Confession: My husband and I* cannot navigate in Holmes County.
*We are together for better or for worse. Otherwise I might have to point out, as I did in the moment, that it wasn’t I who … but I digress.
It doesn’t help that all the roads were originally cowpaths. Cows are great at finding their way, but not necessarily as the crow flies. They go more for the road less travelled by.
It doesn’t help either that the roads show up on Google Maps by such names as TR 3641 and CR 17; and show up out the car window as Creekbottom Drive and Stingy Lane. If they show up at all. Electronic roads tend to vanish behind notices of No further cell phone service, and roads out the car window have minds of their own, wriggling snakelike out of sight just when you need them most.
Me, I’m comfortable with the kind of instructions that go Turn right at the red barn and head up the hill till the road makes a slight Y; take the left branch. You just have to keep a light hand on the reins and let the road carry you. But Ryan gets grim. It wasn’t marked!
Our game for the week was Fifty Different Ways to Get from Point A to Point B.
Extra points for doubling your projected driving time.
Extra points for making a passenger request a barf bag.
Extra points for hitting horse poop.
Was that our road? asks Ryan, cruising by. Looked like a slight Y to me, says Shari. He hits the gas, filled with ambition to find the next road headed the same direction. I press the floorboards, filled with angst as I sense our destination receding farther and farther into the rearview mirror.
However. The cows were awfully good at finding their way to cheese houses, chocolate factories, and the best donuts in the world. Anytime my man wants to take me to Holmes County, I’m game.