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My son calls these “treasures.” Any object found out of its element with a little color or interest is a treasure to him. He is not quite 5. Grubbing through a campsite, he pulls these together, and declares them treasure, bestowing on them a weight that is reinforced by the screen-printed labels, the rusty scars and rippled lips that were left by swift and brutal jerks of the bottle opener. Rocks, coins, found Legos, the odd pull-tab – all are treasures. I love my son.