Saturday May the 6th, 2006 was our day to
shine for the first time in around 6 months. It was our next shot at the
rather esoteric sport of privy digging. If all went over as we would
have hoped, it would be our time to shine, and we would be going home
with a multitude of bottles, all ranking in quality or rarity somewhere
in between good and amazing - preferably the latter end of the spectrum.
Of course - as per constraints set upon our hunting adventures by this
little factor called reality - all of our finds weren’t exactly
“amazing”, so to speak.
The whole thing started while digging a trash pit (which wound up being
entirely empty) in my elder brother’s back yard a few weeks before.
While in the process of excavating a 4' hole in the earth, we were
startled in being confronted by a very curious couple who had moved in
next door and were in the process of renovating. I had never thought
much of the house - it appeared to be another of those newer, boxy homes
they’re assembling like mad on every spare corner lot of Ontario apple
orchard and corn field. As it turns out, the house only post-dated my
older brother’s by around 20-30 years, and was likely a turn of the
century piece of work. The highly amiable young gentleman whom had
bought it with his wife proceeded to explain that it didn’t look older,
as they had added an addition, and put siding on it. However, in the
basement of the front half, wooden beams dotted with square nails run
the length of the ceiling. It sounded good enough to me. I popped the
question. He said “Sure - tear it up if you want - we’re putting sod
down in a few weeks, anyways.” I was elated.
Two weeks later, I packed my things up from the local
arts celebration festival which my mother is in charge of at around 4
PM, and set off to find some outright, plain ol’ good bottles. My
things, of course, consist of the most basic material possessions one
could ever need. Never mind food, water, shelter, etc - all I needed
were my 4 ½' steel probe, a short-handled shovel, and a plaid jacket.
The rest was already waiting at the nearby household of my good ol’
brother, Brent. Kyle was to meet me there at the house, and, as I pulled
up to commence the digging, there he was, talking to my brother.

We got our gear together, and started to probe around a bit. We found
two likely spots - one in the corner, and the other in the centre of the
yard, along where the back of the property line would have been.
Starting with the centre hole, we dug down. Kyle started us off, and
things looked good when the sand layer didn’t kick in 6" down, as it
does everywhere else in this area. Pieces of iron, calcium deposits,
etc, all continued to pour out of the hole, until... there it was... a
1940s pickle jar. We weren’t that disappointed, in all honestly, as we
had been digging this sort of thing our entire lives. We decided to dig
the pit anyways, for fear nothing else would turn up. Well, nothing else
did turn up - in that trashpit - short of a lot of egg shells.
Filling the 3' hole in, 1 machine made cork top whisky, 1 clear castor,
and 3 pickle jars later, we were a little disheartened. “No worries,
though,”I thought to myself, “like I never have said before, but I may
strongly consider saying again in the future; ‘there is at least one
good bottle in every backyard - if you can’t find it, you’re not looking
hard enough’.”.
We continued to probe, and, on my shift - I managed to
turn up a slightly older vein of bottles. Still likely 1930s or so, but
older than the last one. Taking it as a sign of good things to come, we
dug it as well. This particular trash pit was slightly deeper than the
last one, at around 4' or so. Mere inches under the ground, and we began
pulling out corktop bottles. This certainly was an improvement over the
screw-cap pickle bottles in the last hole. Dodging speckle-ware pots and
tea kettles, we lamented on the aphorism that there really is nothing
quite
like the sound of your shovel or pitchfork lightly tapping the
side of an intact bottle. We were fortunate enough to encounter this
sound 15 times while excavating this hole. Mostly unembossed medicines,
but it was nice to see glass in that age-old light amethyst colour we
all know and love. The best pieces to come out of this pit was a singer
sewing machine oil bottle (which unfortunately took a bit of a spill on
transport back to the house, and is no longer with us), a common Ohio
brewery bottle, and a “FELLOWS SYRUP OF HYPOPHOSPHITES” in a lovely
light yellowish green colour. We’ve all encountered our Fellows bottles
before - but this specialty syrup bottle was a first for Kyle & I. Kyle
also turned up a good-condition cobalt blue square ink. It was the first
cobalt ink he had ever found.
So, once again stricken by the somewhat melancholy mood which is
associated with having to fill in a good trash pit, we realized it was
getting dark out, and Kyle had to bike home. So, we split up, and I
stuck around to do some more probing. “Don’t prove your proverb wrong
yet,” I rationalized with myself, “it’s only an infant - give yourself a
little more time before you can doubt it.” At this point, I probed in
between the slats of a pile of downed privacy fence near the property
line between my brother’s house and this one, and heard that golden
sound - the sound of newfound hope scraping against the side of my
probe. This hope didn’t feel particularly deep, but in the spirit of
things as they were, I decided it would be worth my time to investigate
further. Of course, I had to move the large pile of privacy fence,
first. It was just my luck that Kyle had already headed home. So - I
pressed forth and did it myself.
Around 10
minutes later, I had relocated the pile (with permission from the
still-amiable young gent who owned the house) around 4 metres farther up
the fence line, and was digging along the fence line. 20 seconds into
the dig, a very light purple-coloured tooled-lip medicine bottle popped
out. Unmarked, but again older than the last pit by around 10-20 years.
This bottle dated from sometime between 1910 and 1920, which is
decidedly my
favourite era for digging through. Continuing to dig, I found yet
another unembossed, tooled-lip medicinal, and then struck something
metal. 8 inches closer to the fence, and I struck it again. Unable to
comprehend, I thought about it for a minute, and then dug down a bit to
see if I could figure out what this goliath chunk of metal was. I
discovered it was an enormous speckle-ware bucket - the first of it’s
kind I had ever encountered - and it took me the better part of 20
minutes to dig it out enough to be able to remove it. Finally free of
this beautiful obstacle, I was pleased to see that the trash layer
continued below where the bucket was. However, at this time, I began to
notice that it had become dark enough outside for me to be incapable of
seeing what I was digging through, so I decided to call it a day. Having
been granted permission to leave this 1' cubic hole open until the
following morning, I went next door to talk to my brother for a bit. He
was watching TV with his girlfriend, and, naturally, offered me a
beer and some of
the pizza they had ordered. Eloquently declining
his offer, I explained that I believed I was onto something, and thus
had to get going... but I would like to use the shower, as I didn’t
believe I had ever smelled as bad in my life as I did at this point. He
laughed and told me to do whatever I wanted. Taking that in the best of
ways, I cleaned up, and then headed over to Kyle’s house to tell him we
had to go back the next morning. He arranged for me to sleep over, and
at 8 AM the next day, we were up and ready to go.
At around 9 AM, after some breakfast, we pulled up to the house, and
were ready for yet another day of intense privy-digging action. We set
the tarp up, and got started at the hole. I took first shift, and
widened the hole, in the process pulling out a few more unmarked
medicinals. I had a bad feeling about some potential heartbreakers, as a
concrete fence-post anchor had been drilled directly into the side of
this particular trash pit.
After working for some time to get the pit widened a bit, Kyle jumped
in. After mere seconds, he had found something. Slowly digging the
bottle out, we were both impressed by the sight of a slightly older
Wampole bottle than we were used to digging. This one actually had the
“Perth, ONT” embossing, and had, again, never before been encountered by
either one of us. He dug for a bit longer, pulled out some more broken
bottles and unmarked medicines, and then it was my turn. I hopped in the
hole, and dug for a few minutes, pulling out a broken teapot, before
encountering one of the most stunning green apothecary bottles I had
ever seen. It was a tiny little piece, probably for some kind of powder
or cream, and a matching stopper came out with it. Unfortunately, only
the stopper was in respectable condition - the bottle pieces, or what
pieces of it we actually found, were numerous and small.
Alas, we pushed forth. After a few more minutes of
digging, I encountered some large metal objects, and some additional
broken porcelain, and an unfortunately smashed local medicinal - a
“W.H.STEPLER / DRUGGIST / STRATHROY” embossed bottle. Then appeared from
the gloom of a seemingly fruitless pit, one particularly large piece of
porcelain... one which appeared to be intact. Attempting to dig it out
from one side, I was startled to find a brown amber bottle neck sticking
out of the dirt. Attempting to dig that out from the side, I was once
again startled to encounter that heavenly sound of the gentle ‘clink’ of
my shovel against the side of a beautiful European pickle jar with the
crudest imaginable lip. Apparently there were some intact bottles in
here, after all! Attempting to dig that out from the side, I was
slightly less surprised to encounter some additional broken porcelain.
Meticulously pulling pieces of a blue-glazed crockery vessel from the
hole, I was finally able to remove the pickle jar from the hole (a
glorious specimen, and the first I have ever dug!), and sequentially, I
was able to remove the brown amber flask. A nice one it was - out of the
ground came a “MALTINE / MF’G CO / CHEMISTS / NEW YORK” tooled-lip piece
with what appeared to be a hinged mould type base. After removing it,
and basking in its beauty for a moment, I proceeded to attempt the
removal of the large porcelain piece. Much to my dismay, I found that it
wouldn’t budge. An intact handle appeared on one side, and the most
ornately formed lip, with gold-painted edging appeared on the other. The
whole thing looked good, until I followed it down to the base. It
“ended” right at the fence post column I had encountered earlier. It
just didn’t appear that it was intended to “end” there. Seemed like it
should be a tad bit longer. Regardless, I attempted to remove some more
dirt from the spot where the amber chemist bottle was. It didn’t
surprise me in the slightest that I should encounter yet another bottle.
I was please to spot what appeared to be a FELLOW’s CHEMISTS bottle at
the end of my shovel. Dislodging it by the neck, I was saddened to see
that it was a Fellow’s, and that the
entire base had been broken off. This
particular bottle appeared to be much older than the rest, as well, with
what appeared to be an applied lip of some sorts. The glass was full of
bubbles, and the lip was absolutely the crudest imaginable chunk of
glass. Working further to remove the large piece of porcelain, I was
finally able to dislodge it, and much to my horror, the most beautiful
and ornate washstand pitcher I had ever seen had the entire base and a
large chunk of the back missing entirely. I turned up the base a few
inches underneath it, but it appears the post-hole digger which put in
that
fence post did a number on the rear.
I’d like to tell you it was gloomy and unsuccessful from
there on in - but it wasn’t.
Kyle hopped in the hole to have his turn. While he was digging, and
pulling out common, unembossed medicinals, I was examining the tragedy
that was the washstand pitcher. It was full of dirt, so to lighten it up
a bit, I shook it out onto the pile of dirt on the tarp, and, much to
my
surprise, out came a small bottle! Picking it up, I was once again
elated to read the embossing “W.H.STEPLER / STRATHROY, ONT”. This was my
first ever intact local medicine! I reported to Kyle, who was also
extremely surprised to have turned up an intact specimen of these
desirable little medicinals. Kyle pulled out a tiny amber vial, very
crude in appearance, and we were excited, as we had never before seen
one such vial in any colour other than clear. He dug a broken whisky
bottle,
and a few more broken medicinals and teacups, and then gave up
his position in the hole.
The digging continued - and Kyle was becoming
disheartened, as it appeared I was having all the luck. In this turn I
pulled out the only embossed milk glass bottle I have ever found (a
common N.Y. cream jar), another broken W.H.Stepler, and three ink wells
- one a beauty of a cobalt blue colour, with a tooled lip! Of course, as
inevitably happens, I became tired, and gave Kyle the opportunity to
dig. Around this time, the owner came out, and we had a bit of a
conversation. While we were talking about the digging, in the background
I heard Kyle’s voice, “I got something - looks like a whisky.” Not
thinking much of an unmarked whisky, I continued to talk with the owner.
A few moments later, Kyle’s voice again emanated from the hole,
“There’re two bottles, one has ‘T.H.H.’ embossed on the base.” Now, I
know Kyle quite well by now, and excitement shows easily in his voice -
just as well as sarcasm and humour. In this instant, I could tell he was
excited, not sarcastic or humourous. “I think I got something good,
man.” came that all-too-familiar voice. I told the house owner that when
Kyle says it’s good, it’s got to be good. By this point, Kyle had pulled
the whisky out, and tossed it down in the hole without even giving it a
second look. After a few more minutes of quiet burrowing on Kyle’s part,
he all of a sudden emerged from the hole with a beautiful thing. Sure
enough, Kyle’s excitement was warranted, as he held in his hand a 30 oz.
Ontario pictorial soda embossed “T.H.HUTCHINSON / TRADE MARK /
REGISTERED / ST.THOMAS, ONT” with glorious whittle mould. These are the
bottles with the embossed monkey holding a seltzer bottle. To say the
least, we were both as excited as 5 year-olds at our first sleepover.
Yes - my theorum had proven true - there had been at least one good
bottle in this backyard, and Kyle had saved the day by finding it.
After that, things continued in their usual fashion. I
jumped in the hole to do some digging, and Kyle just kept fondling his
Hutchinson. Digging out the direction Kyle had been, and hoping for a
major discovery of my own, I soon encountered some bottles - all broken,
with the most intact piece being a badly cracked and decapitated
“CASTOR OIL EMULSION” bottle, embossed “A.WILSON & Co. / HAMILTON, ONT”.
The bottle was a beauty - panelled all the way up the shoulder, with
bold, crude embossing. We had evidently hit some older stuff. Having
encountered the edge of the pit in that direction, I resorted to digging
through a sheet of metal which had previously hindered our digging
efforts. I
was soon confronted with another ash layer, this one back to
the 1910-1920 era we had been digging before. After pulling out a few
more unembossed medicinals and a Welch’s grape juice bottle, I was
pleased to be witness to several thick, brilliant blue pieces of glass
falling out of the sides of the hole. Picking one up, I examined it, and
asked Kyle what he thought. He didn’t know, either. Then, continuing to
dig, I pulled out a much larger piece of the peacock blue glass. Kyle
immediately identified it as a seltzer bottle - the thick glass was
unmistakable. Now the question was - was it marked, and if so - where
was it from? Continuing to pull pieces out, Kyle soon had enough to
assemble the front
panel, and the name “J.TUNE & SON / LONDON, ONT” were
spelt out for him in beautiful blue. We continued to pull pieces out,
but once again encountered the pit edge in this direction. It appeared
the fun was over.
So - gathering up our seltzer shards, our T.H.Hutchinson, and all the
other bottles, we proceeded to figure out what was worth keeping, and
what should be thrown back into the hole or given to the property owner,
who was slightly interested in our finds, it seems. I confronted him and
asked if he would like a few - his still-amiable responsiveness gave the
indication that he didn’t really want any all that bad. We left him
some, anyways. We filled the hole in, and helped to flatten his
soon-to-be sodded lawn out.
It’s a distinct feeling after digging a good dump or
privy - a happy, nostalgic reflectiveness. You’re glad you’ve had the
experience, but at the same time, you wish it hadn’t happened, and that
you could go back and do it again. A couple glorious gems to add to the
collection,
and Kyle & I were walking out of that backyard between the
gates to wash our finds, and to be nostalgic. As a subsequent note,
though - we were able to overcome the happy reflectiveness relatively
easily. As of one or two days later, we already had 2 more back yards to
dig in the near future. The best way to overcome a sense of burdening
reflectiveness is to do something to keep your mind on the present -
like dig bottles. And, that we will do. |
INSPIRATION FOR NOSTALGIC REFLECTIVENESS
© COPYRIGHT BARRETT NICPON |
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