Two days before my beloved Minnesota Twins took the field for their first spring training game of the 2024 season, February 24, I took the field for MY season opener. The Twins play their pre-season home games in Fort Myers, Florida. Meanwhile, in rural North Iowa, my home field is experiencing Florida-like weather.
As agricultural plots go, my field is miniature, maybe ten acres. Okay, technically, the field isn’t mine. It’s Dennis’s, who farms it with vintage equipment resulting in widely spaced rows… half corn, half beans, sides alternating annually. The edge closest to our house is fifty yards from the front door. And Thursday, February 22 – George Washington’s birthday – was my “opening day,” the earliest start in two decades.
I stride eagerly onto the field gripping my bat equivalent, a sturdy oak walking stick, serving both as a probe and as a fall-prevention device, since the ground is a bit “greasy”. Late last year, Dennis dug deep furrows into the field, bringing large limestone chunks to the surface in several spots. My fervent hope is that a fresh lode of undiscovered treasures was dug up simultaneously. I’ve been waiting semi-patiently for sufficiently pleasant weather so my season could begin.
The treasure I seek? Primarily, Native American artifacts: projectile points (“arrowheads”), scrapers, Native tools hewn from stone. Valued finds in recent years include approximately 120 showcase artifacts, now housed in two glass-topped cases. Additionally, I’ve gathered numerous other souvenirs, characteristic of more recent times: immigrant household artifacts (broken glass, pottery, etc.); work-related items (machine parts, hand tools, etc.); fossils reminding us this is a former seabed; teeth and bones from who-knows-what animals; and so forth.
This field was once a Native American encampment site… perhaps six, or eight, maybe as long as ten thousand years past. Located between two streams, undoubtedly it served as a hunting ground for centuries. It’s likely Natives lived here as recently as two or three hundred years ago.
Midday Thursday was sunny, temps in the upper 50s, wind gusts of 20 MPH. Not bad for an opener, nevertheless, a jacket required. Footing was muddy, especially in the shade of the woods. We’ve received precious little snow this winter; still, the topsoil was slippery, especially when straddling angled furrows.
2023 was an artifact off year, partially due to a large, aggressive dog persistently seeking my companionship. In rural communities, pets are rarely penned or chained. This critter might have been as friendly as Lassie, I can’t say, although whenever it drew near – hard-charging, circling, barking – my search ended. This year, however, my nemesis is gone. Remaining neighborhood canines are significantly less belligerent and intimidating. Whew.
Among the pleasures of walking this field is the opportunity to experience the natural environment. For example, I notice a large “wingspan” shadow overhead; gazing up, I watch a bald eagle, swoop, then soar. Shortly thereafter, I savor the repetitive, two note tune of a black-capped chickadee. Momentary human intrusions include the drone of a distant prop plane and a car passing by maybe every twenty minutes.
My walk is a time of contemplation and reflection. I take two brief phone calls, 30 seconds each; incoming texts are read… but unanswered. After an hour or so, I’ve gathered a pocket of loot while also gathering various stray thoughts. Unfortunately, opening day wasn’t very successful from a keepsake perspective: a small chert stone with a well-worked edge (legitimate artifact); a curved piece of milk glass half-dollar size; several glass shards from canning lids. My best find may have been a flat, palm-sized stone with vague signs of sharpening along one edge. I’m not altogether sure and will seek colleagues’ informal validation.
By day’s end, the peacefulness of my hour recedes as more pressing needs resurface. Muddy footprints will vanish soon when Dennis plants this field. Still, I harvested one glorious hour, unearthing modest evidence of times unfamiliar and lives unknown. It was a great opener. I’m hopeful of a terrific season.
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Oh Wini, glad to think you enjoyed this as much as I did (... and wanted others to do so, too). I'm deeply rooted in my rural community, but even MORE deeply rooted when I pause to think of those Native Americans who lived here long before history -- at least most history -- acknowledged their presence. I greatly appreciate your kind words.
Thank you, Kurtis. As Wini said, thanks for taking us along on such a thoughtful walk.