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Room 38, Pueblo Bonito

In a recent post, I noted the limited distribution of macaw remains within Pueblo Bonito.  While this site has a much higher number of macaws than any other Chacoan site, and more than almost every other site in the prehistoric Southwest, within the site macaw remains were highly concentrated.  All macaws were found in the eastern half of the site, and most were in the eastern part of “Old Bonito” at the northern end of the overall site, particularly in Room 38, which had twelve.  This suggests to me that macaws were closely associated with whatever social group lived in or used that part of Pueblo Bonito.

It’s hard to say what that social group was, but it’s possible that the burials in a complex of four rooms in the northern part of Old Bonito were associated with it.  Associating these burials with the eastern rooms in Old Bonito is perhaps a bit of a stretch, since the burial rooms are actually in the western half of the Old Bonito arc, but they’re just barely on the west side, and there is a separate set of burial rooms at the far western end of Old Bonito that could be plausibly associated with whatever social group lived in or used those rooms.  There is no equivalent set of burial rooms in the eastern part of the arc, although there are a few isolated burials of infants and fetuses.  (Two of the infant burials, in Rooms 306 and 309, were associated with macaws.)  The eastern end of Old Bonito was covered over by later construction and is poorly known, but there is no evidence that it ever held a mortuary complex comparable to the one at the western end.  Given the circumstances, I think it’s plausible that the northern burial complex was associated with the group (or one of the groups) associated with the eastern part of Pueblo Bonito, perhaps in addition to the group associated with the immediately adjacent room suite at the west end of the northern part of Old Bonito, if this was indeed a different group.

Western Burial Rooms in Old Bonito

Analysis of the Pueblo Bonito burials by Nancy Akins for the Chaco Project found that, judging from cranial attributes, the northern and western burial groups were distinct from each other but internally homogeneous.  This suggests that they probably represented kin-based social units, and that the site consisted of at least two of these units, perhaps occupying or using different areas.  Akins couldn’t find a very large sample of burials from other sites in the canyon for comparison, but she was able to compare burials from three small sites in the canyon.  One of these, Bc 59, is across from Bonito on the south side of the canyon near Casa Rinconada, while the other two, 29SJ299 and 29SJ1360, are in Fajada Gap, a few miles east and the location of a substantial community of small houses and two great houses (Una Vida and Kin Nahasbas) in close proximity to Fajada Butte.

While the two burial populations in Pueblo Bonito weren’t particularly similar to each other, they more closely resembled the small site samples.  Specifically, the western burial population was similar to the one from Bc 59, while the northern burial group was more similar to the Fajada Gap group.  Importantly, the two Bonito groups were both more similar to these small-house populations than they were to each other.  This suggests that kinship connections among different sites in the canyon were complicated and didn’t break down on straightforward great house v. small house lines.

Bc 59 from Casa Rinconada

What does all this have to do with macaws?  Well, there is only one small house site at Chaco (as far as I know) that has produced macaw remains, and that site is… 29SJ1360, one of the sites with burials that patterned with the northern burial group at Bonito!  As reported by Peter McKenna in his report on this site, which was excavated by the Chaco Project, a few macaw bones were found in the fill from one of the pit structures.  While there were only a few bones found, they were all unique, suggesting the presence of only one macaw, and from various parts of the body, suggesting that the whole macaw was present.  This fill was only casually screened for artifacts and was later used to backfill the pit structure, so the rest of the macaw is probably still there.  This site also had an unusual architectural feature, a small bin attached to the outside of one of the roomblocks, that according to McKenna looked “remarkably like a parrot bin.”  One important feature that appears to have led to this conclusion was the presence of an adobe “plug” in the north wall, presumably reminiscent of the stone plugs used with “cage stones” at macaw pens at Casas Grandes, where there is substantial evidence for the keeping and breeding of macaws a few hundred years later.

This is all pretty tentative, of course.  Very few sites at Chaco have been excavated, so we have very little sense of the overall distribution of rare finds such as macaw remains.  Still, two separate lines of evidence (biological relationship and association with macaws) seem to point to a strong connection between the northern/eastern part of Pueblo Bonito and at least some sites in the Fajada Gap community, which is not particularly close to Bonito.  Given the rarity of macaws, especially, this seems significant.

Fajada Butte with Green Vegetation

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Room 38, Pueblo Bonito

Pueblo Bonito is the best-known and most-studied site at Chaco, but there’s still a lot we don’t know about it.  Because it was excavated early in the history of Southwestern archaeology, provenience information for the vast numbers of artifacts found at Bonito is not nearly as precise as would be expected today.  We do generally have information about what was in each excavated room, and often where in the room specific artifacts were, but the careful stratigraphic approaches used today were either totally unknown or in their infancy during the excavation of various parts of Bonito, so interpreting the field notes and site reports can be a challenge.  Partly for this reason, a lot of recent interpretations of Chaco have been based mainly on the more recent and better-documented excavations by the Chaco Project in the 1970s.  This makes Pueblo Alto in particular, the only great house extensively excavated by the Chaco Project, enormously influential in recent interpretations, not always in beneficial ways.  The Pueblo Bonito data has been incorporated into most theories to varying extents, but this often just takes the form of vague gesturing at the elaborate burials and huge quantities of high-value artifacts found there, and sometimes it basically amounts to discounting the importance of Bonito because it is so unlike the other sites.

Still, Bonito is important!  The problematic nature of the documentation notwithstanding, there’s still a ton of data available, and the Chaco Archive has been doing excellent work lately in making it more widely accessible.  Their cool interactive map of the site even allows you to click on a room and see a list of all the features, artifacts, tree-ring dates, and pictures associated with that room.  I’ve been playing around with it a lot lately, and there’s really a ton of interesting stuff in many of the rooms that we don’t hear so much about.

Room 309, Pueblo Bonito

Building on what I was saying earlier about a badger burial at a small site excavated by Earl Morris near Aztec, I decided to look for unusual animal burials or remains that might suggest some patterns in ritual practices or group identities at Bonito.  Many modern Pueblo clans are named after specific animals, and it seems reasonable that some Chacoan social groups (which may or may not be equivalent or ancestral to the modern clans) might have had similar identities that would lead them to leave animal remains in certain contexts that could indicate connections through time between different rooms or sites.  The Chaco Archive database allows you to search for specific types of artifacts, and it even has a special option for non-human burials.  The database doesn’t have all the sites included yet, but it does have all of Bonito, and it’s a powerful tool for finding information about the sites that are included.

Starting with the non-human burials, the ones at Bonito seem to all be of macaws and parrots.  The close connection between Bonito and macaws has long been noted, and Room 38 is particularly known for its large numbers of them, but one thing I hadn’t realized is that, like so much else at Bonito, the distribution of macaws is highly concentrated, not just in a few rooms, but specifically in a few rooms on the east side of the site.  The macaw burials, in addition to the two in Room 38, are in Rooms 71, 78, and 306, all of which are in the eastern part of Old Bonito.  Not all of these are actually formal burials, but they are all complete skeletons.  Extending the search to individual bones adds Rooms 249, 251, 309, and 312, as well as Kiva J and the east mound in front of the site.  Again, these are all on the east side of Bonito, although not just in Old Bonito this time.  Rooms 309 and 312 aren’t technically in Old Bonito, but they are among the rooms added right in front of it, and are very close to Rooms 306, 71, and 78, which also had macaws.  Rooms 249 and 251 are in the block of rooms added onto the southeast part of the site over an earlier extension that apparently built over part of the eastern end of Old Bonito (this part of the site is very complicated and its construction sequence is poorly understood).  Kiva J is one of the six blocked-in kivas between this block and the plaza.  And, of course, the east mound is the easternmost of the two mounds.

Kiva J, Pueblo Bonito

What does all this mean?  Many have suggested that the number of macaws at Bonito indicates the possible presence of a macaw clan like the one known today at Zuni.  If this is indeed the explanation for all the macaws, and it seems plausible given the restricted distribution of them to just a few sites at this time and the contexts in which they are found, it seems that this clan probably lived in or had claims on the eastern part of Pueblo Bonito, and that this association held not just in the earliest stages of the site but even after it was expanded.  Perhaps members of this clan were the initial residents of the eastern suites in Old Bonito, then when those rooms were converted to other uses as the site was expanded they moved into the new southeast wing.

One question that might be raised at this point is whether this distribution is actually specific to macaws.  Maybe all exotic birds and animals are concentrated in this part of the site, which would suggest that there might be something special about the eastern half of the site but not necessarily anything tied to a specific clan.  Some research into the layout of the rooms has shown that the southeast corner is unusual in not being divided into obvious room suites, whereas the southwest corner seems to be.  Maybe instead of the macaw clan living in the eastern half, everyone lived in the western half and they used the eastern half for macaw-related (and other) ritual.

Room 330, Pueblo Bonito

One way to test this would be to look at other unusual animals.  Finding animals of ritual importance beyond obvious exotics like macaws is tricky, because many animals were certainly used for mundane purposes and their remains are therefore all over.  Dogs and turkeys were kept domestically, so their remains probably wouldn’t indicate anything special about social groupings, and game animals such as rabbits and deer might have interesting implications for access to different kinds of meat but, again, not necessarily specific symbolic implications.  That basically leaves animals that don’t serve a clear subsistence or other utilitarian purpose but are nevertheless found in sufficient numbers to suggest something more than mere chance is behind their presence.  The best example I’ve found: bears.

You basically never hear about bears in discussions of Chaco.  They are not present in the area now and probably weren’t in antiquity either, and their remains are certainly rare at Chaco but not entirely absent.  At Pueblo Bonito, bear remains are mostly concentrated on the west side of the site, in stark contrast to the macaw remains on the east side.  There are some artifacts made of bear bone, including two apparent gaming pieces, one each from Rooms 267 and 290 (both on the east side), but there are also unworked bear bones, especially jaws and feet, particularly concentrated in Rooms 92, 102, and 109, which are part of the same suite of rooms in the west wing of Old Bonito.  Room 92 also had a bear hide and mass of hair that is probably also from a bear.  Another room in this part of the site, Room 330, had a grizzly bear jaw.  Another bear jaw was in Room 66 and a claw was in Room 10; both these rooms are on the east side of the site.  So not as clear-cut as the macaw evidence, but still a strong suggestion that people with some sort of connection to bears lived in the western part of the site.  The “bear-paw” motif is well-known in rock art, and George Pepper, who excavated these rooms, reported that Room 97 (the room under Room 92) had similar “bear paws” drawn on the smoke-blackened plaster.  Finally, Kiva Q, the great kiva in the west plaza, contained a (dedicatory?) cache of objects that included bear paws.  This is all very suggestive, though of course not totally dispositive.

Kiva Q and West Plaza, Pueblo Bonito

There may be other examples of these sorts of patterns that could give us a better sense of who exactly was living at Pueblo Bonito and what other people at which other sites they had particularly close ties to.  Despite the fact that this information has been available for a long time, it’s only now that it’s starting to become widely available in a useful form.  New analytical techniques are revolutionizing our understanding of Chaco in all sorts of ways, but one of the most important contributions technology can make is just to make existing information available so it can be assembled, analyzed, and compared to information from elsewhere.

Bear Paw at Three Rivers Petroglyph Site

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Wupatki Pueblo

One of the many similarities between Chaco and Casas Grandes in Chihuahua, in addition to the similar types of effigy vessels, is the presence of significant numbers of scarlet macaw skeletons at both sites.  As with most of these parallels, the evidence at Casas Grandes is more impressive in scale, with hundreds of macaws found as compared to dozens at Chaco.  It has long been argued that Casas Grandes may have been breeding the macaws, rather than importing them all directly from areas to the south, and that it may have even been the source of most of the macaws found elsewhere in the Southwest.  When it was thought that Casas Grandes was contemporaneous with Chaco, it seemed like an obvious source of the macaws found there and in the Mimbres area in between, but it is now known that the rise of Casas Grandes came well after the decline of Chaco, so wherever the macaws at Chaco came from, it wasn’t Casas Grandes.

So, leaving the question of Chaco and other early sites with macaws aside, what was going on with the macaws at Casas Grandes.  Were they indeed being bred and traded to other Southwestern sites, such as Wupatki in northern Arizona?  Or were they being imported directly from somewhere in Mesoamerica, either for trade or for local use?  A recent paper sets out to look at this question using stable isotope ratios, a type of analysis we have been seeing a lot of lately in Southwestern archaeology.  Specifically, the paper looks at the ratio of carbon-13 to carbon-12, widely used to determine the diet of an animal and specifically whether it was dependent on maize, and the ratio of oxygen-18 to oxygen-16, which reflects the chemical makeup of the water the animal drank and can be used as a rough proxy for the environment in which it was raised.  We’ve seen carbon isotope analysis recently used to show that Anasazi turkeys subsisted mainly on maize.  Oxygen isotope analysis is used less in the Southwest, but it is particularly useful here because the ratio varies with elevation, humidity, and proximity to the ocean, all of which are major differences between the high, dry Casas Grandes area and the humid coastal lowlands to the south where the scarlet macaw has its natural range.  The ratio thus gives a good sense of whether the birds were brought up from the south or raised right at Casas Grandes.  Strontium isotope ratios can pinpoint places of origin with more precision, but to be useful they have to be accompanied by a major sampling effort to determine the ratios in the various possible source areas.  The conclusion of this paper suggests that strontium analysis may be in the works, but as a first pass oxygen isotope analysis is a good way to go.

The carbon isotope analysis found that the macaws subsisted almost entirely on maize, although the very youngest nestlings seem to have been fed a more varied diet.  Clearly, then, these were not wild macaws captured in their natural habitat and brought north.  In addition, the oxygen isotope analysis found that all but one of the macaws had spent its life in the Casas Grandes area.  The exceptional macaw had an oxygen isotope ratio suggesting a more humid, low-lying environment, so it was likely traded up from somewhere in Mesoamerica.  This suggests that the macaws were indeed being bred at Casas Grandes, although trade relationships with Mesoamerican communities did involve the acquisition at least occasionally of additional birds.

This is all very interesting for understanding Casas Grandes, but what I find most intriguing about the paper is the possibility of using the same techniques on macaw bones from other parts of the Southwest, especially Chaco and other sites pre-dating Casas Grandes.  This paper seems to show pretty conclusively that macaw breeding was going on at Casas Grandes, but it’s still a very open question whether that was an innovation or the continuation of an earlier Southwestern tradition.  I think the Mimbres area is the best place to look for earlier macaw breeding, although obviously Chaco is a possibility as well.  The exact techniques used in this paper would really only be useful for determining if macaws were bred in captivity and if they came from Mesoamerica or somewhere in the Southwest, but the addition of strontium analysis would allow more precise identification of breeding areas within the Southwest, if indeed there were any earlier than Casas Grandes.
ResearchBlogging.org
Somerville, A., Nelson, B., & Knudson, K. (2010). Isotopic investigation of pre-Hispanic macaw breeding in Northwest Mexico Journal of Anthropological Archaeology, 29 (1), 125-135 DOI: 10.1016/j.jaa.2009.09.003

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Escalante Pueblo

As if on cue, given that I’ve been talking about turkey husbandry and stable isotope testing of human remains, a paper in the latest issue of the Journal of Archaeological Science combines the two, using similar stable isotope techniques on turkey remains from sites in southwestern Colorado to determine what the turkeys were eating.  The idea here is to test two possible hypotheses that have been proposed before:

  1. Turkeys were allowed to roam free in agricultural fields, eating whatever they found, especially insect pests that threatened the crops
  2. Turkeys were instead kept in pens or otherwise confined in domestic contexts and fed table scraps or other leftover/surplus portions of human food.

The assumptions behind the tests were that if Theory 1 is correct, the turkeys would have isotope ratios significantly different from those of humans, reflecting a diet based on local plants and insects or other small animals, whereas if Theory 2 is correct, the turkeys would have isotope ratios similar to those of humans, since they would be eating the same types of food, mostly maize.  The main sample of turkey bones tested came from Shields Pueblo near Cortez, Colorado, which was occupied primarily during the Pueblo II and Pueblo III periods (ca. 1020 to 1280 AD) and has been extensively excavated by Crow Canyon Archaeological Center.  This site is particularly well suited to this kind of study because it has one of the largest and best documented samples of faunal remains known in the area.  Bone samples from jackrabbits and cottontails found at Shields were also tested to provide a control sample of animals that would certainly have been mainly eating local plants rather than maize.  The ratios were compared to those from earlier tests on human remains from the region, as well as a set of turkey bones from a wide variety of other sites in southwestern Colorado dating over a long period of time, including the outlying Chacoan great house known as Escalante Pueblo.

Blocked-In Kiva at Escalante Pueblo

The results were quite straightforward, and they clearly supported Theory 2.  The isotope ratios were very similar to those from human samples, showing extensive reliance on maize and little to no meat consumption, and quite different from the rabbit samples, which showed more reliance on native plants.  This was the case not only for the Shields Pueblo samples but also for those from other sites, and there was no clear evidence of change over time.  All of the turkey remains gave results in the same narrow range, regardless of site or time period.  The obvious conclusion is that turkeys were being kept in pens or other confined spaces in domestic contexts, and were fed table scraps or surplus cornmeal.  The authors also suggest another possible conclusion:

There is another behavioral explanation (besides feeding of surplus maize/table scraps) for the similarity in stable carbon and nitrogen isotopes between turkeys and humans. It is possible that turkeys were fed human fecal waste. The practice of feeding waste to livestock is not unheard of in prehistory.

. . .

While there are no records of turkey being fed human waste, it is common for turkeys to eat their own waste as well as the waste of other fowl. Given that maize does not completely digest in the human gut, it is certainly possible that some food was obtained in this way.

The only evidence they cite for this interpretation, however, comes from Korean pig raising, and as they note there is no evidence at all that anything similar was ever done with turkeys, in the Southwest or elsewhere.  Given that lack of evidence, I find this idea implausible.  Table scraps from human meals and/or surplus or specially prepared cornmeal seem like much more reasonable ways turkeys would have been fed.
ResearchBlogging.org
Rawlings, T., & Driver, J. (2010). Paleodiet of domestic turkey, Shields Pueblo (5MT3807), Colorado: isotopic analysis and its implications for care of a household domesticate Journal of Archaeological Science, 37 (10), 2433-2441 DOI: 10.1016/j.jas.2010.05.004

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Rooms in Northwest Part of Salmon Ruin

In looking into recent research on Southwestern turkeys, I found an interesting paper from 2007 by E. Bradley Beacham and Stephen R. Durand about turkey eggshell.  Specifically, they came up with a new technique for analyzing archaeological eggshell to determine whether or not the egg had hatched.  The idea behind it, confirmed by an experiment they did with modern wild turkey eggs, is that bird embryos take the material to develop their skeletons from the interior portion of their eggshells, so the longer an embryo has been developing in the egg the more reduced the inside of the shell will be.  This is clearly apparent in microscopic examination of modern eggshells.  The usefulness of this technique is that it can theoretically determine if turkeys were being bred, as opposed to simply being kept captive, if large numbers of eggs had hatched.  Beacham and Durand connect this to a longstanding dispute in Southwestern archaeology over how to interpret the evidence of archaeological turkeys, with one side arguing that turkeys were introduced from Mexico as already domesticated animals, with the wild turkeys currently known in the Southwest possibly descending from escaped domesticated turkeys that went feral, and the other side arguing that turkeys were domesticated in the Southwest from local wild turkeys, possibly quite late after many years of having been captured in small numbers for their feathers but not bred.  We now know from genetic evidence that both of these theories are wrong, although the former is apparently closer to being true, and it now seems that turkeys were introduced as domesticated animals, probably from the east rather than the south, and that this happened quite early, at least by Basketmaker II and possibly during the Late Archaic.

The archaeological eggshells Beacham and Durand analyzed using this technique were from two rooms at Salmon Ruin, a major Chacoan outlier on the San Juan River near present-day Bloomfield, New Mexico.  These rooms were excavated in the 1970s, and they were selected for this analysis because they contained significant quantities of well-preserved turkey eggshell.  Eggshell is very fragile and needs very good preservation conditions to survive, so the excellent preservation conditions at Chacoan great houses like Salmon are important in doing this kind of research.  The sampled shell fragments came from strata clearly identified with the three originally designated periods of occupation at Salmon: Primary or Chacoan (ca. 1088 to 1125 AD), Intermediate (ca. 1125 to 1190), and Secondary or Mesa Verdean (ca. 1190 to 1280).  These turned out to have quite different results.  The Primary shells overwhelmingly showed no evidence of having hatched, and little evidence of having held embryos long enough for material to be taken from them at all.  The Intermediate shells, on the other hand, mostly did show evidence of having held embryos for significant periods, and about half of them seem to have hatched.  The Secondary shells, most of which came from a different room from the other two samples, were more like the Primary ones in that they showed little evidence of embryo development and almost none of hatching.

Salmon Ruins Sign

This is odd, and hard to interpret in terms of domestication or intensity of use.  The sheer amount of Secondary eggshell throughout the site, compared to the much smaller amount from earlier periods, suggests increased use of turkeys during the thirteenth century, which is consistent with evidence from throughout the Southwest showing increased turkey use, especially for meat, during this period.  The shell evidence, however, while it does show that breeding seems to have taken place during the Intermediate period, doesn’t really fit with this increased overall use.  It’s possible that this is simply due to a sampling issue, and that further study of a larger sample of Secondary eggshell would show more evidence for breeding.  It is also possible, as Beacham and Durand note, that this increased use of turkeys involved the consumption of eggs as well as meat, and that the Secondary sample analyzed is associated with this use of eggs rather than with breeding.  Something similar may also be going on with the Primary sample, although Beacham and Durand, who clearly seem to favor a late onset of breeding and domestication, prefer to see it more as evidence that turkeys were not yet fully domesticated at that time.  As noted above, however, the genetic evidence argues strongly against this interpretation.

Given the genetic evidence, it is not clear how to interpret the eggshell evidence in this paper, but it offers an interesting new way to look at turkey eggshell in well-preserved contexts, and give the frequency of these contexts in the Southwest further use of the technique may further refine our understanding of the issues surrounding turkey use in the prehistoric Southwest.
ResearchBlogging.org
BEACHAM, E., & DURAND, S. (2007). Eggshell and the archaeological record: new insights into turkey husbandry in the American Southwest Journal of Archaeological Science, 34 (10), 1610-1621 DOI: 10.1016/j.jas.2006.11.015

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Wild Turkey

In a comment to the previous post, Alan Reed Bishop brings up an issue closely related to the recent evidence for early maize cultivation in Chaco Canyon: the introduction of domesticated turkeys to the Southwest.  A recent study of archaeological turkey remains found that the majority of the turkeys found in Southwestern archaeological sites are genetically distinct from both the local subspecies of wild turkey and the subspecies found in Mexico that was domesticated there and is ancestral to the modern domestic turkey.  Instead, the Southwestern domestic turkeys were closest genetically to two subspecies of wild turkey found to the east and southeast, in the southern Plains and the eastern US.  This strongly implies that turkeys were domesticated somewhere to the east and then introduced to the Southwest as domestic animals, presumably through long-distance trade contacts.

The earliest remains used in that study were coprolites from Turkey Pen Cave in Grand Gulch, Utah, and date to the Basketmaker II period.  Some of these coprolites were also directly dated by AMS; the earliest had a 95% confidence interval of AD 20 to 200.  Like the bones from other sites analyzed in the same study, the Turkey Pen Cave coprolites indicated that most of the turkeys kept there belonged to the domesticated lineage, apparently non-local, that showed strong similarities to wild subspecies further east.  In addition, an earlier study of Basketmaker II subsistence in the Cedar Mesa/Grand Gulch area, using a variety of lines of evidence including coprolites, found that corn agriculture was already as central to the Basketmaker II subsistence system as it would be in later Pueblo times.  The presence of domesticated turkeys as well as corn agriculture as well-established aspects of Basketmaker II society seems to imply that both were introduced earlier, perhaps in the Archaic period, and the accumulating evidence for Archaic maize throughout the Southwest supports this supposition.  Less study has been done of turkeys, however, and while the DNA study refers to alleged Archaic turkey remains from the Southwest, the references are to obscure sources that I have not been able to track down.

Regardless of when domesticated turkeys were first introduced to the Southwest, they presumably were not introduced along with maize.  Turkeys seem to have been introduced from the east, while maize definitely came from the south.  It is possible that both came from northeastern Mexico, where one of the wild turkey subspecies similar to the Southwestern type is found, but there is basically no evidence for direct contact between that area and the Southwest, and the earliest evidence for maize there apparently dates to approximately the same period as the earliest Southwestern maize, suggesting that agriculture was not introduced to this area early enough to make it the vector for transmission to the Southwest.  It is much more likely that maize was introduced through western and/or northern Mexico, areas with extensive evidence for contact with the Southwest throughout prehistory.  So it seems quite clear that the introduction of turkeys and corn were separate events, but it seems equally clear that both were in fact introduced from elsewhere, probably during the Late Archaic, and it is striking that they seem to be present together from quite early on, at least on the Colorado Plateau.  (Turkeys are conspicuously absent from early agricultural sites in southern Arizona, which is another piece of evidence suggesting that they were not introduced from the south.)  I’m not really sure what the upshot of all this is, but it’s certainly interesting stuff.
ResearchBlogging.org
Matson, R., & Chisholm, B. (1991). Basketmaker II Subsistence: Carbon Isotopes and Other Dietary Indicators from Cedar Mesa, Utah American Antiquity, 56 (3) DOI: 10.2307/280894

Speller, C., Kemp, B., Wyatt, S., Monroe, C., Lipe, W., Arndt, U., & Yang, D. (2010). Ancient mitochondrial DNA analysis reveals complexity of indigenous North American turkey domestication Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 107 (7), 2807-2812 DOI: 10.1073/pnas.0909724107

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Woof!

My Mom's Dog Mimi at Chaco

In comments to the previous post ben asked about the use of dogs as draft animals.  I replied that they were so used in conjunction with the travois, especially on the Plains, but that the dogs in the Southwest and in Mesoamerica were smaller than Plains dogs and not able to pull any substantial loads.  This reminded me that I’ve never done a post on dogs, and that I probably should.

The only domesticated animals the Chacoans and other prehistoric Southwestern peoples had were dogs and turkeys.  The first detailed study of Southwestern dogs, and the only one I am aware of, was done by Harold Colton of the Museum of Northern Arizona and published in 1970.  This paper is one of the earliest examples of the use of statistics in Southwestern archaeology.  Colton used statistical techniques to compare various measurements of dog remains from various parts of the Southwest and various time periods.  It isn’t clear if any of his 110 specimens came from Chaco, but it appears that none did.  This is unsurprising given that he mostly used specimens in the MNA collections, which contain little Chacoan material.  Nevertheless, his sample includes most parts of the Southwest and most periods, so it is reasonable to presume that any generalizations about Southwestern dogs resulting from it can be applied to Chaco as well.

The specific statistical techniques Colton used are rather different from those commonly used in archaeological publications today, and as a result I have a hard time evaluating them.  Nevertheless, some of the patterns he found seem clear.  Briefly, the early specimens, dating before AD 800, were all small, and some lacked the first premolar on the lower jaw.  After 800, however, a second type of dog, larger and never missing the first premolar, appeared, first in the Rio Grande Valley and later further west.  It is not clear from the presented data when the large dog would have reached the Chaco area, but I suspect it would not have been until after the main florescence of Chaco between AD 1030 and AD 1130.  This distribution in time and space suggests that the larger dog was introduced from the Plains, where large dogs are known from early on.  These large dogs apparently interbred with the small dogs, as the average size of the small dogs increased over time beginning at the time of the introduction of the large dogs.

Colton’s sample size was small and his conclusions tentative, but some interesting patterns emerge nevertheless.  I think the most interesting is the rather early introduction of small dogs to the Rio Grande Valley, which suggests substantial contact with the Plains as early as AD 800.  Considerable Plains-Pueblo contact is known for the later period, starting around AD 1325, when massive immigration into the Rio Grande area from other parts of the Pueblo world substantially shifted the geographic distribution of Pueblo peoples, but before that the Rio Grande Valley was sparsely populated and relatively little is known about it.  The introduction of the large dogs, however, suggests that Plains contacts were of longstanding importance in the region, and that the intensified contacts after 1325 may have been the result of the increased population rather than a change in the basic structure of regional relationships.  Other evidence for the early importance of contact between the eastern Pueblos and the Plains comes from the discovery that domesticated turkeys in the Southwest were genetically closer to subspecies of wild turkey found further east than to the local subspecies.

In light of this evidence, I’ll modify my response to ben to say that the dogs available to the Chacoans probably would not have been suitable for pulling loads, but that it is possible that the large Plains dog was already available in Chacoan times.  There’s no evidence that I know of, however, that dogs were used as beasts of burden in the Southwest at any point in prehistory.  I’ll look for more recent studies on the issue of Southwestern dogs to see if I can get more information.  I don’t know of any such studies, but there may well be some.
ResearchBlogging.org
Colton, H. (1970). The Aboriginal Southwestern Indian Dog American Antiquity, 35 (2) DOI: 10.2307/278144

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Wild Turkey

So, turkeys.  I mentioned in an earlier post that there’s been an important new paper about turkeys published in PNAS.  It’s been mentioned in two good media accounts linked by Southwestern Archaeology Today in two separate posts.  Unlike most PNAS articles, this one is Open Access, so both the article itself and its supplement are available freely as pdf files on the PNAS website.

"Crescent-Shaped Village" Sign at Mesa Verde

Like so many of the most interesting and important articles in Southwestern archaeology these days, this one is based on the application of laboratory techniques to archaeological material to take advantage of advances in scientific understanding that allow new revelations about the human past.  In this case, the techniques come from genetics and involve the analysis of DNA from archaeological turkey remains to determine the breed of turkey kept by people in the ancient Southwest, which in turn could potentially reveal when and where these turkeys were first domesticated.  The techniques are similar to those used in a study from a while back on an artifact in the Edge of the Cedars Museum in Blanding made with macaw feathers and squirrel pelt.  That study analyzed the squirrel pelt and determined that it likely came from a local species, implying that the artifact was made in the Southwest rather than being imported from Mexico, with interesting further implications for the origin of the macaw feathers.

"Crescent-Shaped Village" at Mesa Verde

Before going into the details of the turkey study, it will be useful to give a little background on the presence of turkeys in the prehistoric Southwest.  Visitors to Chaco often ask about domesticated animals, especially in the context of the enormous amount of labor involved in the construction of the great houses, which would have been much easier with the use of draft animals than it actually was with only human labor available.  They are often surprised to hear the answer, which is that the only domesticated animals the Chacoans had were dogs and turkeys.  I, in turn, was surprised by how many people didn’t seem to know that horses were introduced by the Spanish.  (I think there’s a deeper significance to this particular belief, but that’s a matter for another post.)  Dogs were domesticated way, way back in the prehistory of humanity, before the crossing of the Bering Strait, but turkeys only appear in the archaeological record pretty recently.  They seem to appear sporadically in Mesoamerica in the last few centuries BC, but only appear regularly in domestic contexts there around AD 200, and the same rough chronology is true in the Southwest.  This implies that they were first domesticated sometime in the late centuries BC or very early centuries AD, either separately in Mesoamerica and the Southwest or once in one, from which they spread through trade, migration, or some other form of cultural contact to the other.  Given the large number of Mesoamerican traits that are known to have spread into the Southwest, if there was a single domestication event it’s generally thought that it must have been in Mexico.  The search for the origin of turkey domestication is considerably aided by the fact that wild turkeys in North America fall into a handful of distinct subspecies with mostly non-overlapping ranges.  These are the ones of interest in this context, with their known (historic) ranges:

  • South Mexican turkey (Meleagris gallopavo gallopavo): South-central Mexico, roughly the states of Jalisco, Colima, Guanajuato, Querétaro, Hidalgo, Michoacán, Guerrero, México, Morelos, Puebla, and Tlaxcala, along with northern Veracruz.
  • Gould’s wild turkey (Meleagris gallopavo mexicana): Northwestern Mexico, roughly the states of Nayarit, Aguascalientes, Sinaloa, and Durango, along with eastern Sonora and western Chihuahua as far north as the US border.
  • Rio Grande wild turkey (Meleagris gallopavo intermedia): From the southern Great Plains south into northeastern Mexico, roughly from the southwest corner of Kansas south through western Oklahoma and Texas to the Mexican states of Nuevo Leon and Tamaulipas.
  • Merriam’s wild turkey (Meleagris gallopavo merriami): Most of New Mexico, extending into eastern Arizona and southern Colorado, but, importantly, not in the easternmost part of New Mexico along the Texas border.
  • Florida wild turkey (Meleagris gallopavo osceola): Central and southern Florida.
  • Eastern wild turkey (Meleagris gallopavo silvestris): Most of the eastern US, from the eastern parts of South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas on the west to the Atlantic coast from southern Maine to northern Florida on the east and from the Gulf coast on the south to the Great Lakes on the north.

The pdf of the article has a helpful map that might be more understandable than these geographic descriptions.

"Pitroom" of "Crescent-Shaped Village" at Mesa Verde

Looking over the range of the various subspecies of wild turkeys, it seems pretty obvious that any domestication of turkeys in central Mexico, where the earliest archaeological specimens are found, must have been from the South Mexican subspecies.  If domesticated turkeys were introduced from Mexico into the Southwest, presumably this would have been the same breed and its DNA would be similar to Mexican examples.  If, on the other hand, turkeys were independently domesticated in the Southwest, the most obvious source would be Merriam’s turkey, and archaeological examples would presumably show more genetic resemblances to modern examples of that subspecies than to Mexican varieties.  These are the two most plausible a priori predictions for an analysis of the genetics of archaeological turkeys.  An additional wrinkle, however, in doing this kind of study is that the distribution of these subspecies has changed over time in very drastic ways.  The South Mexican turkey is apparently extinct in the wild, but the domesticated variety used by the Aztecs was imported to Europe by the Spanish conquistadors and quickly became very popular there, eventually being selectively bred into the various modern domestic breeds and reintroduced to the New World by English colonists on the Atlantic seaboard.  From there it spread across the continent with their descendants, displacing indigenous turkeys left and right.  There are still some relic populations of the North American turkey subspecies that have been genetically sampled, however, and there are museum specimens of wild South Mexican turkeys that are also available for DNA sampling, so these difficulties can be largely overcome.

Sign Describing "Pitroom" of "Crescent-Shaped Village" at Mesa Verde

For this paper, the authors compared the DNA of a wide variety of archaeological turkey bones and coprolites from the Southwest to museum samples of wild South Mexican turkeys from the Smithsonian and samples of modern domesticated turkeys from supermarkets.  The Southwestern bones came from a variety of sites, including Pueblo Bonito and other Chacoan great houses (specifically Aztec, Bluff, Escalante, Ida Jean, and Albert Porter) as well as other sites both earlier and later.  The coprolites all came from the well-preserved midden deposits at the aptly named Turkey Pen Ruin in Grand Gulch, Utah; most are from the Basketmaker II occupation, but one dates to the later Pueblo II/III reoccupation.

T-Shaped Doorways at Escalante Pueblo, a Great House in Colorado

The results were pretty surprising.  As expected, the modern supermarket examples closely matched the archival Smithsonian examples, but the Southwestern examples didn’t match either.  This would seem to argue for domestication within the Southwest from Merriam’s turkeys, but while a few of the archaeological examples do match modern Merriam’s examples and seem to be examples of either hunting or domestication of local wild turkeys, over 85% of the archaeological specimens that could be successfully sequenced belonged to a different group that didn’t match either the Merriam’s or South Mexican examples.  This group didn’t exactly match any of the other modern subspecies either, but it was closest to the Rio Grande and Eastern types.  There’s always some doubt inherent in the results of these sorts of studies, but as these things go this one is pretty clear-cut, and what it says is that the Southwestern examples, which were remarkably homogeneous over the more than 1000 years represented by the samples, came from a carefully managed domestic breed of turkeys descending from ancestors domesticated outside the Southwest and later introduced by people, but not from central or northwestern Mexico.

T-Shaped Doorway at Aztec Ruins National Monument

So what does this mean?  For one thing, it means that turkeys did not accompany the spread of agriculture north from Mexico into the Southwest.  Those farmers who may or may not have migrated north from Mexico and may or may not have spoken one or more Uto-Aztecan languages didn’t have turkeys with them.  This finding is reinforced by the notable absence of turkey remains from the earliest agricultural sites in the southern Southwest.  It also means that while people in various parts of the Southwest at various points in its prehistory did use local wild turkeys, though whether they were actually domesticated and kept in captivity or just captured by hunters is unclear, the vast majority of turkeys kept in prehistoric communities came from a specific breed with a single origin.  This breed seems to have gone extinct in captivity sometime in the eighteenth or nineteenth century under pressure from the domestic animals, including but not limited to Mexican-descended turkeys, introduced by the Spanish.  A few modern Merriam’s turkeys do seem to match the ancient specimens, however, probably the result of domestic turkeys joining wild populations at some point or other.  The authors of the article suggest that this may have occurred in part as part of the abandonment of most of the Colorado Plateau around AD 1300, when people quickly leaving their villages and leaving the region may have left their turkeys behind.  No way to tell about that, really, but it’s as plausible as anything.

Interior T-Shaped Doorway, Pueblo Bonito

The results of this study are surprising and intriguing.  They definitely need a lot more data, especially about the genetics of the Rio Grande and Eastern wild turkeys, to be useful in understanding cultural processes.  I find the preliminary implications fascinating, though.  The idea that turkeys entered the Southwest from the east or southeast, rather than from the south, is kind of mind-blowing, since so little other evidence of contact between the Southwest and the Plains or Gulf coast is known for this early period.  The only possible evidence for such contact I can think of offhand is the trade in certain types of shell which seem to have come from the Gulf, unlike most trade shells which came from the Pacific.  Seems like this turkey evidence might prompt a new look at some of those shells.  Beyond that, it’s hard to know what to think about this finding.  Like so much else in Southwestern archaeology, it answers some questions and poses many more.
ResearchBlogging.org
Speller, C., Kemp, B., Wyatt, S., Monroe, C., Lipe, W., Arndt, U., & Yang, D. (2010). Ancient mitochondrial DNA analysis reveals complexity of indigenous North American turkey domestication Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences DOI: 10.1073/pnas.0909724107

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Fajada Butte and Yucca from Visitor Center Courtyard

In between a bunch of depressing news about budget cuts, the latest edition of Southwestern Archaeology Today links to a couple of interesting articles with considerable relevance to ChacoOne is about turkeys; I’ll do a post on it later.  The other is a column by Marc Simmons in the Santa Fe New Mexican on Pueblo clothing and how it has changed over time.

Diorama at Chaco Museum

Interestingly, in my experience visitors to Chaco don’t actually ask about clothing very often.  This may be due to the influence of a diorama in the visitor center museum which seems to answer any questions they might have, since it shows people in the course of various daily activities attired in loincloths and little else, which is pretty common for “Indians” in museum dioramas.  This “all loincloths all the time” interpretation is also common in artists’ renditions of “what life was like” on interpretive signs at many parks.  There aren’t many of these signs at Chaco, but they are quite common at some other parks such as Mesa Verde.  This all has a powerful effect on people’s perceptions, I think, because visual impressions are both stronger and more vivid than anything that can be explained in words.  Indeed, a woman once asked me, referring to the diorama, why the Chacoans had worn anything at all.  To this day I’m not sure what preconceptions she was bringing to the diorama, but clearly its implication that “the Indians” didn’t wear much had led her down that cognitive path.  This strong effect of the visual image is unfortunate, however, because quite a bit is known about how the Chacoans probably dressed, and all the evidence available strongly indicates that the diorama is totally wrong.

"Pithouse Life" Sign at Mesa Verde

But back to Simmons.  He’s one of the most renowned historians of New Mexico, and I’ve mentioned him before for his excellent book on the history of Albuquerque.  His specialty is the Spanish colonial era, so his column on Pueblo clothing draws most of its information from Spanish documents.  Those documents begin with the earliest exploratory expeditions in the sixteenth century, and they are generally thought to be pretty reliable in their descriptions of the people the explorers encountered.   The main thing that impressed those explorers about the Pueblos was how “civilized” they seemed in comparison to the hunter-gatherer groups they had seen further south.  Indeed, the name “Pueblo” itself, deriving originally from these reports, refers to the people’s settlement pattern based on large, permanent towns.

Pueblo Display at Chaco Visitor Center

Similarly, the main comments the chroniclers had about Pueblo clothing were about how substantial it was.  Men typically wore kilts, and women wore a type of dress known as a manta, made out of large square pieces of cloth.  The main material used was cotton, which was grown in the low-lying river valleys, especially in the Rio Abajo region at the southern end of the Pueblo domain, and traded to the villages in areas where cotton can’t be grown.  This cotton was woven into cloth, always by men, and often in ceremonial contexts in kivas or other important spaces.  The Spanish also remarked on the use of tanned buckskin or gamuza as an alternative material for clothes, especially nice during the cold winters.  Another item useful for keeping warm was the rabbit-fur coat, made of strips of rabbit hide woven together by women.  Footwear consisted primarily of leather moccasins known as teguas.

"Ceremonial Chamber" Sign at Mesa Verde Showing Men Weaving in Kiva

This information comes from a few hundred years after the fall of Chaco, of course.  A lot had changed in Pueblo culture during that period, so it would definitely be a mistake to simply project the Spanish reports back in time.  Luckily, we don’t have to.  Due to the good preservation at Chacoan sites, and the even better preservation at the cliff dwellings occupied slightly later, many examples of clothing have survived, though generally only in fragmentary condition.  These materials largely substantiate the Spanish accounts: Cloth is typically made out of cotton (probably underrepresented in the archaeological record because it doesn’t preserve very well), and cloaks made of woven rabbit fur and turkey feathers are common.

Sandals at Chaco Museum

The moccasins and leather garments are not generally found, however.  There is no shortage of footwear, but it takes the form of sandals made of yucca fibers.  These are very common and there are some indications that they may have had ritual importance in addition to their everyday use.  Leather moccasins during this period are rare to nonexistent in the Chacoan area, but common among the Fremont to the north in Utah, and they are even considered a diagnostic feature of the Fremont culture.

Bison Statue in Downtown Colorado Springs, Colorado

At some point between the fall of Chaco and the Spanish entradas, then, leather clothing and footwear seem to have been adopted by the Pueblos.  One theory to explain this, along with various other changes in Pueblo society during this period, links it to increased contact with Plains groups starting in the fourteenth century.  Another theory sees the adoption of leather clothing as associated with a prolonged period of climatic cooling, perhaps associated with the beginning of the Little Ice Age.  These two theories are not mutually exclusive, of course, and I think they actually complement each other nicely.  One proposed way of tying them together is a model in which cooling weather on the southern Plains leads to bison beginning to venture further south than they had before, which leads bison-hunting Plains people to follow them and come into contact with the Pueblos, whose increasingly efficient irrigation agriculture gives them surpluses of crops that they can exchange for meat, hides, and other bison products.  It’s notable that trade networks during this period seem to be oriented along an east-west axis connecting the Pueblos to the Plains, whereas trade during earlier periods seems to have been more north-south and connected to Mesoamerica.

Looking East toward the Great Plains from Las Vegas, New Mexico

Of course, this theory is by no means universally accepted, and there are other ways to interpret the changes in Pueblo material culture during this time.  Still, coming back to clothing specifically, I think all of this shows that the “Diorama Indian” loincloth-based attire has more to do with the preconceptions of the people who made the dioramas than with what people at Chaco and elsewhere actually wore.

Close-Up of Diorama at Chaco Museum

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Pithouse Sign, Mesa Verde

Since it seems to be Linguistics Week here at Gambler’s House, here’s another post on Jane Hill’s theory that the spread of agriculture into the Southwest was associated with a migration of speakers of Proto-Northern-Uto-Aztecan (PNUA) from somewhere in Mexico.  Previously I discussed an article of hers from 2001 in which she tried to show that a set of vocabulary items related to agriculture could be reconstructed all the way back to Proto-Uto-Aztecan (PUA), which, if true, would strongly support Peter Bellwood’s argument that agriculture was introduced to the Southwest by speakers of Uto-Aztecan languages migrating north from central Mexico.  I found that article unconvincing.  One reason was that, since almost all of the agricultural vocabulary known from Uto-Aztecan languages quite understandably comes from the southern languages of the family, which were spoken by farming groups, reconstructing that vocabulary all the way back to PUA requires the assumption that PNUA is a valid genetic unit combining all the northern languages, because almost all of the agricultural vocabulary known from those languages comes from Hopi, the only one spoken by a people who primarily practiced agriculture in historic times.  Hill’s 2001 article, however, doesn’t provide much evidence to show the reality of PNUA, which significantly weakens her argument, as do the many problems with the correspondences she does identify.

Basketmaker Pithouse, Mesa Verde

The article I’m talking about now, however, is about a related but somewhat different issue.  Published in 2008, it seeks to show that a set of agricultural terms from PNUA was borrowed into Proto-Kiowa-Tanoan (PKT), presumed to have been spoken by the indigenous hunter-gatherers who occupied the Southwest before the posited PNUA migration, and that a separate set of vocabulary referring to local wild plants and animals was also borrowed into PNUA from PKT.  Here, rather than dealing with the very difficult matter of reconstructing proto-language vocabulary, Hill is dealing with loanword studies, which is generally more fruitful (though still difficult and often frustrating).  The theoretical model for how this borrowing would have occurred is straightforward: speakers of PNUA, practicing an agricultural lifestyle somewhere in the Sonoran Desert, migrated above the Mogollon Rim onto the Colorado Plateau, where they found both a different environment and groups of hunter-gatherers who were very familiar with it.  Since agriculture is a much riskier and more difficult endeavor in this area, with its shorter growing season and less predictable weather than in the Sonoran Desert, hunting and gathering would likely have become more important for the PNUA farmers, and they would have eagerly sought out knowledge of local resources from the local people, who may also have been intrigued by the potential of the unfamiliar agricultural practices of the newcomers.  So, the PNUA speakers introduced the PKT speakers to farming, and in turn the PKT speakers introduced the PNUA speakers to plants and animals important on the Plateau but unknown in the desert.  In the process, some words for these things moved between languages as well.  Hill notes that this implies both that the PKT speakers, formerly hunter-gatherers, chose to adopt agriculture rather than being pushed to marginal areas by the PNUA speakers and that contact between the two groups was not necessarily always antagonistic.  Both of these implications are problematic for Bellwood’s theory of the correlations between language distribution and the spread of agriculture, which holds that hunter-gatherers very rarely adopt agriculture when they come into contact with farming groups expanding out of their homelands with large populations but instead are either assimilated by the farmers or pushed into marginal areas unsuitable for farming.  This is somewhat ironic, since Hill actually makes a very good case for these borrowings, which provides considerable support for some version of Bellwood’s general idea that language and agriculture generally spread together.

Reconstructed Basketmaker Pithouse at Lost City Museum, Overton, Nevada

As in the previous paper, Hill is careful in this one to point out all the potential problems with the etymologies and correspondences she posits here.  There are a lot, especially because Kiowa-Tanoan languages are not very well-documented and PKT reconstructions are much more tentative than P(N)UA ones.  In this case, however, I find most of the correspondences pretty convincing.  With contact linguistics like this, there are some inherent advantages over the sort of “pure” historical linguistics Hill was doing in the earlier paper.  The most important is that loanwords are often pretty easy to identify, especially in well-documented language families.  If a term is found in one language but not in any others in its family, but it’s very similar to a term with a similar meaning in a nearby but unrelated language, it’s pretty easy to conclude not only that an episode of borrowing occurred but also which direction the borrowing went.  This is something of an ideal case, of course, and in practice it’s often not quite as clearcut, but it’s still easier to show that a term was likely loaned into a language or subfamily than that a set of vocabulary can be reconstructed back into a proto-language.

Reoccupied Pithouse, Mesa Verde

In this case, it’s the borrowings from PKT into PNUA that are most convincing.  This is mainly because the PNUA forms are not attested elsewhere in Uto-Aztecan but are quite similar in both form and meaning to what can be reconstructed for PKT (which, again, is not all that reliable).  The loans in the other direction are trickier, in part because Kiowa-Tanoan is a small family and comparisons between branches can’t really be done the way they can for Uto-Aztecan, but given the other loans they seem pretty plausible.  Among other things, these loans provide pretty strong support for PNUA as a valid grouping, which in turn strengthens the argument of the 2001 paper, although it’s important to note that the issue in the 2008 paper is actually rather different, and it’s easy to imagine a group of farmers speaking PNUA migrating out of Sonora or southern Arizona without concluding that their ancestors necessarily migrating out of central Mexico speaking PUA.  PUA could also have been spoken by a group of hunter-gatherers in, say, coastal Sinaloa or Nayarit who adopted agriculture after contact with agricultural groups migrating up from further south, perhaps speaking a language related to Purepecha, much as the PKT speakers later adopted it after contact with PNUA speakers.  Nevertheless, the existence of PNUA is important to Hill’s 2001 argument, and the support for it here does strengthen that earlier argument.

Pithouse Ventilation Sign, Mesa Verde

The implications of this loanword evidence for archaeology are interesting.  It definitely supports R. G. Matson’s argument, based on totally different evidence, that the Western Basketmakers spoke a Uto-Aztecan language and migrated into northeastern Arizona and southeastern Arizona from somewhere further south.  In connection with that argument Matson also surmised that the of the Colorado Plateau and that they spoke Keres or a Kiowa-Tanoan language.  As Hill notes in this article, Keres is an isolate and it would be difficult to use it in this kind of study.  Kiowa-Tanoan, while a small family, does have a sufficient number of languages and enough apparent time-depth to be reconstructed into a form usable for comparisons to PNUA.  It is still fiendishly difficult to figure out what language(s) the inhabitants of any ancient site would have spoken, but the integration of linguistic evidence in studies like this has the potential to shed some light on the issue.

Pithouse Ventilation System, Mesa Verde

To tie this back to Chaco, which seems to have been a pretty important regional center during the Basketmaker III period, the evidence from this article suggests that the Eastern Basketmakers of the Chaco area may have spoken PKT, although they may on the other hand have spoken a language ancestral or related to Keres or Zuni (both isolates).  Or perhaps Chaco was inhabited by more than one linguistic group, as many archaeologists have argued for the later period of its more obvious regional dominance.  This evidence does suggest that whoever was living at Chaco at this time probably was not speaking a Uto-Aztecan language, although it doesn’t entirely rule it out.  There is, after all, no way to tell exactly when this episode of PNUA-PKT contact occurred, although if it involved early contact between farmers migrating in and local hunter-gatherers it would presumably have been rather early in the Basketmaker II period.  Importantly, the fact that the loans seem to have gone both ways shows that whatever contact took place involved both groups continuing to exist as social entities of some sort.  This is not evidence for assimilation, in other words, but for peaceful contact between agricultural and hunter-gatherer groups involving the exchange of information that enhanced the subsistence options of both parties.  The archaeological implications of that are difficult to figure out precisely, but it’s a subject worth thinking carefully about.
ResearchBlogging.org
Hill, J. (2008). Northern Uto‐Aztecan and Kiowa‐Tanoan: Evidence of Contact between the Proto‐Languages? International Journal of American Linguistics, 74 (2), 155-188 DOI: 10.1086/587703

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