end of it all—including a short drive by van just a spit down the road—stood curator Silas Hurry, quiet-spoken, earnest and full of the milk of good public relations kindness. He had an eager audience. A few took notes. Here are Cliff’s: All of the samples from each dig are clearly marked, sifted, categorized, stabilized, identified, computerized and stored. Now pay attention, because this will be on your final:
Archaeologists are now leaving as much of the land as possible undisturbed for future archaeologists because they will presumably know more and have better equipment than today’s batch, just as we have it all over the former fellows, who did regrettable things like toss out all the soil that had been turned over regularly in cultivation—soil that, it turns out, actually contains the bulk of what is now considered the good stuff. And like oyster shells, which, it turns out, are important indicators of the health of the Bay because you can measure their rings (kind of like trees, apparently) and thickness and so forth. Because oyster shell fragments were about as common as cucumbers in a pickle factory, nobody ever thought it worth the trouble to collect them—except Historic St. Mary’s City archaeologists, who did hang on to them and who can be excused for feeling just a little smug about the whole thing. So, never throw out anything, no matter how dumb it seems—but only if you’re an archaeologist. End of lesson.
Following our entertaining encounter with dirt and historic debris we retraced our steps, more slowly this time, to visit Historic St. Mary’s City. The town, founded in 1634, was a briefly thriving community that was relegated to the trash heap of history a mere 90 years later when the