Every Wednesday morning between 7:30 and 8:00, I swoop out of the house and grab a few glass gallon jugs on my way to the white impala that’s parked right outside the house. I open the trunk and then open the lid of the blue and white cooler that has set up residency back there. In a few trips I’ll have moved the gallon jugs and quart jars from the porch or the garage table and nestled them into the cooler. After another dash through the house to collect my water bottle, wallet with plenty of cash, and phone, I jump into my car and leave.

   My first stop on this weekly milk run is at a church family’s house where I shove their cooler and four gallon jars into the back seat. After one more quick stop for another jar, I am on my way east. On a normal day I’ll be at the farm in 40 minutes. After unloading my jars, waiting for them to be filled, and reloading them I’ll be on my way home.

    But more times than not, I’ll make a stop first at the bulk food store that’s in the area. One day I stopped at Country View Bulk Foods and filled the front seat of my car with bags and boxes. Then since I was a little hazy on how to get to the farm, I put it in Google Maps.

  I am a GPS hater by nature, so I didn’t start the route but just plopped the phone in my lap and kept an eye on the route preview. Several times the map seemed to be reloaded like I had taken a wrong turn, but I brushed it off. I ignored my phone once I thought I was recognizing landmarks and enjoyed the lovely day.

  I was driving down an endless dirt road, when doubts began niggling. I checked maps just to make sure I was still on the route. I couldn’t believe my eyes! It was showing that the farm was behind me. I felt very, very foolish. Had I just driven past the farm and not seen it?

   I turned around and started the route, determined not to miss the farm again. I followed the blue line carefully. And then dear Google Maps informed me I had arrived. I looked to my left. All I could see was a hayfield. I looked right. All I could see was trees. There was no sign or scent of a dairy farm.

  “You’re mocking me, Google Maps,” I muttered.

  All of my weak faith in Google Maps had vanished. I considered my options as I sat in my car on the side of that dusty dirt road. Dad was too far away and besides he didn’t know Cass City like the back of his hand. The farmers I bought milk from were Amish and they rarely answered their phone.

   It was all up to me.

    I gulped down panic and decided my best option was following my nose. At the first intersection I turned left.

  I quickly realized this was not the road I thought it was. The road had a nice wide shoulder so I pulled off and opened Google Maps again. I carefully typed in the farm’s address. Two locations popped up. One was 0.8 miles away and the other 3.8. With relief I tapped the 3.8 route and off I went. And sure enough that took me to the farm. While I waited on the milk, I searched Google Maps and discovered there were two same house numbers on the same road, but five miles apart. One took you to a hayfield, the other to a farm.

   A week later, I set out to do the milk route and that time there was no trip to Country View involved. Karen accompanied me and we chatted gaily as we drove. And I was again driving confidently without Google Maps. Until I realized I had missed my road. So I put the address in, and on we went.

   We turned down that dusty dirt road and I told myself that in five miles I would arrive at the farm. But just to settle my mind, I picked up my phone to make sure I was heading for the farm not the hayfield. I couldn’t have looked at my phone for longer than 30 seconds. But when I glanced up, there was grass in front of me, and the car was sliding, sliding into a deep ditch.

  Someone screamed and Karen said it was me. I could feel my jaw dropping and the color draining from my face, but all I could manage to do was punch the gas. Faintly, I heard glass breaking in the back seat, and Karen yelling, “Kari!!!”  I pulled the wheel out towards the road and suddenly I was headed straight for the other ditch. Someway, somehow, I moved my foot from the gas to the brake, got the car pointed in the right direction, and shifted into park.

   Karen was laughing nervously and I joined her. I removed my hands from the wheel and watched them shake. Then I slowly opened my door to see the damage in the back, expecting the worst. But only one jar was broken.

   We continued on our way. I, driving slowly and carefully, my arms and legs still shaking. Karen sitting beside me, alternating between describing in detail how my face looked and laughing about it.

  Amazingly, we picked up the milk and took it home without any more incidents.

   Older wiser folks who heard this story advise me to only look at my phone when I’m parked. I am planning to follow their advice.