I saved $291 in fuel, 6 pit stops at questionable country gas stations, 2728 miles on my odometer, and 40 hours of children screaming in the backseat. I’ve always wanted to visit Washington. I probably would have preferred sipping a cup of medium roast in a hipster coffee house to three weeks of constant rain… but I’ll take what I can get. Whether the recent rain was a result of the untimely passing of Prince, May compensating because April was snoozing on the whole April Showers, or a storm track hovering over the Mid-Atlantic… we may never know. One thing is for certain: We’ve had a record...

In case anyone forgot the Merriam-Webster definition of a hobby, allow me to provide a quick refresher... a hobby is defined as an activity done regularly in one's leisure time for pleasure. With that being said, let me be very clear... I dig for me. I write for me. If you'd like to follow my adventures--regardless of how fruitful the discoveries--than I'm just tickled pink, but if you're going to be that heckler on the sidelines... then move along already. I apologize for opening on such a sour note, but I had a moment of weakness yesterday. I hate to admit this, but I actually considered...

My mother-in-law loves telling the story of "Jocelyn and the Moth." The story goes a little like this... One crisp autumn morning in 2011, our small family of three combined forces with my husband's family of four. The seven of us piled snugly into the Ford Explorer and set off on a grand leaf-peeping adventure. My brothers-in-law--both Mark and Neal--were crammed into the back. Billy and I sandwiched our little guy's carseat in the center. Julie sat shotgun. Bill drove. (This was before he lost his fight with ALS in 2013.) Given that this was early October, the leaves had yet to reach...

I am an enigma. The more I interact with experienced diggers and historians, I've begun to realize that strangers have a tendency to underestimate me. I'm underestimate-able. You aren't likely to find underestimate-able in the dictionary--however--I do like the ring of it. (Underestimate-able, adjective: a person, place, or thing that is thought to be smaller or less than it actually is.) For all intensive purposes, consider me underestimate-able. A few years ago, I embraced that perception. When I was picking for profit at yard sales and estate sales, I took full advantage of my clueless...

Summer is gone, but she went out kicking and screaming. These past few weeks were downright brutal. The earth was baked solid--concealing the good signals and testing my patience for digging plugs. Also, I might be taking this one a bit too personal... but I'm pretty sure the sun tried to kill me last week. I've never sweated so much in my life. There was sweat beading on my nose and dripping into my eyes. By the end of the dig, my makeup had nearly melted off my face and all the flammable junk in my hair had almost ignited. In the end, all I had to show for my suffering was a few bobbles,...

We all have that property that we gawk at but can never muster the courage to approach. For the longest time, my unapproachable permission was a brick farmhouse on a hill. I drove by this house every day for years, but something held me back. Instead of asking for permission and facing the possibility of rejection, I'd settled for thinking that I could get permission. I'm almost positive that I'm not the only hobbyist who thinks this way. We all have that unapproachable permission that we silently salivate over... A few weeks ago, I had been poking around the remains of the Fickel House...

We had a rough week. While my kids suffered through a nasty stomach bug, I suffered through the final days of Comm 101. The good news is, I survived the class--the same class I'd been putting off since I started working towards my Associates Degree in 2008. The topic of my speeches, you ask? Well, metal detecting, of course: http://www.youtube.com/embed?listType=playlist&list=UU9D3lVCpT6kljc61gm6h_Yg So in the midst of completing my final assignments, I fell into the role of Dr. Mom--cuddling on the couch, watching a million-and-one episodes of Sesame Street, and cleaning partially digested...

A few days after I graduated first grade, my parents uprooted our entire family and moved us out West. I traded clam chowdAH for barbecue, rolling waves for endless plains, and soda for pop. The cultural whiplash took awhile to recover from, but once I realized ya'll was essentially the same as youz-guys--I got along just fine. While living in Kansas, I remember going on lots of fields trips--this was back before schools had to worry about all that liability. Heck, all you needed was a signed permission slip and you could feed tigers at the zoo or take an inflatable raft down some wicked...