Excavations of a Future Unknown Pawpaw Patch

In terms of archaeology, excavations happen to learn about the past, as was the case when some Colorado ranchers in 1888 excavated portions of what would later become Mesa Verde National Park. (By the way, I'm not endorsing the methods of these 19th-century excavators. C'mon, a sledge hammer? I'm not even endorsing the project of archaeological excavation. As the ranger mentioned when we visited Mesa Verde a couple years ago, the best way to preserve a structure is to not excavate it and let the desert soil do the work of preserving.)

That's archaeological excavation into past and sometimes unknown patches of human culture.
But what I'm talking today about is botanical excavation into future and unknown patches of horticulture.   

As the faithfulest of this blog's readers will know, there's been some suspense out on the front porch in recent weeks. Compared to last year, our forty planted pawpaw seeds are two weeks delayed in showing any kind of above-ground sprouts. So yesterday evening I did some investigations, some excavations into the future.

I used my finger--a more delicate instrument than the Colorado ranchers' sledge hammer--to remove thin layers of soil from the surface of one container, until I arrived at the black shiny seed.  

Once I got to the seed, I gave it a light tug but it wouldn't move. So I gave it a harder tug and it still didn't budge much. So, there was a root holding it in place even if there was no sprout that had yet sought the sun. With that discovery of the botanical future, I swept up the small pile of dirt and put it back on top of the seed, content that I had excavated and seen a small portion of the initial stirrings of a future unknown pawpaw patch.