a short story about archeology

Once upon a time, while exploring the woods behind my great grandmother‘s home in Natchez Trace Park, I came upon a broken piece of pottery. I scraped at the dirt and found several more chips and shards of jugs and bowls. Excited at my treasure, I ran to my grandmother‘s kitchen. My mother stood in front of a stove, wiping the fog from her glasses as she listened to my story about finding pioneer artifacts.

“That’s where your great grandmother buries her trash. Quit playing and string that bushel of beans.”

The end

My Great Grandparents' porch

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