I grew up on a small farm, so I can verify through personal observation that a chicken really does run around like crazy after you cut its head off.

Things have been hectic both at home and at work over the last month. The coming week is USC's spring break, which will offer a little bit of breather as I won't be in the field this Friday and won't have regular office hours or meetings with students.

Here's some bullet points about what's been going on and what's coming up.

"Finding the Family" Fieldwork Started

As I think I mentioned in the Week 2 video from field school, I've got a complementary project lined up to do some subsurface reconnaissance (i.e., targeted backhoe excavations) of nearby landforms that are similar to the one we are working on for the field school. At least some of those landforms -- also alluvial -- probably contain archaeological deposits, perhaps of different age ranges than 38FA608.  Anyway, the first step is to establish some known points that we can use for mapping our excavations. I've spent a couple of days in the field doing that, one with Eddie Reeps who used his GPS rig to help determine the coordinates of a handful of far-flung points that I set (by sinking rebar). 

This work is being funded by an internal USC grant. I realized this seek that I never actually announced it or described it via my blog, so I'll do that sometime in the near future.

My First Holi: That Was Fun!

Last weekend, my family and I joined some of our Indian friends (and their Indian friends) to celebrate Holi. This is a holiday that I knew nothing about before the rise of social media. The bright colors make it naturally photogenic. 

This was a really interesting experience. Speaking as an "alien" with very little foreknowledge about what to expect,  I was struck by both the overall positivity of the atmosphere and the sense that it was a time/place where "normal" cultural rules were put on temporary suspension. There was color (and water) everywhere, much of it applied to your face and body by strangers. It's a strange kind of intimacy, not unlike what I experienced at the fringes of the mosh pit at Against Me! 

I wish we could have stayed for the food, but the little kids were on overload/meltdown and a retreat was the best option.

Friday Field School Video Will Be . . . Delayed

Our ongoing work at the field school site (38FA608) went well. We had another beautiful day with plenty of sun and high temperatures in the low 60's. The crew was smaller than normal.

I had hoped to get two of the Late Archaic features out of the ground, but it was not to be . . . they are going to take the time they're going to take, and that's all there is to it. While Feature 3 (exposed in the machine-cut wall) was completely removed, Feature 11 remains in progress. Both of these features are defined by dark fill contained some carbonized plant remains (including nutshell) and a low density of lithics. Feature 11 is deeper than I anticipated, and the fact that it intrudes into earlier deposits makes i's excavation complicated. I lined our ongoing excavation with landscape fabric and filled it with back dirt to protect it until we return.

I probably won't get the video from Friday done on Monday.  I'm not sure, but it may be next Monday before I upload the Week 8 video. We won't be in the field this week because of spring break. Watch for the premiere of "trowel cam."

"Harley" Ready to Move!

I finished my first officially-commissioned sculpture: a scrap metal javelina named "Harley." It's be a steady weekend project, occupying the large majority of time I've spent in my workshop since late January. I think it turned out great - perhaps one of the best pieces I've made. The "formal" pictures are here on my ZeroPointMechanic website. There will be a video when I get the time to put it together. 

"Beauty and Grace:" Final Prep Before ArtFields

Next week (I think on Tuesday the 20th), I'll finally have to face the challenge of moving "Beauty and Grace" to Lake City, SC, for ArtFields 2018. The piece will be displayed on lawn in front of The Citizens Bank (209 East Main Street). My friend and archaeology colleague Chris Gillam has agreed to help me get the ceratopsians moved and reassembled. I'm not sure what I promised in return, but I'm sure it was something. As it stands now, my plan is to get some segments of heavy-duty PVC to use as rollers when moving the components of the piece over the lawn. Some 2x4's and a crowbar will also come in handy. If it was good enough for ancient Egypt, it will be good enough for me.

I've started prepping both pieces to finally live outside. I cleared space in my workshop yesterday so that I could wheel "Beauty" inside and apply a coat of Penetrol, which will arrest the rusting, bring out colors, and provide a barrier to moisture. It also makes the entire piece shiny, which I'm not a huge fan of. But it's better than all the colors degrading to an even rusty orange. The coating is sticky as it dries for 48 hours, so I had to apply it in a space that I could enclose to prevent the omnipresent March aerosol of pine pollen from becoming a permanent part of the piece.  "Grace" will go next.

An Unknown Road Trip

I will be spending a few days this week on a road trip with my older daughter. We don't know where we're going. We may not know where we're going until after we've already been there. It's tradition.

A 250-mile radius from Columbia includes most of North Carolina and Georgia as well as eastern Tennessee. I had some thoughts about going to Florida to see Cape Canaveral and/or a restaurant with a mermaid show, but that might be too heavy on the driving, too pre-planned, and too expensive. Plus I'm not really impressed with Florida's government right now and not enthusiastic about spending my money there.

If you know of a "good," out-of-the-way destination in Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, or Tennessee that I should be aware of, post away. I've driven by the UFO Welcome Center in Bowman, SC, but not yet stopped (it looks like it has been trashed). I went out of my way on my last swing through North Carolina to visit the Andre the Giant museum, only to find it closed. I'll probably try to avoid the Myrtle Beach area. 

Yesterday I spent several hours at the Museum of Appalachia in Clinton, Tennessee. I found this place to be intensely interesting and, frankly, at times surprisingly moving.  I'm not sure how much time I'll have to write over the next couple of weeks: I'm back home again from the last trip of the summer and we've got a lot to do as a family to transition to the school year. I wanted to put this post here as reminder of some of thoughts I had about Appalachia as I crossed the region several times this summer. I hope that I can circle back around and develop some of my thoughts at some point (no guarantees).

I became aware of the Museum of Appalachia through it's entry in Roadside America, which described the museum as having a "seemingly endless supply of oddities" including a wood burl devil's head and a Civil War-era perpetual motion machine. I would've enjoyed the museum just for those things, but the fact is that it is really much more than a collection of oddities. Many of the items in the museum (which sprawls across 65 acres and several buildings filled with artifacts) are attached directly to stories about the people connected to the material culture. The items (such as homemade crossbows, polka dotted furnishings, whittled toys, and unique musical instruments) and the narratives evoke peoples' lives and experiences in a way that I have never seen before in a museum, blending the personal and historical to create (in me, at least) the sense that I knew these folks. My own family history, flirting with the fringes of Appalachia, probably contributed to that sense of familiarity. This museum makes history both big and small at the same time, and gives a voice to the textures, rhythms, and trajectories of people, societies, and ways of life that don't get much play in the "big" narratives of history -- a remarkable achievement.

​For now, I'm just going to post some photos I took.

It's been a long day, mostly spent driving. This time I'm en route from Detroit, MI, to Columbia, SC. The main goal is to get me and the truck back home, but (again thanks to my wife) there's some extra time built into the journey. I was on I-75 for most of the day and am now in an Econo Lodge in an undisclosed location in eastern Tennessee with some KFC and beer. I'll skip over my stories about the new Against Me! song and sob story hustlers at a rest stop in Kentucky and get to the most interesting part of the day: an awesome technological artifact on display at the National Museum of the Air Force in Dayton, Ohio.

The XB-70A Valkyrie

If you're interested in military aviation history but you've never been to the USAF museum in Dayton, Ohio, you owe to yourself to get there at some point. As the official museum of the Air Force, they have access to a lot of unique aircraft that you just can't see anywhere else. I made my second visit today, specifically to visit the newly-opened fourth building housing the only XB-70 in the world. The "X" designation is given to aircraft that are experimental.

​The XB-70 is a captivating aircraft: graceful, powerful, and unlike anything else that was every built (well, with the exception of the Soviet's attempt to copy the design). It was the result of a perceived need in the 1950's for a long range heavy bomber to deliver nuclear weapons from an altitude and with a speed that would make it immune to being intercepted. The B-70 program was killed by the double whammy of the development of ICBMs (inter-continental missles could deliver nuclear warheads more efficiently than manned aircraft) and the development of increasingly effective surface-to-air missle technology that could bring down even high altitude aircraft. Although the bomber program was killed, two XB-70's were built as research aircraft. They flew from 1964 to 1969, one being destroyed in an accident in 1966. You can read about the development and history of the XB-70 on Wikipedia. This video also tells the story.

I've been fascinated by photos of the XB-70 since I was a little kid and it was a thrill to see it in person (I was delighted to find that many other unique experimental aircraft that I'd only ever seen in pictures were also on display in the new building -- really amazing). As a technological artifact, this vehicle marks the endpoint of the evolutionary trend of bombers going faster and higher. It was designed to fly at Mach 3 with a ceiling of 70,000-80,000 feet (depending on the source). Just over sixty years after the Wright brothers first flew their aircraft a total of distance of 120 feet at about 6.8 mph, humans had produced a flying machine that could surf through the stratosphere on its own shockwave at three times the speed of sound. 

The chess game of military aviation took design in new directions after the 1950's, leaving the B-70 as a design that was strangely both ahead of its time but also obsolete. The B-52 (which the B-70 was supposed to replace) is still in service, and emphasis is on producing bombers that can fly low  (such as the B-1B) and/or use stealth technology (such as the B-2) to avoid radar detection. The newly announced B-21 is a stealthy, sub-sonic design that aims to evade detection rather than outfly it.

I think the phenomenon of advanced "orphan" designs like the XB-70, produced at the very edges of technology but also not terribly useful, may be more common than we might guess. Technologies change, and once common ways of doing things often persist in niche roles. The "survivors" however, are not the most developed expression of a technology.  I had a 1987 Dodge Colt, for example, that had a very complicated feedback carburetor. Fuel injection has replaced carburetors in automobiles, but carburetors are still used in numerous other applications. But neither my chainsaw nor my lawnmower has a feedback carburetor like the one on a  1987 Dodge Colt. I can think of other examples. The most "advanced" examples of technology occur not at the end of a technological tradition, perhaps, but at the "peak" of its use. Just a thought.

Tomorrow I'm hoping to see a perpetual motion machine from the Civil War. It's going to be hard to top finally getting to see the XB-70.

Here are a few additional photos I took of experimental aircraft on display in the National Museum of the United States Air Force. Here is a map of building four showing the locations of the aircraft. Many of the "X planes" on this list are present.

Day Three of my Carolina Junket was one of "those" days: wrong turns, locked doors, and a quantity of frowns matched only by the abundance of miles that I drove. The North Carolina piedmont just wasn't that warm and fuzzy. I'll keep this post short in an effort to keep it from being too much of a downer. Let's just go with mostly pictures.

The Dragonflies of Wilmington

On the way out of Wilmington, I stopped at the Battleship North Carolina to finish my coffee. I had a lot of miles I wanted to cover, so I didn't actually take the tour. I took some photos of the dragonflies in the park, tried to avoid stepping in goose crap, and had a look at the outside of the ship. If you've never seen a World War II era battleship . . . it's pretty impressive.  It's a porcupine with guns instead of quills.

The North Carolina Piedmont

Driving from Wilmington to Charlotte takes you across the flat coastal plain and into the Carolina Piedmont, the worn down foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.  The main artery is US 74/I-74, which in some places is labeled "Andrew Jackson Highway" and in others "American Indian Highway."  I'm sure there is a story somewhere there, but I'm too tired to investigate right now.

Traveling through the Piedmont was a little bizarre for me. In some ways, it feels strangely homologous to the oh-so-familiar Midwest. There is a feeling of rural depression, where shifting economic demography has left so many towns, so many businesses, and so many homes in a sad state of decay. Where there is shininess, it manifests in the form of scattered McMansions and a veneer of chain stores and fast food restaurants. The towns I drove through reminded me of the northeastern Ohio towns of my childhood.

While the built landscape seemed familiar, however, the vibe did not. Places were closed, some people were rude (I'm looking at you, lady in the Albemarle McDonald's), and I just didn't feel the love. I'll try not to judge, but geez . . . the Piedmont was  buzzkill. It seemed like "home," yet it felt like I was traveling through enemy territory. Strange.

Some Free Advice for Aviation Museums

I want to preface this section by saying that I support all efforts to preserve aviation history and tell the stories of that history to the public. I like air museums. I go to every one that I can. I've seen many.

I visited the Carolinas Aviation Museum in Charlotte. They have some interesting aircraft on display (some are unique), and there are a lot of staff on hand to answer questions. Those are the good things. Here are a few ways that the museum could be improved (I'm not picking on just this museum, these are common issues): 

That's it for my griping. I'm going to get a decent night of sleep and have a big smile on my face again for tomorrow. You're going to love me, North Carolina Piedmont, I swear!

I spent Day Two of my Carolina junket on Topsail Island, a barrier island in the Cape Fear region . I was drawn to Topsail (pronounced "Top-sul" by the locals) because of my enthusiasm for aviation history and for searching for tiny fossil shark teeth. Topsail Island may be the best place in the world to combine those interests.

Operation Bumblebee

Topsail Island was largely uninhabited before being seized by the U. S. government to serve as a the location of a secret Navy missile development program dubbed Operation Bumblebee. From 1947 to 1948, the Navy and John Hopkins Applied Physics Lab built and tested rocket-boosted, ramjet-powered missile prototypes on Topsail. (For those who aren't that into this stuff: a ramjet engine uses the engine's forward motion, rather than a rotating air compressor, to compress air. Fuel is ignited in the compressed air stream, producing thrust.  Ramjets have to be accelerated to a high speed before they become effective.)

The goal of the Bumblebee program was to develop a ramjet-powered supersonic surface-to-air missile with a range of 10-20 miles. The Navy built facilities on Topsail to build and test missiles, and many of the structures associated with those facilities survive: the former missile assembly building houses the Missiles and More Museum; the concrete launch pad serves as the patio of the Jolly Roger Inn; the firing point control tower is a house; several of the photographic towers are also houses, while others currently sit abandoned. Missiles would be assembled in the assembly building, transported the short distance to the firing point, then fired over the water to be tracked along their flights via the photographic towers.

I didn't find all the towers, but I took pictures of most of the ones I did find.  Going from south-to-north . . .

I would guess that most people who hunt for shark teeth are in "bigger is better" mode. I have come to realize that I'm doing just the opposite: I'm looking for the smallest teeth I can find. Don't get me wrong -- if I lucked into a Megalodon tooth like the ones that started washing up here last fall it would be a thrill for sure. But it wouldn't take near as much effort as collecting these tiny little buggers that I spend my time actively looking for. Megalodon tooth?  Whatever. Try finding the ones that look like they belong to sharks no bigger than goldfish. 

The appeal of the small teeth to me is, I think, the "ah-ha" of locating things that everyone else has overlooked. Not to analyze myself too much, but I think the same appeal is also part of my approach to archaeological problems: I've always liked locating and using unspectacular sources of data that others ignore and finding ways to squeeze a little bit more out of less. It doesn't matter how many times others have gone back and forth across the same beach, there's still more information there to be found: the sexy discoveries in no way exhaust the landscape of data.

Topsail Beach was the best shark tooth beach I've been to in the Carolinas so far (I've also spent some time at Edisto and Folly). Over the course of about four total hours of intensive searching I picked up 40-45 teeth (some very wave-worn and/or broken). That averages out to about one tooth every six minutes or so. That's pretty good in my book. 

A Mailbox at the End of the World

If you drive as far south on Topsail as you can, then go to the beach and walk as far south as you can, you'll soon be on a new part of the island. The southern tip of the island has been growing at a rate of about 100 feet per year. There aren't any houses there (yet), just sand, water, dunes, and plants. It was a nice place to be. And it has a mailbox.

The mailbox in the image above (taken by me, today) was back a few feet from the beach, nestled just inside the dunes. I'm not sure if this is the same installation shown in these photos from 2013, but it's clearly a different mailbox. There are notebooks inside filled with messages left by visitors. I wanted to read some, but I had to get out of the open before a storm hit.

Day 1 of my Carolina junket is in the books. Here are some highlights:

The Lizard Man of Lee County 

Given the wishes of at least one of my readers, and the graphic fantasies of some of my students last semester, the safe play would have been to blow right by Lee County, South Carolina, home of the storied Lizard Man.  But, you know, you've got to eat lunch somewhere.   

I had a nice chat with Mr. Eddie Grant, Executive Director of the South Carolina Cotton Museum in Bishopville. It's a nice museum: I learned a lot about cotton agriculture and processing in the state, and the museum has lots of interesting technological artifacts related to the history of the cotton industry. ​The Lizard Man exhibit is limited to a single case displaying copies of the footprint casts, some t-shirts, and a sign from the Butterbean shed that was the location of one of the reported sightings.  Mr. Grant told me that opinion in the town is divided between those who welcome the attention (and money) that the Lizard Man brings to Bishopville and those who think that the whole debacle makes the town look stupid.

I didn't do a scientific survey, but no-one I talked to believed in the Lizard Man or knew anyone else in town who believed in the Lizard Man. Here is a short video about the College of Charleston's 2011 Lizard Man expedition. There's a 2013 book by Lyle Blackburn that I could read, but . . . life is very short. Moving on.

More interesting to me than the Lizard Man was the history of Scape Ore Swamp, the purported home of the Lizard Man. While I was at the Cotton Museum, Mr. Grant showed me a map (dated 1822) that identified the swamp as "Scape Whore" swamp. He speculated that perhaps the name change was relatively recent. Messing around on my phone while I ate my lunch, I found this 2005 story by W. A. “Bubba” McElveen in The Sumter Item that investigated the history of the swamp's name. The name "Scape Ore Swamp" is apparently a time-mangled derivation of "Escaped Whore Swamp," a name that may have been bestowed either during the Revolutionary War or sometime earlier. 

As reported by McElveen (quoting a 1965 publication by the University of South Carolina Department of English), the Revolutionary War version of the story goes like this:

“Scape ‘Ore Swamp, located near Bishopville, was originally named Escaped Whore Swamp by a group of Revolutionary Volunteers. These soldiers, part of Marion’s Brigade, surprised an encampment of British Regulars who were in the process of entertaining ladies of rather shady backgrounds. The British were captured and the Volunteers allowed the terrified women to flee into the Swamp.”

Whether that's the real origin of the name or not, it got me wondering how much we know about colonial-era prostitution and whether there's ever been an attempt to use archaeology to understand prostitution in the past. A Google search on "brothel archaeology" returns hits relevant to both the New World and Old World . . . but I'm sitting in a hotel room in Wilmington right now and it's almost eleven o'clock so I'm just going to have to let that one sit for now. 

Doing My Part to Fund Fiberglass Fantasy

Finally, some fiberglass surrealism.  

I stumbled across what I later learned is called Grahamland: a work-in-progress fiberglass sculpture operation that is attempting to transform several acres along US 74 west of Wilmington into an amusement park. I'm for just about anything that breaks up the monotony of Wal-Mart, McDonald's, and BP stations along our highways. And I'll put my money where my mouth is: I pulled in and paid my $10 to walk around and take pictures.

I had a shot conversation with Betty Rose Dolce, the wife half of the husband-wife team that is Grahamland Amusement Fiberglass Art. I learned a bit more from watching this short (7:00) video. Apparently there will be a full-length documentary about Grahamland screened in Wilmington this November.

The beach ball woman emerging from the bank of the pond is a take on a Uniroyal Gal, the originals of which date to the mid-1960's. There is another statue at Grahamland that appears to be a Uniroyal Gal modified to be a cowgirl. I'm guessing Grahamland owns a Uniroyal Girl mold? If I had known what I was looking at while I was there, I would have asked Betty Rose Dolce about it in person.

I kicked myself a few minutes after I left because I didn't think to get a photo of Betty Rose Dolce with one of her creations. If you're reading this, Betty, I hope I can come back some day and see what you've accomplished.