My mother-in-law and brother-in-law recently volunteered to watch my kiddos every Sunday–giving me five precious hours during the week to devote to digging. Last week, I used those stolen moments to hit the Wright House. This week, I followed Roman into the woods and poked around an old trash pit.

When we first arrived at the site, I was giddy–I realize that not many young ladies get excited over a giant depression in the middle of the woods… but I suppose I’m a different breed. With the exception of the backyard dump at my Uncle’s, I hadn’t been digging through any junk pits since I was a a teenager living in RI. I suppose you could attribute my excitement to a big, fat case of nostalgia.

Yesterday, at this new location, there were chunks of salt-glazed crocks and shards of embossed medicine bottles littered all over the dirt. I’ll admit… I have a thing for old medicine bottles, especially the big chunky ones. And I think everyone has a thing for old crocks.

The surface of this particular site showed a great deal of promise. I didn’t hesitate in breaking ground–which was surprisingly soft given the four inches of snow we got on Friday.

I dug, I dug, and I dug some more. I dug a lot… an awful lot. Yet, every time I glimpsed the shimmer of a promising bottle and gently plucked it from the soil–it was broken or chipped or cracked.

Roman and I hit that dump for a good four hours. We would turn up a handsome piece of hand-painted china and think, “That must have been really nice.” We would turn up a hefty chunk of aqua glass and think, “That would have been a great bottle.” At one point, I found the remains of a sun-purple bottle–a gorgeously stunning lavender blush. I thought, “That would have been a keeper.”

The more we dug, the more I began to realize that I have a really short attention span. I’ve never thought of myself as someone with a short attention span, so I’ve decided to blame metal detecting. With metal detecting, there is always the bing of promise… IF you dig a hole here, there will be something metal. Yesterday, I was digging holes haphazardly hoping that an old bottle would pop out and give me some indication on where I needed to dig.

Now, we did managed to find a few bobbles that struck my fancy… nothing terribly old or valuable, but items that I loved nonetheless. Roman unearthed this cute little creature with a root growing out of his ear hole. Just by looking at him, it was clear that he had once lived atop a charming shelf–getting dusted and admired every so often.

When I first held him, I couldn’t help but wonder how he came to live at the dump, but now this little guy will find his way onto my shelf–being rightfully dusted and admired once again.

We may not have turned up much at our spot in the woods, but there is something about digging… something about unearthing clues to the past that absolutely thrills me. I suppose I am a digging junkie… I need to dig, even if it is only for a few hours every Sunday.