I used to cherish Hallow’een! It was my favorite day of the year growing up. I wanted to be the classic Hallow’een monsters ever year after the year I was Pipi Longstocking. I was a witch, a mummy, a vampire, Wednesday Adams, a ghost, a zombie. I loved the spooky season, that was to me, all of fall…all of October especially, and all leading up to the big night, All Hallow’s eve. I used to prefer books about bats and witches, and I made potions instead of mud pies when we played outside. I wore my candy corn leggings all year round, ( this started young, but even when I was 26!)
I grew older and wanted to be cool and still celebrate my favorite day, so as a teen I did haunted houses, (go through and work for), I hosted parties. I trick or treated until I was 16. That’s when multiple houses’ residents hesitantly gave us candy while asking, “aren’t you a little old to be trick or treating?” I wanted to shout in their faces about how the great pumpkin would tell all the girls and boys to smash their jack o lanterns and egg their house with that attitude! But we walked away, looking for the next house, feeling one heavy moment older.
I’ve noticed this time of year is extremely reflective, at least it is for me. It’s a time when I can step back and look around me as if I’m just watching this world for a moment, instead of being a part of it. Today, I looked at the river like that- but I’m getting to that later.
Some years, I found myself at a party, or a performance, or a parade for Hallow’een and I’d step back. This is where I am. This is what they’re all doing. This is happening. And on Hallow’een it seemed okay, even greatly appropriate to be surrounded by a bit of chaos, a bit of frolic. I could smile and drink up and appreciate the moment, even though it was never how I’d have imagined it to be. It kept on for a few years where I lived, and began to feel routine for October. Sexy outfit costumes and drunken parties pouring out from alleyways, the crowd each year somehow the same and yet somehow a little more disappointing each time. Or was it me who had matured, perhaps, beyond drunken frivolous nights with huge speakers and louder crowds. I stepped back one year and noticed that it wasn’t where I wanted to be next time Hallow’een came around. That’s when I became the one who was a little to old to be out in a costume.
The next Hallow’een that came I was alone, the next one I reflected on that past year, and where I was and how I’d grown.
Now here we are in 2023, and now I’ve graduated. Now I’ve got a career in Archaeology and I am a Field Archaeologist.
I’ve been digging all of October…mostly in Vermont. The one time I wasn’t in Vermont, I passed the school house that made Sleepy Hollow famous for it’s odd and quirky schoolmaster. And that was appropriate, because it seemed like every drive to a site was just around the next bend from Tarrytown. Each golden field surrounded by orange and yellow forest, each pumpkin stand and covered bridge we passed whispered wildly, “Ichabod… Ichabod…” I swear I could hear it.
I’ve been so busy watching the leaves, and watching the dirt, the end of the month completely snuck up on me. I felt shocked it was ending in a few days.
Monday morning. I got an out of town job for the week, so I got my gear ready accordingly. Clothes for the cold weather. Lunch, my thermos, my boots. Hot plate, pan, wooden spoon. My electronics and chargers. My pills, toothbrush, soap. Hat, scarf, keys, wallet, phone… water bottle. All set for another week outdoors.
This week we would be going to a riverside site in Vermont. It could snow, and be freezing cold. We are going to be going up and down along the river to dig test pits to reveal the geology and make sure there aren’t more alluvial shelves than the state expects there, and searching for any archaeological artifacts while we’re there.
Each week we get our assignments and meet at 7am and head out. A bit like a D&D campaign. There’s a certain marching order, usually the project manager goes first. They’re leading the dig.
We fall in, carrying our gear: a shovel, a tarp, a wooden screen, a field bag with measuring tape, clip board, pencil, tablet, trowel… it can be a little cumbersome when there’s brush and bushes and small trees and animal holes and rocks and all the general hazards that make hiking fun.
Today we fell into a little boat. It’s little engine was working hard and might be older than I am. We got to a small island in the river that runs perhaps 300 meters long. Our first three test pits were waterlogged before 50 cm deep. The next few though, seem to be going down to 100. It feels a little bit like being on Gilligan’s island, the shore is so close but without the boat we are stuck there with nothing to do but dig holes.
I have to say it’s making for an interesting adventure as far as dig sites. To be picked up and dropped off up and down the river, with talk of an even smaller boat being used, wow, can’t wait to row a bit! It’s going to be cold autumn days this week, but fairly beautiful landscape, I think. Better than your average office, and probably slightly warmer. With the chance of prehistory!
On one side of the Ammonoosuc River is New Hampshire, on the other side is Vermont. The New Hampshire side has houses with gazebos, the Vermont side has leftover scrap buildings and the old industrial dam infrastructure. We’re working for the Vermont side.
It was a man from the dam who drove the boat for us and picked us up. With his local accent and yellow poncho he reminded me of the movie The Creature from the Black Lagoon, where a crew of fish scientists hire a boat and driver to take them into their site. I hope we don’t get any green monsters, although we are near a place called Gilman. Not kidding.
I am alone again this October 30th and 31st…but I am staying in a quiet, probably haunted, historical hotel all week. There was a card downstairs from the hotel when it was here in 1885, and there were photos of presidents and famous patrons in the front hall. I want to stay up until midnight, because it is going to be the first witching hour of All Hallow’s Eve and there just might be spirits hanging off the chandelier in the hall!
…And even if not, I can imagine the ghosts, I can imagine being with my loved ones, and I can plan for next year to have a better tradition. Even though I am not where I’d prefer to be on Hallow’een this year, I’m perfectly in a spot where I can step back, on this river, and reflect. For this year, for me, that’s my one way I can keep up with the rhythm of the year.
Chronicles of Amber's Anthro Journey 