Dirt

Whoever said the first day of a dig is the hardest is a LIAR.

Day 1 is looking pretty good right about now. For our first day, two blissful weeks ago, my trench group, dubbed “The Double A Team” after our first dig assignment, House AA, cleared our 5 meter by 5 meter trench area of grass and stones, taped off the area to ward off pesky tourists and dug 10 centimeters of earth out of one third of the trench, creating a long, clean line in the earth. We were so proud of that first locus. We thought it was the hardest work we had ever done, and slept well that night, content with our days work and looking forward to the easier ones ahead.

Fast forward to today, the middle of week 3. Today, we left the security and familiarity of House AA and began work on a new trench, which just happened to be located on the side of a hill. Shrubs were removed, huge roots pulled out of the ground with our bare hands and then pick axes used to remove an entire foot of top soil from our six meter by three meter perimeter, which is the equivalent of 9 times the amount of work we accomplished on our first day at Gournia. All this in 105 degree heat. In 7 hours.

So long, training wheels. We’re in the big leagues now.

Tell me now the first day is the hardest! Ha! I long for Day 1. I ache for it. To return to a  blissfully naïve state of mind that archaeology means delicately perching on a comfortable rock and nonchalantly brushing stray dirt from a beautiful, intricate, perfectly in-tact vase that just popped right out of the earth. In reality, dirt is your enemy. It is what stands between you and the discovery of never-before-seen historical artifacts. Dirt is hard-packed, feels heavier in your shovel as each hour passes and has an annoying habit of settling itself under your nose and giving you a Hitler stache.

Every once in a while, a few vehement choice words can be heard yelled across the site, cursing the dirt for being so infuriatingly in the way of profound archaeological breakthroughs; “Get out of my f-ing trench!” As if the dirt would pack up its belongings and apologetically move aside for us.

As my trench leader isn’t likely to let me use a leaf blower to blast all that dirt to the other side of Gournia, pick axes and trowels will be my daily companions.

At least I will have killer arms after this.