Last month, I took you on a journey through a schoolhouse crawlspace. If you read that post, you probably realized that I'm not all that particular in my pursuit for treasure. I'll explore a dusty crawlspace, pick through a bottle dump, wade through a creek for antique china fragments, or pace across a manicured yard with my Makro Racer. I consider myself a metal detecting hobbyist, though I suppose I'm a little bit of everything--thrift-shop picker, bottle digger, crawlspace explorer, and history hunter extraordinaire. I'm woman of many hats... as long as those hats don't flatten my hair...

I've started to think of the digging community as a sandbox. We're all digging in the same little wooden box. You've got the kids who play well together, the kids who occasionally sling sand... and the kids who come along, mistake the sandbox for a catbox, and shit all over everyone else. Lately, there has been an excess of the latter. Rather than take responsibility for scooping the catbox, I've chosen instead to take a break from the sandbox.... but the ammonia stench is getting to be too much to ignore. Initially, I jumped right into the catbox and joined in the sand-slinging....

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...

Saturday, we visited my family in Central NY. We were up at 4:20AM, out the door by 5:00AM, and rolling into Fabius around 10AM. My great aunt's service was a intended to be a celebration of life--complete with a bubble maker, jazz music, and fancy red hats attributed to the society of the same name. At the grave-site, we continued the red theme by releasing red balloons. The balloons were whisked away in the breeze and struggled to rise above the treetops before being snagged and entangled in a malicious pine. In between visiting with relatives, I did a little putzing around with my detector--both...

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...

It happened today. I was at church, watching my children skip across the rows of sanctuary chairs like circus acrobats--when a visitor posed the question, "You're that metal detecting girl, right?" I must have blushed ten shades of red. Had he been a regular at our church, I probably wouldn't have been so flattered--but he was just visiting for a baby dedication that morning. He recognized me from my blog! I asked if he metal detected--nope, he just followed my blog. Needless to say, this stranger made my day--perhaps even my month... dare I say year? This must qualify for celebrity status?...

I vividly recall the moment when I turned in my Makro Racer for the Summer. As a matter of fact, I caught that moment on video for your viewing pleasure: [embedyt]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2rLTX46_Jxg[/embedyt] I'm pretty sure I almost passed out from heat exhaustion that day, but anyone who digs with me knows that I'm a bit relentless. You haven't heard from me in a while. I've been laying low this Summer--fixing up the house, enjoying time with the kiddos, chugging through an online course, and focusing on my big-kid obligations. But the truth is, I miss sharing my relic hunting...