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?

A Party Four Years in the Making

In 2020 we had planned to celebrate Ashley's graduation from high school with a big party. As we all know, the world had other plans. As Ashley was nearing graduation this time, I started to invite everyone who was ever important to Ashley as she was growing up. The friends and family, teachers and mentors we would have invited after high school graduation. The goal was a simple backyard party. As invitations went out via word of mouth, Facebook, and text there were many enthusiastic ayes and dismayed nays, and an assortment of no replies. Holding the party on Father's Day Weekend meant many had other plans.

Our best decision was to hire Pam to be our caterer. After watching her flip burgers at a church function I jokingly asked if she would be free to flip burgers at Ashley's party. She replied, "You do know that I have a side catering business?" Umm... no. The idea was not as farfetched as I thought it was. Don was a little apprehensive, but by the end of the day (which included having a new refrigerator delivered) he declared that the best decision ever!

We lucked out with sunshine and temperatures in the mid-70s. A few days later we began a typical summer heatwave where doors stay closed and we forget about the outdoors. On that day, our 40 or so loved ones spread out in the kitchen (always the kitchen), family room, and outside. I tortured Ashley with a few group pictures outside by the Muhlenberg banner, but tried to let her hang out with her high school and college friends who blended into one big group.

The farthest away award went to Aunt Doris, who stopped her from Florida on the way to a family graduation party in New York. Ed and Carol were honorary recipients.

The farthest day traveler award is split between Greg and Dave W., one came from Delaware and the other from Connecticut. Not sure which ride was longer. Both were a surprise to the guest of honor. 

The closest award goes to neighbors Lisa and Carlos who walked over.

With the party over, part of me feels the role of us as parents to a student has finished. Laura brought us a bottle of sparkling wine to celebrate -- recognizing the party was also a celebration of us reaching a new parenting stage. I don't picture Don sharing the bottle with me, but may I open it with the friends I made when Ashley was a wee one. We did it! We successfully got our children to adulthood!

As for the next stage, we stand by as Ashley leads us down that path. What is our role as she navigates looking for a full-time job and even moves out of our home.

 

Disappointed I didn't catch pictures of everyone. Wish I could have visited with everyone, too.

Welcome Back Thunder

It still strikes me as odd to go to baseball's opening day in June, but here we are again in Trenton as we once again host the Draft League. I'm grateful that after the Yankees moved their AA team to the Somerset Patriots that we still have baseball, but I miss the longer season, sipping hot chocolate at a sparsely attended game filled with people who go to watch baseball instead of going for the junk food and entertainment.

I love it when Rookie and Dash take to the field to bring the bats in, but I also love a good double play or home run hit. 

It also doesn't feel like opening day when I've already been to two games: one in Buffalo and a Mothers' Day game in Allentown, PA.

I still love going to games at Waterfront (I mean Arm & Hammer, I mean Trenton Thunder Ball) Park. Built about 30 years ago, the stadium was designed to feel like an old-fashioned ballpark. After climbing a lot of stairs (or taking the elevator) you enter the concourse before descending ever closer to the field to take your seat. My favorite sections are 105 and 106, behind the first base (home team) dugout. When Thunder was still affiliated with the Yankees I got to know some of the season ticket holders. I also got to know some of the staff. Even though thy play in the city of Trenton, I always feel safe walking back to my car. I grin and bear it as I drive past Cadwalder Park, but have never had a real reason to be nervous.

Now that they only play a short 80 game season (with half of them at home) with players that rotate on and off even faster than they did when they were a AA team, the attachment is to Boomer and the bat dogs. Serious ball fans still see some magic happening on the field. Each year they seem to have fewer season ticket holders. Even I dropped my ten-game pass.

Opening Day was packed. With the shorter season, and starting so close to the end of the school year, more groups are packed into each game. The first game had three parades before the game, Stuart Country Day School singing the national anthem, another group singing "Take Me Out to the Ball Park" during the seventh inning stretch, multiple birthday parties, and other large groups. A rally towel was given to the first 1,030 fans (I was too late), and coupons for WAWA coffee given out as we exited. There is a lot happening.

I went alone, which is my preference. I just want to watch a game, not have conversations. The first inning saw Thunder bring ten batters to the plate -- yes everyone went at least once. There were many walks and not a lot of strike outs. The opposing pitcher just graduated from high school a couple of weeks earlier in Texas and was heading back home to college before the end of the season. This is just a great place for them to play more ball.

Even with a 5-0 lead, the other team managed to tie things up. It was a little dicey in the bottom of the 9th inning, but the home time scratched out a season opening win. This level is more about player development and less about wins and losses, but the fans still like a win. Well, maybe not those who left after the seventh inning stretch because the game was stretching into its fourth hour. That's a lot of baseball, even for me.

Rookie

Tommy the bat boy is back!

Dash

Boomer almost caught a ball way up there!

  

Trying New Things

Semi-retirement is leaving me with some free time to explore new skills. In the past few months I have taken classes in roller skating, pysanka eggs, photography, and hula hooping. While I can taking pictures while roller skating, even Angela, my hula hooping teacher, has not mastered hooping while skating.

Roller skating

A few years ago Lawrence resident Jaclyn started TrentonSk8s. I met her a few years before that when she said she wanted to learn how to skate. She invited me to join her on some skating field trips as the closest rinks are at least an hour away in several different directions. For one reason or another I did not take her up on it -- too far away, too late at night, I was already busy, etc. etc. Jaclyn not only went she made new friends and embraced the skating culture. Through her I learned there are differences between North Jersey and South Jersey skating styles (yet something else our tiny state can argue about along with Taylor Ham vs. Pork Roll). The past few summers we have met in Cadwalder Park in Trenton. The past couple of falls and winters we met indoors at our church. With construction happening "any day now," we were encouraged to find a different winter home. First Presbyterian Church of Trenton came to our rescue. For $15 a class, Jaclyn taught us the basics. Due to my foot problems, I did not go nearly often enough, but I did learn the importance of loosening the wheels to be able to move more freely and how to make "bubbles" both backwards and forwards.

Pysanka Eggs

This was a one-day class taught at our church. The class felt rushed, but the lessons taught have resonated with me throughout spring and into summer. Use the negative space to help create something beautiful. Order matters. Uncover the hidden beauty. Relax. Take the time to figure out what you want it to look like in the end. Understand mistakes happen and incorporate them into the finale. There is no perfect way to do something. Each one is different. Each one is beautiful. You can do this.

Photography

In February I signed up for a three-week class on taking better pictures with my DSLM camera. The class was held at the Princeton Adult School, located in Princeton High School. It was taught by a Lambertville photographer who teaches this same basic class in a few different places. I learned to move away from IA and shoot in Aperture Priority (A). Cameras these days adjust a lot so the triangle shifts. He showed us tricks for manually changing that -- scary stuff! I did learn some things, but the best way to learn is to keep taking pictures. I met a friend, Erin. Through her, Don and I decided to drive to Buffalo to see the eclipse. I wish the class had opportunities to move around the building and practice what we were learning, but he does offer those types of classes. Much of his advice was about how to crop a picture, and I didn't always agree with his suggestions. It was nice to get out.

Hula Hooping

This week I finished a six-part class in hula hooping. Don took the class during the pandemic at the senior center. While I could have taken that class, I wanted to take it outside. We both had the ever-enthusiastic Angela. She is full of encouragement. To her everyone can hula hoop, the problem is with the hoop not with the person. On our last week (I missed 1.5 classes), I used a different hoop and the pieces fell into place. Angela is great about teaching people at different levels. At least half of the class had taken hooping before and were moving with an ease and grace I did not see possibly happening for me. I still have a long ways to go, but there seems to be hope for me.

Only one week did we have to seek shelter

Lots of space

The last week

Angela brought the fun stuff for the last class

Angela

David Brearley 5k

Lawrenceville is a wonderful place to live, but if I were to add anything it would be to have a 5K race that brings the town together. Plenty of towns around us have races, but there is an extra level of magic when you known many of the participants. I felt some of that magic Memorial Day weekend at the 46th annual Spring Lake 5-miler. Back in March when I heard the Lawrence Historical Society was planning to hold their first annual 5k on June 8th I marked my calendar.

Then I waited. And waited. And waited. In mid-May I thought about taking the date off the calendar and making other plans when I heard the race was on! With a registration fee a mere $15, and a start time at a pleasant 8:30 am, I signed up. I even convinced Don to sign up.

The narrow path was well marked

There was much confusion about the race. We knew it would be along the canal, but would they really make us run along the narrow path that leads from the Brearley House to the canal? One person said yes, another said no. Yes was the correct answer.

With the last minute notice to everyone but those in the know, would they really get enough people to sign up? They were pleased with the 25 registrations. Any more and they would have needed to pay police to help manage the crowd.

Don and I turned the race into a duathlon by riding the tandem to and from the starting line. 

The weather was lovely. The fastest person finished in 16 minutes. The last person finished just under an hour. Both were happy with their times. The race started with a loop through the grass, which separated us just as the "spiral of death" does at RunBucks races. Half a mile after starting we were on the towpath, which we shared with people taking walks, biking, running, and otherwise enjoying the day. It was sunny and in the upper 60s, a tad warm for serious runners and perfect for fun runners and walkers.

The halfway mark took us to the Port Mercer Canal House where two junior historians were conscripted (not too often that word gets used!) to hand out water. 

I chatted off and on with a man comparing notes about our choice of footwear (he is in the Brooks camp, I am team Nike). Don started strong, but fell behind me before we reached the turn around.

As I'm still babying my foot, I was pleased with my sub-40 time. I do want to get stronger, but that will involve more running and less walking in my intervals. Right now I'm working on being able to finish with a smile on my face.

We all won our age categories!

Why oh why did I think biking to the race was a good idea? Fortunately biking is Don's strength and he was able to catapult us home.

The organizers

All done!