metal detector – Joseph Benedict Blog

Did you ever see a person doing something when you were a kid that you thought was dorky, and then later in life, you found yourself doing the same thing?

I started metal detecting about four years ago when my girlfriend at the time who is now my wife and who encourages me to embrace my nerdiness, bought a metal detector for my birthday. I remember the first time I detected was on Folly Beach SC. After arriving at the beach, and while standing at the rear of my car, I prepared for the adventure by attaching a camouflage pouch with a belt around my waist. The pouch held my digging shovel, magnifying glass, and a few other miscellaneous items used in the pursuit of treasure. The rest of my outfit consisted of hiking boots, long woolen socks with red stripes, cargo shorts and, a floppy hat.

When I started to pull the new detector from its carrying case, my girlfriend took a quick look at my outfit and suggested I might want to keep it inside the case on the way to the beach. Once on the beach, she suggested I could store the case near where I would be detecting and that she would watch me from a distance. Now I am not a scientist, but I was getting the feeling she was trying to disassociate herself from my new hobby.

For the first hour or so, I was doing a lot of digging and sifting through the sand after hearing each signal but had little luck in actually finding anything. Finally, after another 30 minutes, I pulled a real bit of metal out of the sand. There was another detectorist in the general area who had been keeping his distance, but now that I had found something, and was apparently looking at it with a confused expression, he came over to have a look.

You can always tell an experienced detectorist because they are confident when identifying finds. “That’s a such and such caliber bullet from World War ll,” he informed me. Then putting his hands on his hips, gazed toward the water as if imagining another time and place and said, “yep, they used these beaches for target practice during the war.” Looking back at the object, and then at me, I think he was trying to determine if it was dumb luck on my part, and after making up his mind, and before sauntering off, said, “That’s a good find.”

It is hard to explain the attraction to a hobby where I mostly find scraps of metal or old soda cans, and rarely anything of value. I think it is a bit like Pavlov’s dog; each time I hear a signal in the headset, I realize there is the possibility of real treasure lying below the surface. I know from experience that the chances of it being of no value is high, but I have to look to be sure. I also understand from watching YouTube videos of other detectorists, that there is a bit of science to getting your detectors settings right, so you don’t waste time digging up junk. I have not quite mastered that part yet, and still find myself digging every signal.

There is an immensely funny British series produced about metal detecting called “detectorist.” The show, which features superb cinematography and thoughtful writing, combines the main characters’ drive and passion for discovering a bit of history along with a humorous cast of misfits who aptly represent the quirkiness of the hobby. There is a poignant conversation at the end of the last episode where Lance, one of the main characters sums up why he continues to detect. “Metal detecting is the closest you will get to time travel. We unearth the scattered memories, mine the stories, fill in the personality. Detectorists, we’re time travelers.” That’s certainly good enough for me, even though a lot of my stories are about common litterbugs.

A Writing Shed

I am dreaming of a writing shed set in a shady part of our yard where two majestic oaks once stood before a storm toppled them like giant dominoes. I imagine the shed having two barn-style doors I would open wide when writing at my desk. Sitting there, I can hear songbirds who nest in our yards many trees and shrubs. I hear water running over rocky riverbeds before dropping into deeper pools from three ponds near the greenhouse. Cisco and Finn, two Golden Retrievers who roam the property come by to check on me from time to time. If nothing more interesting is going on, they lie on the rug under my desk or stretch out on the front porch waiting to see if I throw them something to retrieve.

Windows on each side of the shed allow morning and evening sunlight to stream in, and I watch as the light moves across the rough-hewn Barnwood floors throughout the day. On breezy days, the light creates ever-changing shadow art patterns along the shed walls.

The exterior paint is bright white with a black trim to match the main house. An oriental rug in varying shades of blue lies underneath my desk and extends several feet beyond the dimensions of the desk in each direction. The desk is an old farmhouse kitchen table made of pine, and its chair is an antique wooden swivel chair with spindle back, and wheels that roll quietly on the rug.

Several shelves mounted to a wall behind the desk hold artifacts found in the yard with my metal detector. One of the shelves holds some of my favorite books. A modern LED task light provides a concentrated pool of white light in the center of the writing desk. The light aids me when writing in my journal or reading a book. A wooden cigar box containing my collection of pens sits on one corner of the desk.

Several paintings of oil on canvas hang on the walls depicting landscape scenes with dramatic skies. In one corner, a wood-burning stove with decorative soapstone panels sits atop brick pavers and raised tin tiles provide a protective heat shield against the wall — the stovepipe standing straight exits through the ceiling and roof. Next to the stove, a copper container loaded with split wood and tall matches in a decorative cardboard cylinder. Several large pinecones dipped in cinnamon-scented wax are scattered across the top of the wood, and used as starters.

In front of the shed, a wooden deck with two rockers extends the width of the shed and has a step up from the cobblestone path leading to the entrance of the shed. The deck has a metal roof that is supported by 4×4 posts along its front. Two planters filled with herbs mounted under the front windows provide a pleasant earthy fragrance inside the space.

A small ceiling fan hanging from the center rafter keeps air moving on warm summer afternoons. There is a small comfortable red settee in a grouping with another upholstered chair, side table, and lamp. The lamp has a beautiful stained glass shade, and in the evening, its subdued light is a perfect complement to the space.

The cobblestone path winds through a natural area of smaller trees, wildflowers, and mulch. A narrow antique side table sits underneath a window and has a propane cook-stove, several of my favorite ceramic cups, a French press, and a variety of teas. The view from the front porch is to the west across the yard facing the greenhouse with a long view of the polo field and a corner of sky where spectacular sunsets perform each evening.