not-so-buried treasure

Almost four months ago, we packed up our ginormous moving van and headed from the "big" city to my Nebraskan hometown. Population 2,820 (pending our most recent census of course!). As we said our good byes and got geared up for the long journey across miles of not-so-impressive terrain, the most popular question on our pals' lips was, "We're excited for you...but what is there to do out there?" While I tried to think of the hundreds of exciting adventures Dale and I would have once we were back at home in the wild, wild west, I have to admit...I drew a blank. Not one of those little blanks where you can stumble around and then recover, but a big blank. The truth: I had no clue what we would do out here.

Once again, however, I found that truth is stranger (and even better) than fiction. While I was trying to dream up adventures to impress my old city gang, real-honest-to-goodness-not-even-made-up adventures were waiting for me right here. I just had to look around a bit to find them.

This weekend, my mom took me on an adventure. In this dusty little town, right on the corner of the main drag by the third (and last) stoplight in town...we have a museum. A museum that, in all of my days spent wandering these streets as a kid, I had never even considered visiting. We entered the front door, paid our $1 admissions fee, and discovered all sorts of adventures that have happened to the people in our little town.

This couple were honest-to-goodness homesteaders. We are talking Little House on the Prairie style - sod house and everything. I love the look in her eyes...perfect trust in her man. The way it should be. Hmmm...romance. I love it.

And this machine...rescued out of an old Main street beauty salon. No, it is not an early form of child discipline, it is an old permanent machine. Guaranteed to get gorgeous, curly locks (if you didn't get electrocuted first). The things we gals do for beauty...

These old boots were another of my favorites...they were so narrow and delicate. I tried to imagine squooshing my foot in and strapping these babies up for a night on the town. Not happening. I wouldn't have lasted a day in the early 1900s. Not a single day.

And then my absolute favorite. Nebraska County 66. It has been on every license plate my parents ever put on our cars growing up. I have traveled across the country with this number sandwiching a car full of the most important treasures I have on this earth. When I finally got my license, my first car Dudley (RIP) proudly bore the 66 on his front bumper until he was no more. And now it is on my car again, getting me ready for a whole new set of adventures. I love being home.