Dirt

  It rained all day and washed much of the snow away. The downpour let up for a little while and I hit one of these old downtown parks. I didn't have much time and there was not much to be found--about five cents in pennies--but I did come out with a 1928 wheatie. Not terribly exciting, but it felt good to be digging in dirt again. I have found a number of Indian Head pennies in that particular park and I thought I had another when I found the wheat-back, as covered as it was with its thick green copper-corroded shell of age. I soaked it when I got home and discovered otherwise.
  It's strange that I feel excitement over digging up a wheat penny. I mean, I can receive one as change at the grocery store and it doesn't thrill me at all. But there is something in the act of seeking, unearthing, and holding in your hands an object that has been lost to human eyes for nearly a hundred years; something inexplicable, undefinable, unquestionably dorky, and just downright enjoyable. However, don't try explaining it to anyone.