About two weeks ago we ended our field season and moved to the south. Now there's an adventure for you. I've never in my life lived below the Mason-Dixon line, and now my accent clearly defines me, identifies me, in a way that it never has before. It's strange.
The people here in Greenville, North Carolina are very nice. They smile and say hello as if they mean it - no, as if they know you, recognize you specifically. Their eyes will light up. "Good morning, ladies." A woman greeted my mother-in-law and I as we sat waiting for coffee. And she meant it. And so it became true. When I was caught in the door of the library by a sudden downpour, a teenage girl offered to walk me to the car underneath her umbrella. I'm accustomed to Minnesota Nice, where people smile and hold doors and are earnestly indeed very nice to you, but this is an entirely new brand of niceness. I can't deny I like it.
Greenville is Pirate country - symbolically and literally. We're on the Tar river (what's the pirate's favorite river? The Taaarrrrrrr. I made that one up), which empties into the Pamlico estuary just twenty minutes up the road. The Pamlico estuary ends up in the Pamlico Sound, which is the Atlantic ocean. Across from the Sound are the Outer Banks, delicate etchings of island that stretch protectively along the coast. The Sound is shallow enough to walk across in some areas. Technically, we're in the Inner Banks region of North Carolina, although we're a bit inland for that.
Pirates prowled these waters, including the big guy himself, Blackbeard. He was killed on Ocracoke, on the Outer Bank nearest to us as the seagull flies. It occurs to me that I've lived at the beginning and the end of Blackbeard's - Edward Teach's - life. He was probably born in Bristol, England, where I lived for a year, and he died here.
We've been brought here by East Carolina University's Maritime Studies program, where Leland will be working towards his Masters. ECU is currently excavating a sunken wreck tentatively identified as Blackbeard's ship, Queen Anne's Revenge. The school mascot is the pirate, and Greenville has names everywhere that sound like a theme park - Pirate's Point, Buccaneer Bay Apartments, Jolly Roger Convenience Store. The garish school colors, purple and gold, are everywhere.
I've never lived so close to the ocean. The Outer Banks are more than a day trip, sadly - they're geographically near but a long way to drive, as the roads skirt the long fingers of North Carolina that jut out into the Sound. But at Goose Creek State Park there's a free swimming beach. It's on the Pamlico, far enough inland that the estuarine mixing of the salt water with the fresh is quite dilute, but if you put the water in your mouth it tastes salty. And it smells like the ocean, but faded. The beach is sandy and the water brown but free of the slimy guck that makes swimming in rivers generally so unpleasant. The water is warm, and shallow, and calm, and the trees on shore drip with lacy Spanish Moss.
Our neighborhood is quiet and well-located, filled with retirees. We went to a neighborhood association meeting yesterday evening - we saw the signs and thought we should attend. After reading the minutes from the last meeting, the chairman began to move on to old business. "Wait," his wife stopped him. "Don't we need to vote to approve the minutes?"
"Don't see why." He drawled. "Everyone here heard 'em. That's what happened."
The resolution to approve the minutes passed with a chorus of murmurs.
The accent here is by no means impenetrable, but at times the words get so chewed on, so slurred over - like the speaker has a mouth full of caramel - we have to ask two or three times for something to be repeated before we understand it. I went to the Pitt County Farmer's Market with Leland's mother last Wednesday, and we came across a cake-like concoction in a plastic take-out container.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Pih pih pi." The kid working the booth informed me.
"What?"
"Pih pih'ih pi."
"Oh." I said, to be polite. Then Leland's mom Phyllis bent over. "What is this?" she asked him.
It took three or four more repetitions before we puzzled it out - pig pickin' pie. At least, that was our best guess. The kid made no attempts to slow his speech, to sound it out more closely for us ignorant Yankees, just patiently repeated the phrase identically each time.
"There's no pig in it." He said. "It's pineapple and whipped cream and stuff." Then he added, more mysteriously, "Usually the guy who makes 'em makes chocolate, but he decided to make this one today."
"And you didn't buy any?" Leland asked us, incredulously, when we told him the story later.
A week later we learned from a mattress salesman that pig pickin' is what I'd call a pig roast. Roast a pig for hours in a split drum or fire pit, then sit around pickin' off the tasty meat. Pig Pickin' Pie is a traditional dessert at these affairs. I'll have to figure out a way to get invited to one.
Leland and I just got back from our second visit to the farmer's market. We picked up fresh local peaches, shrimp caught this morning in Pamlico Sound, and some other odds and ends we'd never heard of before. "Po beans." The farmer told us. "You know, they grow up a po'."
"Pole beans." I said.
"Yes ma'am."
I've never been ma'am'ed so much in my life, by girls younger than me and by men of every age. And I find myself doing it too, throwing out ma'am's and sirs whenever speaking to a stranger and especially after replying to a question, in either the affirmative or negative.
We also purchased field peas, a kind of bean, and raw peanuts. Feeling dumb, we caught the attention of the farmer and asked her what you did with raw peanuts. The woman laughed, while her daughter and a customer looked at us incredulously. It was the sort of response you might imagine if you held up a tomato and said, "now what do you use this for?", but it was gentle.
"Boil 'em." The daughter said, a girl of about 11. "Then put salt on 'em."
"Is that it?" My husband asked.
The farmer recovered from her laughter and appraised us with the kind of benign expression reserved for the unbelievably uninformed. "That's it." She said.
I'll let you know how it goes.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
So Tired...
Pretty stream - much prettier if it didn't splash over the top of my shoes when I forded it...You know what doesn't help when I am so tired? Having the computer crash in the middle of writing a post and everything getting lost...
The 60 hour weeks are really catching up to me here, but we're getting a break very soon. We'll be breaking from work beginning on Thursday, continuing all the following week, and then resuming on the next Monday. This is an official break - the office needs to get some preliminary reports in and get the next bit of work lined up. The good news for us is that the project is being extended, so we should have work through the end of July. August 1st we move to North Carolina!
Since the last post, we've moved from Owego, NY, back to Goshen, NY. We're in the same hotel as before. Living in a hotel you kind of get to know the handyman, the people at the front desk, the maids, etc. It's kind of like being back at home.
Lots has happened that I was too lazy to write about - we went to the Owego Strawberry Festival (fueled by too many strawberry daiquiris), and visited Ithaca for a day (gorges! Ah, I slay me) as well as the Skylands New Jersey Botanical Gardens. Luckily for me I have tons of pictures (uh, except from the Strawberry Festival - those all came out blurry for some mysterious reason). And we have been working. OH, how we have been working.
I need a vitamin water. I am addicted to vitamin water. I think I need an intervention.
Sunshiney...
Snake! Could be a rattlesnake - looked like one but has no rattle. I almost stepped on it - but I saw it in time. Can you see it?
My boss was like, "You like taking pictures. Take a picture of this moth." And I was like, "Ok." So here's a picture of a moth on the Trimble GPS.
Dig that hole, Leland
The best part of the week, Sunday lunch at this great French restaurant, Le Petite Cuisine, in Warwick, NY. We ate snails there. They are tasty.
We told them last Sunday that this was the last time we'd be there because we weren't going to be working in the area anymore, and they thanked us for our patronage and gave us a discount on our bill! I guess we're good tippers.
Goofing around in Owego
Leland stretching before the big run (note: there is no big run)
The bucolic little town of Owego, NY. Apparently it won some kind of "Coolest Small Town in America" contest. It's cute!
The bridge into town over the Susquehanna
Owego has an awesome little bookstore and here Leland displays his hefty purchase.
Oh, no, back to work! You can see the existing pipeline corridor that we're working along in the cut through the trees here (actual pipe is underground. You know, where pipes live). The pipeline is being widened.
The gorgeous view of a landowner who was angry at us until our boss charmed him into liking the idea of archaeologists on his property.
And this is what we've been trapped in for the past six days. Digging in the corn sucks. It's hot and the corn tries to eat you. 
See? Deep holes! A meter deep, in fact. That shovel handle comes up to my chin, just to give you an idea of how deep that is. This area is on a floodplain, so there are lots of soil deposits to dig through here.
Stupid corn. The best sites are on floodplains, though (people tend to live by the water), so at least we have the potential to find some interesting stuff.
Us overlooking Ithaca. They have tasty Thai food there. Gorges!
And here we are at Skylands New Jersey Botanical Garden. 
1920's era Manor House - once a private residence - at the heart of the Botanical Gardens. Like a Great Gatsby party waiting to happen.
Photographer fussily arranging specimens in the pond
So pretty!
The gardens were so peaceful and very well kept. And free!
Gazebo!Sunday, June 13, 2010
Moving Day!
Yesterday we moved from Goshen, NY, to Owego, NY. Owego is just north of the PA border on the Susquehanna river, in the Finger Lakes region. We'll be here more than a week, but no one's really sure for how long. We were supposed to do some shovel tests on a nearby large field, but now that the field has been planted we can't dig it up. Instead, we're walking the surface looking for artifacts, which should take a few days but not as long as anticipated.
We're reaching the inevitable point of job insecurity that always comes with these projects. Rumors are flying - we've heard July 4th layoffs, and then most recently by the end of June. Talk of more work at the beginning of August, but we were planning on moving to North Carolina in August....
This project was supposed to be 4-6 weeks. I was hoping that we'd have something through the rest of the summer, but I guess it's my fate to be laid off in July. I've been laid off in July twice before! We'll see what happens. We've been able to save almost 100% of our paychecks and live off of per diem, so we have a bit of a cushion.
On the plus side, we're in a great hotel here in Owego. If you are looking for a place to stop on a road trip or something, I heartily recommend the Holiday Inn Express. We have two huge rooms with tons of space (Leland upon walking in: "we could have a dance party in here!"), including a full size refrigerator, kitchen sink, and stove with two burners. Flat screen TV, pool and lounge - and, of course, an actual hot breakfast. Plus the grocery store is right across the street! Shovelbum heaven.
Before moving we were driving more than an hour from Goshen into the Poconos, which is gorgeous country but, seriously, we need to discuss the definition of "mountain". Being more familiar with the Rockies or the Bighorns, I didn't even realize that we were in the mountains here. Seriously. After a week or so I heard someone talking about the mountains and I was like, "Mountains? Where? Oh, we're on one? Um... where?"
We drove through the Catskills on our way from Goshen to Owego, and I was much more convinced that these were actually mountains, although really they are still way too rounded and green on the tops. But if it makes you feel better, East Coast, I guess we can call them mountains. The drive was fantastic, over windy roads and through great scenery, and I could even sing at the top of my lungs to the my music because Leland was driving a company vehicle so I made the trip alone.
I'm excited to be in the Finger Lakes, as I've never been in this part of the country before. I'll try to keep posting pictures, but our new internet connection seems to hate Blogger picture uploads. Perhaps we'll try an internet cafe to get some pictures up
We're reaching the inevitable point of job insecurity that always comes with these projects. Rumors are flying - we've heard July 4th layoffs, and then most recently by the end of June. Talk of more work at the beginning of August, but we were planning on moving to North Carolina in August....
This project was supposed to be 4-6 weeks. I was hoping that we'd have something through the rest of the summer, but I guess it's my fate to be laid off in July. I've been laid off in July twice before! We'll see what happens. We've been able to save almost 100% of our paychecks and live off of per diem, so we have a bit of a cushion.
On the plus side, we're in a great hotel here in Owego. If you are looking for a place to stop on a road trip or something, I heartily recommend the Holiday Inn Express. We have two huge rooms with tons of space (Leland upon walking in: "we could have a dance party in here!"), including a full size refrigerator, kitchen sink, and stove with two burners. Flat screen TV, pool and lounge - and, of course, an actual hot breakfast. Plus the grocery store is right across the street! Shovelbum heaven.
Before moving we were driving more than an hour from Goshen into the Poconos, which is gorgeous country but, seriously, we need to discuss the definition of "mountain". Being more familiar with the Rockies or the Bighorns, I didn't even realize that we were in the mountains here. Seriously. After a week or so I heard someone talking about the mountains and I was like, "Mountains? Where? Oh, we're on one? Um... where?"
We drove through the Catskills on our way from Goshen to Owego, and I was much more convinced that these were actually mountains, although really they are still way too rounded and green on the tops. But if it makes you feel better, East Coast, I guess we can call them mountains. The drive was fantastic, over windy roads and through great scenery, and I could even sing at the top of my lungs to the my music because Leland was driving a company vehicle so I made the trip alone.
I'm excited to be in the Finger Lakes, as I've never been in this part of the country before. I'll try to keep posting pictures, but our new internet connection seems to hate Blogger picture uploads. Perhaps we'll try an internet cafe to get some pictures up
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
An Angry Rant
Things have been kind of boring lately, and I didn't want to post a lot of complaints about enormous rocks, heat, insects - you know, all the other stuff I've been complaining about. Wouldn't want to get repetitive.
However... I have something completely different to complain about tonight. Or perhaps to rant about.
You see, this evening Leland and I had our dinner completely ruined by a table full of shrieking, self-absorbed hipster assholes.
We went to a Mexican restaurant suggested by one of our co-workers. (Every dinner comes with a quesadilla, sopapilla, and shot of Tequila! We're in!) The restaurant was cute, with Mexican murals across every surface. But as the waiter led us to our table, a strolling Mariachi began to play.
Uh-oh. I thought. We're going to have to pay this guy to go away or we won't be able to hear ourselves think.
Also, there was a baby crying.
Uh-oh. I thought. That baby will be crying and it will be annoying.
Oh Anna of the past. You were VERY WRONG to fear the Mariachi. And the baby.
For you see, our dinner was ruined NOT by the Mariachi, but by our fellow diners! Other adults! Yes! A table full of people yelling at each other!
Not angry yelling (most of the time). Happy yelling. Joyful shrieking. Celebratory ululating.
Yes. Ululating. You know, that yi-yi-yi-yi-yi noise that the Mexicans make in bad Westerns. Which, of course, is the proper thing to do when one takes a shot of Tequila in a Mexican restaurant.
And not racist in any way. Because, as I heard you all loudly reassure each other, you are not racist. Therefore, you are obviously able to do racist things. Because you know better, apparently, which makes it - ok? Somehow the logic was lost there.
Speaking of knowing better, I would honestly have rather had the baby screaming. Babies crying are annoying, but you can't really blame the baby and I always feel so bad for the poor parents, who want the baby to be quiet just as much as or more than everyone else. YOU IDIOTS HAVE NO EXCUSE.
Oh, and I was mortified for mankind when you, Mexican-shirt Girl, started to make up names for the waiters (who were all Hispanic). "Tom! Tom!" Yelling at the waiter to get over to you.
And then your friends thought you actually knew the guy's name but weren't, you know, pronouncing it correctly or something, so everyone chimed in "Tomas! Tomas!"
"I just made up that name." You say, evidently without a shred of shame.
That's it. Off. I'm voting you off the planet. Preferably via some sort of cannon.
And the reason you wanted the attention of the waiter? They screwed up your friend's bill. And the appropriate response to that incredibly important and rare occurrence is for you, Aggrieved Party, to pout, call the waiters names, and threaten to not give them a tip. Loudly. Not that you have any other volume level, I just wish to reiterate that this entire drama was conducted at decibels that exceeded OSHA safety regulations for workers without ear protection.
All with a quivering lip suggesting you might cry - cry! - at any second. Listen. I cry a lot. Without any real solid justifiable reason, usually. And I have never threatened to cry in a restaurant because they screwed up my bill.
So when your friend's bill is screwed up, what do you do? Yes, you, Skinny Guy who Probably Has Ironic Tattoos. You're the man, right? I think that you should stomp to the waiter's station and bully the manager into giving your friend a 25$ gift certificate!
Obviously you share this opinion.
Glad you're mollified, Aggrieved Party. And so happy that now you want the staff to take pictures of you doing shots of Tequila!
Air-Raid Siren Girl With Voice Who Cuts Through Glass, you should get in on this picture! Quick, yell for one of the waiters to get in the picture with you. Yes, literally yell at him. Make up a fake name for him, and insist that he sticks out his tongue in the picture, as you are doing.
Continue to order the staff around as you maneuver your party into different poses. Pouring salt onto your hand! Licking the salt! Shot glass, poised at your lips! And so on!
Please, now flip through the pictures on your camera and discuss between yourselves - and, by necessity, the rest of the freaking restaurant - which of these photos you will put on Facebook. Yell at each other about posting pictures with alcohol in them, and struggle briefly (and LOUDLY) over the camera.
What the hell is wrong with you? I'm not a real big fan of child abuse, but I have to believe that if someone kicked your ass a little more often at a crucial time in your development, you might not be able now to fit your head so far up there! Can you even see that there are other people in the restaurant trying to enjoy their meals?
You're rude, you're self-absorbed, and you're intolerable. You ruined my meal, and even though I yelled at you as I left the restaurant (yes, I did), I doubt that any intervention at this point will have any effect on your behavior or attitude.
I know that when you tell this story in the future, it will go like this: "hey, remember when we were at that Mexican restaurant doing NOTHING AT ALL and some BITCH yelled at us for NO REASON?"
Just know that when I reminisce about this little episode in the future, my version will go like this: "hey, remember when those assholes were being epically loud in that Mexican restaurant and I BEAT THEM WITH A BASEBALL BAT?"
However... I have something completely different to complain about tonight. Or perhaps to rant about.
You see, this evening Leland and I had our dinner completely ruined by a table full of shrieking, self-absorbed hipster assholes.
We went to a Mexican restaurant suggested by one of our co-workers. (Every dinner comes with a quesadilla, sopapilla, and shot of Tequila! We're in!) The restaurant was cute, with Mexican murals across every surface. But as the waiter led us to our table, a strolling Mariachi began to play.
Uh-oh. I thought. We're going to have to pay this guy to go away or we won't be able to hear ourselves think.
Also, there was a baby crying.
Uh-oh. I thought. That baby will be crying and it will be annoying.
Oh Anna of the past. You were VERY WRONG to fear the Mariachi. And the baby.
For you see, our dinner was ruined NOT by the Mariachi, but by our fellow diners! Other adults! Yes! A table full of people yelling at each other!
Not angry yelling (most of the time). Happy yelling. Joyful shrieking. Celebratory ululating.
Yes. Ululating. You know, that yi-yi-yi-yi-yi noise that the Mexicans make in bad Westerns. Which, of course, is the proper thing to do when one takes a shot of Tequila in a Mexican restaurant.
And not racist in any way. Because, as I heard you all loudly reassure each other, you are not racist. Therefore, you are obviously able to do racist things. Because you know better, apparently, which makes it - ok? Somehow the logic was lost there.
Speaking of knowing better, I would honestly have rather had the baby screaming. Babies crying are annoying, but you can't really blame the baby and I always feel so bad for the poor parents, who want the baby to be quiet just as much as or more than everyone else. YOU IDIOTS HAVE NO EXCUSE.
Oh, and I was mortified for mankind when you, Mexican-shirt Girl, started to make up names for the waiters (who were all Hispanic). "Tom! Tom!" Yelling at the waiter to get over to you.
And then your friends thought you actually knew the guy's name but weren't, you know, pronouncing it correctly or something, so everyone chimed in "Tomas! Tomas!"
"I just made up that name." You say, evidently without a shred of shame.
That's it. Off. I'm voting you off the planet. Preferably via some sort of cannon.
And the reason you wanted the attention of the waiter? They screwed up your friend's bill. And the appropriate response to that incredibly important and rare occurrence is for you, Aggrieved Party, to pout, call the waiters names, and threaten to not give them a tip. Loudly. Not that you have any other volume level, I just wish to reiterate that this entire drama was conducted at decibels that exceeded OSHA safety regulations for workers without ear protection.
All with a quivering lip suggesting you might cry - cry! - at any second. Listen. I cry a lot. Without any real solid justifiable reason, usually. And I have never threatened to cry in a restaurant because they screwed up my bill.
So when your friend's bill is screwed up, what do you do? Yes, you, Skinny Guy who Probably Has Ironic Tattoos. You're the man, right? I think that you should stomp to the waiter's station and bully the manager into giving your friend a 25$ gift certificate!
Obviously you share this opinion.
Glad you're mollified, Aggrieved Party. And so happy that now you want the staff to take pictures of you doing shots of Tequila!
Air-Raid Siren Girl With Voice Who Cuts Through Glass, you should get in on this picture! Quick, yell for one of the waiters to get in the picture with you. Yes, literally yell at him. Make up a fake name for him, and insist that he sticks out his tongue in the picture, as you are doing.
Continue to order the staff around as you maneuver your party into different poses. Pouring salt onto your hand! Licking the salt! Shot glass, poised at your lips! And so on!
Please, now flip through the pictures on your camera and discuss between yourselves - and, by necessity, the rest of the freaking restaurant - which of these photos you will put on Facebook. Yell at each other about posting pictures with alcohol in them, and struggle briefly (and LOUDLY) over the camera.
What the hell is wrong with you? I'm not a real big fan of child abuse, but I have to believe that if someone kicked your ass a little more often at a crucial time in your development, you might not be able now to fit your head so far up there! Can you even see that there are other people in the restaurant trying to enjoy their meals?
You're rude, you're self-absorbed, and you're intolerable. You ruined my meal, and even though I yelled at you as I left the restaurant (yes, I did), I doubt that any intervention at this point will have any effect on your behavior or attitude.
I know that when you tell this story in the future, it will go like this: "hey, remember when we were at that Mexican restaurant doing NOTHING AT ALL and some BITCH yelled at us for NO REASON?"
Just know that when I reminisce about this little episode in the future, my version will go like this: "hey, remember when those assholes were being epically loud in that Mexican restaurant and I BEAT THEM WITH A BASEBALL BAT?"
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
It's hot!
On our single precious day off last week we went to Sugar Loaf, an artist's colony in the little town of Sugar Loaf, NY.
Artsy! But in a commercial sort of a way!
Tucked into the green hills, the main street is lined with little shops selling anything from watercolors to candles to little sculptures of skeleton pirates. We spent a few hours wandering from store to store, happily content in the cool, moist air under an overcast sky.
Not pictured: my new kitty friend. Don't pet the tummy! It's a trap!
We stopped at the Barnsider Tavern for a beer, then went on to the nearby French cafe La Petite Cuisine for lunch.
Mmmmm. Nice to be back in civilization. Every morning I see on the weather channel that it's raining in Bismarck, ND, and I laugh a little bit.
It has been ferociously hot and humid this week. In fact, I believe that today we broke the all time record high - shattered it, in fact, by 4 degrees. When it's already 85 at 9:00am, you should just give up and go spend the day in a dark, air conditioned room. The weather channel recommended that us here in the 94-degree high, 90% humidity Northeast should stay inside and limit exercise.
So we went out to dig holes in the sun.
It actually wasn't so bad. I mean, it was bad, but it wasn't soooo bad. It could have been worse - we could have spent the day without any shade, like some people on the crew. Our unit was strategically placed to get shade by 3:00. Ha!
Leland found another way to keep cool during the lunch break...
Worth the wet boxer shorts?
The water was cold and wonderful (even though I only went in up to my knees).
We also had some wildlife companions to get us through the day.
Yesterday night we had a wonderful surprise when Leland's parents came to visit! They had just been in North Carolina... and they found a gorgeous house down there for us to rent!! More on that later...
Artsy! But in a commercial sort of a way!Tucked into the green hills, the main street is lined with little shops selling anything from watercolors to candles to little sculptures of skeleton pirates. We spent a few hours wandering from store to store, happily content in the cool, moist air under an overcast sky.
Not pictured: my new kitty friend. Don't pet the tummy! It's a trap!We stopped at the Barnsider Tavern for a beer, then went on to the nearby French cafe La Petite Cuisine for lunch.
Mmmmm. Nice to be back in civilization. Every morning I see on the weather channel that it's raining in Bismarck, ND, and I laugh a little bit.
It has been ferociously hot and humid this week. In fact, I believe that today we broke the all time record high - shattered it, in fact, by 4 degrees. When it's already 85 at 9:00am, you should just give up and go spend the day in a dark, air conditioned room. The weather channel recommended that us here in the 94-degree high, 90% humidity Northeast should stay inside and limit exercise.
So we went out to dig holes in the sun.
It actually wasn't so bad. I mean, it was bad, but it wasn't soooo bad. It could have been worse - we could have spent the day without any shade, like some people on the crew. Our unit was strategically placed to get shade by 3:00. Ha!
Leland found another way to keep cool during the lunch break...
Worth the wet boxer shorts?The water was cold and wonderful (even though I only went in up to my knees).
We also had some wildlife companions to get us through the day.
Yesterday night we had a wonderful surprise when Leland's parents came to visit! They had just been in North Carolina... and they found a gorgeous house down there for us to rent!! More on that later...
Friday, May 21, 2010
How much to show?
Such a pretty part of the country:
Stream leading to the WallKill River
We're very near to the Black Dirt Region, which has unbelievably dark, rich soil that apparently can grow anything. It's the remnants of an ancient lake and was swampland before farmers drained it in the mid-1800s. Essentially peat, in fact. I'll try to get some pictures of it but I'm not sure my little digital can really do it justice. It looks like ground up oreos.
Our day today was very hot (high of 90, humid) and Leland and I dug a nasty unit. Full of rocks, clay bottom. Hard to dig, hard to screen.
Our gorgeous backdirt
See? Big!
Now, you may have noticed me being a little vague about exactly where we are and what we're doing. That's for a good reason. Of course, I want to be vague about company information, and so I won't reveal the company we're working for or post anyone's real names.
But besides that, archaeological sites can attract the wrong type of attention from people who don't understand the difference between archaeology and looting. We are careful about the way we dig - proceeding in levels, screening dirt, collecting all artifacts, mapping significant aspects of the site and each unit, lots of paperwork.
We're scientists, and each part of that work that we do in the field is a piece of the puzzle. When correctly assembled, we can figure out what happened at the site. Where we find things - horizontally and vertically - is just as important as what we find. In fact, it's more important. If we don't know where an artifact comes from within the site, it's useless to us. It's lost context, and therefore we don't know where in the puzzle to place it.
A lot of people have picked up arrowheads before, and many enjoy fieldwalking where they collect artifacts on the surface of a plowed field. I'm not crazy about this practice, but any artifact on the surface has been disturbed, meaning that it has been moved from the location where it was dropped hundreds or thousands of years ago. Usually in a plowed field this has happened because of the plow itself.
Some people take this habit a step farther and actually dig for artifacts. This is called looting. It destroys the context of the artifact and the site and takes away part of the puzzle from us, making it that much harder to figure out what happened. Instead of scientific information, the artifact becomes only a pretty curio. People who do this often don't realize that they're doing anything wrong, because they don't understand the other aspects of being an archaeologist - they think we just find stuff.
The worst offenders then sell the artifacts they find. Some rare artifacts (like certain projectile points / arrowheads or ceramic pots) can be worth a lot of money. This is part of the black market antiquities trade and it makes me furious. And don't get Leland started on people diving for underwater "treasures". Just like on land, underwater sites like shipwrecks lose most of their scientific value if they're ripped apart by looters.
So you'll understand that I don't want to identify specific sites or locations. The areas I have identified contained sites that are pretty well known.
Stream leading to the WallKill RiverWe're very near to the Black Dirt Region, which has unbelievably dark, rich soil that apparently can grow anything. It's the remnants of an ancient lake and was swampland before farmers drained it in the mid-1800s. Essentially peat, in fact. I'll try to get some pictures of it but I'm not sure my little digital can really do it justice. It looks like ground up oreos.
Our day today was very hot (high of 90, humid) and Leland and I dug a nasty unit. Full of rocks, clay bottom. Hard to dig, hard to screen.
Our gorgeous backdirt
See? Big!Now, you may have noticed me being a little vague about exactly where we are and what we're doing. That's for a good reason. Of course, I want to be vague about company information, and so I won't reveal the company we're working for or post anyone's real names.
But besides that, archaeological sites can attract the wrong type of attention from people who don't understand the difference between archaeology and looting. We are careful about the way we dig - proceeding in levels, screening dirt, collecting all artifacts, mapping significant aspects of the site and each unit, lots of paperwork.
We're scientists, and each part of that work that we do in the field is a piece of the puzzle. When correctly assembled, we can figure out what happened at the site. Where we find things - horizontally and vertically - is just as important as what we find. In fact, it's more important. If we don't know where an artifact comes from within the site, it's useless to us. It's lost context, and therefore we don't know where in the puzzle to place it.
A lot of people have picked up arrowheads before, and many enjoy fieldwalking where they collect artifacts on the surface of a plowed field. I'm not crazy about this practice, but any artifact on the surface has been disturbed, meaning that it has been moved from the location where it was dropped hundreds or thousands of years ago. Usually in a plowed field this has happened because of the plow itself.
Some people take this habit a step farther and actually dig for artifacts. This is called looting. It destroys the context of the artifact and the site and takes away part of the puzzle from us, making it that much harder to figure out what happened. Instead of scientific information, the artifact becomes only a pretty curio. People who do this often don't realize that they're doing anything wrong, because they don't understand the other aspects of being an archaeologist - they think we just find stuff.
The worst offenders then sell the artifacts they find. Some rare artifacts (like certain projectile points / arrowheads or ceramic pots) can be worth a lot of money. This is part of the black market antiquities trade and it makes me furious. And don't get Leland started on people diving for underwater "treasures". Just like on land, underwater sites like shipwrecks lose most of their scientific value if they're ripped apart by looters.
So you'll understand that I don't want to identify specific sites or locations. The areas I have identified contained sites that are pretty well known.
Monday, May 17, 2010
10 Things
Mondays, man...
There is always a certain amount of standing around in archaeology, but this company has the worst case of standing around that I have ever seen. Especially at the very end of the day, when we get back to the hotel. I am no longer getting paid for this - why are we just loitering in the parking lot?
I treasure my few personal hours every day. Get up at 6, work 7-5, and then I have five precious hours before sleep. That may sound like a lot, but I have a lot of lying around to do to make up for all of the effort expended during the day. Leland is off on a bike ride right now, and that makes no sense to me. I just spent 10 hours digging holes. More physical exertion is at the bottom of the priority list.
I generally enjoy my job, but motivation is hard to come by in the mornings, especially Monday mornings.
10 Things I Tell Myself To Get Through Monday Mornings:
1) Just six days until my next day off.
2) Just ten hours until I'm back in the air conditioning watching T.V.
3) Just five hours until lunch!
4) At least it's not raining today. (Or, if it is: at least it's not supposed to rain tomorrow. Or, if it is: we might get a rain day tomorrow!)
5) Think of all the overtime!
6) At least I'm not working retail and therefore don't have to kiss anyone's butt today.
7) I still have a 40 minute car ride before any real work begins.
8) I get to live in a hotel, which, let's face it, every kid fantasizes about at some point.
9) I might find something really cool today.
10) I get paid to be an archaeologist! There are only about 3000 professional archaeologists at any one time in the United States, so I'm in a relatively select club.
We had a pretty good day today, actually. We were doing phase 1 shovel testing, which is very boring. 50cm round holes, 15 meters apart, for about 3 miles. But we're done and now we get to do a phase 2, which is much more like an actual excavation and is at a site that's already been found (phase 1 is how we find sites, phase 2 explores them further).
We saw the cutest little orange salamander today, and a spotted one yesterday, but my camera has run out of batteries.
More pictures soon, I promise.
There is always a certain amount of standing around in archaeology, but this company has the worst case of standing around that I have ever seen. Especially at the very end of the day, when we get back to the hotel. I am no longer getting paid for this - why are we just loitering in the parking lot?
I treasure my few personal hours every day. Get up at 6, work 7-5, and then I have five precious hours before sleep. That may sound like a lot, but I have a lot of lying around to do to make up for all of the effort expended during the day. Leland is off on a bike ride right now, and that makes no sense to me. I just spent 10 hours digging holes. More physical exertion is at the bottom of the priority list.
I generally enjoy my job, but motivation is hard to come by in the mornings, especially Monday mornings.
10 Things I Tell Myself To Get Through Monday Mornings:
1) Just six days until my next day off.
2) Just ten hours until I'm back in the air conditioning watching T.V.
3) Just five hours until lunch!
4) At least it's not raining today. (Or, if it is: at least it's not supposed to rain tomorrow. Or, if it is: we might get a rain day tomorrow!)
5) Think of all the overtime!
6) At least I'm not working retail and therefore don't have to kiss anyone's butt today.
7) I still have a 40 minute car ride before any real work begins.
8) I get to live in a hotel, which, let's face it, every kid fantasizes about at some point.
9) I might find something really cool today.
10) I get paid to be an archaeologist! There are only about 3000 professional archaeologists at any one time in the United States, so I'm in a relatively select club.
We had a pretty good day today, actually. We were doing phase 1 shovel testing, which is very boring. 50cm round holes, 15 meters apart, for about 3 miles. But we're done and now we get to do a phase 2, which is much more like an actual excavation and is at a site that's already been found (phase 1 is how we find sites, phase 2 explores them further).
We saw the cutest little orange salamander today, and a spotted one yesterday, but my camera has run out of batteries.
More pictures soon, I promise.
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