Cherry Run Down by the River

The year was 1975 and a time when older children could safely ride their bikes on back roads alone. My brother, Richard and I were often traveling the roads on our bikes for enjoyment during the summer months. We had cool bikes and would often travel the long dusty dirt road from our home to Cherry Run Road. My candy apple red bike was equipped with a flower-patterned banana seat and basket. It reminded me of Jan Brady’s bike. She was my favorite “Brady”, not Marsha. Richard rode a dark purple bike fashioned with a steering wheel instead of handlebars. Pap Fox had purchased it at an auction. Also, note Cherry Run Road was named after a runaway cow.

On this pleasant morning in August, as the sun was peering through the tree branches and onto the leaves embellishing the shades of green, we descended into the small town of Cherry Run. The small community was most certainly not the “small Chicago” as it was once known before the flood of 1930 ravaged it to nothing more but a general store. However, it was still fascinating to enter Mr. White’s store with some change in your pocket and make the taxing choice of what to purchase, such as sodas from the bottling company in nearby Berkeley Springs, a snack cake, bag of chips, or a bag full of penny candy. After that mind boggling decision was made, how would we spend the rest of the day. We could either gather all the local kids for a game of wiffle ball; cross the CSX railroad tracks and explore around the Potomac River; or hike the nearby steep wood trail to Camp Hill. This was my great grandfather’s home place with spectacular views into Maryland which was used as a lookout during the Civil War.

This day was quite a bit different. After Mr. White playfully pestered us, we made our purchase and headed outside to sit on the steps of the store. Before sitting down, I noticed a small item near the gas pump. I ran over and picked up a little black notebook. It was a nice moleskin book. I thought it must belong to someone who was just here maybe pumping gas. A tall slender bearded man stood nearby so I asked him if he had lost the book. In a grumpy tone, he said “No, I didn’t” and turned away from me. I ran back inside the store and questioned Mr. White. He was unsure and responded that no one had reported anything missing. He suggested that I hold on to it in case the owner returned.

Hot and sweaty, Richard and I sat on the concrete steps in the glaring sun for what seemed to be hours. I opened the book and glanced through the entries to see if there was a name but only instructions. I focused my attention on what appeared to be a map of Cherry Run and the river bridge. After reading through the instructions, it seemed to imply that a fortune could be found close by. I was so intrigued. I yelled: “Richard! We need to follow this map and find this buried treasure”. The first step was to cross the railroad tracks, turn right onto the rail trail, and travel to the river bridge according to the instructions, so off we went.

Through mud holes, dirty black grit, and hunks of coarse coal, we peddled as hard and as fast as we could muster. It seemed like forever until we finally saw the river bridge. In following the instructions, we were to make our way to under the first pier of the bridge close to the river’s edge. The river (separating West Virginia and Maryland) was high today from the summer storm last night and moving swiftly. We took caution not to get to close. We searched and searched but could not find the concrete block that was marked with green as described. After hunting for quite a while and to the point of giving up, we located a piece of concrete. It was indeed a cinder block and was submerged in the soft soil with only the top corner revealed. I said: “This has to be it!”

We started pulling and digging around it until it finally gave way. It was heavy, and of course, difficult for two kids to try to pull from the thick mud. We started to make progress and finally pulled it out of the mud with me falling to the ground. I was a sloppy, muddy mess. Still, after all this work, we did not see anything in the hole. We were so dejected after all that work and time. Richard said: “That’s it!” “I’m done.” “Let’s go home!” We had a long ride ahead us and needed to be home before dark. But in the blink of an eye, I saw a glimmer of light in the hole. I yelled: “Wait!” I fell to my knees and began to dig with all that I had left. Richard came running back and started to help. My fingertips touched something. I grabbed it and pulled a rusted silver box from the hole. I could tell it had been buried for a long time. The lid was rusted shut so Richard found a rock. He began pounding the lid until it broke open. We were so anxious to open the box but fearful at the same time. I slowly removed the lid and a banned large wad of cash was revealed. It had to be at least $20,000, I thought to myself. We began to yell and jump in celebration of our findings. We were millionaires! As we hurriedly packed our things for the journey home, a sound came from the trees. We could see a shadow of a man.