A Fossil in Time

Who hasn’t dreamt it? Who hasn’t romanticized a point in history, and invented a life for oneself, in an idealized and idyllic setting? The past, long since it was held in the moment, resurrected.

As a woman, a realistic expectation limits the choice of living in an era where one could do a profession, let alone a profession of choice.

There are therefore two routes, which call to mind, as feasible options within a single time period, other than the now.

Firstly, to be as myself, born in another time, if affluence was a possibility, that would lead my choice to the Georgian era, England.

Born to an affluent family of landed gentry, my curiosity and passions would certainly lead me to be a contender to Mary Annings. Perhaps we would even have been friends.

My possible access to family fortune would have certainly lead me to use my “dowry” (it would inevitably be consumed) for fossil hunting.

The drive to understand the function and properties of the world, and my unabashed nerdiness of enjoying geology, means fossil hunter is a no-brainer. The eccentricity involved would hopefully also send suitors running.

Marriages for the elite were often contractual business arrangements, so I would gladly spend away my dowry and embrace a spinster’s life, instead of marrying a wealthy ogre—treating and trading me as chattel.

I would be just a daughter, not entitled to wealth of my own, or just a wife, not entitled to have my own children—they’d belong to the husband. Spinster is very attractive when compared to the alternative—the unwed daughter trumps the chattel breeding stock.

The fossils…the finds…I would have loved to have been part of the pioneering natural history giants. And a profession (more of a hobby) that also allows for walks in the countryside makes it all the more appealing.

Of course, I would still be a woman. I would not be eligible to join the Geological Society in London. Any discoveries I would have made would have always been at risk of going uncredited. An uphill battle for recognition, to even just be a footnote in history.

It would have likely been that even the privileges of peerage and wealth wouldn’t have been enough. Perhaps that would have been soul crushing, or perhaps the enjoyment of the job itself would have been enough of a reward.

Secondly, to be born in the Georgian era, England, the luck of the draw of being born into wealth and status are not odds in most people’s favour.

It would be far more likely to be born into a life where financial earnings are more aligned to a matter of life and death.

Assuming I survived childhood, without the aid of modern medicine, there are still limited professions available to someone like that version of me.

Still, if choice presented itself to the version of me born in Georgian England, and born not to wealth; than a baker or kitchen gardener would be my calling.

The therapeutic joy of baking breads from scratch, or the rewarding and sensory delight of gardening and growing good food in a walled, kitchen garden, holds the dreams of making being born in another era worthwhile.

Both would be professions that offer flexibility in access to excess bits and ends for food security.

And to that, spinster life is harder to afford. Marriage would still likely have been required of me. But, a chance of being married to someone where we’d have things in common, like working in the same trade, may bring enough of a kindness to risk the dangerous endeavour of birthing children of my own.

To be born in another era, with my passions and key aspects of who I am remain intact, could be enjoyable, but I would still choose today, with current betterment and freedoms available.