For my first story, I'd like to start at the very beginning. My first excavation was when I was just a first-year Archaeology student, and it was amazing. I don't even remember how long we excavated, but I was like a kid in a candy shop, super excited about everything and anything.

As students, we were of course closely supervised by senior archaeologists and our professors, but the entire team was not bigger than 50 people, including us students. Over the past months, more than half of the first-years dropped out because archaeology wasn't what they had expected so our class was very small and we all were very close.

The excavation was on a field outside of the city where our university was, so every morning we would all bike together to the excavation, and every evening we would bike back and often even eat together.

It was also a sunny and warm June, so I didn't mind spending my time outside, although it was very windy in the open field. To give you a better idea of the excavation, we were on the edge of a farmer's land, who was kind enough to let us use his outhouse, so if you needed to go, you needed to walk 1 km (0.6 miles). The man and his wife also checked in on us several times a day to bring us ice cream or refreshments.

The excavation site itself was not very large. Research had shown that there was a late Medieval farm at that site, and the remaining foundation lay exposed through the dirt, so it had to be documented and removed for further analysis before they would be lost to the elements.

Now, of the wooden farm itself, there were only a few parts of the foundations left and traces in the dirt of where the farm would have been. But around the farm, it was a treasure trove of artefacts.

Cesspits with shards of pots and ceramics, the remains of several animals, tiles, a water well. It was like this place was custom-made for students. We got to see so many different kinds of artefacts, documentation and preservation; I still learned more from that one excavation than any other I've worked at.

So, the last two weeks rolled around, and we had excavated most of the sight, or so we thought. As soon as the well was gone, we found a number of dark spots in the ground underneath. My professor quickly called over his colleague to confirm his suspicions, and he was right; they were cremated remains.

He explained to me and my fellow students who were under his supervision that it was possible the site was inhabited far before the farm was there, and that in the late Bronze Age urnfields were common in this area.

An Urnfield is the name for the custom of cremating the dead and placing their ashes in urns which were then buried in fields. This practice was practised from 1300 till 750 BC in most of North West Europe; including the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Poland, parts of France, Italy and even Spain.

We were ecstatic to excavated it, but our professor reminded us that these urnfields lay low enough not to be disturbed by the elements and because we had very little time left it wouldn't be wise to excavate it all. After discussing the find with his colleagues, it was decided that we would only unearth one urn. So, I and one other student got our instructions, and with two professors by our side, we started.

In this image, you can see what this kind of urn is supposed to look like. Seems simple, right? A hole with an urn in it. Well, our urn was broken into a million pieces, and the remains lay scattered throughout. So, the next two week we spend on our knees documenting and then sifting out any remains. It was a strenuous job, to say the least, but I did it with a smile until the last day.

The last day was like being trapped in a tornado. The wind was hailing sand in your face, and although most of my fellow students were cleaning up, I was still finishing up my urn. Sifting through the last layers, with sand blowing in my face, no matter how many windshields were placed around me.

You can imagine, that at the end of the day when everything was finally finished, I had sand in places I didn't even think were possible. I tasted sand, it was in my hair, my ears and my eyes.

So, I took several showers that evening, a few more the next morning and then went to my parent's house feeling squeaky clean. Except for my right eye. Throughout the day tears kept welling up, and I tried to clean it, but nothing seemed to help. Within a few hours of being with my parents, I began to look like two-face (from Batman). My right eye teary, swollen, red and mascara streaming down the side of my face.

My parents were beginning to worry, and although I assured them it was just some sand, they took me to the hospital. The doctor nearly fell from his chair when he saw me. He assured my parents it was going to be fine and that my eye was probably just irritated by something.

He cleaned out my eye and put a few white specks in a petri dish so he could examine them under the microscope.

My eyes felt so much better, I could see again, and I was ready to leave when the doctor came back, a solemn look on his face.

He asked my parents and me to take a seat, put down the petri dish in front of us and took a few deep breaths. "You had pieces of human bone in your eye."

"Oh, I've been excavating cremated remains the last week. Can I get them back?" I responded calmly.

My parents, especially my father were anything but calm. "You had freaking bone in your eye. YOUR EYE!"

As my parents freaked out, the doctor continued to keep as much distance as he could, although he did visibly relax. I think he thought I was some sort of murderer who somehow got bone in her eye.

But he didn't give me the petri dish with 3000-year-old bone shards on it. Maybe, it's now in some display case for the strangest things ever taken out of someone's eye.

All turned out fine in the end, my parents and I joke about it now, and my professor's had a good laugh over it. The doctor, well I hope he wasn't too shocked.

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