Penny

Throughout my lifetime, having a penny in my hand always brought a feeling of satisfaction and security. Such feeling probably evolved from hard times in the 30’s when possession of any coin was immeasurably better than the alternative. In earlier times, a few Indian pennies were still in circulation, but collectors soon precipitated their virtual disappearance. Thus during my years on the planet, the Lincoln Penny became the American one-cent coin of exchange and commerce.

I always remember the shiny new coppers dispensed periodically by the U.S. Mint and how rich they seemed. Of course, that was interrupted for a time during World War II when the so-called zinc penny circulated since copper had become a vital metal for the “war effort”. Later on, the by-then dull zinc pennies became collectors’ pieces and also eventually vanished. Then delightfully, the shiny little copper coins reappeared. And even the tarnished coppers always retained a subtle glow.

A very special surprise was finding a penny! Perhaps my father kept the charm of that event alive by the virtual celebration of finding a penny on the road, along a path or on a Grange Hall floor! It compared in his mind with an occasional, but no less exciting, discovery of a four-leaf clover which he would pluck and place in the watch-pocket of his overalls.

Today, many decades later and on the eve of the century’s most critical financial times and looming debt crisis, there is endless discussion about millions, billions and even trillions of dollars! The rhetoric, political posturing and brinkmanship being played out on radio, television and computer monitors vacillate between the frightening and the absurd! It is such that today, when I encountered and pocketed a solitary penny in the parking lot of my local super-market, I felt a strangely haunting sense of wealth.

Tennessee, 2011

Teyateyaneng

Five years residence in Lesotho, that kingdom in the sky, offered many opportunities to explore the national countryside since crossing into then segregated South Africa was somewhat more complex. Local destinations however were interesting, colorful and laden with historical lore. One such easy weekend site was Teyateyaneng, called “TY” by locals and expatriates alike.

Teyateyaneng harbored a regional history involving the Boers, the British and the Basotho nation which I shall not attempt to untangle in this account. More simply stated, in the mid-1980s the picturesque town had become a major Lesotho crafts center noted for Basotho weavings, blankets, hats, wall hangings, rugs, paintings and ceramics. It also offered a pleasant retreat for residents of the busier capital Maseru, with adequate lodging and dining facilities.

But for those drawn by prehistoric or archeological intrigue, nearby rock shelters and ancient cave paintings held a real adventure. Centuries ago, the stone-age hunter-gatherer San tribe roamed widely across the veldts, kopjes and mountains of Southern Africa. Their descendents, now known as Bushmen, still inhabit the Kalahari region of Botswana but were once vastly more prevalent across the area. The San often registered their warring victories and also their animal hunting feats on the walls of rock caves in pigments derived from plants and clays which not only survived the ages but also preserved remarkably beautiful art forms. And they remain a timeless record of human history.

Near Teyateyaneng’s rocky bluffs there are such caves displaying those marvelous paintings. They are preserved by the Kingdom of Lesotho and may still be visited. Before the town became a tourist shopping center, the caves could be approached by jeep and an overland hike for the final distance. Since the landscape was largely devoid of vegetation, the caves were relatively easy to locate. Yet, to avoid any chance of losing the way, delightful little African boys scrambled to serve as local guides.

I remember Julia being guided hand in hand across the rocky slopes by two smiling chocolate-brown youngsters with flashing eyes, broad smiles and challenging chatter. Approaching the caves and facing the timeless paintings, they suddenly fell silent, gazing in awe upon an ancient heritage and somehow feeling a mysterious attachment. As for ourselves, we were likewise mesmerized by the beauty and the antiquity, and at the same time so pleased by the company of Julia’s helpful little guides.

Lesotho, 1983