Cache Owner purplemsc extends a big-hearted invitation to prepare for the long haul, or at least bring a picnic, and maybe even a sleeping bag, because you might be here awhile.
And in fact, here we are, in the black of night, aiming for points northwest. Night geocaching ups the ante for bold and audacious exploits, executed by intrepid caching bands, recounted in vivid weblog entries.
Our geotrail routes us past the car dealership, where even on a Friday night, deals are still being struck. Collective memory has aged past the day, the month, the decade when machines supplanted horses in the human heart. Drone of engines and tires on freeway are the play list, drowning memories of clip-clopping nickers. When the machine stops to fill up on corn, suddenly we come full circle.
We land, on a placid street in downtown Marysville, so actionless on a Friday night that even the courthouse seems to be asleep.
Like invisible yet ubiquitous radio waves, the web of law and order never slumbers. Across the way, holding the parallel boundary, shines the steeple. For the immigrants who saw and seized the rich northwestern Ohio farmland, their religion affirmed the demands of hard work, industry, invention and sacrifice, as the means to establish and protect their cultural circle.
While some linked hands with all who believed, others defined grace as another commodity to hoard and withhold.
You can put that sleeping bag back in the car.
OH Love Of Geocaching 