Archive for the ‘Elsewhere’ Category

The County of Lincoln


Fort Stanton State Historic Site

I’m in New Mexico this week visiting my mom, as I often do this time of year. As we also often do, we took a couple of days to go camping and hiking somewhere in the state. This time went to Lincoln County, where we also took in some of the sights in the area. I figured I would do a post just to discuss what we did, since I found in planning this trip that detailed information was hard to find about a lot of things.

Lincoln County is in the south-central part of the state. These days it’s relatively obscure, but it was important in the territorial period and there’s still a lot to see there that’s of historical interest. We focused primarily on Fort Stanton, which is a New Mexico State Historical Site that was an old frontier fort established in 1855. It’s still in remarkably good shape, partly because it was still in use for various purposes until quite recently, and is a bit of a hidden gem for those interested in historic architecture and frontier history. Very much worth visiting. We didn’t get to see the museum since we arrived right at 4:00 pm when it closes, but the grounds are open until 5:00 so we saw most of the other buildings.


Rio Bonito near Fort Stanton, New Mexico

Surrounding the State Historic Site is the Fort Stanton-Snowy River Cave National Conservation Area, managed by the Bureau of Land Management. We were intending to camp here, but it was quite hard to find detailed information about the two campgrounds. The main one, the Rob Jaggers Campground, turns out to be mainly oriented toward RVers and equestrians rather than tent campers like us, but the other one, the Cave Campground, was more our style. It’s a small but quite well-maintained campground that apparently gets very little visitation, probably because it’s right at Fort Stanton cave, which is now closed to public visitation because of White Nose Syndrome in bats. Highly recommended as a camping option in an area that has few. There are ramadas and picnic tables at three or four campsites, and a vault toilet that was very clean. There’s no water at the campground, so we had to fill up our jug in the nearby towns of Lincoln and Capitan.

There are a lot of trails on the NCA, and we did a small loop that went right by the Rio Bonito, which runs through this area and lives up to its name. There is also a petroglyph site at the southwestern end of the NCA which I wanted to see, but the road to it turns out to be extremely steep and rocky, and we decided it was not worth the risk to my mom’s small car to try to get there. Hiking to the site along the trails might be a better way to get there.


Old Courthouse (Murphy-Dolan Store), Lincoln, New Mexico

We also visited the town of Lincoln, which is famous for the Lincoln County War in the late 1870s which made Billy the Kid (in)famous. Many of the old buildings from that period are still very well preserved, and several of them are part of Lincoln State Historic Site. Some of them are set up as museums, although the exhibits in them get a bit repetitive at times since they all focus so much on the same short period of time. Still, it’s a very interesting place. The short video at the visitor center was quite helpful in summarizing the War and the background to it, which ultimately revolved around rival groups of ranchers and merchants trying to access government contracts to supply Fort Stanton and the nearby Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation. Having seen Fort Stanton first was helpful in contextualizing this, since it was a quite large and elaborate post for the time and place and supplying it would clearly have been quite lucrative.

On our way back to Albuquerque we stopped in Capitan and saw the Smokey Bear Historical Park. The “real” Smokey Bear was a cub discovered in the midst of a forest fire near Capitan in 1950 and brought to the National Zoo in DC to serve as a living embodiment of the fire-prevention mascot (who had already existed for a few years by then). The museum is mostly about forest fire safety, including a lot of discussion of how our understanding of the role of natural fire has changed over the years. There is also a garden showing various native plants of the Southwest, along with the burial place of Smokey, who died in 1976.


Sign at Smokey Bear Historical Park, Capitan, New Mexico

Since it was sort of on the way and my mom had not been there, although I had, we decided to stop at Gran Quivira on the way back as well. There is a relatively direct route to it, but we missed the (apparently quite subtle) turnoff and ended up going the long way around through Corona and Mountainair before getting to the site. It’s a really great site, I think.

So then we ended up back in Albuquerque, just as it was starting to rain yesterday evening. Yesterday was my birthday (I’m 32), and this trip was a nice way to celebrate it. I fly back to Alaska tomorrow.


“New” Church at Gran Quivira

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Explanatory Plaque at Sun Temple, Mesa Verde

Today is the summer solstice, on which I like to do posts about archaeoastronomy. Today I’d like to discuss a well-known site, Sun Temple at Mesa Verde, which as its name suggests has long been associated with astronomical observations. As we’ll see, however, it appears that some of the early interpretations of the site’s architecture haven’t held up under further examination. This is another good example (along with Wupatki) of the need to carefully analyze proposed archaeoastronomical alignments.

Like many sites at Mesa Verde, Sun Temple was excavated and partly reconstructed in the early twentieth century by the pioneering archaeologist Jesse Walter Fewkes. Fewkes named the site “Sun Temple” after finding a feature that he interpreted as a “sun shrine” aligned to the position of sunset on the fall equinox. After identifying this possible alignment, Fewkes looked at the orientation of the building to see if there were any other astronomical alignments present. Sun Temple is D-shaped, with the flat side of the “D” to the south (a shape and orientation that those familiar with Chaco may find familiar), so the straight front wall was an obvious place to check for alignments. Fewkes, presumably guided by the equinoctial alignment of the shrine, initially checked to see if the front wall aligned to the positions of sunrise/sunset on the equinoxes, which would be the same and would mean the wall was oriented due east-west. He found that it was not, but was rather aligned about 20 degrees north of due east at the east end, and 20 degrees south at the west end.


Sun Temple, Mesa Verde

In his published reports Fewkes went on to conclude from this alignment that the front wall was actually oriented to the summer solstice sunrise. This is an important event in modern Pueblo societies, and subsequent research has found evidence for alignments to it in prehistoric Pueblo sites as well, so on first glance this seems like a reasonable conclusion. When archaeoastronomer Jonathan Reyman began to research the site using modern techniques in the 1970s, however, he found that it didn’t hold up, and published a short article explaining why.

The basic gist of Reyman’s article is very simple: The front wall of Sun Temple is indeed oriented to about 20 degrees north of east, but this is not the same alignment as the summer solstice sunrise at this latitude, which is more like 30 degrees north of east. Fewkes appears to have simply made a simple mistake. It’s not clear exactly how this would have happened, but Reyman suggests he either made a mistake in his notes or his notes were unclear and he became confused when writing them up for publication. In any case, this is a pretty clear-cut case of a mistake in the literature being corrected, and Fewkes’s error does not seem to have been propagated since. (Note that the NPS link I gave above says nothing about a solstice alignment.)

Reyman did also confirm that the “sun shrine” is aligned to the equinoctial sunsets and may well have been used to observe them, so the name “Sun Temple” remains appropriate (or as appropriate as it ever was). This is an intriguing building for a lot of reasons, some of which do support the idea that it had an astronomical function, but that’s a discussion for later. Sun Temple is also one of the most accessible sites at Mesa Verde, being on a mesa top where it can be visited without a guided tour, and it is well worth visiting even though it’s quite different from the cliff dwellings for which the park is best known.
Reyman JE (1977). Solstice Misalignment at Sun Temple: Correcting Fewkes The Kiva, 42, 281-284

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Third-Story Walls with Type I Masonry at Una Vida

The final chapter in Crucible of Pueblos offers, in the words of its title, “a synthesis of sorts.” Authored by the noted Chaco specialist John Kantner, it gives a brief chronological overview of the period covered by this book, combining the information from the other chapters to create a picture as complete as possible given current evidence. As Kantner notes several times, current evidence is very sparse for certain regions and periods, and the resulting synthesis is therefore tentative on many issues.

Kantner starts with the period AD 600 to 725, which some but not all of the regional chapters cover. He focuses on the idea that this period was marked by a “Neolithic Demographic Transition” of the sort seen in other parts of the world following the adoption of agriculture. In this case he sees the catalyst for the transition not being the initial introduction of domesticated plants to the northern Southwest, which an increasing body of evidence has shown was actually much earlier, but on the idea that new varieties of maize that were introduced at this time caused a widespread shift to a farming-based lifestyle, whereas earlier cultigens had just been added into a hunting and gathering system as a minor component. This theory has been advanced by several archaeologists in recent years, and it is certainly plausible, but I think the data is still not quite there to establish it firmly. In any case, Kantner sees the immediate result of the shift to intensive agriculture being a sharp increase in population, which led at least in some areas to increases in site size (but only to slightly larger hamlets in most cases), as well as possibly to violence and warfare, as evidenced by an increasing number of stockaded hamlets. Sites were still generally quite small and loosely clustered around a variety of types of public architecture. He claims not to see much evidence of migration between regions during this period, which sounds dubious to me given how much we see later. As he acknowledges, though, the data for this early period is particularly limited, especially for less-researched areas, and it’s hard to draw any firm conclusions.

His next period, AD 725 to 825, definitely does show a lot of migration, and Kantner sees that and increasing settlement aggregation as being the two major processes evidence in the archaeological record. Data gaps are an issue here as well, however, and the details of these processes are much clearer in some regions (especially the Northern San Juan/Mesa Verde area) than others. All this migration and aggregation seems to have led to increasingly ethnically diverse communities, although identifying “ethnicity” in this sort of context is tricky as material culture traits that might be used to identify groups don’t always cluster neatly. Despite this diversity, Kantner sees less evidence in this period for violence than in the previous one, at least until the very end of it when there are some spectacular examples like the apparent massacre at Sacred Ridge, which may have been ethnically motivated. Less spectacularly, the presence of defensive sites in Southeast Utah also seems to increase at the end of this period, again suggesting conflict. Interestingly, though, there seems to be little or no evidence for this sort of conflict further south, although again it’s important to note that southern regions have seen much less research. This period saw possibly the earliest examples of settlements aggregated enough to call “villages,” although Kantner notes that a large portion of the population was still living in dispersed hamlets. The question of why some but not all people chose to begin living in greater proximity is an important one that remains largely unanswered.

The trends of migration and aggregation continue into Kantner’s next period, AD 825 to 880. This is especially apparent in the well-studied Central Mesa Verde region, but it appears to have continued in other areas as well, with a general trend toward settlement in well-watered areas, which may signify another episode of agricultural intensification. This is also suggested by the increased storage capacity of the new villages, some of which might indicate community-level storage of grain. Kantner notes that larger villages might also have been able to mobilize more people for hunting and therefore increased hunting success, a reminder that even a heavily emphasis on agriculture doesn’t necessarily replace all other subsistence pursuits. There also is some evidence for changes in gendered labor at this time, again likely tied to subsistence changes: greater emphasis on stored food, presumably largely in the form of cornmeal/flour, would require more time spent on particular types of processing work. This would potentially include both grinding itself and other tasks required by new ways of preparing food, especially making more pots in which the ground meal would need to be cooked. These are presumed to have been primarily female tasks, so the increased time investment in them may have affected gender roles and relations between the sexes. This is an interesting idea that I think could use more elaboration.


Great Kivas A and Q, Pueblo Bonito

Public architecture continues to be diverse but there are some interesting patterns in what types occur in the new villages, especially between great kivas and what Kantner (among others) calls “oversized pit structures.” He makes some suggestions about correlations between these architectural forms and other factors, such as the idea that great kivas may be associated with periods of social instability and the idea that oversized pit structures were more exclusive than great kivas but the ritual in them may have been more ostentatious, judging by the unusual deposits left behind, such as exotic animal remains and redware pottery. He notes the theory that oversized pit structures and their accompanying U-shaped roomblocks may have been associated with emerging ritual leaders, who may have competed with each other for status and power based on their increased storage capacity, access to game meat, and possibly capacity to control craft activities as well. I think there’s a lot of merit to this idea, although it does still rely quite heavily on data from the well-studied Central Mesa Verde area and new research elsewhere might complicate it.

It’s worth noting again, however, that despite the many very visible and interesting changes resulting from increased aggregation a large portion of the population was still living outside of villages. How these people would have interacted with the villages and how their lives might have differed are under-studied but important questions.

Kantner refers to his next and last period, starting in AD 880, as “the Dawn of Chaco,” which seems reasonable given the emerging picture. The key change at this time is the abandonment of the villages that arose in the previous period and the almost complete abandonment of the Central and Eastern Mesa Verde regions, with their residents apparently moving both west into Utah and south into New Mexico, where some of them very likely contributed to the early development of the regional center at Chaco Canyon. This may have been associated with a period of favorable rainfall in the Chaco area compared to a difficult time in the north, but the climatic details are not yet clear. Kantner notes that recent evidence has suggested that the prior population in the Chaco area was a lot smaller than had once been thought, but he also notes that there definitely was an existing population in and around Chaco, and that some sites like Pueblo Bonito were already established before this migration. This population seems to have had ties to the south and was likely different ethnically from the people moving in from the north. There is some evidence for violence that might have accompanied the initial stages of the migration, but it appears that the groups reached an accommodation of some sort over time that led to the development and florescence of the Chaco Phenomenon over the next three centuries. Kantner suggests that the instability of the early period, and possible inequities between the groups, may have contributed to this process of “social elaboration,” which is another interesting idea meriting further study. There are some clear continuities in architecture between the earlier villages and the communities that developed at Chaco, but the question of what had changed to make Chaco so much more successful and long-lived than the northern villages remains open.

In closing, Kantner reiterates some of the caveats he has mentioned before about interpreting this emerging picture. Why didn’t everyone join villages? This seems like a particularly important question to me, and one that has not received enough attention in the development of aggregation models. It’s a particular problem for models that emphasis “push” factors like the need for defense in an increasingly crowded landscape, though Kantner suggests that this may have been a bigger factor for immigrant groups entering a potentially hostile new area than for the indigenous groups they encountered. He has more discussion of “pull” factors, such as economies of scale for intensified work on activities like farming, hunting, and craft production, but ultimately suggests that a complex combination of pushes and pulls may account for the notable variation in village forms that we see throughout this period. Another important question is why these early villages failed. Kantner suggests changes in the above-mentioned balance of push/pull factors, as well as the possibility that aggregation created its own new problems and stresses on the emerging social systems. Whatever the details, it seems increasingly clear that the lessons from the complicated processes covered by this book formed the basis for the later emergence of Chaco and the immense changes in the Pueblo world that it would entail.


Sign at State of New Mexico Archives Building, Santa Fe, New Mexico

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Phoenix, Arizona

The last two chapters in Crucible of Pueblos try to offer assessments of the rest of the book from very different perspectives. The second-to-last, by Steve Lekson, is the shortest chapter in the book, and much of it is drawn from Lekson’s own recent book giving an overview of Southwestern archaeology (which he is very upfront about admitting, to his credit). Nevertheless, it does manage both to situate the present book in the context of other synthetic works covering specific periods of Southwestern prehistory and to situate the areas covered by the book into their own context given what else was happening in other regions at the time.

First, Lekson notes that this volume is the latest in a series of books bringing together experts on different sub-regions of the northern Southwest to compile and analyze data on the most important sites of a given period. This hasn’t been a formal book series, but more of an ad-hoc process of meetings and resulting publications that have ended up being functionally similar. The most obvious examples of other books like this are two published by the University of Arizona Press and deliberately put in similar formats, covering the Pueblo III and Pueblo IV periods. Lekson claims that he played a major role in organizing the meeting that led to the Pueblo III book, the first to be published, which I didn’t know but have no reason to doubt (he was not a contributor to the published book). I discussed that book a few years back in a series of posts very similar to this one. I’ve also read the Pueblo IV volume but haven’t discussed it in any detail here.

What I found particularly interesting was Lekson’s argument that the Pueblo II period, the time of the florescence of Chaco Canyon, is also covered by a volume in this informal series, in this case a special issue of the journal Kiva that was part of the series of meetings and publications that Lekson organized to synthesize the work of the Chaco Project. I have all of the articles in that issue in electronic format, although I haven’t read them all. This chapter makes me think I should.

Finally, Lekson presents Crucible of Pueblos as the equivalent volume for Pueblo I, which makes a lot of sense for me. As he notes, information on major sites is a lot harder for this period than for subsequent ones, as they are much more subtle on the landscape than in later periods. Nevertheless, he recognizes the amount of information brought together for the first time here and its importance, as do I. I’ve tried to convey the importance of this information in this series of posts and I hope I’ve succeeded.

Moving to his discussion of the Pueblo I period itself, Lekson tries to situate the process of village formation in the northern Southwest in the context of developments elsewhere, particularly in the southern Southwest and to a lesser extent Mesoamerica. This is the part of the chapter that’s drawn largely from his book, so it wasn’t new to me, but it is still an interesting and thought-provoking way to conceptualize Pueblo I. The basic argument he makes is that while village formation was (mostly) new in the northern Southwest in Pueblo I and is in some ways its most interesting development, there had been villages in the deserts of southern Arizona and adjacent areas for centuries at that point, and for even longer further to the south in Mexico, the probable origin of the concept for this part of the world. Specifically, he suggests that the formation of villages in the northern Southwest may have been a reaction to the expansion of the Hohokam out of the Phoenix Basin during the so-called “Colonial Period.” It’s not clear exactly what form this expansion took in terms of migration, diffusion, or other processes, but Lekson argues persuasively that people further north and east on the Colorado Plateau must have been aware of it and that they probably factored it into their own decisions about where and how to live.

In the book, Lekson goes into more detail about all of this, but for this chapter he more or less stops there. As I said before, this is a very short contribution, but an interesting one. And, of course, it is written in Lekson’s inimitable and highly accessible style. Not the most weighty or original part of this book, perhaps, but interesting and worthwhile all the same.

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Rio Grande from Coronado State Monument, Bernalillo, New Mexico

Rio Grande from Coronado State Monument, Bernalillo, New Mexico

Chapter seven of Crucible of Pueblos brings us to the final geographical region covered by the volume: the Rio Grande Valley, at the eastern edge of Pueblo settlement for the period in question. As it happens, I’m currently visiting my mom in Albuquerque, so I’m actually in this region as I write this. (Today also happens to be my birthday; I’m 31.) The chapter is by Steven Lakatos and C. Dean Wilson, and in a lot of ways it echoes an earlier paper by Lakatos about the Rio Grande Developmental Period that I have discussed before. This chapter, however, discusses only the Early Developmental Period, defined as AD 600 to 900, and primarily focuses on the part of the region that the authors called the Middle Rio Grande Valley, defined as lying between the Rio Puerco of the East on the west, the Sandia and Manzano Mountains on the east, the Isleta area on the south, and the La Bajada escarpment on the north. This is because agricultural populations only occupied this restricted area of the region during the Early Developmental, expanding north of La Bajada only after AD 900 when there was a huge increase in regional population at the beginning of the Late Developmental Period.

The key point Lakatos and Wilson make about the Rio Grande is that the Early Developmental period was a time of low population density and gradual growth, with little change in material culture over hundreds of years. This is in striking contrast to the “boom-and-bust” pattern now richly documented for the Mesa Verde region during the contemporaneous Pueblo I period there. The picture of continuity is reminiscent of that proposed by the authors of the previous chapter for the Little Colorado region, but it’s worth noting that the major data gaps that plague the study of that region are less of an issue for the Rio Grande, which has a long history of intensive archaeological research continuing to the present day. Furthermore, Lakatos and Wilson present several lines of evidence supporting their conclusions, which seem pretty solid to me. Based on this evidence, it really does seem like the Early Developmental was a time of low population, slow growth, and cultural continuity.

As Lakatos and Wilson note, this is actually a rather surprising conclusion in the context of many theories about early agricultural societies. Most strikingly, there is no evidence here for a “Neolithic Demographic Transition,” in which the increased productivity of agricultural societies compared to hunter-gatherers leads to massive growth among early agriculturalists, with all sorts of ecological and social consequences. Some have argued that the Mesa Verde boom-and-bust cycle is a result of this process. In the Rio Grande, however, the adoption of agriculture does not seem to have resulted in this sort of population growth. This is definitely not for lack of arable land, as the Rio Grande Valley is one of the richest agricultural areas in the northern Southwest, and it was intensively farmed later in prehistory and into historic times. Rather, Lakatos and Wilson argue that the richness of the Rio Grande environment allowed for a mixed farming-foraging economic pattern with high residential mobility, in contrast to the more agriculture-dependent societies further west. The greater importance of foraging versus farming is supported by evidence from faunal assemblages and wear patterns on human remains, and the mobility by the fact that residential pit structures were rarely remodeled.

In keeping with low density and high mobility, the settlement pattern consisted of scattered hamlets, with only occasional evidence for “communities” of hamlets loosely grouped together with possible communal architecture such as “protokivas” or oversized pit structures. Sites were mainly located along the major rivers of the region: the Rio Grande itself, the Rio Puerco of the East, the Jemez. Architecture consisted of residential pit structures and surrounding activity areas, generally oriented toward the east or southeast (perhaps oriented to the winter solstice).

Rio Grande people also appear to have been in closer contact with remaining hunter-gatherers than populations further west. It’s not clear if Early Developmental populations resulted from the adoption of agriculture by existing hunter-gatherers in the Middle Rio Grande Valley or if there was some migration of already agricultural populations involved, but in any case the areas north of La Bajada and east of the Sandias/Manzanos were definitely still occupied by hunter-gatherers during this period, and it’s clear that there was a lot of contact between the two groups. This may have contributed to the greater importance of foraging to Early Developmental people and their differences from other Pueblo populations.

Sandia Mountains from Tent Rocks National Monument

Sandia Mountains from Tent Rocks National Monument

All that said, the Early Developmental people definitely were part of the Pueblo cultural tradition, and their material culture shows a lot of connections to populations to both the west and south. This is particularly true of pottery, which was dominated by plain gray ware similar to that of late Basketmaker groups on the Colorado Plateau, but with small amounts of a decorated white ware, San Marcial Black-on-white, which shows stylistic influence from Mogollon populations to the south but with technological characteristics more like those of early white wares to the west. Lakatos and Wilson mention one model of Southwestern prehistory under which early “strong patterns” of material culture originated in the San Juan Basin (ancestral to the Chaco system) and in the river valleys of the Mogollon region, with the Middle Rio Grande forming a “weak pattern” with influences from both but in varying combinations.

The clear picture that emerges from this is of a small population of forager-farmers moving around within the Middle Rio Grande area but maintaining their basic cultural features with little to no change for about 300 years, from AD 600 to 900. Then, in a development that is likely very important but poorly understood, there was a massive increase in population at the same time that agricultural groups for the first time began to occupy the higher areas about La Bajada. Lakatos and Wilson note that the timing of this change, while not as precise as might be ideal, seems to correspond closely to the collapse of the late Pueblo I villages in the Mesa Verde region and the major population movements involved with the depopulation of that area, including the apparent influx of people into the Chaco Basin that likely laid the groundwork for the Chaco Phenomenon.

It seems very plausible that the increase in population in the Rio Grande was linked to these developments, though exactly how is unclear. Material culture actually remained fairly stable and consistent with Early Developmental patterns across this transition, although architecture did become more standardized and San Marcial Black-on-white was replaced by Red Mesa Black-on-white as the main decorated ceramic type. The latter change, especially, suggests influence from the west, as Red Mesa is the main decorated type in the Chaco area and other parts of the southern Colorado Plateau during this same period. It’s possible, as Lakatos and Wilson suggest, that the increased population in the Chaco Basin directly spurred Middle Rio Grande populations to move northward, although it’s not clear how exactly this would have worked. Other possibilities are that populations from the intermediate areas, such as the Puerco of the East, began to move eastward in the Rio Grande Valley as a result of the population movements immediately to the west of them, perhaps pushing existing Rio Grande populations north, or that western populations were moving directly to the Northern Rio Grande area above La Bajada, “leap-frogging” existing populations in the Middle Rio Grande.

The fact that material culture continued to show local Rio Grande features throughout the region, however, suggests that some level of assimilation or cultural accommodation between the locals and immigrants was involved, rather than a more directly confrontational situation. It’s noteworthy that Lakatos and Wilson don’t discuss evidence for warfare or defensive features at all, which of course doesn’t mean those things didn’t exist but does suggest that they may have been less prevalent than in some other regions.

Turquoise-Encrusted Cow Skull, Santa Fe, New Mexico

Turquoise-Encrusted Cow Skull, Santa Fe, New Mexico

Another thing Lakatos and Wilson don’t discuss, but which seems particularly important to understanding these relationships, is turquoise, specifically that from the well-known mines in the Cerrillos Hills east of the Sandias. Turquoise is of course strongly associated with Chaco, and while not all of the turquoise there has turned out to be from Cerrillos, a substantial portion of it definitely was. Evidence for increased connections between the San Juan Basin and the Rio Grande area at the same time as the rise of Chaco as a regional center is very intriguing in this light. Could increasing demand for turquoise at Chaco have led to the Cerrillos mines being a “pull” factor leading western groups into the Rio Grande Valley? Could the mines have even led local Rio Grande groups, or mixed groups of locals and immigrants, to move further east, across the mountains and even up over La Bajada into the Santa Fe area, which may have become more attractive as increased immigration reduced the supply of land in the Middle Rio Grande? And what about those remnant hunter-gatherer groups east of the Sandias and north of La Bajada? What happened to them? Were they attacked and defeated by the encroaching farmers? Pushed out into areas further north and east? Assimilated into agricultural society, which even in the Late Developmental period had a strong foraging component? There are a lot of questions about this period in this area, and very little evidence on which to base any answers. Lakatos and Wilson recognize this and suggest some research directions that would be helpful in answering the remaining questions, although they don’t point out as many as I have here.

Overall, this is a very informative chapter that brings into the discussion of Pueblo I societies an area that is often left out of these discussions. It’s an area of crucial importance for understanding regional dynamics throughout the northern Southwest, however, so I’m glad it was included in this volume. This chapter concludes the geographical summaries in the book; the remaining chapters cover various thematic topics of interest in understanding the Early Pueblo period as a whole.

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Phoenix, Arizona

Phoenix, Arizona

Today is the summer solstice, so I figured I would take a break from my (slowly) ongoing series of posts on the Pueblo I period in the northern Southwest to take a look at evidence for ancient astronomical knowledge in a different part of the Southwest. This is in part an outgrowth of my recent thoughts on the role of astronomy in the rise of Chaco Canyon to regional prominence, which in turn was spurred in part by the realization that Chaco appears to show the earliest evidence for complex astronomical knowledge in the northern Southwest. The idea, which I explored exactly one year ago in this post, is that by the eleventh century AD the Chacoans developed a knowledge of astronomy that they were able to use as esoteric ritual knowledge to enhance the canyon’s role as a political and economic power throughout the region.

This idea led me to wonder, however, about the history of astronomical knowledge in the southern Southwest, which was culturally quite different from the northern areas influence by Chaco. In particular, the Hohokam of the southern Arizona deserts show both a longer history of intensive agriculture and a closer connection to Mesoamerican societies further south, both attributes that could be relevant to their knowledge and use of astronomy. If evidence for that knowledge among the Hohokam long predates that evidence at Chaco, this leads to interesting questions about the origins of Chacoan astronomy. If it doesn’t, that leads to other interesting questions about both societies.

Luckily, the same special issue of the journal Archaeoastronomy that contains an article on Chacoan astronomy that I discussed in a previous post also contains one on Hohokam astronomy. This article, written by Todd Bostwick, discusses evidence for astronomical alignments in Hohokam monumental architecture and rock art, as well as the astronomical and calendrical practices of the modern O’odham people who inhabit the same area (and whose relationship to the Hohokam is unclear and controversial, although Bostwick doesn’t discuss this). Bostwick’s focus is on the Phoenix area, which is considered the Hohokam heartland.

Bostwick documents a wide range of possible alignments in Hohokam architecture and petroglyphs, primarily solstice-oriented. These include a large number of rock-art sites in and around the mountains that show clear alignments to the solstice sunrises, particularly associated with a distinctive dot-in-circle motif that may be a sun symbol. There are also some rock art sites with complex patterns of light and shadow interacting with the petroglyphs on the solstices, similar to the famous “Sun Dagger” petroglyph on Fajada Butte at Chaco. In architecture, perhaps the most intriguing alignments are a series of holes in the upper walls of the “Big House” at Casa Grande Ruins National Monument which show possible alignments primarily to the equinox sunrise, and perhaps to some of the lunar standstill moonsets as well. There are also astronomical alignments associated with platform mounds at the villages of Mesa Grande and Pueblo Grande.

The rock art alignments are notoriously difficult to date, of course, and the aforementioned architectural features all date to relatively late in the Hohokam sequence and are therefore not very useful to understanding the origins of Hohokam astronomical knowledge. There are, however, features at the earlier village of Snaketown that may have had an astronomical purpose, although it is less straightforward than the others.

Snaketown was the preeminent village of the Hohokam during the Sedentary period, which is roughly contemporaneous with the florescence of Chaco (ca. AD 900 to 1150), although its history extends back several hundred years earlier. It was not occupied into the following Classic Period, when the other villages mentioned above reached their peaks. There is an alignment between the central plaza of Snaketown and Gila Butte, a geological formation to the southeast that is considered sacred by the O’odham. On the winter solstice, the sun rises between the two peaks of the butte when viewed from the plaza, and Bostwick suggests that the siting of Snaketown may be related to this alignment. If so, this would imply knowledge at least of solstice alignments was much earlier in the Hohokam area than further north, but without clear evidence from earlier periods this must remain speculative.

Another intriguing but ambiguous feature at Snaketown is the platform mound known as Mound 16, at the northeast edge of the plaza. This circular mound is surrounded by a series of 52 postholes, placed fairly regularly but with gaps on the northeastern, southern, and southwestern sides of the mound. There are no structures or postholes on top of the mound, but there is one hearth at the southern end associated with one of the gaps in the ring of postholes. This clearly seems to indicate some sort of ceremonial or symbolic use for the mound, although it’s not clear what that would have been. Bostwick notes that some of the posts seem to align with the solstice and equinox sunrise positions as viewed from atop the mound, and he suggests that Mound 16 may have served as a “ritual sundial” of some sort. In this respect it is very reminiscent of the “Woodhenge” ring of posts next to Monk’s Mound at Cahokia, which has also been interpreted as an astronomical marker. Still, this interpretation is rather speculative at this point and Bostwick concludes his discussion of the mound with a call for further research on its possible astronomical alignments.

Reconstructed "Woodhenge" at Cahokia

Reconstructed “Woodhenge” at Cahokia

The upshot of all this from my perspective is that the history of astronomical knowledge in the southern Southwest actually seems to be just as murky as that further north. In both cases the most apparent astronomical alignments in architecture seem to date quite late, although this doesn’t say much about the time depth of the knowledge behind them. There are a few intriguing hints in more general aspects of Hohokam society that may provide some insight, however.

One is the adoption here of the Mesoamerican ballgame, played in distinctive courts that are primarily associated with the Sedentary period and the florescence of Snaketown (which has two). As Bostwick notes, in Mesoamerica the ballgame was often associated with astronomical symbolism and particularly with the sun and the calendar. Its introduction among the Hohokam around the beginning of the Sedentary period may therefore indicate the introduction of certain religious motifs or practices from the south that emphasized celestial, and especially solar, patterns.

Bostwick also notes one admittedly speculative but very interesting theory regarding this introduction which associates it with a solar eclipse in AD 797 which would have been visible to the Hohokam, and which was followed a few years later by a series of disastrous floods. It’s possible that the Hohokam perceived the eclipse as an omen predicting the floods, and that they adopted new religious practices associated with the sky to prevent further disasters like this. Another eclipse in AD 1076 may have been associated with the abandonment of Snaketown and other major Sedentary period villages and the reorganization of Hohokam society into a new form during the Classic period. Notably, this change included the decline of the ballcourt system and the rise of new forms of ritual associated with platform mounds. A subsequent solar eclipse in AD 1379 was again followed a few years later by catastrophic floods that many scholars consider important factors in the ultimate collapse of Hohokam society.

This eclipse theory is fascinating, although it’s obviously very speculative and probably impossible to prove or disprove conclusively. There was a lot of other stuff going on at the same time as each of these societal transformations, of course, and it’s likely there were multiple factors involved in each case.

It’s still not clear what role Hohokam astronomical knowledge might have played in the development of similar knowledge at Chaco. The Chacoans may have noticed alignments in their local environment basically independently of anything similar going on further south, they might have heard rumors about Hohokam astronomy that spurred them to develop their own, or they might have had detailed knowledge of Hohokam practices that they used to implement similar practices themselves. The extent to which the Chacoans and Hohokam were aware of each other and the extent to which they interacted either directly or indirectly are important questions for understanding Southwestern prehistory, and they have not received very much attention from scholars who specialize in either society (although some of Steve Lekson’s recent work has been an important exception). The murky history of astronomical knowledge in both areas doesn’t seem to shed much light on these questions at this point, but with further research it may become more illuminating. Happy solstice.
Bostwick TW (2010). Exploring the Frontiers of Hohokam Astronomy: Tracking Seasons and Orienting Ritual Space in the Sonoran Desert Archaeoastronomy, 23, 166-189

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Montezuma Castle, a Sinagua Village

Montezuma Castle, a Sinagua Village

As I’ve mentioned before in reference to the Fremont culture of what is now Utah, while the Anasazi of the Four Corners region are by far the most famous of the prehistoric southwestern societies, and particularly famous for their allegedly mysterious disappearance, there’s actually very little mystery about what happened to them. They very obviously became the modern Pueblos of New Mexico and Arizona. It has not been possible so far to trace connections between any specific prehistoric site and any specific modern pueblo (beyond obvious cases like the Zuni and Hopi pueblos that were abandoned in very late prehistory or very early historic times when the inhabitants moved to nearby communities that are still extant today). However, the general connections between the Anasazi and the modern Pueblos in material culture are quite clear and no one disputes them.

When it comes to the other prehistoric cultures, however, the situation is much less clear. While a few seem to have clear modern descendants, most show few if any obvious similarities to the modern indigenous cultures inhabiting their areas, and the extent of any continuity is controversial at best. A recent comment on my Fremont post mentioning the Gallina culture of north-central New Mexico reminded me of this. I may expand on some of these cultures in future posts, but for now I just want to list them so that people who are not familiar with the diversity of southwestern culture history get a sense for the range of cultures known from the archaeological record and the very limited extent to which it is correlated with the equally extensive ethnographic record of this region.

Before I get to the list, though, I should give a brief introduction to the “root-and-branch” system of southwestern archaeological taxonomy, which is necessary to understand what these archaeological units are and are not. This system was originally developed by Harold Gladwin, a New York stockbroker who moved to Globe, Arizona in the 1920s and established a nonprofit archaeological research institute known as Gila Pueblo that was immensely influential in the development of southwestern archaeology in the 1930s and 1940s. Gladwin’s conception of southwestern culture history was based on an analogy to trees, with “roots” as the basic units, which in turn were divided hierarchically into “stems” and “branches.” The data on which these units were based was mainly ceramic, as pottery is the most useful artifact class for distinguishing among the various cultural manifestations of the prehistoric Southwest. The “branches” were considered roughly equivalent to the “tribes” of the ethnographic record, but given the historical focus of archaeology at this time they were further divided into chronological “phases.” Gladwin’s scheme was revised by Harold Colton of the Museum of Northern Arizona in Flagstaff, who renamed some of the roots to avoid Gladwin’s association of them with specific modern linguistic groups, given the uncertainty involved in this kind of identification. Colton also generally downplayed Gladwin’s intermediate “stems” in favor of a simpler system of “roots” and “branches” (which he still analogized to modern tribes). The system that emerged from this interplay of Gladwin’s and Colton’s ideas has remained in use ever since as the main taxonomic scheme for southwestern archaeology.

Within this system, “Anasazi” refers to one of the roots, with “Chaco,” “Mesa Verde,” Kayenta,” etc. as branches. Note that I have avoided using the term “Ancestral Puebloan” in place of “Anasazi” in this post so far; there’s a reason for that. While the term “Anasazi” has been criticized based on its Navajo etymology, it refers to a very specific unit in a taxonomic system, and “Ancestral Puebloan” is a problematic replacement because most or all of the other units in that system are also likely ancestral to the modern Pueblos. For want of a better term, then, I’m sticking with “Anasazi” for this purpose.

With that prologue out of the way, below are the roots and branches currently recognized by most archaeologists that don’t have obvious modern descendants. Note that while the Chaco, Mesa Verde, Kayenta, and Rio Grande branches of the Anasazi root are not listed here since they are clearly ancestral to the modern Pueblos, some other Anasazi branches are included since it is much less obvious what happened to them. They may have ended up as part of one or more modern Pueblo groups, but it is also possible that they changed their culture so much as to become unrecognizable archaeologically, or died out altogether. The branches belonging to other roots may have contributed to the formation of the modern Pueblos as well, or they may have developed into other cultures or disappeared entirely as well.

  • Anasazi Root:
    • Gallina Branch: Inhabited north-central New Mexico until about AD 1300. Late Gallina sites exhibit extensive evidence of violent death, implying conflict with other groups, perhaps those entering the area from the north and west around this time. While the Gallina are generally considered a branch of the Anasazi, their material culture shows many similarities to Plains groups to the east and their actual ethnic and linguistic affiliation remain unclear.
    • Virgin Branch: Inhabited the Virgin River valley and adjacent areas of southern Nevada, southwestern Utah and northwestern Arizona from Basketmaker times until approximately AD 1150 (or possibly a bit later). They seem to have been part of the overall Anasazi culture area from early on, but the Virgin region was abandoned significantly earlier than other Anasazi areas further east, and it is unclear what this means.
  • Fremont Root: Inhabited most of modern Utah for centuries until fading away in the late prehistoric period. The relationship of the Fremont to modern Pueblo and Numic populations remains unclear, and it is also unclear just how coherent a cultural unit “Fremont” ever was.
  • Hohokam Root: Inhabited southern and central Arizona (below the Mogollon Rim) for millennia from the initial development of agriculture until the fifteenth century AD. Famous for their elaborate canal systems and distinctive pottery, as well as their apparently Mesoamerican-influenced ballcourts, the Hohokam remain one of the most mysterious of prehistoric southwestern cultures despite also being one of the best-studied. They may have been ancestral to the modern O’odham (Pima and Papago) peoples who inhabited the same area in historic times, but this is hotly disputed as there are many differences in material culture. There have also been suggestions that some Hohokam may have been ancestral to modern Pueblo groups (especially the western Pueblos of Hopi and Zuni) and Yuman-speaking groups west of the Hohokam heartland.
  • Mogollon Root:
    • Jornada Branch: Occupied south-central New Mexico until about AD 1400. Possibly descended in part from the Mimbres to the west and possibly ancestral to some of the Rio Grande Pueblos further north, the Jornada are among the less studied southwestern groups. Based on rock art, they have been proposed as the originators of the kachina cult that later became widespread among the Pueblos.
    • Mimbres Branch: One of the most talked-about, but not one of the most-studied, groups of the prehistoric Southwest, the Mimbres are known mainly for their unique pottery featuring naturalistic decoration. This area showed a long developmental sequence under apparent Hohokam influence followed by a brief period of possible (but disputed) Anasazi influence including aggregation into large, nucleated villages, followed by regional abandonment in the twelfth century AD.
    • Mountain Branches: There are several branches of the Mogollon proposed to have existed in the mountains of western New Mexico and eastern Arizona until around AD 1400 when this whole region was abandoned. There are many continuities between these settlements (which often took the form of large aggregated pueblos) and modern Hopi and Zuni, but the connection is not totally unambiguous.
  • Patayan Root: By far the least studied of any of the southwestern roots, the Patayan occupied the harsh deserts of western Arizona and are generally considered to be ancestral to the modern Yuman-speaking tribes of that area. (Gladwin even called the root “Yuman,”  which Colton changed to “Patayan” to avoid relating it quite so obviously to a modern ethnolinguistic group.) Despite the fairly straightforward relationship of at least some Patayan branches to modern Yuman groups, the root as a whole remains poorly understood, and the northern branches in northwestern Arizona (especially the Cohonina and Prescott branches) have seen very little research and their attachment to the root at all has been challenged by some archaeologists.
  • Sinagua Root: This group, occupying the area around modern Flagstaff, Arizona, shows clear evidence of influence from both the Kayenta Anasazi to the east and the Hohokam to the south (and possibly the Cohonina to the west as well). It is not at all clear that they form their own root, but if they don’t it’s equally unclear which root they belong to. This may be more a flaw of the classification system than a real mystery about the people. Whether they belong on my list is dubious as well, as they are probably ancestral to certain Hopi “clans.” Still, enough doubt remains about their origins and fate that I thought it was worth mentioning them.

There are other groups as mysterious as these, including some whose very existence as cultural units is controversial (most notably the Salado of southeastern Arizona and adjacent areas). This list should give a general sense, however, of how much diversity there was in the prehistoric southwest and how little we know about the relationships among the various groups and their relationships to modern tribes. In this context, the Anasazi of the Four Corners don’t look particularly mysterious, and I suspect the unusual attention paid to them stems mostly from the picturesque nature of the remains they left behind, which certainly does distinguish them from most (though not all) of the other groups, which left less impressive architecture behind.
Colton, HS (1938). Names of the Four Culture Roots in the Southwest Science, 87 (2268), 551-552 DOI: 10.1126/science.87.2268.551

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