Old skool.

There’s a big hayfield up near Buxton – one in particular.   It’s got a long rock wall, a big oak tree at the north end.   It’s like something out of a Robert Frost poem.   It’s where I asked my wife to marry me: we went there for a picnic and made love under that oak and I asked and she said yes.

Promise me, Red: if you ever get out, find that spot.   In the base of that wall, you’ll find a rock that has no earthly business in a Maine hayfield.   A piece of black, volcanic glass.   There’s something buried under it I want you to have.

This is my favourite example of old-school geocaching.