That may be because relic hunters are a vocal lot. In 2005, Virginia’s General Assembly considered a bill requiring written permission from the landowner and increasing the penalty for trespassing with the intent to take artifacts. Relic Web sites blasted it. Representative Kenneth R. Plum, the Democrat who sponsored the bill, told a reporter that “the floodgates opened,” and the proposal faded away.

As a result, it’s open season on vast stretches of Virginia’s heritage. Even graves are in potential danger, though all human interments are protected by law. Pre-1900 burials, regardless of their demographic, are typically unmarked and easily violated by accident. Flowerdew has three known cemeteries, containing Woodland Indians, 1620s colonists and enslaved individuals from about 1760. All three are in the area metal-detected last March. In some burials, one blow from a shovel could destroy all surviving remains.

Another problem is the lack of awareness on the part of landowners. Imagine someone offering $5,000 to remove “junk” from your yard. You may not realize that your familiar universe veils a lost world. Relic hunters exploit this. I have heard of organizers paying $40,000 for a year’s access to a farmer’s field.

To be clear, I have nothing against nonprofessionals. When I was a child, my introduction to history came from relic hunters, people who should have been archaeologists but never got the chance. Later, as a professional lawn mower, I wandered into Flowerdew, and remain astounded by the opportunities that place provided for me to pursue that childhood fascination. Every town needs a Flowerdew, where people like my first mentors can explore history through archaeology.

Preserving local history requires passionate locals, and in today’s era of shrinking budgets, the ideal model is a cadre of professionals assisted by volunteers. At the Little Bighorn Battlefield, in Montana, volunteers have used their metal-detecting machines to pinpoint artifacts, whose position rewrote the story of Custer’s Last Stand.

But archaeologists, professional or not, do not hunt objects. We hunt lost worlds. Sadly, here in Virginia and elsewhere, those worlds are slipping away under the relic-hunter’s shovel, all for the sake of a few bucks.