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 In their investigation of this particular Michigan homelot, Rotman and Nassaney (1997) utilize historical documents (including: government and legal documentation, historic maps, newspapers, and photographic and architectural evidence), along with interviews of current and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.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
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.
Fire a Tool for Engineering?
There is a long standing debate in Archaeology as to when the modern behavior we see in humans appeared (Brown et. al. 2009: 859). Though the date of its emergence has been pushed back as far as back as 80 k years ago with evidence of symbolic behavior increasing all the time, some still argue that it emerged even earlier (Brown et. al. 2009: 859). These scientists argue that there is evidence that pushes this date as far back as Middle Stone Age (Brown et. al. 2009: 859). This evidence includes complex behaviors like the use of bone tools, composite tools, blades, and controlled use of fire (Brown et. al. 2009: 859).
This is where the article “Fire as an Engineering Tool of Early Modern Humans” comes in, Brown et. al. believe they can show not only controlled use of fire, but the use of fire to heat treat stones in order “to improve their flaking properties” as early as 164 ka (2009: 859 and 861). In order to prove this hypothesis, they started by looking at the ethnographic record and found that in Australia silcrete was heat treated and that this heat treatment by the indigenous knappers increased their ability to work with it (Brown et. al. 2009: 859). They then copied the process the indigenous groups used to heat treat these tools in order to gain an example of what to look for in ancient tools collected from the sites of Still Bay and Pinnacle Point to evaluate whether or not these tools had been heat treated (Brown et. al. 2009: 859). They copied this process by slowly heating silcrete 350 C and then flaked these rocks (Brown et. al. 2009: 859). They then ran a rebounded hardness tests on the experimentally created silcrete tool, this test can tell scientists whether or not a rock will fracture in a predictable manner (Brown et. al. 2009: 859). They found that the tools they created through heat treatment could be made with a finer cutting edge and fractured with greater predictability than those rocks that had not been heat treated, which would have allowed for the production of bifaces that was more efficient than rocks not heat treated (Brown et. al. 2009: 859-860). Brown et. al. also discovered that the heat treated specimens they created looked a lot like those collected from the site of Still Bay (2009: 859).
Brown et. al.’s next step was to show that burnt tools from these archaeological sites were not being altered accidentally by hearths or bush fires (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). In order to do this they preformed three tests on slicrete tools from the two aforementioned archaeological sites (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). The first was a mineral magnetic analysis, which is meant to show whether or not these artifacts have a large amount of burnt sediment or are “combustion features” (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). Neither of these features was present in the artifacts, which according to this test means that these artifacts were not accidently burned (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). The second test they preformed was Palaeomagnetic analysis which can tell researchers if the natural direction of the magnetic field has been altered by being heated to a temperature above the Curie point (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). This magnetic field can also be partially altered if the temperature the rocks are heated to a temperature that is under a rock's Curie point (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). When Brown et. al. preformed this test they found that these tools were heated to temperatures between 300 to 400 degrees C, which is the normal temperature range that hearths can reach in South Africa not only today, but in prehistoric times as well (2009: 860). The final test was a maximum gloss test which simply shows whether or not the flaked surface is more reflectant than usually, greater reflectance indicates that a rock has been heat treated before it was flaked (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). This test showed that these archaeologically discovered tools had been heat treated before they were flaked due to their high level of gloss (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). Thus, all the tests performed showed that these tools were not accidently burnt, but were heat treated (Brown et. al. 2009: 860).
Brown et. al. has done a very good job of showing that not only was heat treating technology an effective way of increasing a rocks flaking ability, but also that these rocks heat treatment did not happen accidentally (2009: 859-860). They did not use just one test to do this either, they used multiple tests which allowed these scientists to back up their findings (Brown et. al. 2009: 859-869). They did such a good job that there only appears to be one problem with their analysis, small sample size (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). For example, when they performed their palaeomagnetic analysis they were only able to use 13 of the rocks from those they sampled (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). Otherwise, this analysis of a complex behavior from the Middle Stone Age is a very good addition to the increasing proof that modern human behavior arose very early in our evolution (Brown et. al. 2009: 859).
By: Laura Bailey
Work Cited
Brown, Kyle S., Curtis W. Marean, Andy I. R. Herries, Zenobia Jacobs, Chantel Tribolo, David Braun, David L. Roberts, Micheal C. Meyer, and Jocelyn Bernatchez
2009 Fire as a Engineering Tool of Early Modern Humans. Science 325: 859-862.
This is where the article “Fire as an Engineering Tool of Early Modern Humans” comes in, Brown et. al. believe they can show not only controlled use of fire, but the use of fire to heat treat stones in order “to improve their flaking properties” as early as 164 ka (2009: 859 and 861). In order to prove this hypothesis, they started by looking at the ethnographic record and found that in Australia silcrete was heat treated and that this heat treatment by the indigenous knappers increased their ability to work with it (Brown et. al. 2009: 859). They then copied the process the indigenous groups used to heat treat these tools in order to gain an example of what to look for in ancient tools collected from the sites of Still Bay and Pinnacle Point to evaluate whether or not these tools had been heat treated (Brown et. al. 2009: 859). They copied this process by slowly heating silcrete 350 C and then flaked these rocks (Brown et. al. 2009: 859). They then ran a rebounded hardness tests on the experimentally created silcrete tool, this test can tell scientists whether or not a rock will fracture in a predictable manner (Brown et. al. 2009: 859). They found that the tools they created through heat treatment could be made with a finer cutting edge and fractured with greater predictability than those rocks that had not been heat treated, which would have allowed for the production of bifaces that was more efficient than rocks not heat treated (Brown et. al. 2009: 859-860). Brown et. al. also discovered that the heat treated specimens they created looked a lot like those collected from the site of Still Bay (2009: 859).
Brown et. al.’s next step was to show that burnt tools from these archaeological sites were not being altered accidentally by hearths or bush fires (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). In order to do this they preformed three tests on slicrete tools from the two aforementioned archaeological sites (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). The first was a mineral magnetic analysis, which is meant to show whether or not these artifacts have a large amount of burnt sediment or are “combustion features” (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). Neither of these features was present in the artifacts, which according to this test means that these artifacts were not accidently burned (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). The second test they preformed was Palaeomagnetic analysis which can tell researchers if the natural direction of the magnetic field has been altered by being heated to a temperature above the Curie point (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). This magnetic field can also be partially altered if the temperature the rocks are heated to a temperature that is under a rock's Curie point (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). When Brown et. al. preformed this test they found that these tools were heated to temperatures between 300 to 400 degrees C, which is the normal temperature range that hearths can reach in South Africa not only today, but in prehistoric times as well (2009: 860). The final test was a maximum gloss test which simply shows whether or not the flaked surface is more reflectant than usually, greater reflectance indicates that a rock has been heat treated before it was flaked (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). This test showed that these archaeologically discovered tools had been heat treated before they were flaked due to their high level of gloss (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). Thus, all the tests performed showed that these tools were not accidently burnt, but were heat treated (Brown et. al. 2009: 860).
Brown et. al. has done a very good job of showing that not only was heat treating technology an effective way of increasing a rocks flaking ability, but also that these rocks heat treatment did not happen accidentally (2009: 859-860). They did not use just one test to do this either, they used multiple tests which allowed these scientists to back up their findings (Brown et. al. 2009: 859-869). They did such a good job that there only appears to be one problem with their analysis, small sample size (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). For example, when they performed their palaeomagnetic analysis they were only able to use 13 of the rocks from those they sampled (Brown et. al. 2009: 860). Otherwise, this analysis of a complex behavior from the Middle Stone Age is a very good addition to the increasing proof that modern human behavior arose very early in our evolution (Brown et. al. 2009: 859).
By: Laura Bailey
Work Cited
Brown, Kyle S., Curtis W. Marean, Andy I. R. Herries, Zenobia Jacobs, Chantel Tribolo, David Braun, David L. Roberts, Micheal C. Meyer, and Jocelyn Bernatchez
2009 Fire as a Engineering Tool of Early Modern Humans. Science 325: 859-862.
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