Kelley sent me an email the other day that had a neat story I wanted to share with you all. It also resulted in Allan and I sharing some stories of our own, all on the theme of home archeology. I hope you like the stories.

Kelley writes:

Some of you have heard the tale of the Mitchell Family Christmas 
Miracle. Years ago, on a day not long after they'd put up the family 
Christmas tree, my Grandpa and Grandma were sitting down for an 
afternoon rest, when they were startled by a clap of thunder. An 
unusual December thunderstorm was rolling in and my Grandpa got up 
from his chair in front the china cabinet (facing the TV) to look out 
the window. Right after he got out of his chair, a bolt of lightning 
struck the TV antennae, ran down the wire and fried the TV and the 
Christmas tree plugged into the outlet on that wall. The clock plugged 
into the same outlet and hanging on that wall exploded with so much 
force that the main gear was thrown across the room and stuck into the 
front of the china cabinet - right where Grandpa's head had been 
moments before! The tale has always been told that the gear sunk a 
good half inch into the wood and would have seriously injured Grandpa 
if he'd been sitting in his chair. A true Christmas miracle.

My grandparents are both gone now. We grandkids have naturally always 
taken the tale with a grain of salt.

Fast forward to today. The old china cabinet went on to become 
Grandpas gun cabinet and sat in his room until two weeks ago when my 
cousin and his new wife began moving into the old homestead. Darby has 
inherited the cabinet (one of the first pieces of furniture Grandpa 
built for Grandma) and I'm stripping it in preparation for putting it 
in her room. My Dad was standing next to me when I scraped off the old 
paint and uncovered the repair where the gear had lodged in the face 
of this cabinet. If anything, the gash was deeper than a half inch. 
The story is perfectly true! I'm going to leave that spot unpainted as 
a "truth window".

It's a long story, but I thought you archaeology buffs would get a 
kick out of it.

After this, I shared some of my own thoughts on casual home archaeology:

Furniture archaeology! Awesome story. I used to engage in furniture archaeology when I was a kid. When I was bored, I'd go through all the cabinets and drawers in the den, which were rarely used. Each drawer was like a time capsule of the day they had been filled with whatever items were in them, and sometimes they weren't disturbed for decades.  Archaeology comes in many forms. Every late fall, I engage in "jacket archaeology" which is when I put on my jacket for the first time in 6 months or so, and fish through the pockets to see what's still there from the previous winter. There are things that lived in the inside pocket of that jacket for many years, and it was always interesting to pull them out and have a laugh, like a little time capsule. I remember one bowling scorecard that lived in there for several years, from a night out bowling that had been a lot of fun, it was a nice bit of nostalgia to always be reminded of that night when I rifled through my pockets.

It also reminds me of when I was about 5 or 6 and my dad got my brother and I a little carpentry kit for kids. It came with little pieces of wood, hammer and nails, even a real saw that would actually saw wood (could you imagine how freaked out today's fear mongering, paranoid society would be about giving a 5 year old a real saw?) I remember using that saw on the arm rest of the couch. No idea why I thought that was a good idea, but I was 5. My dad was really really mad. Years later, that couch is still in his office in Greensboro, and the saw marks are still there. He often says how glad he is that he never got it fixed, as it reminds him of me as a 5 year-old.

Then Allan added his own take:

Kelley, your Grandad was pretty lucky! I too have a tale of 
archaeology...but considerably less death-defying.

When I was growing up in Florida, my folks decided to build a house. 
Well, every house needs a good fence, so my dad decided to remove some 
of the cypress trees to use for the fence. Being about 5, I was 
fascinated with the whole process and decided that I would be helpful. 
I was intrigued by the post-hole digging, and was curious exactly how 
deep the post holes were. So, I proceeded to place my arm down in 
them, and could just barely reach the bottom of the hole. I grabbed 
the socket that my dad was using to install lag bolts, and dropped it 
in the hole.

I wasn't able to reach it. My dad spent a fair bit looking for the 
socket, finally having to just suck it up, run to the hardware store, 
and buy a new socket. I didn't really want to own up to it, because I 
didn't want to explain exactly why I dropped a socket in the hole. I 
figured my dad would be pretty irate after looking for it.

Years later, we ended up having to replace parts of the fence. 
Specifically, posts. Being a more mature 10, I again helped my dad 
with the project. We were both quite surprised to find a Craftsman 
socket, firmly embedded in the bottom of the post. Naturally, my dad 
asked me exactly just how his socket found it's merry way on to the 
bottom of the fencepost...at which point I had to come clean.
  I was then very convinced that my mischief would always be found out 
by my parents!

I fully intend to give my children saws...and sockets...and bottle 
rockets...and lawn darts - if I could find the damn things.

Always store interesting things in your coat pockets!