Hobbs, though not in the way she dressed. Eddy wore a goofy hat covered in souvenir pins from all over the world and a khaki shirt with little pockets holding lots of little things, like a plumb bob, a measuring tape, and calipers. Her hands were thick and tough â the kind used to hard work and getting dirty. But she was easy to talk to like Mrs. Hobbs and made me feel as if what I thought mattered.
I searched for the words Eddy had used the day before. âItâs the artifacts in ... ah ... situ â thatâs it! The artifacts in situ can tell you the most. Thatâs why an archaeologist never takes the stuff out until every bit of information around the artifact has been recorded.â
Eddy smiled. âWhat kind of information are we looking for?â
âOkay, I know this. How deep the things are fromthe surface ... ah, what other stuff is associated nearby ... um, and what the layers of soil are like. Thatâs the matrix, right?â
âAll right! Youâve been listening! Now that youâve passed the test youâre ready to be my assistant.â Eddyâs round, wrinkled face smiled approvingly. Gently, she stepped over the string barrier sheâd made and knelt by the bones. âHand me the trowel and dustpan. Iâm going to start by levelling this layer that you and your uncle started. Before we can remove the skull and bones, we have to see what else this burial can tell us.â
I handed her the tool box. Many of the objects inside were things most people had in their garden shed â a dustpan, a bucket, a hand broom, and a diamond-shaped masonâs trowel. There were also some plastic sandwich bags, a small paint brush, and a dental pick like the one Dr. Forsythe used.
Carefully, Eddy scraped the dirt into the dustpan âWeâre not planting flowers and shrubs, so itâs important to consider that just millimetres below, or in the next scoop of matrix, we might find some important bit of information. We donât want anything to be damaged or missed.â Eddyâs pudgy body was perched over the burial as if she were a medic giving first aid. Occasionally, she stopped and wiped her forehead with the red bandana hanging loosely around her neck.
Soon the bucket was filled with black sandy soil dotted with bits of broken shell. âOkay, letâs screen this stuff.â She pointed to a rectangular frame covered in fine wire mesh dangling from three poles tied at the top like a teepee. âOnce weâve screened away the loose dirt, weâll look carefully for any small things I might have missed.â
I struggled to carry the bucket over to the screening station. Every time I hoisted the pail up to dump its contents, the screen swung away. After three tries, I finally managed to empty the pail.
âWe need to look for anything that appears to be plant life, small animal bones, or shell fragments that I can use to determine food sources available at the time of this burial,â Eddy said. âThere might even be some small artifacts, like flaked stone from tool-making.â
I pushed around the cold, damp soil, which felt like coarse sandpaper to my hands.
âThat-a-girl!â Eddy said. âNow push it around evenly and search for anything that might be important.â
I studied the surface without recognizing anything special.
âOkay, nothing there,â Eddy instructed. âNow start to shake it back and forth.â
I rocked the screen as if it were a baby in a cradle. âYouâll have to do better than that,â she told me. âGive it a good shake.â
The tiniest grains of soil fell through, covering the plastic sheet with an ever-rising mound of dirt. I could imagine what Aunt Margaret was going to think when she saw all this dirt flattening her grass. Soon there was nothing left in the screen except some tiny pebbles and bits of broken shell that were too large to slip through the