So as I was writing this, I was sitting on a train in the middle of a train strike waiting to go to Pisa (and am so far a half hour late). Now seems like the perfect time to reglect on the last six weeks of my life. As you can tell, the dig I was on has just ended. Yesterday, I left out home away from home, Radda-In-Chianti, for maybe the last
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I hate backfilling day. I mean, it's fun, it's hard work ... but it is indeed depressing. Why do we have to do it? ARgh. Why can't all digs be like C.d.F. Just cover the (rather large) trench, go home, uncover it next season and keep-a-digging.
Glad you had fun, though. I miss it. My mom gave me some really nice magic-fiber hiking pants today, and my first thought was: "These'd be GREAT digging pants!"
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I pose these questions, purely out of interest.
Anais Nin:
The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery.
L
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