Nearly No One Recognizes This Antique Tool. Are You One Of The Few That Actually Know What It Is?

The image circulated around the All Cute offices while we considered all of the different uses for what seemed like a very regular tree branch.

After a day of wondering what in the world it could be used for, we were finally given the answer!

This branch was used for a practice stemming back all the way to the 1500s. The practice was called “Water Dowsing.”

If you aren’t familiar with the term Water Dowsing or the dowsing tool itself, perhaps you know it by one of

its other names: a diviner, doodlebug, well witch, or water-finder.

This tool, if you haven’t guessed by now, is used to find water. Of course, this is more of an old wives’ tale but, nevertheless, it was a common practice years ago.

The Y-shaped branch was used by an individual who would hold one branch of the stick in each hand with their palms facing upward.

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At My Divorce Hearing, the Judge Asked My 5-Year-Old to Testify—Her Words Left Everyone in the Courtroom Stunned === I entered the courtroom bracing myself to lose my daughter—then she uttered seven words that turned it all around. I never imagined that my life—the life I thought was stable, predictable, and safe—would unravel inside a courtroom. My name is Marcus. I’m 35 years old, and until about six months ago, I believed I had everything under control. I worked in technology consulting, had a good career, a house in a quiet suburban neighborhood, and a marriage that, at least from the outside, seemed solid. For seven years, I was married to a woman I thought I would grow old with. Her name was Laura. She was sharp, witty, and charismatic, the kind of woman who could make anyone laugh and always seemed to know exactly what to say in a crowded room. She worked in human resources at a mid-sized company—one of those offices where birthday cakes, potluck lunches, and Secret Santa gift exchanges still held real importance. Together, we had a daughter, Chloe. She’s five years old, tender-hearted and thoughtful, and rarely goes anywhere without her beloved stuffed bunny, Mr. Whiskers. The toy is worn and tattered now, but to Chloe, he’s irreplaceable. I used to joke that she was more emotionally attached to that bunny than most adults were to their therapists. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t always around as much as I should have been. My job often demanded travel—conferences in different states, last-minute client meetings, extended projects that kept me away from home. I told myself I was doing it all for my family, to provide the kind of life Laura and Chloe deserved. But in hindsight, I know that in trying to give them security, I often neglected to give them presence. Still, I never thought I’d walk into my own house and discover the truth that shattered everything. Last February, I was in Chicago for a client meeting that ended earlier than expected. I figured it would be a nice surprise to come home a day early. On the way, I stopped at a bakery and picked up Laura’s favorite dessert—tiramisu. I remember carrying that little white box as I unlocked the front door, thinking how delighted she would be. The house was strangely quiet. No TV playing, no footsteps, no sound at all. I climbed the stairs and pushed open our bedroom door. Laura didn’t notice me at first. She was far too occupied with Joel, her coworker. Joel—the man she once described to me as “harmless, awkward, not someone to worry about.” They were tangled together in our bed, laughing in a way that felt like a knife twisting inside me. I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw anything. I just stood there, holding that box of tiramisu, watching my marriage collapse before my eyes. Laura gasped when she saw me, scrambling for the sheets. Joel turned pale and froze like a deer caught in headlights. “Marcus, wait—” she started. “No,” I said quietly. “You made your choice.” That night, I checked into a hotel. By the next morning, I had already called a lawyer. We had never seriously discussed divorce before. Even during our worst arguments, the thought of ending our marriage never surfaced. But once it began, the process moved quickly and mercilessly. Laura hired an attorney immediately. She tried to explain, of course. She told me she felt “alone,” that I was “never around,” that I chose my job over her and Chloe. She framed her affair as a desperate reaction to feeling abandoned. But what haunted me wasn’t just her betrayal. It was the knowledge that Chloe—our little girl—would be caught in the middle. She was my anchor in the chaos, the one person I couldn’t lose. When she stayed with me on weekends, she curled up in my lap, clutching Mr. Whiskers, falling asleep while we watched the same three episodes of Bluey over and over. The thought of becoming the dad she only saw on holidays tore me apart. I decided to fight for custody. Deep down, I knew the odds weren’t in my favor, but I couldn’t walk away without trying. My lawyer, Cassandra, was direct with me from the start. “The courts usually side with the mother unless there’s evidence of neglect or abuse,” she said. “Infidelity, while painful, doesn’t make her an unfit parent.” “I know,” I admitted. “But Chloe needs to know I fought for her. She has to know she was worth fighting for.” The courtroom was nothing like I expected. It didn’t feel like a place of fairness—it felt like a stage. Laura’s attorney was polished, rehearsed, and convincing. He painted her as the devoted mother, the reliable parent who was always present. He pointed to my travel schedule as proof of instability. He presented photos from school events and birthdays—pictures where I was conspicuously absent. Laura sat across from me, composed and elegant, her blonde hair styled perfectly, her lips pressed into a polite smile. She never once met my eyes. When her affair was mentioned, her lawyer dismissed it casually. “It was a symptom of emotional neglect,” he told the judge. “Mrs. Grant was isolated, overwhelmed, and essentially raising their daughter alone. Mr. Grant was often unavailable. The relationship with her coworker was not premeditated—it was a result of unmet emotional needs.” I stared at Laura. She didn’t flinch. Cassandra rose to speak. Her voice was steady and unshakable. “Your Honor, Mr. Grant has always been a committed father. Yes, he traveled, but he called Chloe every single night. He sent her gifts from each trip. When she was hospitalized with the flu, he flew back from Boston immediately. That’s not neglect—that’s dedication.” The judge listened without expression. Laura’s side presented glowing testimonies—from her yoga instructor, Chloe’s teacher, even our neighbors. Everyone described her as nurturing and dependable. And technically, when I found her with Joel, Chloe had been at daycare, not neglected. It felt like I was losing ground with every passing minute. Then, something unexpected happened. The judge leaned back, adjusted his glasses, and said, “I’d like to speak with the child.” My stomach dropped. I hadn’t even realized that was an option. Laura’s lawyer raised an eyebrow but didn’t object. Cassandra leaned toward me and whispered, “Stay calm. Just let it happen.” Moments later, a bailiff escorted Chloe into the room. She clutched Mr. Whiskers tightly, wearing her yellow dress with tiny white daisies and her favorite sneakers that lit up with every step. “Hello, Chloe,” the judge said kindly, lowering his voice. “I want to ask you something important. Can you answer me honestly?” Chloe nodded, eyes wide. “If you had to choose,” he asked gently, “who would you like to live with?” The room fell silent. Chloe’s eyes darted between me and Laura. She hugged Mr. Whiskers tighter. And then she whispered: “I don’t want to be second place.” The judge tilted his head. “What do you mean by that, Chloe?” … (continue reading in the 1st comment)

I entered the courtroom bracing myself to lose my daughter—then she uttered seven words that turned it all around. I never imagined that my life—the life I…

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