The staff and volunteers arrived giddy. It was the third day of a weeklong archaeological survey of Ruddick's Field at the Pea Ridge National Military Park, possible through a partnership between the Arkansas Archeological Survey and the National Parks Service.
The day before -- March 22 -- had been quite successful, with hundreds of Civil War artifacts found, reported Jamie Brandon, the state archaeologist based at the University of Arkansas and the site director. The thrill seemed to override any aches and pains from two days of digging divots from the field and bending over them to paw through the dirt.
That fourth day of spring was beautiful -- sunshine and just warm enough without being too warm, although the wind was whipping through. And, for once, I was dressed just right -- cozy and ready to get dirty.
After spending the morning asking questions to get the big picture and the story, after watching the staff and volunteers who helped on these digs for many years, after eating my peanut butter sandwich, it was my turn. I wanted to get my hands dirty -- literally.
Jared Pebworth, an AAS staff member, manned an advanced metal detector. He pointed to a gauge on the instrument, which digitally displayed several numbers. One number told the depth of the metal found -- in the case of that 6-pound cannon ball found the day before, it was 2 feet. Another number told Pebworth what kind of metal the detector found. "The lower numerical is iron; higher is brass or copper.
"But it doesn't discriminate the object," he continued. "It could be anything from a crappy nail from an old home site or shrapnel."
One of my later discoveries was a piece of metal shaped like a hook. "Those Confederates were firing everything they had at them," said volunteer Mark Wheeler. "It's probably farm, but we'll bag it just in case."
Pieces of Civil War metal were placed in zipper-lock baggies and marked with red surveyor's flags. Other finds -- called "trash" by volunteers but not archaeologists -- were marked with yellow flags and left unbagged beside the flags. I found nails and a couple of pieces of wire, probably from a fence, Pebworth said.
My attitude was that even these mundane pieces of Ozark farm life were historic. The U.S. government set this land aside as a park 50 years ago, and the pieces had remained undiscovered there for all that time.
Pebworth ran the detector 2 or 3 feet in front of him, ultimately sweeping entire 20-by-20-foot plots. Soon his machine emitted the beep that had become so familiar over the day. "That's a sound we like to hear," he said.
Wheeler handed me a shovel. Calling on his 20 years of "battlefield tools," he explained. "You want to build a big, round, reverse volcano at shovel depth." When the object was found, he placed the divot back in the ground and tamped it down with his feet. "I wouldn't dig like this in a farmer's field," he said.
My job would be to dig that divot from the ground around the point Pebworth located the beep. I'd learned earlier the field was fairly free of Ozark rocks because of the years it was farmed. But, come to find out, physics and the gusting wind were against me -- and I shovel like a girl. Wheeler resumed that job.
Instead, I dropped to my knees with a hand-held, wand-style metal detector to get a closer read. Then I put that down, and began pawing through the dirt with my hands.
"That's it. Good, you're following the iron," said Troy Banzhoff, historian for the Pea Ridge park. Sometimes, the iron used to make ammunition during the Civil War leached into the soil over the years, turning the soil a dark orange color, he said. A hundred and 50 years seemed like plenty of time.
Ultimately I found two pieces of shell casing, a lead shot, an iron shot, identified by my very patient mentors. These lay within about a 6-foot area of each other and probably came from the same cannon ball, they said.
But no find matched the thrill of my first.
I dug, picked up and sifted dirt through my hands. I rechecked with the hand-held metal detector. It seemed I was finding nothing but rocks.
"There it is," Pebworth said finally, turning over a piece with the wand of his detector. "It's a melted part of a zinc fuse, probably a Borman."
I picked it up and cradled it in my hand, marveling that this piece hadn't been touched by a human hand in 150 years -- not since some unnamed, rank and file Union soldier loaded it into a cannon in this very field.
NAN Our Town on 04/14/2016