For the last several weekends, Geoffrey and I headed down to his farm so that he could plow. This really is exactly like it sounds. Farm. Tractor. Middle of nowhere. Lots of trucks. Bumpy dirt roads with no streetlamps and huge potholes.

The first weekend we were down there, I spent all day relaxing and reading and generally enjoying myself. When Geoffrey came in that evening, I was ready to go do something fun.

“There’s nothing to do around here.” Geoffrey’s tired and his hands are scratched from cutting things.
“No, surely, lets go get ice cream!” Everywhere has ice cream, right?
“There’s nowhere to get ice cream here. But lets go. I’ll show you what there is to do here.” He washes his hands, puts on a clean (plaid) shirt and we get in the truck.

After about ten minutes of driving (field on one side, woods on the other – turn – field on other side, woods beyond) we come to a small bar on the lake.

“This is it.” Geoffrey pulls up and we watch as drunk young men stumble off their pontoon boats and into the bar. “This is what people do around here on the weekend.” We drive around some more and then go home.

The next weekend we’re headed back down, almost to the house, when Geoffrey spots some lights out in one of his fields. He throws the truck into reverse, backs up and shines his lights out into the field until the car that’s at the other end pulls out and drives towards us. Geoff circles around and catches them.

“What are you doing in my field?” Geoff calls out the window. In the other little station wagon are two women.
“We were looking at the mud puddle back there. I was hoping it had dried up, but its still there.” There is some debate and hostility until Geoff has established that these are his fields and the woman has established that she does live in the area and wasn’t getting into trouble.

“So that’s what people do here on the weekend for fun, huh? Look at mud puddles.” I find this somewhat amusing.
“Oh, she was probably just trying to find a way to spy on her husband,” Geoff’s mom tells me.

Apparently her husband lives in the woods. Has lived there for years. Has a nice little camp set up back there. All the neighbors know about it. And she just wanted to know if the mud puddle had cleared off the path so she could go spy on him.

So, if you live in the middle of a farm in the middle of absolutely nowhere, for weekend amusement you and your friend go spy on your husband that lives in the woods. Huh. Well, my husband doesn’t live in the woods (except occasionally when he and the guys go hiking) and I hope that it stays that way. So I’m going to have to keep looking for what I want to do on those farm weekend nights.