Dig Diary: Archäologie Für Alles

by Chelsea Rose

Prior to my experience in South Dakota's Fort James, there were several things lacking from my list of field experiences as an archaeologist:

1. I had never been served home made, home grown lunches whilst being serenaded by singing maidens.
2. I had never had a coffee break where, "Would you like cream with that?" referenced something that actually came out of a cow — recently.
3. Finally, I had never had any worms named after me (or at least to not my knowledge).

Glad I finally got those checked off!

In all seriousness, my experience at Fort James brought up an important aspect of being an archaeologist — getting to share archaeology with the public. While the "public" in this instance was the Hutterite land owners, bringing archaeology to the people can and should be done on all sort of sites. Sharing how we do what we do, and why, is a key part of the archaeologist's job. The more people that understand how to recognize and protect cultural resources, the more archaeology will be saved for the future. While the Hutterites may not have initially known quite what to make of the machines, gadgets, and eccentric scientists that took over their cow pasture, by the end of the three days they were the proud and eager stewards of a little piece of South Dakota history.

By bringing archaeology into the community, you provide an opportunity for people to share information about the site, pool resources, and most importantly, allow people to feel invested in the project. Archaeology is exciting, and most people are genuinely interested in the history that surrounds them.

During our excavation of the fort walls, the Hutterite children crowded around us, peering eagerly over our shoulders. I struck up a deal with them: they let me practice my rusty German (Hutterites are fluent in both German and English), and I would teach them archaeology. They were quick studies with the trowel and mastered the art of screening in no time. I, however, was mostly rewarded by the peals of laughter in response to my apparently terrible German skills and by the honor of having each worm carefully removed from the screen named "Chelsea."

All in all, it was a fair trade.