diging a hole

Tangier was shrouded in a bank of fog when I arrived this afternoon, reinforcing the commonly held belief that the Eastern shore is foggier than the city.

The cottage was still standing, the chimney looking less precarious than I had imagined back home. The west wall was still supported by the temporary posts - nothing had moved.

The goal today was to dig a 4-foot deep hole midway under the west wall for a 18" x 18" concrete pillar. With some trepidation, I removed the cinder blocks that were piled up under the wall. This was easy to do as the wall was now supported by the 4" x 4" posts.

The first new concrete support goes between the cribbing.

With the cribbing in my way I quickly ended up digging from inside the cellar, scooping the dirt with my hands into a bucket and carrying the bucket up out of the pit - a very uncomfortable and time consuming process.

Digging the hole reminded me of Bill Bradley's book on the history of Tangier which describes the miserable conditions of labourers working in the gold mines with picks, shovels and buckets. Bill's great grandfather Charles Bradley, who built this house, worked in the Tangier gold mines. I imagined that old Charlie hid a cache of stolen nuggets under the house right at the spot where I was digging. Sadly, I didn't find any.

In the early evening Catherine called to tell me that she and friend Grace were just leaving Dartmouth with Sharon. I threw a couple of sticks on the fire to make sure the house was cozy when they arrived.