One particular hill, larger than most and remotely located, was once used by local gun enthusiasts as the background for an unofficial shooting range. My young friends and I occasionally prowled this location to collect the brass shell casings, which shooters would leave behind. We fantasized that perhaps they were valuable, and it was something adventurous to do.
In the summer of 1975, following a particularly violent Indiana rainstorm, I biked out to the informal shooting range with empty pockets, paper bags, and high hopes that the rain had revealed new treasure. As expected, the rainwater runoff had exposed several different types of shell casings on and around the hill. I was soon busily scooping them up.
A few feet up the hill, I made a startling discovery. Spying a small pointed rock protruding from the slope, I pried it free. It was a beautiful stone projectile point! My reward for the next three hours of excited digging was twenty separate stone artifacts ranging from scrapers to intricately designed projectile points. My memory of pausing and imaginatively pondering the fact that long ago others had lived and died in exactly the spot I was standing is distinct." - drd