The Minnesota Farm Woman

Many years ago, while picnicing with friends in Florida, I borrowed a metal detector and a treasure hunter was born. I had a wonderful afternoon sweeping the park area, coming up with a dime, two nickles, and a metal label from an old barbeque grill. When treasure hunting, it is sometimes more about the anticipation of finding a treasure than the actual treasure found.  It was all fun and games until the park rangers came and made us stop, and they were quite serious about it. Apparently, treasure hunting on state-owned property near the nation’s oldest city is frowned upon, and they threatened  confiscate our detectors as well as our finds.  Just like that, my dreams of finding a cache of ancient Spanish coins were gone in a poof of exhaust smoke. They were kind enough to let me keep the twenty cents, by the way. After that day, I was hooked. I researched and bought my own metal detector, reading testimonials from those who “paid for their metal detector in the first hunt” and from those who “found Civil War relics of museum quality.”  I found nothing, and by nothing, I mean NOTHING.  I brought it to the beach, hoping to find jewelry and coins from shipwrecks or at the very least, careless tourists.  I hauled it to the family farm property in Kentucky, hoping for Civil War relics, or even old pieces of metal from HIS ancestors. Nothing. I considered selling or donating the metal detector before we moved to Minnesota, but kept it because we bought an old farm, and I just knew there were treasures to be found. It took me a few months before I had the time to treasure hunt again, and decided to sweep the garden area before I planted one spring . Even though there were no beeps from the metal detector,   I managed  to trip over the rusty tine of a long-ago plow before I gave it up once again. This summer,  I decided to pull the old detector out of storage, this time to explore an old foundation on our property that at one time was an old barn. I’m not sure if the old barn fell down or burned down, but surely, there was something…ANYTHING to find, even of it were a handful of rusty nails. I spent a good hour sweeping the area with the metal detector, and although it was beeping loudly for a few minutes, it turned out to be nothing. At least I think it was nothing. I’m not done digging up the back yard yet. If anybody asks, I’ll just tell them that I’m putting in a new garden. It will be a lot more believable than saying that I’m hunting for buried treasure. 

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We recently took our annual anniversary road trip. Last year I suspected something was going on, but this year I was certain that HE, my husband of 39 years, had another woman  in his life. I knew it to be true when the computerized female voice on the GPS unit said “In point seven miles, turn right”, and he said “Yes, dear.” When she directed him to “Turn right here”,  HE answered (and quite cheerfully, I might add) “I heard you, Baby.” Baby? And right in front of me, too!  After driving to our hotel in downtown Cleveland, Ohio, with HER directions and HIS answers for every twist and turn, I accused him of talking to her more than he talks to me. What’s worse, he wasn’t crabby to her at all.  I try to be a helpful navigator when we take our trips, even though most of the time I can’t find my way out of a wet paper bag on a rainy day.  I just don’t understand it. For some reason, HE never says “Yes, dear” to me when I offer helpful directions, comments about the speed limit,  possible missed turns, and gentle reminders of the red lights coming up ahead. In fact, if the truth REALLY were to be told, HE can be quite the old grouch. Sheesh. At least this other woman has a little bit of maturity on her, thank goodness, which is probably why she is not quite up to date on her maps or directions. At one point, she had us going around in circles in downtown St. Louis, Missouri, so he promptly pulled the plug to stop the persistant “Turn around when able” to shut her up. I almost pointed out the red light ahead and the fact that HE might miss it because he was going too fast, but thought better of it and kept my mouth shut. The 39th annual anniversary road trip was really nice, and I don’t want the plug pulled before the 40th. 

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