This story is about a man who, while hunting ginseng in the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, accidentally found two strange artifacts hidden deep on the forest floor of a mountain range known as Three Ridges. His family related these objects to witchcraft and considered them taboo. The man's life did take on drastic changes from the day he found the strange but fascinating "pieces."

    This story though somewhat embellished, was dredged up from my journal of many years ago and is based on actual events.

    It was late fall 1982 as my husband and I drove down Route 6 from Richmond towards our home in Love, Virginia. We were admiring the scenery in the little community of Schuyler, when I spotted an old country store with a yard sale sign dominating most of the front window. George read my mind and steered the car into the rutty driveway. Knowing my passion for yard sales, he realized we would be there for awhile, so he began rummaging around in the driveway that was strewn out like so much confetti with old furniture, glassware, pots and pans, stuffed animals and even an Elvis lamp.

     I hurried inside, with George following, and we noticed a large woman sitting behind a dark oak counter, puffing on a cigarette. Smoke curled around her furrowed face and she looked up as we entered but did not speak. Crude shelves were lined with dolls, pottery, and every conceivable kind of music box. The room was filled with a variety of period furniture, rugs, and in one corner there was an old drink box, that actually held cold drinks. George was looking around when he saw a man standing nearby holding a tiny Chihuahua. The little dog seeing George approaching, rolled up his tiny lips showing every tooth in his head and grinned from ear to ear. The man said the dog's name was Peanut. I was on my way over to see the dog, when I spotted a chair turned upside down and there, lying on a tattered pillow, was a curious looking bronze-like object. Fascinated, I was compelled to pick it up, and when I did, was surprised how heavy it was. It was the most interesting looking thing I had ever seen and I motioned for George, who was still playing with Peanut, to come and look at it. The man, who we later learned was Mr. Johnson, said his mother was the woman at the counter and she owned the artifact. He began to tell us how his mother was able to buy the "head" as he called it, and hanging on to every word with utter fascination, this is the story he told:

     A black man while hunting ginseng deep in the forest of the Blue Ridge mountains decided to sit on a rock to rest and eat his lunch. As he was finishing off his lunch, his eyes were drawn to a glint of sun shining on something a few feet away. He squinted and looked again. The object reflecting the sun was somewhat obscured by thick blueberry bushes. His interest piqued, and laying his ginseng bag against a tree, he ventured curiously over to the object. He felt drawn to it almost like a magnet and his heart raced as he got closer. Reaching it finally, he stopped dead in his tracks, for what he saw literally took his breath. It was a tarnished bronze-like object of muted gold and greenish color, almost invisible under the moist leaves. If the sun had not glinted off it, the man wouldn't have seen it at all. He reached down to pick it up and surprisingly found it to be quite heavy. The object, about sixteen inches in length, looked like the head of a man, yet it had feminine features with two wings, each about six inches wide protruding from the sides of the "head." The man ran his hands over the rough wings, which were covered with tiny holes and the ends of the wings were ragged and uneven, obviously from years of deterioration. There was a tube-like neck that extended at the base of the neck and looked as if it had been attached to something. On the top of the head was a miniature version of the same head. One of the wings had a hornet's nest embedded deep inside. The man turned the head over to see the back side, and what he saw made his hair prickle. It looked like a bird with tiny human figures carved into the wings. The man shuddered as something deep inside rebelled against this strange and unexplained object. Cold sweat ran down his face and he could feel it trickling down his back. He took his bandana and mopped his face, then took the sweaty rag and rubbed a small spot on the bronzy-looking head. A greenish tinge began to appear on the rag. He took the end of his shirt to polish the spot and it gleamed like pure gold. He was astonished and his mind began to race with questions.

     Tucking in his shirt, he scanned the area, thinking there might be more of the same nearby. He searched a large area around the treasure spot, and sure enough, lying nearby under thick leaves was a sign-like object about twenty eight inches long by three inches wide and two inches thick. It was a dull aluminum color, very heavy, with strange writing on it. He searched further but could find nothing more.

    He took the "head" and the sign and tucked them into his ginseng bag and made his way home where he displayed them excitedly to his family. They all shuddered at seeing the head, and his mama told him they were probably related to witchcraft, and suggested he get rid of them as soon as possible, or bad things might happen to him. Sure enough before he could sell them, he lost his job, his wife got sick and had to go to the hospital, and his mother died!

     He decided to find a buyer for them and that's when he took them to Mrs. Johnson's country store. He had known Mrs. Johnson from boyhood and knew that she would be interested in them, but he had to drive a hard bargain with her for a fair deal.

     Mrs. Johnson was so excited over the man's incredible "find," that her first impulse was to buy them no matter what he asked for them. He refused her first offer of two hundred dollars, so she sweetened the deal by offering him five hundred dollars and a diamond necklace. He was well pleased with this offer and left the mystery treasure with her, feeling relieved of it's ownership.

    Mrs. Johnson truly believed the mystery treasure to be of infinite value, and immediately began looking into it's origin. In the meantime, she was plagued with other antique dealers who tried to buy it from her, but she refused all offers.

     An antique dealer from Charlottesville, who also owned an oriental rug company, got wind of this incredible find and came to see it. He told Mrs. Johnson in his estimation, the "head" was from the sixteenth century and the writing on the sign was Greek, but he admitted he was not an expert, and gave no further information except to advise her to take out seventy five thousand dollars of insurance on the two pieces until they could be further investigated. She took his advise taking out the insurance, then gave him permission to send them away. She was now waiting for him to come and pick them up to send to New York to be identified and evaluated.

     That's where we came into the picture. I was obsessed by the story that Mr. Johnson told, and went immediately to his Mother who was still sitting behind the counter puffing on a cigarette. I asked her if I could get some pictures and come back later for a story on video tape. She was hesitant at first, but finally agreed. I was happy yet puzzled to learn that no one had come to get this story.

     As I took pictures of the head, I inquired about the sign. In a subtle way, Mrs. Johnson evaded the question and I never saw it. It occurred to me.... if this "head" was supposedly so valuable, why was it sitting so haphazardly on an old pillow in the middle of the store! Perhaps this thing is a fake and I'm as naive as the old woman, I thought. But I saw it, held it, even thrust my finger into the hornet's nest! I could almost feel the authenticity of it, and wanted to believe it was genuine. I didn't know what it was, but it was news! This was a story and I wanted to write about it.

    George and I stopped at a cafe' in Nellysford for lunch. I headed for the ladies room with George chiding me about washing off all that antique dirt. We ate lunch discussing our day's activity, but our conversation kept reverting to the strange "head-bird."

    Weeks passed and I finally found a weekend to go back for the promised interview. My daughter Teri was visiting me and consented to do the taping. We arrived late in the afternoon. Mrs. Johnson was again sitting in her usual place behind the counter puffing on a cigarette. While Teri looked at the music boxes, I talked with Mrs. Johnson, who told me the man from Charlottesville had picked up the artifacts and she was waiting to hear the results. Teri came over and began taping the conversation, becoming interested in the story as it unfolded. Mrs. Johnson said the black man moved to Scottsville and she had not seen him since he sold the pieces to her. I asked her the man's name. I wanted to try for an interview, but surprisingly she would not reveal his name.

    With no new facts, the taping and interview didn't take long. We said our goodbyes and headed back over the mountain, promising ourselves we would go back and follow up the story.

     Incredibly, five years swept by. A busy schedule kept me from following up on the story. I never read anything about it in the news or on television, and feared it was all a hoax anyway. Yet I couldn't get it out of my mind and every now and then something would remind me of that interesting day in the old country store. I still longed to know what happened to the mystery treasure.

    One day my husband and I decided to take a ride over to the old store to see Mrs. Johnson. When we arrived it was boarded up. All the junk was gone. Disappointed, we inquired at a nearby convenience store and was told that Mrs. Johnson had died and her son moved to Lovingston. Well, that's the end of that story, I thought. Yet, I knew there was still a story...somewhere. Maybe I could go to Lovingston one day and see Mr. Johnson and learn what happened to the treasure.

    Several months passed and that opportunity came. In Lovingston I looked up Mr.Johnson and drove up to an old clapboard house. The yard was cluttered with trash, old tires, car parts, and seemingly left over yard sale items. A man came to the door and there stood Mr. Johnson who invited us to come in. After a brief conversation, we learned that he no longer had the mystery treasure that belonged to his mother.

     I was astonished when he told me that the Elmwood Police Department suspected the articles had been stolen before his mother bought them, so they confiscated them for evidence. He said his mother never saw them again and was never compensated for her loss. There was never any news of such a theft, and the treasure simply disappeared. Was that the end of the story? I was not convinced. There were too many unanswered questions. But someday, I thought�..perhaps the treasure will show up in some museum somewhere, and when it does, what a story I will have to tell then!

© 2000Bunny Stein

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