Dad and I stood a few dozen yards from the creek bank looking at the worse-for-wear ladder with the metal bucket hanging from it and speculated on how such a configuration might have come about. The ladder had been there for awhile for sure. Vines of what appeared to be poison ivy entwined along and around the two remaining rungs. It seemed obvious that the bucket came later and we remarked that it was somewhat interesting that the bucket hadn’t already been removed by some passerby. But it didn’t seem odd that the ladder and bucket were together. Painters famously use ladders and buckets simultaneously all the time. What was odd, however, was the location of the ladder and bucket. In the middle of nowhere. In the bottom of an Ozarks box canyon miles from the nearest road of any consequence. The bucket had a single bullet hole in it, so that might’ve been a clue. Dad expanded the scope and began describing the ancient ladders he had seen still hanging high in the cliffs of the Grand Canyon. Then we continued with our hike. In an epic episode of failing to put two and two together, we totally missed the significance of the bucket hanging from the ladder.