American Pickers - Season 18 -

They pulled into a gravel driveway that seemed to disappear into a wall of weeping willows. At the end stood a massive, sagging tobacco barn. Silas, a man who looked like he had been carved out of a hickory stump, met them at the door. He didn't say much, just swung the heavy timber doors open.

The white Mercedes Sprinter van hummed along a backroad in rural , the kind of road where the mailboxes are more rust than metal. Inside, Mike Wolfe and Frank Fritz were squinting through the windshield, scanning the horizon for the telltale signs of a "honey hole"—overgrown barns, stacks of weathered wood, or the skeletal remains of a vintage tractor. American Pickers - Season 18

Across the aisle, Frank was already knee-deep in a pile of wooden crates. He pulled out a pristine, double-sided for a local soda company that had gone bust in the fifties. "Found the meat, Mike. This is a five-hundred-dollar bill all day long." They pulled into a gravel driveway that seemed