Thanks, Cran and Kay. Say, how do you get these emoticons to show up? I clicked on the "Hail" one and it just added the word, not the picture. Looking forward to reading more of your science fiction story, Cran. My goal in writing for kids is to include science as one of the threads. It's the teacher in me to want them to learn about the world around them. I taught writing and gifted ed, but have always loved the various fields of science. I think they're actually all one and it's good to see multi-disciplinary team work among scientists these days. I'm currently revising a novel, Spirit of the Ruins, for readers 9-14 in which archaeology is a prime thread. Part of my research for the authenticity of information was spending a day at a workshop and digging under supervision. Here's a chapter about midway in the story. Again, critical comments welcome as I'm still revising.
Chapter Nineteen: The Archaeologist
The museum visitor was a student of archaeology from Penn State University, a young woman named Kathy Winthrop, who showed up in blue overalls and a white tee-shirt. She, Joe, and Alberta sat in the living room where Alberta explained what Joe had found.
?Well, shall we look at your dig?? she asked.
?My dig?? Joe asked. ?Oh, you mean-- oh, okay,? he stammered. ?It?s this way.?
As they crossed the meadow, Kathy explained why she had chosen to work in the Southwest. ?The Earth is so visible here. Canyons, cliffs, rocks. Nothing is hidden, really. It?s as if she is inviting you to listen and look and learn.?
Joe stared at Kathy because she was pretty and because he was trying to understand what she was saying. She starts off talking about the earth, he thought, and then she?s talking about some lady.
At the trench, Kathy opened her carry-all bag. Joe watched as she removed a measuring tape, camera, notebook, and a small, flathead screwdriver which she poked into a loop of her coveralls. ?What I?d like to do,? she explained, ?is see what?s here, and then make some probes in other places a few yards apart.? As she examined the trench walls, measured, took notes and pictures, Kathy made comments. Joe sat a few feet away, admiring the way she had tied a bandanna around her head over her blond hair, the front corner of the scarf flipped backward and stuffed under a knot in back. Alberta stayed close behind Kathy, pointing to the slabs, showing her the scraper rock, and pail of tiny chunks of corn.
?There are probably more metates next to this one,? Kathy said, kneeling to get a close-up photograph of the slabs on the trench floor. She pulled the screwdriver from its loop, and gently scratched the floor. ?They sometimes come in threes. Ah, here is the tip of another slab, see??
?Oh, yes!? Alberta exclaimed. ?So, would this be the inside of a house, or outside??
?Probably the inside. Let me take a look at the lay of the land.?
?What will that tell you?? Alberta asked, following Kathy out of the trench.
?It will give clues about what is underground.?
?What?s a matahtay?? Joe asked. They headed up the slope of the hillside.
?A me-ta-te is a grinding stone.
?I thought so,? said Alberta. ?That explains why we found the corn chips around it.?
Joe laughed.
?Well, you know what I meant,? Alberta added.
They had crossed the top of the hill and were heading downhill through the juniper trees.
Kathy stopped at a wide clearing, turned and snapped pictures in every direction. Then she was quiet.
?What do you think?? Alberta asked.
?I can?t be sure until I do some probes, but the way the land rises and dips follows the ancient pueblo pattern, D-shaped around a walled plaza that faces the southeast. These rocks you see scattered down the hillside could be rubble, rocks that were once part of a wall. And do you see that ravine there in the valley? There may have been a steady water supply here long ago.?
?How long ago would you guess?? asked Alberta.
?Hundreds of years, at least. You know, the layout of the land here reminds me of two other places. Raven Site Ruins and Homolovi, both on the Little Colorado River, and sadly, both with a history of looting. Joe, I saw a shovel at your--where?s Joe??
?Over here! Look what I found! There must be hundreds of ?em!? Joe stood at the foot of the hill, his hands cradling dozens of pottery shards. He bent over to pick up another shard he spied poking up from the sand. Kathy and Alberta joined him, winding sideways down the hill through the gray-green brush. Kathy sorted through the pottery fragments.
?All black on white,? she observed. ?No polychrome.?
?Huh?? asked Joe.
?See? It?s a reddish-brown clay,? she said, turning a piece on end. ?On the convex side, which would be the outside, hmmm, a white slip of paint has been added. The white is like an artist?s canvas. She--probably a she--painted black bands on it. Interesting. No hatchures on any of these.?
?Hatchures?? Alberta asked.
?A lot of fill-in lines, like shading. These shards have only simple bands. This one?s different. Zig-zags. I?d really like to do a probe here. For a simple start, a shovel will do. Could I use yours??
?Sure. I?ll help,? said Joe.
?Um. There?s a problem,? Alberta said slowly. Joe and Kathy waited. ?This side of the hill isn?t our property.?
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