Saturday, July 7, 2012


One of my fondest memories in my years as a contract archaeologist came on a phase I survey of a property somewhere in the southern states.

One of my best friends was working an adjacent transect to me and we were hacking through dense, young regrowth with dull machetes. Every so often, we would shout out to each other, venting our frustration.

It was the most awful day - hot, dusty, still, stagnant air and oppressive humidity. We were tangled in brambles, sweating buckets, swathed in heavy clothing to protect against ticks and the ubiquitous poison ivy. Both of us were on our 'lady's holiday'.

Pure misery.

Almost simultaneously, we burst out of the regrowth forest into a clearing bathed in bright sunlight, glowing surreally. We stood there blinking, shielding our eyes with our hands.

We had stumbled into a large meadow completely carpeted with daisies! There must have been thousands of them.

J didn't hesitate. She plowed into the meadow and quickly began picking a bunch. I stood on the periphery, watching her in a heat-exhausted stupor. Then she walked over and presented me with a bouquet!

Back in my hotel room, I put them in water. I recall that they lasted for weeks and brought a smile to my face every time I saw them.

I still love daisies!

I recently got back in touch with my friend J. I think I'll send her this photo...

These are in my neighbourhood, from the garden of one of my students.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

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