So I’ve just started my new course and I don’t really have time to produce anything vaguely original for today’s post, so I thought I’d simply share something cool I came across about a week ago, while browsing the nature books at Norwich’s excellent Book Hive. It’s an excerpt from Notes from Walnut Tree Farm, a collection of “greatest hits” from late British nature writer Roger Deakin. As an archaeologist, it sent chills up and down my spine–if it hasn’t happened already, someone should definitely write an archaeology-themed pulp horror story based on the same general idea.
Digging over at an outlying corner of the vegetable garden this afternoon, I unearthed a length of chain with a rusted spring clip on one end and recognized it as a goat tether I had last used twenty years ago or more. It was about a foot down under a retired compost heap and must have been buried, at least in part, by the ploughing of earthworms.
To discover my own life becoming archaeology like this was a shock. I had now lived my way into a timespan in which my own artefacts, tools or relics had become archaeological finds.
(If you like how this guy writes, you should definitely check out Wildwood, his book about trees and wood and forests–excellent to dip into, and one of the best examples of books-which-allow-you-to-travel-without-actually-moving, as he talks, beautifully, about the forests of Kyrgyzistan and Australia, as well as ones closer to his Suffolk home.)