Like I said: You never know what you’re going to find. On this November morning last fall, out in the barn – while stomping loudly to scare snakes out that would then conceivably be killed by the 12-year-old cousin carrying the .22 – we found these.
Now here’s the difference between Bryan and me. When confronted with these, I see dirt. Something to be thrown away. Sneezing fits in my future.
My husband sees treasure. The beauty of colored glass, the joy of finding something that hasn’t seen daylight in years. You would have thought he’d found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
You can see why the kids like him better.
All of these treasures now currently reside in my garage. Where they are not nearly so picturesque.
But looking at these pictures now, hearing in my head my husband’s voice regaling my children with wild tales of days and nights in the barn, I think maybe I will stifle my urge to go at them with gloves and a trash bag just a little bit longer. I have my treasures too; his are dusty and Texas and made of glass.
