 |
| Tasty! |
Husby and his business partner love history.
The one a historian and the other an archeologist, it’s a
good thing.
And a good combination.
Years ago, while on a business/holiday, the four of us:
Husby, me, Business Partner (hereinafter known unimaginatively as BP) and his sweet
wife stopped at a well-known mud wallow.
Now before you think there was any sort of mud-wrestling
performed there, let me further inform you that it was a place where,
anciently, Native Americans drove buffalo and, when the animals became mired in
the sticky ickiness (technical term) dispatched them at their leisure. Rinsed
them off. And ate them.
True story.
Today this place is a treasure trove of boney remainders as
well as ancient tools and weapons.
While we two women sat visiting in the campsite, the men
decided to go off on a might-find-an-arrowhead explore.
Which they did.
And which they did.
Grinning widely the two returned a short time later with the
(to quote them) Find-of-the-Century.
An arrowhead.
A real arrowhead.
Which they proudly held out for their wives to oooh and
aaah.
I have to tell you that it really didn’t match the
description of any artifact I had seen or heard of.
For one thing, it was made of rubber.
And featured a suction cup at one end.
Yes, it was an arrowhead.
But one generally seen fitted to the end of a short stick
notched to a tiny bow in the hands of the nearest modern four-year-old.
Technically an arrowhead, though.
Moving forward too many years to count . . .
Supper hour was fast approaching.
Our two intrepid hunters, both a little older and greyer
than during their last hunting trip, took it upon themselves to ‘hunter-gather’
us women some grub.
Bravely, they set forth.
Armed only with their mode of conveyance.
And their wallets.
Grinning widely, they returned a short time later having--in their words--bagged a trophy.
Ice cream.
We’re so proud.
