Cape Karen
Since moving to this godforsaken area nine years ago, I've been wanting to go gem hunting. Right next door, the state of North Carolina is filled with all sorts of mines for finding gems in the native dirt. After perusing many different N.C. gem mining sites, I decided we'd go to the Sheffield Mine in Franklin. It would be part of Frank's up-coming birthday present. "Who knows, I thought, he might get lucky and find himself a valuable ruby, maybe a "Super Honker" as they call them, or maybe I will find a "Squeaker." O' fun!
So, over the mountains we went, on this beautiful spring day; lunches packed, rubber gloves in tow and wearing our oldest, rattiest jeans and sweatshirts.
The trip over the mountains, down into indian territory in Cherokee, N.C. was simply gorgeous. The weather couldn't have been nicer. No matter that they are widening the mountain roads, and that we had to sit in traffic for a while ~ it forced us to really look around at the scenic views at 6,000 feet. No matter that my left ear crackles, pops, and aches like a bitch, and I go deaf from the up-and-down extremes in elevation, it was worth it! The mountain views were simply incredible; layer upon layer of rolling mountaintops ~ as far as the eye could see. The sky was bright blue (not pink like in this photo) with nary a cloud in sight. A picture postcard view ~ and, of course, I forgot to bring my camera!
We wound our way through Cherokee, past the big Casino, and on through the ratty little towns along the way. How do people live out here, I wondered? What do they do? Just miles and miles of rolling hills and little falling-down shacks everywhere. It's like going back in time. Nice in a way. . . at least there are no Super Walmarts or strip malls to also mar the pretty landscape. But, where do these mountain folks grocery shop? What happens if their old trucks break down out there? What if they need an ambulance? They're just sittin' out there all by themselves, on acres and acres of beautiful, tree-dotted land. Privacy is not an issue. . . that's for sure! We should all be so lucky.
It took us about an hour out of Cherokee before we found our way to The Sheffield Mine ~ up a paved road, no less! Wow. I was impressed. I expected to travel on a little winding dirt road, and I think Frank was relieved to find we weren't bumping along through deep, muddy ruts on a nasty, rock-filled road.
Parking our car in the dirt parking lot, down to the mine we went, all ready to cash-in on the BIG one! Paying our fee and gathering two heavy buckets of dirt each, we made our way to the benches in front of the trough of water where we would scrub the rocks in screen-bottomed trays, over and over again, until we found the shiny rubies hidden in the rocks under the thick layer of sticky orange mud. Surprisingly, the place was packed; there was hardly a place to sit down ~ that is, until Gene from Georgia "found" a 420 oz. ruby in a rock, and decided to give somone else a chance. Taking his place, we sure felt lucky now!
Three hours later, covered in wet mud, our rubber-gloved hands numb from the cold water, we gave up the ghost. Not a glimmer of pink or rose; not a hint of jewels in the muddy remains; just four big piles of muddy dirt and plain old rocks lay at our feet. Had we missed one? Had we not washed them off good enough? Or, was this some kind of a joke? Maybe this is all make-believe, and we were just suckered-in? Non-believer's now, we trudged back to the car and made our mountainous way back home ~ deflated and depressed that we hadn't struck it rich ~ like "Gene from Georgia."
Will we ever go back again? Have we become 'addicted' to gem hunting? NOT even! But. . . if we had found a ruby, even a small one, I bet we'd be singing a different tune today. (And so would all those po' mountain folks! )
I guess we'll just have to buy some more lottery tickets to keep the dream of 'instant riches' alive; it costs about the same ~ and it's a whole lot less work!
Happy birthday, Frank . . . maybe next year we can try a gold mine?