When I was a child I had a book called “The
Digging-est Dog”. I related to this book in many ways. I LOVED to play in the
dirt and dig and keep digging until I found the other side of the earth. You
know, typical boy stuff. So I ended up getting called that a lot from my family
in those days. That absolutely came to my mind while excavating.
I was the photographer on the dig, which means that I wasn’t
really assigned a square to dig in, or really any sort of dig work. My job was
to take photos of anything that was found, and of the people who were digging
so that there could be something for marketing. However, it is in my nature to
not sit around and watch while other people are slaving away. I had a job to
do, and I did it, but when I was done, I would help dig. I reality, I was most
helpful hauling buckets. That’s fine with me. It was fun. I like manual labor,
its good for me. While on some of my photography stints, I noticed that
excavating and digging aren’t really synonymous all the time. I mean, I didn’t
expect us to be blasting through with shovels all the time, there is a delicacy
to it, but I mean there can be a delicacy
to it. It goes something like digging a 4 meter by 4 meter hole many meters
deep, with brooms. You can sometimes be using a pick if you know there isn’t
anything in that layer (they use science to know) but once you hit a layer that
has things, back to broom digging. Sweep until you fill a dustpan. Dump the
dust pan into a bucket until the bucket is full. Hand the bucket off to an
unsuspecting photographer. Dump the buckets into a pile of dirt. Bring the
buckets back. Fill them. Dump them. Water break. Fill the buckets. Dump the
Buckets. Food! Buckets. Water. Buckets. Food! Buckets. Buckets. Done. It’s not completely
unlike Indiana Jones. Actually there’s way more to it than that. And you can
use more than a broom. I just saw that a lot because I was only ever around
when there were pictures to be taken and at that stage, you have to use a broom
because there is an artifact and using a giant pick seems a bit overkill. It
was actually loads of fun and I had a great time.
Remember how previously I said that it was really hot. Well
if you don’t, it was really hot in the desert of Israel. Like upper 90s-100s
hot. And while we had self-made shade to dig under, it still gets ridiculous. I
drank absurd amounts of water every day (and Gatorade. I learned a long time
ago, that you need to also drink Gatorade if you drink 3 gallons of water a
day). But also the food. Before I go on I must express my adoration for the
food. I love food. Especially good food. This was great food. So I ate absurd
amounts of food every day too. Early on, I thought Jewish Israeli food was the
knees of the bees, but as it turns out Arabic food from Israel or any Arab
country is the real bees’ knees. That is not to downplay how good the Jewish
food was. At one point, three chickens had to die because of the amount of food
I personally consumed in one meal. I didn’t feel barbaric, I had walked like 12
miles that day hauling hundreds of pounds of sand back and forth up a
hill. Working like that built an
appetite, and food like that did too. It was harmony.
At the end of the week we headed off to Jerusalem to hang
out there for the weekend. I was beside myself. I wanted to see this city so
badly and finally it was about to be my experience. Before I left, people said
I would stick out like a sore thumb, being tall and blond. Well not in
Jerusalem.
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