The dreaded asphalt parking lot was beginning to resemble the moon's surface--a Swiss cheese moon like you see in children's storybooks. We had dug fifteen privies, two cisterns, and four something-or-others. It would be fairly safe to say that each of us had reduced his sojourn on Mother Earth by at least five years as a result of our battle with the hateful stuff.

    When I arrived on the scene (somewhat tardily, with optimistic thoughts of much spudding having  already taken place during my absence), Cliff and Jerry were involved in one of their legendary farting duels.

    On this particular morn, both were performing so proficiently that it was almost impossible to pick a winner. Another dilemma which would have knit the brow of any judge presiding over this epic contest was their utterly contrasting styles. Cliff's emissions were high pitched and enduring, whereas Jerry's tended to be short-lived, baritone blasts which one always felt must surely have disastrous consequences.

    I had just hopped into the hole to begin my first shift when a sound akin to the release of air from a stretched balloon opening pierced my ears. I thought perhaps an airplane was experiencing engine problems and looked up to the skies for a sign of it, but the laughter and exclamations of incredulity bursting forth from my worthy colleagues soon solved the puzzle for me. Cliff had conjured up an awe-inspiring, miraculous fart which had not only earned him the laurels for the day, but had also inscribed his name permanently within the annals of wind-breaking folklore.  

  Cliff (left), and Jerry

                     

    Perhaps you'd enjoy a more conventional digging story? Fair enough. I whole-heartedly concur that long-windedness is an unbecoming trait for even the most amateur of scribblers. 

    Once we'd made it through the asphalt, we found construction clay at about two feet. After this came the natural topsoil which had originally been the surface level of our one hundred and eighty year-old lot. We now knew that we were in a pit because of the ash and cinders we were encountering. Every so often we'd come upon a shard of ironstone or a piece of unidentifiable bottle glass. At four feet we hit a clay plug. It was a foot deep and had pieces of coal and yellowware scattered throughout it (aren't you bored yet?).   

    In short, the Awesome Foursome probed and dug two pits on this particular outing. One was 1840's through 1870's, the other took up where the previous left off and wound up at about 1890.

    The older of the privies produced several local druggists and some common meds, but its pontil- era use layer was a disappointment--just a few puffs and some scarred bases. On the way down to this crummiest of layers, Cliff came across something rather special. It was stuck against the wall where the dippers had been less attentive. He gave us the "look"  and we all abandoned our various duties and sped to the edge of the pit to watch the (possibly) glorious unveiling. The result was certainly breathtaking.

That's no ordinary smile because . . . .

. . . . it's a super-rare GX111-2 in golden amber!   

    The newer privy produced three pieces of stoneware: one plain jug, an embossed two-tone jug (with initials I can't remember on it), and a Cobalt stenciled jug from the Cincinnati Stoneware Depot.

        His Bradship was finishing up this second pit when he also stood up and gave us the "Look". He warned us in advance that it wasn't as exceptional a find as the bicycle flask, but that it was a noteworthy item nonetheless. After this characteristic prelude, he held up a double Sheaf of Wheat flask in aqua--not exactly run-of-the-mill!

     Brad recently suggested that I might try to be a tad more creative in the photography department. This one's for you, bud!