Oh, of course the signal is great, and then you pull it out and say “A friggin’ spoon”.
A lowly friggin’ spoon. Not even a silver spoon. A crappy silver plated nickel utensil to stick in a box with all the other crappy flatware you’ve found.
The only time, (other than if its silver), that a spoon, or fork or knife has any value is at the end of a skunky day when, as you look through your pouch of measly finds, you spy that lowly spoon and suddenly it doesn’t seem like a bad day after all…at least you found a spoon.
I used to find the occasional utensil, hopefully examine it for hallmarks or a manufacturer to date it or the site, but then I trashed them with all my other worthless metal goodies.
This past season however, the friggin’ spoons are everywhere. While doing my usual “check & chuck”, I realized the spoons were taking over. I had already chucked a bunch of the fabulous flatware in the previous few months, yet the spoons kept coming.
I thought it must be a sign, but a sign of what? Was the universe hinting that I needed to run my dishwasher? Was my man trying to send me subliminal spooning messages? Did our ancestors eat nothing but pudding?
Wandering thoughts aside, I decided that although it was a little late in the season, and I had already chucked a bunch of them, that for the remainder of the season, I would keep all the utensils I found and tally them.
New mission in sight, I actually started hoping I would find spoons. This was lucky for me since almost every site I hunted afterwards produced at least one spoon, or piece of a spoon.
In addition to my sudden spoon splendor, my buddies were also finding spoons. Not wanting to reveal my ridiculous new mission, I didn’t tally their totals, however, they seemed to be hot on the spoon trail as well.
I’ve got no great conclusion or hypothesis for this story, other than a firm belief that our predecessors were knife and fork challenged. And for the record: Fork tally = 3, Knife tally = 1, Spoon tally = 39, not including the ones I previously threw away.