Suzanne Burns

“In the course of a week, I've found whole pizzas, wrapped sandwiches, bags of onions, garlic, shallots, salad mix, boxes of donuts and cookies and all kinds of vegetables,” says a 20-something Bend resident who is also an on-and-off dumpster diver. He tells me his name is Mr. Nobody, and doesn't want his identity known because in many instances, dumpster diving equates to trespassing.

Central Oregon native Alastair Morley Jaques, who entertained a spellbound audience at last year's recitation of Allen Ginsberg's “Howl” and two sold-out Edgar Allan Poe shows last October, has spent countless hours preparing to bring Poe to life once more.

On the evening of July 25 as we drove under the iconic green bridge and into downtown Brownsville, Oregon, we were transported onto the set of Stand By Me. Unchanged since filming in 1985, seemingly unchanged since the '50s, I asked Linda McCormick, organizer of the film's 25th anniversary celebration, what attracts fans to her quaint hometown.
“The '50s were a simple time for many people in America and coming to Brownsville is like stepping back in time,” she said.
But the Stand By Me celebration was no ordinary step-back. Sure, the buildings nestled on Main Street retained their almost overly nostalgic Norman Rockwell facades, but Brownsville swelled with tourists from all over the world. Big-city hipsters traded the obligatory glad rags for jeans, Chuck Taylors and white Ts, cigarette pack rolled up in one sleeve. Middle-aged men greased thinning hair into ducktails while teenage boys vied for a spot in the Cobras, Kiefer Sutherland's movie gang, which spent their free time playing mailbox baseball and carving tattoos into each other's arms by way of rusty knife.

This late winter and early spring, I have become a slave to the beep. Beep, beep, beep – a quick metallic staccato as our metal detector, the Garrett Ace250, teases us with the possibility of unearthing a rare coin, a lost Rolex or an antique diamond ring. Armed with our “kit,” slang in the metal detecting culture for our detector, a pin-pointer, a shovel and an ice pick, my husband and I have scaled hill and dale in the hopes of finding that elusive buried treasure.
Metal detecting, like gambling, attracts the eternal optimist. Who else would spend a sunny Saturday afternoon waving a metal wand for hours over countless acres of park, forest and desert on the slim chance of striking it rich?
If you are a group-joining type, you can sit in on a meeting of the High Desert Treasure Club. They meet the second Wednesday of every month at the Bend VFW Hall at 7pm.