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On Solid Ground
When you’ve been in the field as long as we have, you learn a thing or two — and we’re happy to pass that along.
On Solid Ground is where we share the real stories behind the work: client experiences, project insights, and practical advice from the ground up. Whether we’re digging foundations, moving rock, or solving septic issues, every job comes with a lesson — and maybe a good story too.
If you’re planning a project or just want to see how we do things around here, you’re in the right place.
6 minutes reading time
(1272 words)
What the Ground Remembered
Sometimes history doesn't announce itself. Sometimes it simply waits.
Two days after Canada Day, I was in the work yard where we've been placing clean fill from a local excavation project. The material had come from the excavation for a new home foundation along Water Street in St. Andrews.
I'd parked my truck in that very spot many times before. I walked around to the passenger side to grab something from inside. As I reached for the door handle, I happened to look down. I can't explain why. There wasn't a flash of sunlight. There wasn't anything unusual that should have caught my attention. I simply looked down. There, among thousands of stones, was a button. I bent over, picked it up, and brushed away the dirt. Immediately I knew I wasn't holding an ordinary button.
On the front was a royal crown above the intertwined letters VR—Victoria Regina, Queen Victoria's royal cipher—surrounded by an elegant laurel wreath. Turning it over revealed another clue: FIRMIN & SONS LONDON. That small inscription opened a door into another century.
Firmin & Sons was one of Britain's oldest and most respected manufacturers of military and government uniform buttons. Their simple "Firmin & Sons London" back mark was used during the Victorian era before the company became Firmin & Sons Ltd. in 1875. Based on the back mark alone, this button almost certainly dates to somewhere between 1850 and 1875.
As I continued looking through the fill, I noticed something else. Scattered nearby were fragments of blue-and-white transferware—broken pieces of beautifully decorated Victorian pottery that had once graced someone's table. Individually, they were simply shards. Together with the button, however, they became something much more. One hinted at duty. The other hinted at everyday life. Both had quietly waited beneath Water Street for well over a century.
Holding those pieces in my hands, I found myself thinking about the many layers of history beneath our feet. Long before Water Street existed... Long before the Loyalists founded St. Andrews... Long before there was a Blockhouse, Fort Tipperary, or even the idea of Canada... These shores were the homeland of the Passamaquoddy people, who traveled the waters of Passamaquoddy Bay, harvested its rich fisheries, and lived in relationship with this landscape for countless generations. The button tells only one chapter of this place's story. But it is far from the first.
Now imagine standing on Water Street sometime around 1865. There is no Algonquin Hotel overlooking the harbour. That familiar landmark is still more than twenty years away.
Instead, your eyes are drawn to a forest of masts. Square-rigged sailing ships crowd the waterfront. Horses pull wagons loaded with timber, barrels and cargo. Merchants, sailors, customs officers and labourers move between the wharves and the businesses lining Water Street. The smell of salt water, wood smoke and the sea fills the air.
The Blockhouse still overlooks Passamaquoddy Bay, a reminder that St. Andrews was more than a thriving seaport—it was an important border community. Nearby, the earthworks at Fort Tipperary still marked an earlier era when defending this harbour was considered essential.
Although the War of 1812 had ended decades earlier, its lessons had not been forgotten. Then, in the 1860s, came another period of uncertainty. The Fenian Brotherhood, made up largely of Irish-American veterans of the American Civil War, threatened raids into British North America. Communities throughout New Brunswick strengthened their volunteer militia, and Charlotte County answered the call. Men left their farms, workshops and businesses to drill, patrol and prepare should they be needed. Fortunately, those fears never became reality here. But they were real enough to shape the lives of the people who called St. Andrews home.
If you happen to recognize this Victorian Firmin & Sons button or know something about its history, I'd enjoy hearing from you.
- Peter
The reverse of the button reveals the maker's mark—Firmin & Sons, London. Remarkably, even the original shank remains intact after more than 150 years.
Was this button worn during those years? Perhaps. Did it belong to a member of the Volunteer Militia? A British soldier? A customs officer? Another servant of the Crown? The button doesn't answer those questions. And perhaps that's what makes it so fascinating.
What we do know is this. Someone polished this button. Someone carefully fastened it to a uniform before beginning another day's duties. Someone walked the streets of Victorian St. Andrews wearing it. Somewhere nearby, another family gathered around a table set with the very kind of transferware whose broken pieces now rested in my hand.
One artifact speaks of duty. The other speaks of home. Together, they remind us that history isn't made up only of famous people and great events. It is also made up of ordinary mornings. Family meals. Hard work. Friendships. Quiet routines. The countless moments that rarely find their way into history books.
Then, one ordinary day... the button fell. Perhaps onto Water Street. Perhaps near one of the busy wharves. Perhaps without its owner ever realizing it was gone. The pottery, too, eventually broke and was discarded, becoming part of the growing layers beneath the town.
Then time quietly took over. The button disappeared beneath the earth while history continued above it. Confederation came in 1867. Queen Victoria's long reign came to an end. The age of sail gave way to steam. The Algonquin Hotel rose above the harbour. Horse-drawn wagons became automobiles. Generations of residents and visitors walked the streets of St. Andrews without ever knowing these small pieces of the town's Victorian past lay hidden beneath their feet.
Eventually, a modern excavator disturbed the ground where they had rested for perhaps a century and a half. The soil was loaded into a truck. Hauled away. Dumped into another pile. Spread by bulldozers. Leveled by skid steers. Driven over by heavy trucks. By all rights, the button should have disappeared forever. Instead... it survived.
On July 3, 2026, just two days after Canadians celebrated another Canada Day, that little button somehow found its way into my hand. It wasn't the only piece of history that surfaced that day—but it was the one that refused to let go of my imagination. I still can't explain why I happened to look down at that exact moment. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it was simply luck. Or maybe history has a remarkable way of waiting until someone is ready to notice.
Holding that button, I couldn't help but think about everything it had silently witnessed. When it was made, Canada was either still years away from Confederation—or a very young Dominion finding its place in the world.
Yet this little button has endured. It has outlived the uniform it once adorned. It has outlived the person who wore it. It has outlived the Empire that produced it. And after perhaps 150 years beneath the streets of St. Andrews... it waited. Not in a museum. Not in a display case. Not in an archaeological dig. Simply beneath our feet... waiting for someone to look down.
Every day, our work is about preparing the ground for tomorrow. Every once in a while, that same ground quietly reminds us of yesterday. Every artifact tells a story. Some are written in books. Some are preserved in museums. And every once in a while... the ground gives one back.
One artifact may have adorned a uniform. The others once graced a family's table. Together, they offer a quiet reminder of the lives that unfolded along Water Street during Victorian St. Andrews.
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