Honoring the Dead

I'm back!  The past three months have been a whirlwind - moving (back) to Williamsburg, starting graduate school, and wedding planning - and somewhere along the way blogging got left in the dust.  Yet my mind has been brimming with thoughts and ideas, so here we go --

Recently, I've spent a lot of time thinking about my academic specialty and career in general.  While I have always loved being in school, life as a graduate student has certainly made me question my desire to get a PhD and pursue an academic career.  I suppose it's easy to idealize working or being in school from the other side of the fence - I certainly did when I was working full time.  This semester has been full of frustrations - fear of failure (or fear of just adequacy), a struggle to fit into an academic environment as a grad student, and efforts to maintain balance between "work" and "home".  All the same, I've at least reached an understanding of some academic interests (those pidgenholed "research interests" on a CV...) and tentitve ideas for my thesis.

Archaeological discovery of a human burial

As some of my readers will remember, I spent much of my "year off" working in repatriation, the return of human remains and objects to claimant Native American Tribes.  When I returned to William and Mary for graduate school this fall, I decided to take a class in human skeletal biology.  The inordinate amount of excitement I had for this class - which consisted of learning to identify and analyze in basic ways the bones of the human body - started the turning of the gears... 

In contemporary archaeology, you generally don't want to find burials.  Human bones mean paperwork, politics, and controversy, especially if they turn out to be the remains of Native Americans.  But I've realized over the past few months that sometimes the best way to mitigate controversies is to understand them, to be well versed in mortuary practices and skeletal biology so that when issues arise - whether in museum repatriation, construction projects, or academic archaeology - you are prepared to reach a compromise between the prerogatives of different communities.

From Written in Bone

Let's face it: we (Americans) don't like to talk about death.  It's the unknown, the uncertain (and in the case of zombies, the seriously frightening).  In some cultures, talking about death is taboo.  Yet for others - the Hispanic celebration of the Day of the Dead, for example - family members revisit the graves of the dead as a way of remembering their lives.  As Americans, we see great importance in honoring those who have gone before us, especially those who died tragically or in military conflicts, as revealed in recent controversies about Arlington Cemetery, the Air Force (and this), and the placement of the remains of 9-11 victims in a public memorial museum.  But it's important to remember that culturally, we understand death, burial, and memory in very different ways - hence the reason why the remains of early Euro-American settlers can be displayed in a museum while it would be unacceptable (today) to display Native American remains in a similar way.

I see the study of the dead as an important way to honor those who have come before us, by remembering their lives.  Just think about it.

Remembering those who died on 9-11

Weddings and Womanhood

Over the past few months, I've learned a whole lot about wedding to-dos and taboos.  From an anthropological perspective, it's interesting to pick apart the traditions - the veil, the white dress, a father giving his daughter away, the size of the engagement ring and wedding.  But for the most part, I see most of these traditions as cultural survivals - non-functional practices that once had a purpose in past society.  I mean, look at white maternity wedding dresses - need I say more?  But regardless of function, weddings are just something you have to do.

I must admit that I'm not a big fan of wedding planning.  I've never been one of those girls who dreams of her wedding day - and certainly not about a dress, flowers, or table settings.  Growing up with two brothers, I spent a lot of my childhood in the woods building forts and making mud-pies, or playing dinosaurs vs. transformers (or reaching potatoes vs. frogberries).  I spent the past two weeks excavating the ruins of an 18th century mansion - with my bare (ok, sometimes gloved) hands, one bucket of rubble at a time.  For the longest time, I hated the idea of being feminine.  If someone said I'd make a good housewife all they would receive in return was the classic Laura scowl.

At some point in college I came to terms with being a woman.  It had nothing to do with wearing pink, shopping for bras, or putting on makeup and everything to do with loving, caring, and giving of myself in a uniquely feminine way.  I love to cook, bake, and host small gathering with friends.  I love to take care of people, listening to their woes and sharing in their joys.  I am ecstatic about marrying Paul and God willing, having children in a few years.  To me, this is what it means to be woman - though I recognize that to each woman, femininity means something a little different.

If only everyone else understood.  Dresses, flowers, and table settings - that one day - are all ephemeral.  I have a good man who loves me, and on our wedding day we will make promises to each other and to God.  That's what matters.  That's what I'm excited about.  That's what I'll plan for.

a brief interlude of sensational experience

I felt bold on leaving Concord, but I confess I find New York rough and strange, and myself strange in it.  Mrs. Kirk believes I am here for a brief interlude of sensational experience before succumbing to a matrimonial fate...but I hope that any experience I gain will be strictly literary.

- Jo, Little Women (film)

When I began writing this blog two years ago, I laughed to myself about the specific context of the title.  I had just been on a first date - the first date I'd been on in long time.  And as much as I liked the guy, I was eagerly anticipating a semester in Guatemala.  Well, we went on a second date (I really, really liked this guy) and four days later I boarded a southbound plane.  When I got off the plane four months later, he was there with flowers, waiting for me.  And that was the fifth time in my life that I had ever seen him.

Sometimes I smile when I think about all those early memories.  The first weekend we met (and this was on a church retreat, mind you), when we stayed up late just sharing funny stories - I'll never forget the image of a tiny Kevin (his brother) climbing a dinosaur at a museum.  Four months later, when we got artery-clogging burgers at Five Guys and talked until dark.  And six months after that, when he took me out to my first brewpub - and gave me my first hangover (which mostly just shows that I was a lightweight).  Before he was my boyfriend, he was my good friend.  And before being my fiance, he was (and is) my best friend.  I could not ask for a better man and a better life's companion.

So I must admit (as would Jo, I’m sure), that I’m glad my experience has not been “strictly literary.”  My grandma keeps telling me that I need to quench my adventuresome spirit and settle down.  But I know, as does Paul, that I will never be done having adventures.  Only, from now on, they will ours – our simple days, our struggles, our joys – our adventures.

Saying Goodbye

It is the nine o'clock hour; I'm sitting in my basement "office," gathering my things and crossing a few last to-dos off the list.  Campus is quiet, but for the sprinklers and the other interns, in a slightly modified version of our Saturday night routines.  My car is packed, my phone is charged, and I made my last several-minute commute to the "super hogan" bathroom for a shower.  Those of you who are well acquainted with my usual before-I-leave routine know that I am usually up all hours of the night packing.  I can't tell you how strange this calm, peaceful night feels.  Paul's plane lands in Durango in about twelve hours.  I may not sleep tonight after all.

Around noon today, I drove up to Dolores.  I rolled the windows down, opened the sunroof, and let the wind blow through my hair as I drove down the country road, accompanied by mesas and mountains in the distance.  I will miss this, I thought.  I will miss the sunrise and the purple mountains in the morning; the late evening sun shining on Mesa Verde to the east, clouds every color of the rainbow.  I will even miss hot afternoons in the field, baking under the dry sun, looking to the southwest in hopes of a few clouds for shade.  This country is a wonderful, peaceful place.  But it's time to leave.  Virginia is home.

We took a midweek field trip to "Big Point"

I finished up work in the field on Friday - I did paperwork on several units, backfilled, and drew a profile map of a kiva.  Now Steve and Grant (my supervisors) will be racing against time to get all the units finished up before the snows come in a month or so.  We had a party last night - it was a good way to say goodbye to the staff, and enjoy a few more local brews.  Crow Canyon, and Cortez for that matter, is an awesome community.  People are so friendly out here - I will miss the random conversations with townies and cashiers in little shops.  Perhaps I just need to look a little harder to find these things at home.

Kiva unit - look at that huge hearth!

Paul and I will be making our way home over the course of eight days and about three thousand miles, including visits to Mesa Verde, Four Corners, the Grand Canyon, Santa Fe, Dallas, New Orleans, and Atlanta - and as many brew pubs as we can find!

Getting Caught Up

Over a year has passed since I returned from Guatemala - and quite a year it has been! I was excited to finish my undergraduate degree in Anthropology and History from William and Mary (hit "refresh" a couple times) this May, and have slowly but surely been making plans for the next year and beyond.  I wanted to revive this blog to keep everyone updated on my adventures.

Right after graduation, I volunteered with Alexandria Archaeology and George Washington University's field school - on "Shuter's Hill" by Alexandria's Masonic Monument - helping the instructors and guiding the students on archaeological method.  I am currently in Williamsburg, serving as a Resident Program Assistant with a Pre-Collegiate program in American History.  I'm essentially a mentor to the students, making sure they have the best experience possible.

When the program ends in mid-July, I will have a few days to do laundry and pack for the next stage of my summer journey, an internship with Crow Canyon Archaeological Center in Cortez, Colorado.  I will be a field research intern, working at Goodman Point, at a tenth through thirteenth century Pueblo Indian site.  After that?  We'll see what opportunities life decides to send my way.

Autumn

It seems silly to update this now, when I intended to do so the day I returned from Guatemala. Something is pushing me, though. I'm finally ready to write that reflection.

So much has changed in my life since I left for Guatemala. Sparing you the details, I'll just say it's been an adventure, though probably the most difficult time of my life thus far. Time has passed so quickly, and now I find myself back at William and Mary, settled into an apartment with my two lovely roomies and best friends here. We have the windows open to the cool air, so uncharacteristic for the last day of August, and I am, per usual, procrastinating my reading just a little longer.

There was something about today - it was so peaceful. I babysat Oliver for the first time this afternoon and am so excited to watch him grow up over the next year. By spring he will be toddling around, rather than napping on my chest as I watch the history channel. As I tried my best to feed him something that once was sweet potatoes, I thought about the work I would be doing were I not there taking care of him. I think so often of what I want to do with my life, because as certain as I was in February, my summer internship reminded me how much I love archaeology: excavation, research, mapping, you name it. I sit in my archaeology of cities seminar and feel completely at home. I love too many things.

I'm home. Just a few months older and a little more confused. I guess that's life.