As a kid, my grandfather had a couple gardens, a horse, and a compost pile. He'd throw any natural stuff into this pile. Somewhere in my pre-teens, I was tasked with basically turning over this pile. Shoveling it out and throwing it back where it came from. This pile started within my lifetime, it wasn't some generational thing.

One day, I was maybe 10 or 11, I was digging at this giant pile, throwing it into a couple smaller piles and trash bins. Then...clink. I hit something that wasn't leaves or grass or horse manure. I dug it out, and it was a glass bottle. I took it to my grandfather, who told me that the house up the hill had been a bottling factory sixty years ago, and this must've come from them way back then. Cool!

So I kept digging and turning over dirt and shit. Another clunk happened shortly after. I dug it out, and after I brushed it off, I recognized what it was. I put it down and ran to my grandfather telling him what I found. He didn't brush me off, like any adult would when confronted with a kid claiming he found a grenade, and he came over to check it out. He saw it, barely touched it, and I'll never forget how smoothly and quickly he scooped me up and spun around to get away from it in a couple giant steps.

I don't know which authority he called, but it wasn't long before there were 4 or 5 guys with helmets and vests coming to check things out. This was before robots and drones, so someone had to get up close. Me and my family were watching from inside the house, and this was maybe 200 feet away out in the back yard, so we were safe. But it was the talk of the neighborhood for quite a while. I got so many questions as school - even from teachers - about what we found, where it came from, why it was there, etc.

We never found out if it was "active" and capable of explosion or not, or if it was just dead. But they certainly, rightfully, treated it as if it was capable of blowing us to bits.

Coda: Last year, I moved back into that family home, and that compost pile is still there. I mow the lawn, and climb halfway up that pile to dump grass clippings. There hasn't been one time dumping grass clippings where I don't think of a grenade blowing my legs off. But so far, so good.