Deadwood

There are different kinds of treasures; for someone this can be a lot of money or jewelry, for other this can be a child. I called a man 'my treasure' once upon a time. I guess all share the same characteristic - all can be lost suddenly.

I flipped through the pages of my new book On the border with Crook during the weekend. Reading about Crazy Horse was a great pleasure for me and when I came upon the paragraphs describing Deadwood, small town in Black Hills in South Dakota, I couldn't stop my thoughts from escaping into those August days of 2001 when I was actually there.

The main street of Deadwood, twenty yards wide, was packed by a force of men, drawn from all quarters, aggregating thousands; and the windows of both upper and lower stories of the eating-houses, saloons, hotels, and wash houses were occupied by women of good, bad, and indifferent reputation. There were vociferous cheers, clapping of hands, wavings of handkerchiefs, shrieks from the whistles of the planing mills, reports from powder blown off in anvil, and every other manifestation of welcome known to the populations of mining towns.

~ Excerpt from the book On the border with Crook~

I would describe Deadwood as a mining town of gamblers and history. For me it was a peaceful place and people looked content with themselves. I wondered when I saw open doors, bicycles lying in the frontyard, something I can hardly imagine here in the suburbs where I live. Too many thiefs have been walking around lately, unfortunately. It was the only time during that travel when B wanted to go cycling. So, we went. Up, all the way to Lead, another mining town, and a little bit futher where we turned left and followed the marked trail. On the steepest part of it, among those beautiful pines and clearings, I noticed it - a spear, lying on the sandy path, waiting for me. It was obviously there for ages, and that piece of rock was for sure shaped by a human being. I took it with me, and enjoyed the ride. Later I found some feathers, got lost and tried to find the shelter from the storm. I wouldn't mind going back one day to see if everything is still the same.

Since that day, the spear is the greatest treasure I have. If we speak of treasures that can be held in someone's hand. I unwrap it from time to time and hold it in my hands thinking of that man who shaped and used it, perhaps more than a century ago. And of course, thinking of those wonderful days I spent driving around the Wild West.