaps, can’t truly fathom, all the history that has transpired just underfoot. So, here my friend is going through the tedious process of renovating a 17th century farmhouse. He and his wife live out of an adjacent mobile home, every morning emerging to work alongside contractors to sure up foundations, run new plumbing, install flooring and mend chimneys. It’s a tall order, for a couple in their sixties.

Just the other day, while troubleshooting drainage along the perimeter of the home, Paul tripped over what he thought was a rock. He recovered quickly and grabbed for a shovel, wedging it under an edge and extracting the object. Upon inspection, his frustration yielded to a smile as the piece was dislodged from the earth. He swept the reddish brown dirt from the surface and immediately recognized the hulk as an old foot-operated sharpening wheel – picture an old man on a porch turning a large, heavy stone with a foot pedal, perhaps sharpening an axe.

Now, to me…this whole undertaking is incredible: a man in retirement, moving back east to restore the family farmhouse. Just awesome! And the physicality is tremendous; we’re talking back-breaking work. The shear willingness to do this is incredible. But the most impressive thing, in my view, are the memories and emotions that must be in play as Paul returns home. No doubt, he remembers so much about this place, and there also must be an awful lot that he has long forgot and is reminded of on a daily basis – for instance, when he stumbles upon it.

This sharpening stone, to me it’s symbolic. Sharp tools are a necessity on the farm. The broken stone must have been discarded in the yard or perhaps buried there as fill. Maybe it busted on the old man and he tossed it aside in frustration, the years eventually sinking it into the earth’s embrace. Paul stared off in recollection. He explained that granddad would use it all the time to put an edge on his tools. He could hear the abrasive squeal of the stone, licking at steel. Paul recalled the sparks flying off the wheel and the smell of grinding metal and stone.

Makes me wonder what else is buried in that yard. What fragments of this family’s life lay beneath the surface, just waiting to be discovered? No, I’m not talking about bodies, you dopes…but common items lost or discarded, which carry along with them a significance. And what of our own yards…what relics of ours have we left behind, accidentally or on purpose? I’m thinking time capsules: the significance of grandpa’s watch or old coins brought back from a foreign land. Or pirate’s booty, brought ashore and laboriously inland to this obscure homestead in Pennsyltucky.

Some philosophical questions:

1. What items will we leave on this earth and who might find them?

2. What story might these tokens tell of our lives and what would we want people to know about us?

3. What sentiments do we dig up: feelings, emotions, memories, along with these fragments?