Take it Easy

“Could any more rocks be jammed up my ass?” Don Loess bellowed. Don followed his Tourette’s Syndrome-like verbal explosion with a frantic rock-kicking dance that had his short, chubby, 53-year old body heaving like an accordion. Everyone nearby ducked for cover. It was 3:30 a.m. in a quiet camp of sleeping EarthQuest volunteers outside of Winslow, Arizona. This was Don’s first night on the expedition, twelve more to go. “Couldn’t anyone have seen fit to provide us with air mattresses or cots so we wouldn’t be sleeping on boulders?” Don continued.

Don Loess was a successful investment advisor from Sioux City, Iowa, and decided after long advising his clients to take tax-deductible vacations, it was time to eat his own cooking. He’d discovered EarthQuest, a group that aided in scientific expeditions by getting volunteers to pay for the privilege to work as staff. Each volunteer paid up to $10,000 for their two-week stint, plus the costs to get to the site, all tax-deductible.

Why Winslow, Arizona? It was the site of a Hopi Indian pueblo that was being unearthed. However, for Don, it was because it was mentioned in the Eagles song “Take It Easy.” The verse “standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, such a fine sight to see, a girl my Lord, in a flat-bed Ford, slowing down to take a look at me,” had always captured Don’s imagination. That is what moved him to sign up for the expedition.

Preparation for the trip consisted of buying ten pairs of khaki shorts from his Orvis catalog with a 48-inch waist, a plethora of pockets, and leather trim. The leather trim added, in Don’s opinion, a dash of class. In addition, Don purchased a broad-brimmed

hat from the Herrington catalog. The hat was advertised as air-conditioning for your head and quite in vogue with the folks at Pinehurst, Augusta, Carmel and other country club settings. The leather brim and crown would shield his face and the top of his head from the harsh sun while the mesh sides would let the desert breezes in. But more importantly, Don felt it gave his balding dome a rakish appearance sure to please anylady scientist.

     Don pulled into camp at 8:45 a.m. Sunday morning as required for the introductory meeting scheduled for 9 a.m. and began getting the lay of the land. He introduced himself to the expedition leader, Tom LeBlanc, a professor from the University of

Western New Mexico who greeted each new member as they arrived.

     “Hi, I’m Don Loess,” Don said in his unusually low monotone. Professor LeBlanc leaned forward to hear Don. This prompted Don to move through his entire archeological repertoire. Then he proceeded to introduce himself to the other eleven members of the expedition in the same manner. What Don lacked in humility was matched with his persistent manner.

     The group mulled about. It looked to be a mixed lot of science types and non-science types. Four college lads from Western New Mexico, a recently retired couple from Boston, a lady biology teacher from Oregon, a shapely and cute horse-trainer from Oklahoma, and three bewildered Czech brothers. Everyone seemed to have some interest in archeology except the Czech brothers. It seemed that they had simply lacked the English skills to read the brochure correctly.

     “Hi, everybody. Welcome, welcome, welcome. As I have said, I am Professor Tom LeBlanc.” LeBlanc was five foot four inches tall, slightly built and very tan from hours of trolling the desert for artifacts. “I feel the Southwest provides us with one of the best archeological databases in the world. The arid climate and sparse modern habitation have left the pueblo ruins, cultural artifacts, and even human remains remarkably intact. My interest is discovering why the pueblos were vacated and others built in locations seemingly less inviting. You will help excavate the remains of this village, carefully, slowly and tediously, to find clues as to why this village was vacated. These are your tools.” Professor LeBlanc held up a small trowel, small brush and a disposable camera. “You will each dig in areas three yards by three yards, carefully photograph and catalog any artifacts you find. We’ll do our best to make this

enjoyable.”

     “That is where you will reside for the next two weeks,” he said pointing to the flat area with a collection of tents. “I can assure you it is fairly comfortable. But you will be tired enough to sleep standing up. Our chef will make sure your stomach is full. Without further ado, let’s dig in and please, pardon the pun.”

     Professor LeBlanc led the group to the excavation site. An area twenty by twenty yards had been excavated to a depth of about ten feet. Stairs were dug to enable the workers to descend into the excavation. They could clearly see how the structure was

divided into twenty or so distinct little pueblos, spread out over the ridge like an apartment complex. The floor of each room had been divided into grids by ropes strung two feet high every three yards. LeBlanc descended into the excavation and began giving instructions on how to wield the trowel and brush.

     LeBlanc discussed his research more fully, hoping to further enthuse his new recruits. Something about evidence of burning on the walls, broken pottery, the belief that the people who lived here had left in a hurry and his thought that they went elsewhere because of war. Don pretended to listen intently, but he was really scoping out the horse-trainer from Oklahoma. Her name was Lisa and she had naturally curly brown hair, smiling brown eyes, and an athletic build that filled her khaki shorts perfectly. She also wore a midriff-revealing top that showed off her pierced belly button.

     All the volunteers claimed a grid and spent the rest of the day digging, brushing, and cataloging. Don did his best to lead the group in discussions while he worked as little as possible. It was more of a monologue, no one else got a word in edgewise.

Don waxed nostalgic about finding arrowheads in fields as a child and then jumped to a large fossil find near his home and anything else even tangentially related to archeology.

     “Dude, give it a rest,” one of the WNM students suggested. “You been talking non-stop for three hours. You’re making my head hurt.” Others nodded in agreement.

 “Don, I have to agree,” Lisa said, with the slightest hint of a Southern drawl. “I came here for a reason, and it wasn’t to listen to your stories. I’d be happy to talk around the fire tonight but right now I want to concentrate on the dig.”

     “Certainly,” Don said. “Just trying to insert a little of the whistle-while-you-work attitude to the day.” Don spent the rest of the day in silence as he petulantly dug a little here and a little there.

     The evening passed pleasantly enough. They were served a hearty beef stew around the campfire. There was also beer and wine to further relax the tired volunteers. LeBlanc and the four students conversed about archeology courses at WNM as well as the status of LeBlanc’s personal research. 

     The retired couple from Boston revealed that their son was a PHD student in archeology at UCLA. They had signed on to see what it was that captivated him so about it Lisa charmed everyone with stories of finding buffalo heads and Indian artifacts on her ranch south of Oklahoma City. Of course, she could have been butchering chickens and Don would’ve still paid rapt attention. The three Czech brothers succumbed to jet lag, linguistic hurdles, and fatigue. Their snores supplied the background noise to the evenings conversation..

     “Don, right?” Professor LeBlanc asked, jerking Don’s thoughts away from Lisa and into the present. “You look a little more durable than the rest of our crew. Think I could ask you to assume a more important project?”

     “Why of course,” Don answered, feeling enthused. They walked over to an area probably 25 meters from the main site.

     “I have a theory that the main part of the site lies under here, but it’s deeper than the rest of the site. I would like you…no, I need you to dig in that area,” LeBlanc said as he gestured in a sweeping motion to his left. You’ll be starting from scratch, so it won’t be easy.”

     “You want me to dig? With a spade? In this?.” Don asked glumly.

     “Yes. But I am sure you will hit artifacts, so it just won’t be digging. You will be cataloging artifacts as well.”

     “Fine, bright and early tomorrow morning.” Don replied and turned to trek back to his sleeping bag.

     Don felt ostracized but he figured they were happy to have him relegated to a more remote part of the site. At 6:30 a.m., a tired, sore, and disillusioned Don walked back to his project.

     He petulantly jammed his spade into the baked earth and tossed dirt over his shoulder. He soon began to feel frustrated. About two hours later, he was thoroughly pissed that he’d been banished from the rest of the group. Dirt flew more frantically over his shoulder. Don jammed the spade more vigorously into the earth. His digging pattern had no rhyme or reason. He continued unabated for the better part of four hours before stopping to survey his handiwork. The area around him looked like a drunken gopher had been trying to find his hole with no luck. Don sat dejectedly on the ground and drank some water from his canteen. He looked over at the others, who were at lunch. They were looking over at Don uneasily, perhaps waiting for him to go postal again.

     “Let ‘em look,” Don mumbled to himself. He pulled a Granola bar out of one of his many pockets, tore the wrapper off and chucked half into his mouth. Barely chewing, he jammed the rest in. Cheeks bulging with Granola like a rodent preparing for winter, he stood and slammed the spade into the earth like a warrior claiming his territory. The spade didn’t stop, it vanished into earth. Don went with it.

     With a jolt, he landed on his butt in a darkened room of the ancient pueblo. Light from the hole showed it wasn’t gravel that crunched beneath his feet but an assortment of bones and partially mummified corpses. Don found his automatic match ($18.95 from Eddie Bauer) and lit it. The room was about fifteen feet square. A heavy door had been sealed with large rocks. Don had landed in the corner farthest from the door. To Don’s eye, it seemed the bodies had huddled in the corner of the room for protection. 

     Don walked to the blocked door and surveyed the walls of the room. Burn marks were evident on the walls like the Professor had discussed. He walked back to the bones and bodies. Something shiny caught his eye.  

     Don knelt down and picked up a watch. In the light of his automatic match he could read the inscription.“Happy Retirement, Jim, 1994,” Don read aloud. He looked down at another body that appeared mummified and noticed it was wearing Union Bay cargo shorts, circa 2001.

     Don looked around uneasily. Nothing felt right.

     “Hey, somebody help me!” Don yelled. “Professor, Come here. Hurry!”

     “Yes, Don?” the Professor asked, peering down through the hole.

     “Professor, I found some bodies down here. Drop down a ladder and come see. Something seems terribly wrong.”

     “No, Don, nothing is wrong at all. I firmly believe in ancient ways and beliefs. Sometimes we get volunteers who aren’t helpful in the conventional sense. But as sacrifices they prove exceedingly valuable. Don, I’m afraid you fall into that latter category. Your sacrifice will surely appease the Hopi spirits. We’re closing the hole now. In six hours or so, itwill all be over for you. Thank you for your help.”

     The room darkened as a large rock was pushed over the hole. Don heard the tamping of earth around the rock to further seal the hole. He flicked his automatic match on and off and started singing. “A girl my lord, in a flatbed Ford, slowing down to take a look at me…Take it easy, take it easy…”