“In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine…”
There’s something about an old parking lot at the edge of town—quiet, cracked pavement, weeds creeping in from the margins. It feels like a place where something was forgotten… or maybe just left behind.
This cache takes its name from the haunting folk song In the Pines, passed from voice to voice through Appalachian hills and beyond. Lead Belly gave it its ache, Nirvana gave it its edge—but the sorrow in the melody remains the same. A missing soul. A lonesome night. A question left hanging in the air: Where did you sleep last night?
You won’t have to stray far from the pavement to find this one, but sharp eyes and a thoughtful pause will serve you well. The container is not what it seems—it blends with its surroundings, waiting silently to be discovered. No tools are needed, just a pen and a bit of patience.
“My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me…”
What you’re looking for won’t lie—it’s just very good at hiding.