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We just bought a house. I was in the backyard with my son. He thought there were probably some treasures hidden there, so we were on a quest.

The far end of the yard was overgrown with trees, bushes, and high grass. There were three trees, and they all bent towards one another, as if frozen in a dance. They looked like some of those characters in a 30s cartoon, but my son would not know anything about that. But he did know cool when he saw it, so he ran towards the trees. I followed.

”Dad, look at this,” he hollered, “There’s an old picket fence back here."

"Well look at that,” I said and surveyed the area beyond the fence. “An old road used to be back here. A foot path.”

The fence was about chest-high for him, so naturally he jumped over it without a problem.

”Dad, look at this,” he said, “There’s a cat scratched into one of the planks. I can barely see it, but it’s there.”

I scrambled across the fence to join him. “Well would you look at that,” I said.

”Do you think it means treasure?"

"I dunno. I think it’s an old hobo sign."

"A hobo sign? What’s that?"

"Hobos used to leave them to let each other know if it’s safe, if there’s food, things like that."

"Oh,” he said. “Who were hobos?"

"People with no homes. They jumped on trains to travel around the country. Set up camps near old mines. Knew the woods like the back of their hand. Sang sad sad tunes. Things like that."

"Nice,” he said, his eyes all lit up. “I want to be a hobo when I grow up,” and then immediately: “What does this one mean?”

I took out my phone and googled it, “I think it’s this one. It means ‘kind lady lives here’."

"That was a long time ago,” he said, “I wonder what happened to her.”

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk