The weather was cold, single digits cold, and snow was blowing all around. This was by definition an adventure, so bundled up as we could be, we kept on going. After climbing a steep hill we turned a corner to find something rather magical, at least to us.
From an era long since gone, a remnant of wonder and curiosity. With caution we approached and discovered it was an old mine, collapsed, but with some structure still remaining. Immediately the questions poured into my head. What were they mining, gold, or silver? How did they dig this mine through all those rocks? What brought them here?
The very small one room shack the miner(s) called home was still standing, well sort of. The roof had long fallen in, allowing the snow to make itself comfortable.
Inside, old cans continued on their path of rust, and it looked like many a chipmunk had called this place home.
Looking around at the set up this miner had created, I could imagine him (or her?) getting up each morning, lighting a fire to boil some cowboy coffee and looking out over the mountains to the west hoping that day would be the day he struck gold.
There is a reason the word story is part of the word history, meaning his or her story. Little pieces like this old mine are a treasure chest of stories, which is why history is so much fun. Knowing the actual story of how this mine came to be and who laid claim to it would be a good thing to know, but that knowledge starts with wonder, curiosity, and best of all, a good imagination.
What will you explore today?
*Last time in Books and Stories: The Write Start Interview