In Lorna Grindlay Moore’s, and Judith G. Regensteiner’s paper entitled Adaptation to High Altitude, the authors write about the biological problems that humans face who live at high altitudes. They outline the challenges that hhumans living at high altitudes today experience largely due to the low levels of oxygen in the air. In fact, the oxygen supply is reduced by one-half at the highest altitudes at which human populations reside. This reduction in oxygen intake can cause serious and life-long health issues.
This paper points to a multitude of problems that are prevalent in populations from high altitudes, some that can even lead to death. These include reduced fecundity, problems during pregnancy, childhood growth retardation, high-altitude pulmonary edema, chronic mountain sickness and emphysema. With all these health risks, one would assume that high altitudes would not be popular places to live. However, today, at least 30 million people live and successfully reproduce at elevations over 7,500 feet and people have done so for thousands of years.
Hypoxia (a condition in which the body is deprived of adequate oxygen supply) of high altitudes cannot be ameliorated by culture. This distinguishes hypoxia from other harsh environmental conditions like extreme cold or heat. In addition, it created an ideal environment for studying natural selection because all of the people in a population have access to the exact same amount of oxygen. Today, there are only four regions of the world in which groups of humans reside at elevations above 2500 meters: the Rocky Mountains in North America, the Andes of South America, the Ethiopian Highlands of Eastern Africa, and the Himalayas of South-Central Asia.
Scientists feel that natural selection has had enough time to increase the frequency of adaptive alleles in mountain populations who live in all four of these areas except the Rocky Mountains. Research has been done with populations that have inhabited the Andean and Tibetan Plateaus for millennia and scholars have identified distinctive morphological and physiological characteristics thought to offset the stress of high-altitude hypoxia. These adaptations include thin-walled pulmonary vasculature, relative hypoventilation of Andean high-altitude natives or the elevated exhaled nitric oxide of Tibetans.
Scientists now feel that there is enough evidence to show that people who have lived in these high altitudes for long periods of time have developed adaptations resulting from natural selection favoring more effective adaptive responses to hypoxia. Yes, there are those who can say that their ancestors have lived in a high-altitude environment for thousands of years, but not many. The implications for the health of many people who live in high altitudes are obvious. As stated by Moore and Regensteiner, many questions remain to be explored, especially those regarding prevention and treatment.
Moore, Lorna Grindlay and Regensteiner, Judith G.
1983 Adaptation to High Altitude. Annual Review of Anthropology 12:285-304.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Climate Change and the Colorado High Country
In this paper by James Benedict, one of the foremost experts in Rocky Mountain archaeology, the author explores how climate change influenced human population density near the Continental Divide over the last 3000 years. Benedict explains that the Continental Divide area is a good place study how climate change affected humans because it is considered a marginal environment. Thus, early human (and non-human) inhabitants of this area lived a kind of feast or famine existence and so were extremely vulnerable to even slight shifts in climate.
These early residents of the mountains exhibited a mobile lifestyle since the large animals they hunted were migratory (bison, elk, deer and sheep) and vegetation that they ate was scarce and only available at certain times of year. In addition, weather and landscape conditions at the higher altitudes were unforgiving and harsh and necessitated that winter base camps be located at lower elevations. During summer and early fall, people were highly mobile and travelled into high altitudes to hunt, forage, trade, etc.
Benedict analyzed carbon dates from numerous archaeological sites to determine that, during the last 3000 years, the number of sites found has increased dramatically. Although extreme taphonomic processes skew the record in the Rocky Mountain region, it is inferred from this data that population density rose significantly since 1000 B.C. This population increase was likely due to both growth within extant groups and migration of non-mountain peoples into the area.
Lichenometry, the study of lichen growth to determine the length of time period that rock has been exposed, was used to graph climatic shifts within the 3000-year time period. Lichen can only survive for a few years if covered by snow for too many weeks of the year. So, Benedict used this snow-kill information to discover when there was a period of time when snow melt was at a minimum. He then compared these trends to population density data.
The results show that during times when snow cover lasted the longest, the animals that were hunted by people did not visit their usual grazing grounds due to lack of exposed vegetation. Benedict hypothesizes that because the game animals were not in abundance during these time periods, human population density decreased because the people would have had far less successful hunting seasons. Since these human residents got most of their food in the form of big-game meat (80%-90%), there would have been no incentive for them to stay when these animals were not available. Thus, during times of increased snow cover, the area surrounding the Continental Divide of Colorado would not have been able to support a large population of humans, hence the large fluctuations in population density during the past 3000 years.
Benedict concludes by explaining that population density in marginal environments like the Rocky Mountains is valuable data for archaeology, ecology, climatology and general knowledge as a whole. He suggests that studies such as this one can be used to explain the fragility of regions like this even today. With climate changing at an exponential rate, it is vital that we understand how these shifts can dramatically influence our way of life.
Benedict, James B.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Digging Pixels 2: Modeling Rome’s Theatre of Pompey
In my first post I wrote about an archaeological study in Second Life, an online 3D virtual world. Archaeologists are interested in other aspects of 3D simulations, too. One way they use 3D models is to virtually reconstruct ancient sites or artifacts. Reconstructions can be fascinating to look at, for the public and professionals alike, but can also serve as research tools.
Such was the case when researchers at the University of Warwick, UK, embarked on creating a digital redo of Rome’s vast Theatre of Pompey, built in 55 B.C., “possibly the largest theatre ever built.” Although much of the original building remains, it was largely incorporated into the dense fabric of surrounding homes and shops during the Middle Ages. Parts can be glimpsed in basements and walls, but the way they link is not obvious. Because of its documentation in ancient texts, the theatre became the model for theatres throughout the Roman Empire, later in the Renaissance, and thus for Western theatres in general. Yet little is known about the original.
To address this lack, the researchers set out to assemble an ambitious electronic repository of information about the site, spanning its history and including 3D models, text references, records of every artifact associated with the site, and acoustical models. The digital reconstruction based on this resource was created with the highest possible accuracy from CAD drawings, and can be continually revised and updated with new information, since a virtual model allows ongoing adjustment and correction. A model of this kind has many advantages: it avoids invasive archaeological procedures; it can be easily publicized; and it can generate still images from any angle, interactive moving images, and even virtual environments for researchers and the public to experience.
But perhaps most important, the model is a tool for the ongoing investigation of the structure of the theatre the relationships between the parts. A full and detailed 3D model makes it easier to hypothesize about the areas of the theatre that can’t be seen, for instance by using virtual cutaway sections. The model can be zoomed into at any level of detail, rotated, modified, and shown in multiple versions to indicate different possible interpretations—crucial in not creating the impression of false certainty. The nature of the process, too, adds depth to the study, since it has required the collaboration of archaeologists with modelers, archivists, theatre and urban historians, and surveyors.
Coming full circle to the idea of virtual worlds, the researchers have proposed using the virtual reconstruction for virtual performances, bringing the ancient theatre to (virtually) full life and realizing its original purpose. It would not be the first of its kind; in Second Life there is a virtual Old Globe theatre that gives live Shakespearean performances by avatars, and a number of scholarly reconstructions of other historical theatres. This one, though, may be the most ambitious and thorough yet. Whether in Second Life or some other virtual realm, we may someday be able to sit in the 25,000-seat hall of Pompey’s theatre, the model for theatres over two millenia.
Reference
Beacham, R. and H. Denard
2003 The Pompey Project: Digital Research and Virtual Reconstruction of Rome's First Theatre. Computers and the Humanities 37(1): 129–139.
Digging Pixels 1: Virtual Archaeology (Come on, Literally?)
Archaeologists study the traces people leave behind, in order to learn about their lives. Until recently, those traces were generally on the ground or under it, where gravity inevitably takes the bits and pieces that we cast off or stop using. Twentieth-century technology has given us some ways of resisting this. Our radio and TV signals have escaped earth’s orbit, and so have spaceships and satellites, literally fighting gravity. The future Space Archaeologist will have to travel far to recover some of those ruins.
Some of our flights, though, have taken a more ephemeral route. The Internet has opened up new frontiers of cyberspace, which we have colonized rapidly. Blogs, social networks, and forums are where we scribble our graffiti. And while just a few years ago we were limited to cybertext and photos, we now have fully 3-dimensional places to explore since the development of virtual worlds such as Second Life, which has 50–70,000 users online at any given time. Social scientists of all kinds have followed this development with interest, including archaeologists. Second Life (SL) is a social space where people interact via their avatars, forming groups, communities, and cultures; but it is also a sensual universe of simulated ground, sea, sky, and space, where each user can build a personalized environment limited only by imagination.
Rodney Harrison, in “Excavating Second Life: Cyber-Archaeologies, Heritage and Virtual Communities” (Journal of Material Culture vol. 14, no. 1: 75–106), sees SL as a place where concepts of heritage are played out through these created environments. Heritage conservation in this context means that some virtual constructions are seen as worthy of preservation and special treatment, just as real-world historical and archaeological sites are selectively preserved according to cultural priorities. Harrison’s study reviews statements on blogs and web sites about SL heritage sites such as monuments, replicas of real-life heritage sites, and “conserved buildings,” and so it is largely a textual study rather than a study of the heritage sites themselves. He examines some of the modes in which people experience these sites, for instance whether they visit them alone or in groups, but this information is based on self-reporting rather than observation. He does gather some hard data: He examines the SL visitor statistics for some sites identified as having heritage characteristics, to discover their popularity relative to other SL sites. Harrison also investigates ways that virtual artifacts can be preserved for posterity.
The conclusions he draws are that virtual heritage sites are intended to create a sense of history and communal origins, and that they tend to celebrate elites and rulers rather than ordinary people. This is one of his chief concerns: that alternative viewpoints do not have a voice in these virtual worlds. His concern seems to be based on the fact that there are a few “official” sites in SL that are maintained by Linden Labs (the owning company) and that have some recognized cachet. His concern is puzzling, since any user of SL can build anything desired, and viewpoints are not restricted (apart from some rules about adult content in non-adult areas).
Harrison sometimes takes the idea of virtual archaeology too literally, such as looking for ways to determine the (relative) antiquity of virtual sites. Overall, this is more useful as a thought-provoking piece than as a research piece.
Bell Beaker Culture or Pottery as Social Identity?
Once again an archaeologist is looking into the phenomena known as Bell Beaker Pottery. The pottery’s spread and use is massive, very complex, and largely not well understood. The Bell Beaker pottery is thought to have originated somewhere out of the European southwest and spread into good portion of Europe all the way up into Ireland. Whether it is all just one culture that had massive migration or pottery vessels that spread through trade or the pottery became a copying phenomenon, is up for interpretation still. The Bell Beaker pottery is sometimes described as an entire culture phenomenon, but that is what the author of the paper “Danish Bell Beaker Potter and Flint Daggers-The Display of Social Identities?” Torben Sarauw, looks at most closely and possibly disagrees with.
Sarauw using recent studies and his own research into the area is tackling the issue of if the Bell Beaker pottery(BBP) in the Danish area is used differently than the other BBP regions. The BBP is used in ceremonial manners and prestigious grave sites throughout most of the participating European regions however the Danish use the pottery in a much more casual way. So the issue is what was the meaning of the BBP for the Danish Bell Beaker people? Sarauw also adds the production of flint daggers and their social meaning in to his thesis, since flint daggers were evident in the culture of the Danish Bell Beaker era and show material culture as social identity.
Social identity of the Danish Bell Beaker is the main issue in this article using the definition by social anthropologist Richard Jenkins as “…the way which people distinguish themselves and others through their social relations with others on the basis of similarity and difference.” (Sarauw 2008, 24) Sarauw uses the distribution of the pottery between several houses on the archaeological site of Bejsebakken to show how some households or community groups identified themselves with pottery in their everyday lives. These Bejsebakken households are of a common style in the Jutlandic and are radiocarbon dated to be in the correct time for the BBP in other areas of Northern Europe. The site also holds very large amounts of BBP and flint dagger remains of varying lengths and widths.
Sarauw’s article is divided into two parts for the main discussion the Pottery section and the Flint Section. In the Pottery section the discussion centers around the findings that the grave goods were either from an earlier interpretation of the Bell Beaker pottery or were only a shot term or “tested” cultural tradition for the Danish (Sarauw 2008, 26). This means that the Danish did not use their Bell Beaker pottery to show respect to the dead or to warrior men but used it instead to create an identity in their lives. This is shown by how the pottery distributed between the Bejsebakken houses. 16 houses were particularly studied because of their amount of pottery. There were several different types of pottery, some plain utility ware with no decoration, some coarse ware with horizontal grooves, and BBP were found around the houses (Sarauw 2008, figure 4). The particular oddity is that the three types of pottery surrounded only certain houses in chronological progression.
The flint daggers that were created and formed at the time are called “type I daggers” and they fall into varying standards. Sarauw refers to them as “ordinary” and “parallel-flaked” or “sub-type I C.”(Sarauw 2008, 32) The many daggers found were charted by length and width, which show where they fall in the two categories, although the “ordinary” daggers far outweigh the “sub-type I C.” It seems that the “sub-type I C” daggers appear most often in male graves, presumed to be warrior graves or graves that got warrior attention recognition. The other “ordinary” daggers are seen to be used as common things by all ages and sexes. The “sub-type I C” daggers when used in their ceremonial status are connected to only to warrior activities (Sarauw 2008, 36).
The social identities that are associated with this use of material culture from the Danish at Bejsebakken, and can possibly be expanded to all Danish is very interesting to the overall conclusions about the Bell Beaker Culture. Sarauw shows that the Danish at Bejsbakken do not use the BBP as a ceremonial pottery for the dead, but as a signifier of family. The pottery, plain, coarse ware and Bell Beaker pottery, that is found around these certain houses, are not exchanged between houses but are kept in the households continually. Sarauw interprets this as the pottery types create a social identity of lineage and family connection, not prestige or sex. However the difficult to make ‘sub-type I C” flint daggers from the area that was used at the same time as the pottery is created for warrior practices, and giving honor to warrior men at their graves. The flint daggers take the place of the pottery in the Danish Bell Beaker society. Sarauw comes to several conclusions about the overall Bell Beaker culture from this. A possible theory is due to sea voyages and trade the pottery is not a symbol for a migrating or dominant culture, but merely a trade picked up because it is attractive or in the case of the non-Bell Beaker areas not picked up because they find it unattractive (Sarauw 2008, 31). The final conclusion is that the Bell Beaker culture in the Danish society was not a culture at all, but merely a social identity marker, and that more research into the area is needed.
Work Cited
Jenkins, R
1996 Social Identity. London and New York, Routledge.
Sarauw, Torben
2008 Danish Bell Beaker Pottery and Flint Daggers - the Display of Social
Identities? In European Journal of Archaeology pp 23-47.
Sarauw using recent studies and his own research into the area is tackling the issue of if the Bell Beaker pottery(BBP) in the Danish area is used differently than the other BBP regions. The BBP is used in ceremonial manners and prestigious grave sites throughout most of the participating European regions however the Danish use the pottery in a much more casual way. So the issue is what was the meaning of the BBP for the Danish Bell Beaker people? Sarauw also adds the production of flint daggers and their social meaning in to his thesis, since flint daggers were evident in the culture of the Danish Bell Beaker era and show material culture as social identity.
Social identity of the Danish Bell Beaker is the main issue in this article using the definition by social anthropologist Richard Jenkins as “…the way which people distinguish themselves and others through their social relations with others on the basis of similarity and difference.” (Sarauw 2008, 24) Sarauw uses the distribution of the pottery between several houses on the archaeological site of Bejsebakken to show how some households or community groups identified themselves with pottery in their everyday lives. These Bejsebakken households are of a common style in the Jutlandic and are radiocarbon dated to be in the correct time for the BBP in other areas of Northern Europe. The site also holds very large amounts of BBP and flint dagger remains of varying lengths and widths.
Sarauw’s article is divided into two parts for the main discussion the Pottery section and the Flint Section. In the Pottery section the discussion centers around the findings that the grave goods were either from an earlier interpretation of the Bell Beaker pottery or were only a shot term or “tested” cultural tradition for the Danish (Sarauw 2008, 26). This means that the Danish did not use their Bell Beaker pottery to show respect to the dead or to warrior men but used it instead to create an identity in their lives. This is shown by how the pottery distributed between the Bejsebakken houses. 16 houses were particularly studied because of their amount of pottery. There were several different types of pottery, some plain utility ware with no decoration, some coarse ware with horizontal grooves, and BBP were found around the houses (Sarauw 2008, figure 4). The particular oddity is that the three types of pottery surrounded only certain houses in chronological progression.
The flint daggers that were created and formed at the time are called “type I daggers” and they fall into varying standards. Sarauw refers to them as “ordinary” and “parallel-flaked” or “sub-type I C.”(Sarauw 2008, 32) The many daggers found were charted by length and width, which show where they fall in the two categories, although the “ordinary” daggers far outweigh the “sub-type I C.” It seems that the “sub-type I C” daggers appear most often in male graves, presumed to be warrior graves or graves that got warrior attention recognition. The other “ordinary” daggers are seen to be used as common things by all ages and sexes. The “sub-type I C” daggers when used in their ceremonial status are connected to only to warrior activities (Sarauw 2008, 36).
The social identities that are associated with this use of material culture from the Danish at Bejsebakken, and can possibly be expanded to all Danish is very interesting to the overall conclusions about the Bell Beaker Culture. Sarauw shows that the Danish at Bejsbakken do not use the BBP as a ceremonial pottery for the dead, but as a signifier of family. The pottery, plain, coarse ware and Bell Beaker pottery, that is found around these certain houses, are not exchanged between houses but are kept in the households continually. Sarauw interprets this as the pottery types create a social identity of lineage and family connection, not prestige or sex. However the difficult to make ‘sub-type I C” flint daggers from the area that was used at the same time as the pottery is created for warrior practices, and giving honor to warrior men at their graves. The flint daggers take the place of the pottery in the Danish Bell Beaker society. Sarauw comes to several conclusions about the overall Bell Beaker culture from this. A possible theory is due to sea voyages and trade the pottery is not a symbol for a migrating or dominant culture, but merely a trade picked up because it is attractive or in the case of the non-Bell Beaker areas not picked up because they find it unattractive (Sarauw 2008, 31). The final conclusion is that the Bell Beaker culture in the Danish society was not a culture at all, but merely a social identity marker, and that more research into the area is needed.
Work Cited
Jenkins, R
1996 Social Identity. London and New York, Routledge.
Sarauw, Torben
2008 Danish Bell Beaker Pottery and Flint Daggers - the Display of Social
Identities? In European Journal of Archaeology pp 23-47.
A New Methodology Towards the Bell Beaker Communities in Thy
A very large study on the Bell Beaker “Culture”, the strange phenomena of similar pottery wares spread across Europe, was done in Thy, northern Jutland, Denmark. This archeological project, the Thy Archaeological Project, covered a large amount of data that had recently been discovered in 1990. The Thy site was part of an expansion of the Bell Beaker phenomena, the site was previously unknown until some rescue excavations(Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:116) The site is under the instruction of Kristian Kristiansen and this article “Bell Beaker Communities in Thy: The First Bronze Age Society in Denmark” is by M. Pilar Prieto-MartIacutenez. What is laid out by Prieto-MartIacutenez is an intricate look at the possible social contexts of the Bell Beaker Pottery in the Thy society and a possible new methodology for identifying pottery types. She also compares the Thy site findings to other areas in Germany, Poland and Holland and these site’s Bell Beaker pottery to see the similarities and differences.
What Prieto-MartIacutenez discusses are the 3361 sherds found on the site and the different housing sites themselves at the Jutland site (Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:125.) Before discussing them in depth however she lays the foundation for her research by stating that there are three things that the archaeologists of Denmark Bell Beaker sites agree upon. One that Bell Beaker was passed from Germany’s coast to Denmark’s Jutland. Two Denmark only has about 400 years of Bell Beaker material culture spanning form 2350-1950 B.C. Three that the Bell Beaker “culture” and the Single Grave Culture(SGC), an earlier Danish Neolithic culture, must have coexisted or had some sort of contact. (Prieto-MartIacutenez 2008:117)
Prieto-MartIacutenez’s research question aims to explain possible parts of the culture of the Denmark Bell Beaker era through its pottery production. Showing that the production of pottery is an extension of the person who has made it, who is then in turn an extension of the culture they are from, so the pottery has the ability to accurately show what the culture is like.( Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:121) She goes on to explain that this can also show the different social levels of society through the different changes in the pottery wear. Then she finalizes all of this by stating that “…the material culture from the Bell Beaker and particularly the Bell Beaker vessel itself, has a meaning that transcends any single community…”( Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2009:122.)
This article is at its core about a methodology of defining and conceptualizing styles of pottery. Prieto-MartIacutenez uses the opportunity that the Thy Bell Beaker site presents to test her style methodology, creating sections underneath the overall “Style” to go in depth with what she calls “Category…a group of ceramics that share…formal attributes using the same technical solutions…”and even more detailed descriptions with Stylistic Tendencies “When small difference exist within a category…” (Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:123) Through this methodology she theorizes the ability to determine connections between the pottery work, find cultural attributes and compare the findings to other Danish archaeological records.
Prieto-MartIacutenez finds a multitude of possible social and stylistic conclusions. Using the best site of the three studied for pottery analysis, Thy-2758 which reportedly had most of the 3361 pottery sherds found, Prieto-MartIacutenez mapped out the possible pottery connections. (Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:125) From the analysis made Prieto-MartIacutenez finds that there is a connection between the SGC and the Bell Beaker pottery because of the similarities between some of the stylistic themes of the Bell Beaker pottery and the SGC pottery, called Corded-Ware Pottery. She also finds that there is a connection between the spatial analysis of the pottery and the social structure of the culture. Theorizing that House I with the most pottery and the most Bell Beaker pottery and the largest amount of Bell Beaker design pieces is the house with the most cultural standing. She furthers this claim with the comparison between House I and it’s variety of designed Bell Beaker pieces and House D from Myrhoj, a house with many prestige items and it’s large variety of designed Bell Beaker pieces(Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:139, 141.) Her comparisons between the pottery sherds of Thy site and the rest of Denmark and Germany, Holland and Poland all have very strong evidence that the Bell Beaker pottery was treated as a prestige item fairly consistently across the area of its effect. (Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:147)
This article lays out an easy to follow new methodology for comparing pottery that has special significance to different cultures. Prieto-MartIacutenez also is starting the job of integrating the pottery data from the Thy Archaeological Project (that was run in the 1990s) into what has been found so far from the Danish Bell Beaker material culture. There are a few things that Prieto-MartIacutenez does not completely go back to cover like some of her more theoretical premises such as how pottery can accurately show what a culture is like. Overall Prieto-MartIacutenez puts forth a great research base to start possible further research on the connections between the phenomena of the Bell Beaker pottery and its overall designs and prestige status especially in the area of Jutland.
Written By: Catherine Johns
Bibliography
Prieto-MartÍnez, M. Pilar.
2008 Bell Beaker Communities in Thy: The First Bronze Age Society in Denmark.
Norwegian Archaeological Review. 41(2):115-158.
What Prieto-MartIacutenez discusses are the 3361 sherds found on the site and the different housing sites themselves at the Jutland site (Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:125.) Before discussing them in depth however she lays the foundation for her research by stating that there are three things that the archaeologists of Denmark Bell Beaker sites agree upon. One that Bell Beaker was passed from Germany’s coast to Denmark’s Jutland. Two Denmark only has about 400 years of Bell Beaker material culture spanning form 2350-1950 B.C. Three that the Bell Beaker “culture” and the Single Grave Culture(SGC), an earlier Danish Neolithic culture, must have coexisted or had some sort of contact. (Prieto-MartIacutenez 2008:117)
Prieto-MartIacutenez’s research question aims to explain possible parts of the culture of the Denmark Bell Beaker era through its pottery production. Showing that the production of pottery is an extension of the person who has made it, who is then in turn an extension of the culture they are from, so the pottery has the ability to accurately show what the culture is like.( Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:121) She goes on to explain that this can also show the different social levels of society through the different changes in the pottery wear. Then she finalizes all of this by stating that “…the material culture from the Bell Beaker and particularly the Bell Beaker vessel itself, has a meaning that transcends any single community…”( Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2009:122.)
This article is at its core about a methodology of defining and conceptualizing styles of pottery. Prieto-MartIacutenez uses the opportunity that the Thy Bell Beaker site presents to test her style methodology, creating sections underneath the overall “Style” to go in depth with what she calls “Category…a group of ceramics that share…formal attributes using the same technical solutions…”and even more detailed descriptions with Stylistic Tendencies “When small difference exist within a category…” (Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:123) Through this methodology she theorizes the ability to determine connections between the pottery work, find cultural attributes and compare the findings to other Danish archaeological records.
Prieto-MartIacutenez finds a multitude of possible social and stylistic conclusions. Using the best site of the three studied for pottery analysis, Thy-2758 which reportedly had most of the 3361 pottery sherds found, Prieto-MartIacutenez mapped out the possible pottery connections. (Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:125) From the analysis made Prieto-MartIacutenez finds that there is a connection between the SGC and the Bell Beaker pottery because of the similarities between some of the stylistic themes of the Bell Beaker pottery and the SGC pottery, called Corded-Ware Pottery. She also finds that there is a connection between the spatial analysis of the pottery and the social structure of the culture. Theorizing that House I with the most pottery and the most Bell Beaker pottery and the largest amount of Bell Beaker design pieces is the house with the most cultural standing. She furthers this claim with the comparison between House I and it’s variety of designed Bell Beaker pieces and House D from Myrhoj, a house with many prestige items and it’s large variety of designed Bell Beaker pieces(Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:139, 141.) Her comparisons between the pottery sherds of Thy site and the rest of Denmark and Germany, Holland and Poland all have very strong evidence that the Bell Beaker pottery was treated as a prestige item fairly consistently across the area of its effect. (Prieto-Prieto-MartIacutenez2008:147)
This article lays out an easy to follow new methodology for comparing pottery that has special significance to different cultures. Prieto-MartIacutenez also is starting the job of integrating the pottery data from the Thy Archaeological Project (that was run in the 1990s) into what has been found so far from the Danish Bell Beaker material culture. There are a few things that Prieto-MartIacutenez does not completely go back to cover like some of her more theoretical premises such as how pottery can accurately show what a culture is like. Overall Prieto-MartIacutenez puts forth a great research base to start possible further research on the connections between the phenomena of the Bell Beaker pottery and its overall designs and prestige status especially in the area of Jutland.
Written By: Catherine Johns
Bibliography
Prieto-MartÍnez, M. Pilar.
2008 Bell Beaker Communities in Thy: The First Bronze Age Society in Denmark.
Norwegian Archaeological Review. 41(2):115-158.
Symbolic Interpretation of Homelots
Although the material and functional aspects of households are the most readily amenable to archaeological interpretation, symbolic archeologists would argue that one must surpass the purely material and functional understanding of domestic structures, to examine households as symbolic representations of the people who inhabit(ed) them.
Symbolic archaeology arose in the 1980’s under the umbrella term ‘post-processual archaeology,’ as a reaction to the rigid materialism and ecologically-deterministic view of culture which dominated prior archaeological study. Symbolic archaeologists, like Ian Hodder are often critical of the ability of material culture’s “function and utility in explaining social and cultural systems,” where “material culture is seen simply as a passive object of functional use” (Hodder 1982: 3). Instead, Hodder (1982) believed that culture, and material remains, should be interpreted for meaning rather than function. Historical archaeologists, Rotman and Nassaney (1997) subscribe to Hodder’s notions of symbolism in their investigations of the evolution of a residential homelot in Plainwell, Michigan from the mid-19th century up to 1990.
Rotman and Nassaney’s (1997) argument centers around the idea that landscapes, particularly residential architecture and the surrounding Woodhams homelot, serve as a “medium of communication that symbolically expresses status or other social roles” (1997: 42). In their investigation of this particular Michigan homelot, Rotman and Nassaney (1997) utilize historical documents (including: government and legal documentation, historic maps, newspapers, and photographic and architectural evidence), along with interviews of current and past residents, and archaeological subsurface excavations of the house and surrounding garden and outhouse areas. The historical evidence indicates that the village of Plainwell, Michigan “witnessed political, economic, and social changes at the local, regional, and national levels since the mid-19th century” (1997: 42). However, despite the changes in American society on these multiple scales, the archaeological excavations of the Woodhams homelot suggest evidence for a considerable amount of continuity in glass and gender relations. In particular, evidence of the shared use of the barn (a traditionally male space), the garden (traditionally tended by women), and the simplified floor-plan of the house are indicative of a sexually-integrated space, reflecting “the complementary nature of gender relations,” (1997:59) specific to this homelot. The authors argue that the particularities of this homelot do not fit more traditional models of the “urban farmstead,” commonly used to explain the lifestyle for people in this place and time period. Rotman and Nassaney (1997) stress that “landscape changes are more than merely physical adaptations to the external world . . . rather, they are symbolic elements that are shaped by social dynamics at multiple scales” (58)
This article speaks not only to the importance of a mixture of methodological approaches (historical, ethnographic, and archaeological), but also to the particular and contextualized nature of past people’s lives – a concept championed by symbolic archaeology. Rotman and Nassaney (1997) adequately illuminate how to symbolically interpret class and gender relations in a specific historical and geographical context, and “eludicdate how the seemingly static and opaque facades of American life can be penetrated by a critical eye to expose the connection between human action and its material product” (59).
By:Karen Wurzburger
References:
Hodder, Ian
1982 Theoretical Archaeology: a Reactionary View. In Symbolic and Structural Archaeology, edited by I. Hodder, pp. 1-16. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.
Rotman, D.L. & Nassaney M.S.
1997 Class, Gender, and the Built Environment: Deriving Social Relations from Cultural Landscapes in Southwest Michigan. Historical Archaeology 31(2): 42-62.
Symbolic archaeology arose in the 1980’s under the umbrella term ‘post-processual archaeology,’ as a reaction to the rigid materialism and ecologically-deterministic view of culture which dominated prior archaeological study. Symbolic archaeologists, like Ian Hodder are often critical of the ability of material culture’s “function and utility in explaining social and cultural systems,” where “material culture is seen simply as a passive object of functional use” (Hodder 1982: 3). Instead, Hodder (1982) believed that culture, and material remains, should be interpreted for meaning rather than function. Historical archaeologists, Rotman and Nassaney (1997) subscribe to Hodder’s notions of symbolism in their investigations of the evolution of a residential homelot in Plainwell, Michigan from the mid-19th century up to 1990.
Rotman and Nassaney’s (1997) argument centers around the idea that landscapes, particularly residential architecture and the surrounding Woodhams homelot, serve as a “medium of communication that symbolically expresses status or other social roles” (1997: 42). In their investigation of this particular Michigan homelot, Rotman and Nassaney (1997) utilize historical documents (including: government and legal documentation, historic maps, newspapers, and photographic and architectural evidence), along with interviews of current and past residents, and archaeological subsurface excavations of the house and surrounding garden and outhouse areas. The historical evidence indicates that the village of Plainwell, Michigan “witnessed political, economic, and social changes at the local, regional, and national levels since the mid-19th century” (1997: 42). However, despite the changes in American society on these multiple scales, the archaeological excavations of the Woodhams homelot suggest evidence for a considerable amount of continuity in glass and gender relations. In particular, evidence of the shared use of the barn (a traditionally male space), the garden (traditionally tended by women), and the simplified floor-plan of the house are indicative of a sexually-integrated space, reflecting “the complementary nature of gender relations,” (1997:59) specific to this homelot. The authors argue that the particularities of this homelot do not fit more traditional models of the “urban farmstead,” commonly used to explain the lifestyle for people in this place and time period. Rotman and Nassaney (1997) stress that “landscape changes are more than merely physical adaptations to the external world . . . rather, they are symbolic elements that are shaped by social dynamics at multiple scales” (58)
This article speaks not only to the importance of a mixture of methodological approaches (historical, ethnographic, and archaeological), but also to the particular and contextualized nature of past people’s lives – a concept championed by symbolic archaeology. Rotman and Nassaney (1997) adequately illuminate how to symbolically interpret class and gender relations in a specific historical and geographical context, and “eludicdate how the seemingly static and opaque facades of American life can be penetrated by a critical eye to expose the connection between human action and its material product” (59).
By:Karen Wurzburger
References:
Hodder, Ian
1982 Theoretical Archaeology: a Reactionary View. In Symbolic and Structural Archaeology, edited by I. Hodder, pp. 1-16. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.
Rotman, D.L. & Nassaney M.S.
1997 Class, Gender, and the Built Environment: Deriving Social Relations from Cultural Landscapes in Southwest Michigan. Historical Archaeology 31(2): 42-62.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Dr. Robert Kelly: More Questions on the First Americans
On January 29, Dr. Robert Kelly gave an excellent presentation on the Pleistocene colonization of North America at the CU Boulder campus. His talk addressed several issues in interpreting existing published data on our earliest evidence of human settlement on the American continent. It was, in part, a reality check on what we really know about the very first “Americans”, while also providing a very good update on the most recent information on colonization.
Part of Dr. Kelly’s talk involved countering a theory that was, at least at the time of his presentation, not yet published. While it may seem bit unfair to counter an argument before it‘s been officially presented, Dr. Kelly would have been negligent to discuss North American colonization without addressing the alternate theory to some extent. The theory in question is the Solutrean Hypothesis. The hypothesis suggests that the first North Americans came from Europe and landed on the Atlantic shore. As evidence, its authors note the lack of evidence for Clovis points (the earliest known cultural evidence for humans on this continent) in the Northwest, which should contain the first (and supposedly the most plentiful) evidence if the first colonies did indeed come across the Bearing Strait from Asia. Clovis and European Solutrean technological similarities, coupled with a relatively high instance of Clovis discoveries in the Eastern U.S., suggest a European origin.
Dr. Kelly discussed four potential alternative explanations for the relatively high Eastern density of Clovis:
- The currently very high population in the Eastern U.S. has lead to many more accidental discoveries of Clovis.
- The Eastern U.S. may have been more environmentally productive, leading to a much higher prehistoric, post-colonization population density.
- Greater use of agriculture in the East leads to more accidental tilled field discoveries.
- More archaeological field work in the East may also skew the data.
Mary Prasciunas’ study of fluted point densities showed that the first three of the above possibilities could be demonstrated. (Unfortunately, the greater amount of archaeological field work actually done in the Midwest was not enough to alter the overall balance of the data.) When compensating for these factors, the highest apparent density appears to be in what is now Colorado, actually near the center of the continent. For the most part, Clovis appears to be fairly evenly distributed throughout North America. There was some discussion about the mining process producing a possible increase in accidental discoveries, and Kelly pointed out that compensating for this possibility might only show a more even distribution of Clovis across the U.S.
Kelly also discussed Waters and Stafford’s 2007 re-evaluation of existing Clovis point data, much of which is fairly old and utilizes an outdated carbon dating technique. As a result, only 11 dates were used to determine a date range for Clovis, which produced a potential life span of only 200 - 450 years. Waters and Stafford argued that Clovis was both too short lived and too expansive to have migrated across the country through settlement, therefore Clovis must have been culturally transmitted through existing populations. Mary Prasciunas and Todd Surovell have concluded that it would take at least 750 years for colonists to spread over the North American continent. However, an analysis of date range statistics with limited samples shows that a sample size of 11 within a 750 year total range would most likely give a range somewhere near 230 to 580 years. Dr. Kelly concludes that reasonable accuracy in this application requires at least 100 samples.
Kelly did, however, suggest that a pre-Clovis technology most likely did exist in North America. Although it’s only one example, the Five Mile Cave site contains human coprolites and pre-dates Clovis. Five Mile Cave was discovered exactly where we should find the “real” first colonizers, in the Pacific Northwest. This lead to a discussion on the lack of Clovis finds in rock shelters, which suggests that early colonizers who would most likely have frequently utilized the caves most likely did not use Clovis technology.
Kelly concluded that the Solutrean Hypothesis is definitely not supported by an accurate interpretation of existing Clovis point data. Further, due to a lack of accurate data the Clovis age range is unknown, but most likely considerably wider than the suggested 450 years; and that the rate of rockshelter use does not support the popular Clovis colonization model.
But the main conclusions regarding research design were also quite evident. Kelly’s presentation showed how interpretations based on pre-existing archaeological data can be skewed by assumptions about the nature of the data collected (e.g. that it is represents an evenly distributed geographic sample, that data collection methods are the same and equally reliable over time, etc.), and how small samples can actually bias the data towards a particular interpretation.
Part of Dr. Kelly’s talk involved countering a theory that was, at least at the time of his presentation, not yet published. While it may seem bit unfair to counter an argument before it‘s been officially presented, Dr. Kelly would have been negligent to discuss North American colonization without addressing the alternate theory to some extent. The theory in question is the Solutrean Hypothesis. The hypothesis suggests that the first North Americans came from Europe and landed on the Atlantic shore. As evidence, its authors note the lack of evidence for Clovis points (the earliest known cultural evidence for humans on this continent) in the Northwest, which should contain the first (and supposedly the most plentiful) evidence if the first colonies did indeed come across the Bearing Strait from Asia. Clovis and European Solutrean technological similarities, coupled with a relatively high instance of Clovis discoveries in the Eastern U.S., suggest a European origin.
Dr. Kelly discussed four potential alternative explanations for the relatively high Eastern density of Clovis:
- The currently very high population in the Eastern U.S. has lead to many more accidental discoveries of Clovis.
- The Eastern U.S. may have been more environmentally productive, leading to a much higher prehistoric, post-colonization population density.
- Greater use of agriculture in the East leads to more accidental tilled field discoveries.
- More archaeological field work in the East may also skew the data.
Mary Prasciunas’ study of fluted point densities showed that the first three of the above possibilities could be demonstrated. (Unfortunately, the greater amount of archaeological field work actually done in the Midwest was not enough to alter the overall balance of the data.) When compensating for these factors, the highest apparent density appears to be in what is now Colorado, actually near the center of the continent. For the most part, Clovis appears to be fairly evenly distributed throughout North America. There was some discussion about the mining process producing a possible increase in accidental discoveries, and Kelly pointed out that compensating for this possibility might only show a more even distribution of Clovis across the U.S.
Kelly also discussed Waters and Stafford’s 2007 re-evaluation of existing Clovis point data, much of which is fairly old and utilizes an outdated carbon dating technique. As a result, only 11 dates were used to determine a date range for Clovis, which produced a potential life span of only 200 - 450 years. Waters and Stafford argued that Clovis was both too short lived and too expansive to have migrated across the country through settlement, therefore Clovis must have been culturally transmitted through existing populations. Mary Prasciunas and Todd Surovell have concluded that it would take at least 750 years for colonists to spread over the North American continent. However, an analysis of date range statistics with limited samples shows that a sample size of 11 within a 750 year total range would most likely give a range somewhere near 230 to 580 years. Dr. Kelly concludes that reasonable accuracy in this application requires at least 100 samples.
Kelly did, however, suggest that a pre-Clovis technology most likely did exist in North America. Although it’s only one example, the Five Mile Cave site contains human coprolites and pre-dates Clovis. Five Mile Cave was discovered exactly where we should find the “real” first colonizers, in the Pacific Northwest. This lead to a discussion on the lack of Clovis finds in rock shelters, which suggests that early colonizers who would most likely have frequently utilized the caves most likely did not use Clovis technology.
Kelly concluded that the Solutrean Hypothesis is definitely not supported by an accurate interpretation of existing Clovis point data. Further, due to a lack of accurate data the Clovis age range is unknown, but most likely considerably wider than the suggested 450 years; and that the rate of rockshelter use does not support the popular Clovis colonization model.
But the main conclusions regarding research design were also quite evident. Kelly’s presentation showed how interpretations based on pre-existing archaeological data can be skewed by assumptions about the nature of the data collected (e.g. that it is represents an evenly distributed geographic sample, that data collection methods are the same and equally reliable over time, etc.), and how small samples can actually bias the data towards a particular interpretation.
Excavations at Rosita - an Elite Mayan Central Place Revisited
Mayan researcher Timothy Preston has included his third season of excavation at the Rosita Site in the 2008 Blue Creek Project field report (17th Sojourn: The 2008 Season of the Blue Creek Archaeological Project), submitted to the Institute of Archaeology in Belize. Having worked on a couple of other sites with Tim, I’m familiar with the some of his work and so I can provide some background where necessary.
Since the Maya Research Program’s Blue Creek Project does not maintain interpretive sites (which are considerably expensive to maintain), site work nearly always entails modified backfill, where the site is reburied in order to protect it from the elements and from looters. I use the term “modified” because the backfill is done in a way as to allow easy location of the site structure and avoid damage that may be done by re-excavation before structure boundaries are relocated. Tarps are initially laid over exposed structure before backfill and the fill material (dirt, cobbles, etc.) adjacent to the structure is typically of a very different composition, structure and color than the typical hardened limestone and caliche (extremely soft limestone with a nearly rubber-like consistency) that often hides elite Mayan architecture made from the same or similar material.
I’ve often wondered how often researchers really return to such sites, given the large time and labor investment with backfill, especially when heavy machinery is out of the question. Of course, allowing a site to rapidly decay to an unrecognizable mass of crumbled limestone seems unconscionable, so we backfill with little complaint. I was pleasantly surprised to see that Rosita was a revisited site. Partial excavation was done there in 2003, but no maps or photographs were produced from the site and a number of gaps exist in the data. To compound these issues, the backfill did not include tarps or any apparent intentionally placed indicative markers of the architecture. Fortunately, differences in soil color, texture and density related to the previous excavation were evident through most of the pre-excavated portion of the site.
Preston’s overall quest at Blue Creek, though not mentioned in this portion of the report, is to see how power and authority are reflected in classic Mayan architecture. This is part of the overall “scholarly imperative” of the Blue Creek Project and indeed the majority of Mayanists, to understand the Classic Mayan collapse. Preston looks for patterns in site layouts and locations relative to other elite and common site locations to determine the nature of Mayan authority and power, and how they were leveraged within the community. “Common” artifacts seem to be secondary, although artifacts do receive a great deal of attention when they appear to be significant to Preston’s line of questioning (i.e., the context within the architecture and the nature of the artifact may reveal something about Mayan power and authority.) Also, in apparent alignment with the idea that the causes of a culture’s fall may be seen in the nature of its rise, data on early classic and Preclassic architectural layers are also carefully collected.
2008 was actually the third year of Preston’s excavation at Rosita. To date, it appears that the Maya occupied the site from the middle of the Preclassic period through the Terminal Classic. Preston interprets Rosita as a secondary polity of at least eight residential groups including “numerous“ related non-residence structures, with semi-independent political ties to the Blue Creek site core 3.5 km away, from the later Preclassic to the Late Classic periods. While fluctuations in status among the Maya are common overall, Preston does not mention evidence of any such changes, so it appears to be assumed for now that Rosita’s political position remained relatively constant throughout its occupation. Overall, Rosita appears to follow the same layout pattern as nearly all other documented elite residences: All residences are arranged in groups that surround a large non-residential central place, which according to Preston serves as an administrative center for localized resource control.
Tim’s field work for 2008 concentrated on the apparent central place for Rosita. Three phases of construction were identified: a Late Preclassic phase (Phase I), an Early Classic phase (Phase II) and a Late Classic phase (Phase III). Three dating techniques were used for cross-verification; architectural features, construction sequence determination and ceramic analysis. The exact method of dating ceramics was not specified. Since dating appears to have been directed towards associations with Mayan cultural phases rather than numeric dates, a typological method seems likely (although numeric dates may simply not have been included in this report). Ceramics can be especially useful in this context since shards were often used by the Mayans as construction fill, thus providing a date that very closely precedes construction.
Aside from period verification, Preston’s project provided data on known dimensions (though partial excavation and detailed taphonomic circumstances left gaps in much of the Phase III data), orientation, features and various artifacts, which included empty cache boxes, an intact ceramic vessel that appeared to have been incorporated into the construction fill (an apparent dedicatory vessel), and stone “pens” of unknown function built on top of platform ledges. Interestingly, although new phases were built over the old, very little expansion of the previous structure took place during construction periods. Phase II data shows that what was later a single building, then existed as two buildings with a central corridor. So far, there have been no clues as to the specific functions of the buildings or the corridor. Preston states that during the Late Classic period, these buildings were combined, and then subsequently buried. Unfortunately, detailed evidence for his interpretation of the Phase II buildings’ demise is not given in the report. One of the Phase II buildings appears to have been built as a round structure during the preclassic period, and then modified into a quasi-rectilinear form with an extension during the Early Classic period.
Preston did not provide much detail on matrix measurements in his report, but context matrix resolution appears to be very course, as it was in other projects that used the same division terminology in an operation/sub-op/lot system (although sub-ops are really activity descriptions and were not incorporated into the data organization). My experience with Preston’s system elsewhere included work with lots of very large and irregularly sized and shaped areas that were defined relative to architectural features. Lots were the finest level of resolution for the locations of common artifacts. Special items were given more detailed positional descriptions in text form, but if their positions within the lot were measured at all, I never had the opportunity to observed this activity. This method reflects a much greater emphasis on associations with architecture, than on other considerations such as possible taphonomic shifts in position and potential interpretations of household activity.
Overall, thus far the project is showing some glimpses of inter-polity variability and standardization related to construction, and has given us a few more questions to ask. While a few details appear to be lacking (which may not be relevant to this report, but should be at least included in references to other information) and a goal bias may be present in Preston’s collection methods, Rosita has certainly given us more questions to ask. Fortunately, a 2009 report is in the works that should include further data on Rosita, and plans have been in the works for 2010 excavations as well.
Since the Maya Research Program’s Blue Creek Project does not maintain interpretive sites (which are considerably expensive to maintain), site work nearly always entails modified backfill, where the site is reburied in order to protect it from the elements and from looters. I use the term “modified” because the backfill is done in a way as to allow easy location of the site structure and avoid damage that may be done by re-excavation before structure boundaries are relocated. Tarps are initially laid over exposed structure before backfill and the fill material (dirt, cobbles, etc.) adjacent to the structure is typically of a very different composition, structure and color than the typical hardened limestone and caliche (extremely soft limestone with a nearly rubber-like consistency) that often hides elite Mayan architecture made from the same or similar material.
I’ve often wondered how often researchers really return to such sites, given the large time and labor investment with backfill, especially when heavy machinery is out of the question. Of course, allowing a site to rapidly decay to an unrecognizable mass of crumbled limestone seems unconscionable, so we backfill with little complaint. I was pleasantly surprised to see that Rosita was a revisited site. Partial excavation was done there in 2003, but no maps or photographs were produced from the site and a number of gaps exist in the data. To compound these issues, the backfill did not include tarps or any apparent intentionally placed indicative markers of the architecture. Fortunately, differences in soil color, texture and density related to the previous excavation were evident through most of the pre-excavated portion of the site.
Preston’s overall quest at Blue Creek, though not mentioned in this portion of the report, is to see how power and authority are reflected in classic Mayan architecture. This is part of the overall “scholarly imperative” of the Blue Creek Project and indeed the majority of Mayanists, to understand the Classic Mayan collapse. Preston looks for patterns in site layouts and locations relative to other elite and common site locations to determine the nature of Mayan authority and power, and how they were leveraged within the community. “Common” artifacts seem to be secondary, although artifacts do receive a great deal of attention when they appear to be significant to Preston’s line of questioning (i.e., the context within the architecture and the nature of the artifact may reveal something about Mayan power and authority.) Also, in apparent alignment with the idea that the causes of a culture’s fall may be seen in the nature of its rise, data on early classic and Preclassic architectural layers are also carefully collected.
2008 was actually the third year of Preston’s excavation at Rosita. To date, it appears that the Maya occupied the site from the middle of the Preclassic period through the Terminal Classic. Preston interprets Rosita as a secondary polity of at least eight residential groups including “numerous“ related non-residence structures, with semi-independent political ties to the Blue Creek site core 3.5 km away, from the later Preclassic to the Late Classic periods. While fluctuations in status among the Maya are common overall, Preston does not mention evidence of any such changes, so it appears to be assumed for now that Rosita’s political position remained relatively constant throughout its occupation. Overall, Rosita appears to follow the same layout pattern as nearly all other documented elite residences: All residences are arranged in groups that surround a large non-residential central place, which according to Preston serves as an administrative center for localized resource control.
Tim’s field work for 2008 concentrated on the apparent central place for Rosita. Three phases of construction were identified: a Late Preclassic phase (Phase I), an Early Classic phase (Phase II) and a Late Classic phase (Phase III). Three dating techniques were used for cross-verification; architectural features, construction sequence determination and ceramic analysis. The exact method of dating ceramics was not specified. Since dating appears to have been directed towards associations with Mayan cultural phases rather than numeric dates, a typological method seems likely (although numeric dates may simply not have been included in this report). Ceramics can be especially useful in this context since shards were often used by the Mayans as construction fill, thus providing a date that very closely precedes construction.
Aside from period verification, Preston’s project provided data on known dimensions (though partial excavation and detailed taphonomic circumstances left gaps in much of the Phase III data), orientation, features and various artifacts, which included empty cache boxes, an intact ceramic vessel that appeared to have been incorporated into the construction fill (an apparent dedicatory vessel), and stone “pens” of unknown function built on top of platform ledges. Interestingly, although new phases were built over the old, very little expansion of the previous structure took place during construction periods. Phase II data shows that what was later a single building, then existed as two buildings with a central corridor. So far, there have been no clues as to the specific functions of the buildings or the corridor. Preston states that during the Late Classic period, these buildings were combined, and then subsequently buried. Unfortunately, detailed evidence for his interpretation of the Phase II buildings’ demise is not given in the report. One of the Phase II buildings appears to have been built as a round structure during the preclassic period, and then modified into a quasi-rectilinear form with an extension during the Early Classic period.
Preston did not provide much detail on matrix measurements in his report, but context matrix resolution appears to be very course, as it was in other projects that used the same division terminology in an operation/sub-op/lot system (although sub-ops are really activity descriptions and were not incorporated into the data organization). My experience with Preston’s system elsewhere included work with lots of very large and irregularly sized and shaped areas that were defined relative to architectural features. Lots were the finest level of resolution for the locations of common artifacts. Special items were given more detailed positional descriptions in text form, but if their positions within the lot were measured at all, I never had the opportunity to observed this activity. This method reflects a much greater emphasis on associations with architecture, than on other considerations such as possible taphonomic shifts in position and potential interpretations of household activity.
Overall, thus far the project is showing some glimpses of inter-polity variability and standardization related to construction, and has given us a few more questions to ask. While a few details appear to be lacking (which may not be relevant to this report, but should be at least included in references to other information) and a goal bias may be present in Preston’s collection methods, Rosita has certainly given us more questions to ask. Fortunately, a 2009 report is in the works that should include further data on Rosita, and plans have been in the works for 2010 excavations as well.
Ethnoarchaeology & Household Organization
The digging-up and interpreting of ancient remains from civilizations past is often assumed to be the extent of an archaeologist’s work. However, archaeological methods have a wide range of uses that can include the interpretation of historical and even contemporary items. Ethnoarchaeology is the name given to an interdisciplinary approach aimed at examining modern societies, allowing us to further understand what our possessions say about ‘who we are,’ ‘how we live,’ and ‘what we value.’
In a study of trends in domestic leisure and storage among 24 contemporary middle-class Los Angeles families, Arnold and Lang (2006) utilize ethnoarchaeological methods to examine current household organization and consumption patterns. The 24 Los Angeles families were recruited through advertisement, and self-selected through volunteering. To qualify, the families had to carry a mortgage, have two parents (each working at least 30 hours per week) and at least two children living in the home. The combined income of the families in the study ranged from $59,000 to $500,000, and home size ranged from 735 to 3850 square feet. Data collection included filming each family in their daily routines over 4 days (2 week days and 2 weekend days); extensive digital photos taken of indoor and outdoor home spaces and belongings; family-narrated video home tours; and a detailed property map. Assessments were made based on the self-reported uses of home spaces, the number and types of possessions in each space, and average time spent in each space. Findings indicate that these middle-class families have a “salient home-storage crisis” due to the “buying [of] more possessions than their homes can absorb” (Arnold & Lang 2006: 23, 47). The increased consumption and buying of possessions has led to changes in use patterns of the home’s spaces, especially for garages and yards, which have become storage areas for often unused commodities. Although not overtly stated in article, Arnold and Lang’s evaluation of these modern middle-class households brings to mind the common ideology of the ‘American Dream’ and the overinflated expectations – that all Americans are entitled to live ‘the good life’ – and rationale for careless consumption it creates.
Ultimately, Arnold and Lang’s (2006) ethnoarchaological assessment provides important insight into how patterns of increased consumption in recent history can impact the use of residential space. However, it could be argued that their assessment of domestic architecture verges on functionalism – portraying the residential structure as merely a storage container, while ignoring other factors including the social and symbolic production of space. Also more studies including lower-income, renter, single-parent families, or those conducted in areas other than just Los Angeles, would be useful to shed more light on the consumption and the organization of space within and around the household.
As witnessed in the Arnold and Lang (2006) article, the archaeological examination of contemporary material culture can be an important supplement to data from historic documents and ethnographic interviews, producing a continuity between past and present and creating a more meaningful and robust picture of contemporary reality. Also, archaeological research on contemporary society could prove to be more relatable to a broader audience than that of research on societies from the distant past. Increased relate-ability and accessibility of archaeological research is important to extend the field’s reach beyond the realm of academia – to potentially inform educational programs, policy interventions, and behavior change in general. If it is agreed that history exists on a continuum, and that the purpose of archaeological inquiry is to interpret material remains to cultivate a better understanding of human life, then more recent material remains should be considered just as important in our construction of reality as the buried remnants of ancient and pre-literate societies.
By: Karen Wurzburger
Arnold, J.E & Lang, U.A
2006 Changing American home life: trends in domestic leisure and storage among middle-class families. Journal of Family Economic Issues 28: 23-48.
In a study of trends in domestic leisure and storage among 24 contemporary middle-class Los Angeles families, Arnold and Lang (2006) utilize ethnoarchaeological methods to examine current household organization and consumption patterns. The 24 Los Angeles families were recruited through advertisement, and self-selected through volunteering. To qualify, the families had to carry a mortgage, have two parents (each working at least 30 hours per week) and at least two children living in the home. The combined income of the families in the study ranged from $59,000 to $500,000, and home size ranged from 735 to 3850 square feet. Data collection included filming each family in their daily routines over 4 days (2 week days and 2 weekend days); extensive digital photos taken of indoor and outdoor home spaces and belongings; family-narrated video home tours; and a detailed property map. Assessments were made based on the self-reported uses of home spaces, the number and types of possessions in each space, and average time spent in each space. Findings indicate that these middle-class families have a “salient home-storage crisis” due to the “buying [of] more possessions than their homes can absorb” (Arnold & Lang 2006: 23, 47). The increased consumption and buying of possessions has led to changes in use patterns of the home’s spaces, especially for garages and yards, which have become storage areas for often unused commodities. Although not overtly stated in article, Arnold and Lang’s evaluation of these modern middle-class households brings to mind the common ideology of the ‘American Dream’ and the overinflated expectations – that all Americans are entitled to live ‘the good life’ – and rationale for careless consumption it creates.
Ultimately, Arnold and Lang’s (2006) ethnoarchaological assessment provides important insight into how patterns of increased consumption in recent history can impact the use of residential space. However, it could be argued that their assessment of domestic architecture verges on functionalism – portraying the residential structure as merely a storage container, while ignoring other factors including the social and symbolic production of space. Also more studies including lower-income, renter, single-parent families, or those conducted in areas other than just Los Angeles, would be useful to shed more light on the consumption and the organization of space within and around the household.
As witnessed in the Arnold and Lang (2006) article, the archaeological examination of contemporary material culture can be an important supplement to data from historic documents and ethnographic interviews, producing a continuity between past and present and creating a more meaningful and robust picture of contemporary reality. Also, archaeological research on contemporary society could prove to be more relatable to a broader audience than that of research on societies from the distant past. Increased relate-ability and accessibility of archaeological research is important to extend the field’s reach beyond the realm of academia – to potentially inform educational programs, policy interventions, and behavior change in general. If it is agreed that history exists on a continuum, and that the purpose of archaeological inquiry is to interpret material remains to cultivate a better understanding of human life, then more recent material remains should be considered just as important in our construction of reality as the buried remnants of ancient and pre-literate societies.
By: Karen Wurzburger
Arnold, J.E & Lang, U.A
2006 Changing American home life: trends in domestic leisure and storage among middle-class families. Journal of Family Economic Issues 28: 23-48.
The Village Ecodynamics Project
Human interaction with the environment in prehistory has provided researchers a significant question; how did people shape the environment in which they lived? The Village Ecodynamics Project is an attempt at analyzing the historical ecology of ancestral pueblo people in the Mesa Verde region during their occupation from A.D. 600 – A.D. 1300. The paper by Mark D. Varien et al., Historical Ecology in the Mesa Verde Region: Results from the Village Ecodynamics Project, is the resulting analysis and assessment of the data gathered from the project. The authors strive not only to develop new historical ecological implications, but also implications for pueblo history in the Mesa Verde region.
In order to develop a comprehensive analysis of the regions human environment interaction, three interrelated aspects were tied together. The Village Ecodynamic Project first, focuses on the long and short term climactic fluctuations in relation to agricultural success and population movement. Second, by integrating climactic information with geographic data, including soils, geomorphology and agricultural strategies, Varien et al. attempt to create a model for agricultural productivity on specific landscapes. Finally, the authors analyze how anthropogenic changes in the environment impacted the populations living in the region. With these underlying assumptions, the authors present the results of several studies to support their final assessment.
The foundation for the author’s analysis is based on the assessment 3,176 habitation sites in the region. Habitation sites were determined as having the presence of a trash midden and at least one pit structure depression to indicate year round occupation. Sites were then broken into smaller categories including single habitations, multiple habitations and community centers. These categories were based on the number of pit structures and total number of structures. This established a data set that would later be used in the modeling of population dynamics in the region.
The authors developed a model for paleoproductivity for 14 temporal periods based on the single most important crop in the region; maize. A model was essentially created that took into account for soil characteristics, moisture levels, length of a growing season, and land elevation. These aspects were determined to be the most crucial in assessing agricultural production. The resulting model was able to reconstruct production levels for the 14 periods and establish when production levels were at their lowest.
The third and final method used by the authors to establish a baseline for their concluding assessments was the analysis of the long term use of wood. They used the tree-ring database compiled by the Crow Canyon Archaeological center as indicators of periods of general construction activity. Varien et al. acknowledges sampling issues with tree-ring dating and consequently, used the data as only general indicators rather than a true proxy for population size.
By tying together the resulting data from these three methods, the authors were able to make several conclusions concerning historical ecology and pueblo history. The models established a total population estimate of 197,000 between A.D. 600 – 1300, with a peak of 19,500 in the mid thirteenth century. Populations never reached levels that could not be supported by the carrying capacity of the regional environment, and as such were not responsible for the collapse of the system. The region bore witness to periods of both immigration and emigration. Population movement was responsible for cultural transitions and therefore, the pueblo population history was dynamic. Ecological and social factors are intertwined when assessing the history of aggregated settlements. An increased population size affected the size of aggregates. However, a population increase may not directly increase environmental impacts. The final conclusion drawn from the data is that issues of historical ecology is not simply relegated to Mesa Verde region but, has important implications on societal interactions beyond the borders of the project area.
The overarching nature of the project provides significant understanding into the question of historical human environmental interaction in the Mesa Verde region during puebloan occupation. However, it is that same overarching nature that leads to shortcomings in the final analysis. Their model for paleoproductivity estimates is based on the creation of a modern index (A.D. 1930-1960) and then regressed to A.D. 600 to make analytic comparison of maize production. They attempted eliminate technological variables and only calibrate for the variable years. The method for creating the model takes into account what they believe are the most important factors in production and yet, they even acknowledge the limitation. Additional variables may need to be taken into account in future studies to provide for an accurate analysis. In this sense the temporal production values become more generalized rather than the intended formation of firm data to compare with population densities.
The Village Ecodynamics Project is an extensive and exhaustive study of human environmental interactions. The resulting article by Varian et al. is an attempt at developing models and an ensuing analysis. Due to the scope of the project, the authors are able to develop an interesting initial assessment of Mesa Verde historical ecology, while acknowledging the limitation they currently face. By recognizing that further study is necessary, the authors are able substantiate their findings as an initial baseline to build upon.
References Cited
Varien, Mark D., Scott G. Ortman, Timothy A. Kohler, Donna M. Glowacki, and C. David Johnson
2007 Historical Ecology in the Mesa Verde Region: Results from the Village Ecodynamics Project.
American Antiquity 72(2): 273-299.
Ballcourts and Ceramics
Archaeologists regard the Hohokam as geographically distinct communities that encompassed much of southern and central Arizona and yet, were tied together through perceived shared religious beliefs. This intrinsic connection between Hohokam communities establishes a fundamental basis for cultural and economic interactions. David R. Abbott, Alexa M. Smith and Emiliano Gallaga’s paper Ballcourts and Ceramics: The Case for Hohokam Marketplaces in the Arizona Desert, is an attempt to formalize the connection between a centralized ritual activity, the ballgame, and the exchange of essential goods, specifically pottery. Using the ceramic data from the lower Salt River Valley, the authors strive to establish a temporal link with the ritual ceremonialism of the ballcourts and the production and distribution of ceramics in the region.
The Hohokam built an impressive system of irrigation works to cultivate fields and become successful desert farmers. In order to maintain the canal systems vital to agricultural production, community cooperation was necessary. With the ability to produce agricultural surpluses, the Phoenix basin became densely inhabited, becoming the core of the Hohokam regional system. The lowland irrigated valleys were well suited for agricultural production and the ability to create surpluses and yet, were lacking in other natural resources. The surrounding highlands were faced with opposite problem. They had a wealth of resources but a marginal environment made for poor agriculture. A system of exchange would provide a beneficial relationship for these independent communities that identified with a common religious ideology.
The beginning of the 9th century A.D. bore witness to the construction of the first Hohokam ballcourts. Hohokam ballcourts were earthen constructions in which a version of the Mesoamerican ballgame was played. It is estimated that ballcourts were present in nearly every Hohokam village. The ceremonial ballgame provided an opportunity for large groups of people to come together and facilitate the exchange of goods from the various ecologically distinct regions. The ritual activity of the ballgame became essentially linked with economic trade. Essential goods such as pottery could be distributed on a large scale, creating a specialized ceramics market. The periodic marketplaces that occurred simultaneous with the ballgame allowed for the spread of goods without being reliant on kinship or other social ties. The ballgame created an opportunity for the distribution of specialized goods over vast distances. However, by the end of Classic period Hohokam ballcourts had fallen into disrepair. Without a centralized market, populations were forced to revert to localized production.
Abbott et al., uses ceramic data sets collected at Las Colinas, Pueblo Grande, and Los Hornos to establish a temporal correlation between the presences of pottery at ballcourt sites and marketplace activities. Temper type has become an important indicator of production source for ceramics, making it relatively easy to determine provenance for individual ceramics. The authors contend that more than “90 percent of the bowls and jars in the valley households could be accounted for by the output of artisans residing in only five pottery source areas.” (Abbott et al. 2007). This information implies that there was an effective means for the distribution of specialized ceramics wares to an overreaching population base. It is also implied that production was not based on a tribute economy, but rather a market based economy. The distribution of ceramics recovered at these three sites establishes a strong association between the ceremonial activity of the ballgame and marketplace activities.
By creating a chronology for the ceramic assemblages located at the three sites the authors firmly established a relationship between the quantities of highly distributed ceramics at the height of the ballgame ceremonialism and a near absence by A.D. 1070, when ballcourts were being abandoned. As imported ceramics were becoming absent during the decline of the ballcourt network, an increase in locally produced wares appear in greater quantities. Abbott et al. uses this information to support their hypothesis that the ceremonial ballgame facilitated an opportunity for the distribution of specialized ceramics and a marketplace based economy. Without the ballgame to create an occasion for distribution, essential items were once again being produced at the local level.
The author’s use of ceramics as a temporal indicator in relation to possible connection with ceremonial ballcourt activities and a market place economy provides a clear support for their hypothesis. If trade of unique pottery on large scale were taking place at ballgame, it would be indicated by the temporal distribution in the ceramic data sets of sites. This is what the authors clearly demonstrated in their analyses of the data. However, they are subjugated to a limited number of sites to compare. They even indicate that only a handful of ballcourts have been excavated and even fewer have been properly dated. In order to irrefutably make the connection between ballcourts and interregional trade, a greater number of site comparisons need to be made.
Understanding the relationship between ceremonial activities that draw large numbers of people and the exchange of goods is valuable in understanding social connections of a region. How did people interact at the ballgame and why were goods exchanged on a large scale? Are there modern correlates in today’s sporting events? Abbott et al. methods for analyzing the information provided by ceramics recovered at Hohokam ballcourt sites indicate that the ritual activity lead to the formation of periodic marketplaces and craft specialization.
References Cited
2007 Ballcourts and Ceramics: The Case for Hohokam Marketplaces in the Arizona Desert.
American Antiquity 72(3): 461-484.
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