Lives in Ruins

  • I recently spoke with a woman inquiring about the Palisades Museum of Prehistory and she told me about her book club’s discussion of Lives in Ruins by Marilyn Johnson.  It came as a complete surprise to me when she told me I was featured in the book.   Although initially pausing with concern at the book’s title,  I discovered after reading it that my short appearance had little to do with a tattered life.  From the book, under the title of Amateurs:

     

    Since working for the medical examiner of New York City, going through the debris from the neighborhood of the Twin Towers, Erin Coward had decided to make forensic anthropology her specialty.  While she applied for programs, she was staying with her mother near Washington, D.C.  We arranged to meet one afternoon near the Capitol.  Coward and her mother, Lane, picked me up at my hotel to whisk me off to check out an archaeological museum Erin had found online.  “we never heard of this place,” her mother said, “but Erin called and made arrangements for a private showing.”  How great is this?  I thought happily, as her mother chauffeured us around the circles and loops of suburban D.C and chatted knowledgeably about her daughter’s archaeological career.  “Did she tell you about finding a seashell in the middle of the desert?”

    It was an adventure with lively and well-read companions.  The bedtime story that Erin had wanted to hear each night in childhood had been Beowulf; now she consumed biography, travel essays, British novels, Stephen Jay Gould, Bill Bryson.  Of Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything, Erin said: “I was prepared to be a skeptic –  ‘I will take you down!’ – but he was amazing on evolution.”

    The car climbed the hills above D.C. to the Palisades, a residential neighborhood of lovely homes on an old river terrace above the Potomac.  We would never have found the Palisades Museum of Prehistory without GPS.  We were running a little late, and Erin nervously chewed a nail while her mother drove up and down a road of pretty houses, all of us squinting at street numbers. There were no signs, no indication that anything commercial was happening here -and, as it turned out, nothing commercial was.  The address was for the corner house on the big lot,with a grape arbor and an outbuilding and children’s toys littering the patio.  Our host, Doug Dupin, was a relaxed young dad, a skateboarder, who led us out back.  We walked across the lawn to the outbuilding, an elaborate clubhouse with just enough room inside for four.  “I’ve been working for a few years on this thing, and every once in a while people come through,” Doug Dupin said.  He had been digging the foundation for a wine cellar when he began to uncover layers of history: medicine bottles, Civil War bullets, shards of pottery, and Native American points.  While Lane Coward and I admired the decor, burlap walls with bark accents, and the posters he made and sold (Smoking Pipes of the American Indian, Stone Points of the Potomac Palisades), Erin gravitated toward the display cases of mounted Indian points.  She and Dupin began speaking the language of stone tools.

    Dupin’s personal collection, and his determination to salvage what he could of the archaeology of the area, had deepened when a soccer field was dug in his neighborhood.  He watched bulldozers churn up the earth, exposing all sorts of artifacts.  He alerted the archaeologist who worked for the District of Columbia, but could not get him to halt the construction or gather the artifacts, so he and a couple neighbors began surface-collecting points and pottery in the evenings.  He posted his finds on archaeology listserv, only to earn a scolding from the local historic preservation office.  “Look,” he told us, “I’m happy to let the professionals takeover, but if they aren’t going to do their jobs, I will step in.”  Dupin began noticing how little actually got surveyed and mitigated in the Palisades before developers broke ground.  So he decided to intervene on his own, collecting and cataloging artifacts for public display.  He bought some display cases, fixed up his clubhouse as a museum, put together a website, and stepped into the cavernous gap left by the local professionals.  He also started to document local violations of historic preservation laws, to create a record of the local history that had been found- as well as the history that had been erased.

    He was driven by a connection to this landscape, the people who once inhabited it, and the next generation who would inherit it.  “The river below is full of fish,” Dupin said.  “you can see why the Native Americans loved it.  I take my three boys exploring in the caves in the bluffs, and we’ve found petroglyphs [rock carvings] and arrowheads.”

    Coward told him about her work in the Southwest, and they found common ground in their love of the Native American past.  Both were frustrated by the lack of economic suport for Native Amerian cultural history.  These days, Erin and Dupin agreed, funding went to colonial sites and African-American projects.  The extraordianry record of the Native American life that stretched back more than ten thousand years was going begging.

    Later Erin admitted that, after she met Dupin, “I had to reevaluate my thinking toward amateur archaeologists.”  If they were as responsible as he was, she wouldn’t mind seeing them train volunteers.  Come to think of it, “teaching the public how to properly deal with accidental finds would be a huge help to a number of professionals.”  She was ready to put the man to work!

    Before Dupin’s sons got home from school, we headed to Erin and Lane’s family home in Annandale, Virginia, where we cooked mahi-mahi and Erin talked about working on the Big Island in Hawaii.  She remembered finding petroglyphs full of piko holes everywhere.  Piko holes-tiny gouges in the basalt where natives once buried the stumps of their babies’ umbilical cords for good luck.

    Lane beamed at the daughter who could find such marvels in the world.  But when Erin carried our dishes out to the kitchen, Lane leaned my way, the concerned mother harking back to the World Trade Center rubble, and whispered, “Did she tell you about finding the baby’s T-shirt?”

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Trampled Artifact

During this summer as I walked to the Palisades Park,  I regularly noticed this piece of quartz in the middle of the footpath.   I never thought a projectile point so trampled upon could go undiscovered.  Last week I stopped for a closer inspection and dislodged it from the dirt.  Lo and behold – a stemmed projectile point with a missing portion of the shoulder.

 

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Kennedy Center Expansion Project

Back in the spring of this year, I lamented the lack of archeology prior to construction along the Potomac River at the Kennedy Center’s  new River Pavilion.  I investigated the site back in May and wrote about what prompted the visit here.

When I visited the area in May most of the foundations had already been sunk and the remaining earth exposed seemed to correlate to the turn of the century era.   Here was the location of the Heurich Brewing Company and the Arlington Bottling Company – substantial amounts of bottles with the label ABC for the Arlington Bottling Company shows the close operations of these related businesses.

Bottles from both the Arlington Bottling Company and CHR Heurich Brewing Co comprise the bottle cache.

At left, CHR Heurich Brewing Company embossed with hop vine around Washington Monument. At right, Arlington Bottling Company.

Closer to the river at this site, I found some of the following items.

4oz medicine bottle, shell buttons, and porcelain bowl fragments

Unfortunately, I did not visit the site when the foundations were dug, which likely would have exposed the sites prehistoric profile.

According to the environmental/cultural assessment Section 108 meeting for the Kennedy Center expansion, the Delaware Nation was consulted.  The Delaware Nation website notes that consulting fees are charged and that those funds go towards their preservation department.  Since no archeology was conducted at the site, it appears this payment was simply compensation for erasing the sites American Indian component.   Sigh.

 

 

 

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Big Archeo Finding – via The Onion

New Evidence Suggests Humans May Have Been Dipping Crunchy Things Into Gooey Things Earlier Than Previously Thought

KOOBI FORA, KENYA—Saying their findings could offer fresh insight into the dietary habits of our prehistoric ancestors, archaeologists from Rice University announced Tuesday that they had unearthed new evidence suggesting humans may have been dipping crunchy things into gooey things far earlier than previously thought. “While the scientific community has generally believed that dipping crunchy things into gooey things began some 4,000 years ago with ancient Babylonians dunking crusty flatbreads in a variety of jellies and fish pastes, our research indicates that the practice actually began more than a million years earlier,” said lead researcher Nicolas Farr, adding that the newly discovered fossil remains of Homo erectus point to the species dipping local root vegetables into pools of coagulated blood from game animals such as gazelles and antelopes, and even heating it with newly harnessed fire to achieve a more melty consistency. “While it’s possible that still older hominids made crude attempts at a crunchy-gooey dietary convention—perhaps dipping strips of tree bark into animal dung—it’s unlikely that evidence would be preserved in the fossil record after all this time.” Farr went on to say that a series of ancient Roman legal tablets, however, remains the most recent evidence of a codified prohibition against double-dipping.

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2017 Marechal Foch Grape Harvest

This year proved my best harvest for a vineyard on to 17 years old now.  I spent a fair amount of time picking the grapes, but did no spraying, fertilizing, and only minimal weeding during the season.

And here is Gus stomping the grapes.

Pressing the 2017 grape harvest from Doug Dupin on Vimeo.

 

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Work Against the Machine

We await new construction at the Palisades Rec Center in DC starting perhaps today Monday, July 11, 2017.   Items from this area recovered yesterday.

Two examples of fire-cracked rock here.  Ultimately, I found nothing of particular interest.

I eventually dug down about 4 feet, only to uncover a cast iron sewage/storm pipe.  My choice of digging site coincided with an already trenched portion of the park.  The area destined to house the new Rec Center indeed appears to be heavily disturbed earth.  I will closely monitor the excavation in the coming weeks.

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My Three Sons on the Precipice

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Hawaiian Chunkey Stones

I never heard of the Hawaiian bowling stones known as maika until I saw these artifacts in the Kokee Natural History Museum in Waimea Canyon, Kauai.   With the same appearance as mainland chunkey stones, the ulu maika game apparently differed by not using the rolling stones as targets.

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Blooming White in the Garden

I often notice flowers of different species will bloom simultaneously in matching colors.   In the garden right now, it’s white’s turn.

From top to bottom:  taro, cilantro, waterlilly

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Suspicious Squirrel Deaths

Yesterday, I noticed a dead squirrel at the base of a sycamore tree in my yard.  I’ve seen plenty of squirrels fall out of trees only to bounce off the ground like rubber balls and go about their business so this squirrel, with no visible trauma, posed a mystery.    This morning I noticed another lifeless squirrel half emerged from the giant weaver’s nest in a different sycamore tree in the yard.   Perhaps a squirrel plague has arrived???

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