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Man I used to be a hard core
digger. What the hell is this 'digging every other month' crap ? My
priorities are all screwed up. I run a company. I have a hat rack on the
wall with an "Estimator", "Sales", "Book Keeping", "Payroll", "Customer
Relations", "Mechanic", and "Laborer" hats lined up in a row. Most days I
have to take all the hats with me when I leave for work. I also have those
popular hats that many others have, "Father", "Husband", "Waker-Upper",
"Put-To-Sleeper", "Homeworker", "Cleaner-Upper", etc... I also have a
"Digger" Hat. It is old and dirty, and it lies beneath all the other hats. I
have to look for it hard every time I want to wear it. It is one of my most
favorite hats. The fit is perfect. Well, I put my digger hat on the other
day, and here's what happened;
I cold called a couple of the
tougher nuts in my humble village. They told me, "Hell No"
last time I asked them. It was now time, (if they still felt the same), to
tell me "Hell No" again, Bygolly !
Tough Nut number 1 was prompt
to open his door when I knocked. He was using both hands to restrain an
enormous Labrador Retriever by it's thick, meaty, leather collar. He
managed to slip outside and leave the dog inside, whereby I made my most
eloquent and charming permission presentation ever. I shook his hand,
chuckled and acted at ease. We gabbed and I explained how much fun we
have doing this sorta thing. He seemed to be in a receptive frame of
mind. He mentioned that he always wanted to metal detect his yard, and
had considered renting a detector, or even buying one. I said, "Well
you don't have to go to no such trouble, when I can just leave mine here
for you to use". We walked to my work van and I pulled my detector
out of the back doors. I gave him a quick lesson on the operation,
including using discrimination, and laid my baby in his hands. I told
him I would be back in a couple days to get it and to see what he had
found. He looked at me kind of weird, like I was nuts or something. I
smiled and got in my van and took off. Upon my return, two days later,
on the evening of a quiet Sunday, the same scenario of getting past the
dog was played out, only this time he was holding a metal detector while
doing it. Once out on the porch with me, I asked him what all he had
found. "Oh I didn't even get a chance to use it I been so busy",
he said. "But you guys are welcome to try to find my privy", he
added. I told him that would be great, and that I was planning on using
my detector later in the week, but he was welcome to borrow it again any
time he wanted.
Tough nut number 2 seemed to be in
a better mood than last time. He asked me about a namesake bottle, and as
luck would have it, I happened to have a bucket of them in my basement. With
the promise of a dirty six pack of them, I was in ! This fellow owns a three
bay garage, built in the 1970's, where he worked on his small fleet of
diesel rigs. Formerly, there was a nice two story house on the lot, circa
1860, that also served as a store. I walked down there to probe, (walking
out your front door and down the road to probe is very cool) and when I got
there, I realized there was a 12 foot wide strip of grass and gravel across
the whole back of the lot. PLENTY of room for multiple loaded pits !
The far side of the back was all
brambles. If you've never experienced "Brambles" before, you don't know what
you're missing. Now as the saying goes; All "Briar Pits" are Brambles, but
not all Brambles are Briar Pits. This Brambles was 90 percent Briar Pit.
Well, like I said, I HAD my digger hat on, so yes, I fought them Briars.
Them Briars and me came out even in the end. Most of'em was knocked and
stomped down, but I was bleeding some, and full of little holes.
I got to probing and jumped right
onto the far side of the lot. It was a corner lot, so the pit(s) should be
in the far corner, away from the road. I crammed and jammed and even with
the dry ground, eliminated the entire half of the back. The road side half
had hardly any brambles, but it had plenty of gravel. I was completely
unable to penetrate it with my probe.
The next day, I invited Mike and
his pointy spud bar down to help me stab some holes in the face of the
stubborn gravel. We did, and we grid probed, and eliminated the other half
of the back. "Pits must be under the garage", Mike panted. "Yeah",
I agreed. "Dandy" !
Mike and I trotted on down the
road a block to my other permission. Again with the dog wrestling, and we
had the owner on the porch. He pleasantly agreed to let us probe. His house
was built in 1836 and belonged to a Dr. Bartlett. The back of the lot was
exactly half available. It had a large wooden floored barn on one corner,
and a concrete pad, and a small shed, setting side by side. The other half
was empty. We set to grid probing the open side. The ground was like butter,
and every short probe hole got a long probe stuck into it. Absolutely
NOTHING was turning up, other than finding the septic tank he always
wondered where was. While we were probing, another neighbor, (Son of Tough
nut 3) walked up and asked what we were doing. His parents had just moved
out of the house and had left it for him and his girlfriend. I quickly got
permission and we walked over into his yard. HIS house is a log cabin inside
and has been surmised by the local historians to have been built between
1815 and 1825. (Yeah I know, it keeps getting older and older) This yard was
small, with nothing but debris in it. There were two concrete lined pits
poking up out of the ground. We started probing down the side property line
and about halfway from the back to the house located a stone liner. Finally,
I get to talk about my shovel !
My shovel is short and has a yellow fiberglass handle with a cantilevered grip on the back. The blade is rusty from lack of use. It was time to polish it. We tore into the pit, having no need for a tarp in the jungle like back yard. The owners son hung with us and lent a hand, taking turns getting down in the pit. At about three feet, we hit a super stiff and compacted dry fill. The shovels did little to coerce it out of the hole. Mike went and retrieved his chisel tipped spud bar and we tore it out in huge dry clumps, as big as we could heave out. It was thick, and went on for about three feet. Finally about 6 feet deep we got under it and the fill changed to a black loamy mix, and seeds and shards started showing up.
The glass was sick old aqua. Wax
sealer mouths and chimney lamps soon trickled down the dirt pile. Right off
the bat, Mike corners some big black looking thing. As it is carefully
exposed, the shape and color of a black glass ale started to take form. The
face that was showing was smooth. It looked to be neither broken, nor
embossed. The side in the dirt could be embossed, or have a big hole in it.
As he lifted it out, it showed itself to have no big holes, nor embossing. Just a crude big black glass ale bottle. Good sign ! I'll take it. Below is Peter, the owners son, holding it.
The dig flew on. Lots of ironstone and lamp chimneys soon clattered noisily onto the dirt pile. The scratcher was singing it's glassy song in the pit as Mike fluffed up the past. A few slick meds came out and a nice teal colored Bixby polish bottle rolled out of the mix, along with a shard of a light amber, smooth target ball. It had a big star on it ! (Just kidding Ralph)
While I was in the pit, I looked into the recesses of the layer, back against the far wall, and saw something large and red. I reached in and felt it with my hand and it was smooth and shiny. I clawed around it, dislodging several pieces of stacked window pain that had it all wedged in. Finally it dropped into my hand and I pulled it out to find it was a large molded red ware wax sealer canning jar. It had a couple lip chips but was otherwise in great shape. By this time I had already flung out a few common polish bottles, the broken remnants of an Electric Bitters, a neat, crude utility jar, and an Ayer's Sarsaparilla.
As I was nearing the bottom I found another Ayer's, but this one was a Cherry Pectoral, and it was pontiled. I also found a hinge mold 12 sided umbrella ink, and a John. J. Smith.
Mike finished off the pit in handsome style with a couple of J.J. Butler inks, a stone ware wax sealer jug, some stone master inks, A J. Walkers California Vinegar Bitters, and a neat little double Eagle flask with a hinge mold base.
We split up the stuff with Peter, letting him pick what he wanted, and filled in the hole. While we were filling it, Peter kept coming over with handfuls of yard ornaments like aquariums, lawn mowers, tires, and such, and tossing them in the pit. He told us that the small pile of dirt would look much better than all the crap that was now displacing it. We had to agree with him. We made plans to come back for more probing and digging soon, as there has to be more pits back there in his jungle preserve. Update; More pits found !!!
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