Getting Dirty

Last year I had so much fun digging at the Red Bank Battlefield that I sought out the experience again this year. I emailed Jen, the coordinator, in April so I could put the dates on my calendar, after all the past two years the dates had been in May and June and those are busy times of the year. She wrote back to say they did not have the dates firmed up yet, but would let me know when the did. True to her word, she told me the dates. 

The first conflicted with graduation.

The second was the weekend of the unveiling of the Voices of Ewing project at The Benjamin Temple House.

The third conflicted with Ashley's graduation party.

Ugh. 

The final date was June 23rd -- a completely open day on my calendar, until a graduation party was rescheduled for that day. 

Old me would have taken two activities in one day in stride. New me (which I suppose is old me) needs more time to shift gears, especially when the temperature is nearing 100 degrees and the first activity is in the sun. Still, I couldn't turn it down.

Truth be told, I did drive down the second weekend as the weather was stunning. Unlike last year when I was encouraged to dig and get dirty, this year they seemed to have more professionals and us members of the public were relegated to sifting. My timing, though, was when there was not much sifting happening. The professionals were measuring and making notes before opening up another strata. 

The tedious part of the day.

During lunch break the archaeologists were taking turns asking people to take new profile pictures of them in one of the pits -- the one that went down about six feet and showed different strata of dirt. If I had worked on that pit, I would have asked to have my picture taken there, too, but it didn't feel right.

After lunch they started digging in earnest. Bucketfulls of dirt were being dumped in the proper sifter -- they were keeping dirt from the same strata in the same pile. While I understood the logic, as the piles got too tall someone would shovel it into a new pile. I think the purpose was for making sure the correct labels got put on the finds, and not because there was anything magical about the leftover dirt.

When I returned on June 23rd the forecast was calling for 100 degrees. I suspected they might cancel the event, but then I received an email reminding everyone to bring plenty of water.

I made the easy drive down to National Park, NJ home of the Red Bank Battlefield. A frustrating name because when many people hear Red Bank they assume I mean on the Jersey Shore where the PNC Arts Center is located. I spent more time explaining that was not the right place to people who probably didn't care than showing them the exciting finds I made that day.

I got a name tag indicating I was a member of the public and headed to the pits. Once again they were in the measuring stage and not the digging stage. Most people were sitting around enjoying the shade while a few people feverishly took notes.

I wandered over to the other side where the metal detector people were back. They were missing on my previous visit. I had been assured they would return for the next couple of weekends. I recognized Tim from last year so I asked if I could join him. Not only did his face light up when he saw me, he grabbed a spare metal detector from his car so I could detect, too. He showed m the ropes and told me stories about great finds he has made -- including the nineteenth century $5 gold coin he found last summer in a sod field. He sold it for $400.

Tim uses his equipment to locate the metal and digs a small hole. I like to get down on my hands and knees and get my hands in the dirt. I took the different clumps of dirt and smooshed them. My digging revealed pieces of pottery, clay, and charcoal. Small bits, but added with other pieces help to tell the story of the site. Tim admits he would have skipped those pieces over because he is focused on the metal. Dana, the site manager, was encouraging of my finds.

Tim is a patient teacher. He showed me what to do. As I wasn't mastering the skill. As he found something, he paused an let me swipe over it with his old detector so I could get a sense of the difference between nothing and a find. I was getting a lot of false positives generated by the grass touching the detector. I nicknamed them "grass tickles." His new machine recorded one number. His old one a different number. The number reflects the type of metal found. Often numbers in the teens found odd pieces of tin foil. Higher numbers the good stuff -- musket balls, cannon balls, gold coins, etc.

Within a short time we found a musket ball alongside a nail. I've seen pictures of musket balls, and have heard of musket balls. I may have even touched one as part of an exhibit. None of this compared with the thrill of finding one! It looks like a clump of dirt, but is has a heft to it. Holding it. Bouncing it in my hand. I could imagine what it would feel like to have that hurled at you at (what must felt like in the 18th century) warp speed. That bugger would have hurt! As this one was flat one one side, it hit either a tree or a human before being forgotten about for 250 years.

Tim, a 76-year old PSE&G retiree and veteran from the shore, and found much
decaying tin from long-ago picnics and pull tabs from old soda cans that take longer to decompose. We were grateful for the breezes coming off the Delaware River and the shade provided by the trees that were not there during the battle. Unfortunately with the trees came an extensive root system we did not enjoy digging around as much. The roots have protected the artifacts for many years.

When Wade offered to buy us lunch at the hot dog stand that an entrepreneur had set up, we took him up on the offer. We also accepted cold iced teas from the chest he brought. As I originally only planned to stay until noon, I was woefully underprepared with my large thermos and a protein bar. Thank you Wade!

Rejuvenated, we returned to the lanes. Within moments we found this beauty. My
thinking is it is a pin made for bicentennial in 1976, but everyone else thinks it is much older -- perhaps made for the 1906 dedication of the memorial, or when Charles Lindberg flew over in 1927 on his way to Paris. Their estimates make it much older, so I should accept them. My hesitation in accepting that date is the placement of the stars on the flag. In the days of only 48 states, the stars appeared in a grid, not as they do today. Using Wikipedia as a source, the stars were staggered from 1898-1912 (when there were 45 and 46 states) before shifting to the 48-star grid from 1912-1959. That would lend credence to the 1906 dedication of the battlefield.

Buoyed we kept at it. After finishing a lane, we went to another lane. The feeling is a different machine might detect something else. It was getting hotter. Tim was smart to start at 7:30 am before the official start of the day. I didn't arrive until 9:30, but by the time I made it to his side it was closer to 10. We wanted to stop because of the heat, but we also wanted to end on one more treasure. We kept at it. Finally just outside the grid we found this. Is it a cock jack screw from a flint rock or a more modern drawer pull? The modern solution makes more sense because the hole did not go all the way through, but given the location on the site of a battle that took place in 1777, the former is also a contender.

Starting with the 50-minute drive, I felt happier than I have in a long time. Hours flew by. I felt both wanted and competent. I got dirtier than I have gotten in a long time (as seen in the pictures of my hands). I smiled more. I wish I could feel this way every day.

One last note, last year we metal detected in this exact same location, which only shows you never know what will turn up on a different day, with different equipment.

Should I add a metal detector to my birthday wish list?