By Liz Mayers
The farmer picked up a broken spur from the dirt and dropped it into the basket; it clinked against buttons, buckles, and musket balls. Each spring, like previous generations, he collected fragments from the fields before planting began.
“Let’s go, Sarge,” he called his loyal dog.
Back in the barn, he hoisted the basket onto a shelf then pulled a tarp over it. Historians and archaeologists always hunted down this battlefield. His family turned them away; they couldn’t risk losing their only livelihood.
He looked up at the shelves and sighed. His children would show them everything when he was gone.
Good use of your 101 words. I could picture the scene vividly and got a sense of the farmer’s character.
What a wonderful tale for the 250th!
The scene itself becomes history.
The farmer’s commitment to maintaining the continuity of past generations is honorable, yet he seems resigned to the fact that his children will not do the same. Very nicely done!
I find stories of human frailties very likeable.