For the past several years, I have been walking our family dog at a park near our home. There's a baseball field there which has been in use for, as far as I can tell, at least 80 years. While on these walks I'd frequently find, lying right on the field or at the far edges of the park, lost and discarded baseballs in various states of degradation. Some must have lain there for decades, tangled in the underbrush. Every once in awhile I still discover baseballs at this park, but now most of my new (old) acquisitions are made elsewhere, where more of these treasures wait to be discovered. These appeal to me as much for their intrinsic beauty as for their untold stories, their hints at our memories of summer and childhood and the joy of playing thé game.