500 years from now, an archaeologist accidentally stumbles on the ruins of your home, long buried underground. What will she learn about early-21st-century humans by going through (what remains of) your stuff?
Archaeologists looking through parts of my house, still standing in 500 years time, will have a lot to unpick. I really hope they’re from Time Team. The building I call home is part of a complex erected in 1189. The walls, like many round these parts, are made from recycled stone. The original stones were cut by the Romans, around 200 – 300 CE. My few years in this ancient place will seem less than the lifespan of a mayfly, rising above the little stream.
The stream will still be flowing. Small as it is, it has carved itself a deep valley. The strength of the water lies in persistence, not brute force.
What will they find of me? Very little, I hope, I try not to leave rubbish lying around. I”d like to leave them something to find though. I have a coin of the Kushan Empire, around 195CE, a tertradrachm. That’ll confuse them. Then again, maybe not. There were already many races of the global Roman Empire in the area by then.
I could leave them my Ashanti doll, the wood should keep. They’ll start talking about ritual and fertility symbols. I doubt if they’d think ‘ornament’.
It’s a great idea. I love the thought of a future Carenza Lewis or Phil Harding excavating a trench by my front door. I’m sure I could draft a great piece to camera for a new Tony Robinson to embellish.
Who knows, they may find me, older and grumpier for sure, but still looking forward to more of the future. I could tell them about this era. Some of us tried to leave little trace of our passing. We believed in leaving as light a footprint as possible.
I’d be really proud if they found nothing about me at all.