When I was a child my mother read me stories from a book entitled, Richard Halliburton’s Complete Book of Marvels. In this book the author takes an imaginary group of children on a trip of adventure, stopping to see wonderful sights all over the world, like the Pyramids, Pompeii, the Parthenon, Mecca, and on and on. When I was a bit older my sister traveled to Peru and brought back artifacts from Machu Picchu. These two experiences helped me decide at an early age that I wanted to be an archaeologist. I wanted to dig things up, put broken pieces back together again, and explore the people of the past. So, that is indeed what I chose to study when it came time for college many years later. And I did get a degree in Anthropology with a specialization in Archaeology.
My career in archaeology was short lived but I did spend several summers digging in the dirt. I learned excavation and laboratory techniques at archaeology field school, located at the very southern tip of Illinois. This area is called the “Black Bottoms” and we uncovered remains of Mississippian “mound builders” as we toiled in the heat and humidity, popping our salt tablets. The following summer was a long three months spent living in tents and excavating the Anasazi remains in Arizona near the “Four Corners.” This was the “Black Mesa Project”, where we uncovered bags and bags of broken pottery, stone houses, kivas, and pithouses. Then the following summer I was again on Black Mesa for another three-month stint, trying to keep up with my Navajo crews who did most of the manual labor of digging and screening. We moved to California after I finished college, and my hands were back in the dirt for another couple of years until I decided that perhaps this wasn’t the life for me.
Now, here I am, continuing to dig, sort, analyze, and research. I’ve just finished family history research for one friend and am now starting in on the genealogy of another friend and neighbor. You see, for me, doing this is like working crossword or sudoku puzzles. It’s the process that gives me satisfaction. Kind of like doing archaeology I suppose, but my fingernails stay a bit cleaner.
Cousin Sally in Lexington has been busy this summer also, tracking down our Mitchell ancestors in Danville, Kentucky. Why were we so consumed with finding out exactly where Hannah and Thomas Mitchell lived at the time Hannah was shot by that stray bullet during a Civil War skirmish? I can’t explain why, but it was important and essential for Sally and I to know this little detail. And for those of you who can understand our unusual obsessions, I am happy to report that Sally has solved that mystery. Hannah was standing at the open window of the third floor of the McIlvoy Building in downtown Danville when the bullet went through her and then hit the slave girl standing behind her. Hannah was killed instantly, and we think that the slave girl survived. The Bank of Kentucky, where Thomas Mitchell was cashier, was located on the bottom floor of the McIlvoy building. Thomas and Hannah lived in the uppermost floor of the building.
I hope your summer has been filled with your own interesting adventures.
-Mary
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