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The earliest evidence for people on the Great Plains leaves many questions unanswered, but we know enough to set the stage for the changes that occurred at the end of the Pleistocene. We have seen that it is effectively impossible for the small sample of dated early sites to tell us about the continent’s very first occupants, whether Clovis was first or not. This means that people must have been on the Plains not for a few centuries prior to 10,800 BC (12,800 cal BP), but, rather, probably for thousands of years prior to that date. This has surpassingly important implications for the human context of change on the Great Plains at the end of the Pleistocene and the beginning of the modern geologic period, the Holocene.
By the end of the Woodland times, communities who led very different kinds of lives and who participated in very different pan-regional social and economic networks lived across the Great Plains. The social and adaptive mosaic that they formed underlies the development of horticultural societies on the Plains that began in the 10th century. The people who occupied the northern and Northwestern Plains at the end of Woodland times were mobile and may have been the most sophisticated and intensive big-game hunters that North America has ever seen. Whether or not they directly met people from the Eastern Woodlands, they were an integral part of continent-wide exchange networks with them. South of these hunters, semi-sedentary communities of more generalist hunters and gatherers were scattered across the central Plains, from Nebraska probably as far south as Oklahoma and north Texas. These groups, too, knew their eastern neighbors, and the easternmost of them (in Iowa and eastern Kansas and Nebraska) grew small amounts of domesticated plants. The more northern of these groups shared a general common tradition of Woodland-style ceramic production, albeit with local interpretations of this tradition evident in at least some areas. Late Woodland traditions of collective secondary burials are also especially evident on the Central Plains and speak to organized social networks that bound dispersed residence groups together through rituals that had strong similarities to mortuary rituals to the east. The more southern of these seem to have organized themselves in different ways and connected into the Southeast rather than into the Midwest.
I live in Longmont, Colorado, on the western edge of the Great Plains. Settlers from Chicago founded the modern city of Longmont in 1871 by the St. Vrain River (a generous term for a small watercourse), adjacent to the slightly older community of Burlington (Estes et al. 1971). Longmont has grown since then from a population of a couple of hundred to a community of nearly 100,000. My city’s many amenities include Sandstone Ranch, a park just east of town that includes athletic fields, a wildlife refuge, and an elegant late-19th-century home that a pioneer named Morse Coffin built at the base of a sandstone cliff overlooking the St. Vrain.
Dividing time into discrete chronological periods like those that organize the chapters here is a mixed blessing. On one hand, such divisions reflect real differences in the archaeological record, differences that tell us about important changes in the past. On the other, they often overemphasize those differences, as if massive changes occurred instantaneously. Looking for dividing lines teaches us to divide time into segments even though we know that it flowed continuously and it focuses our attention on archaeologically visible shifts, often blinding us to important patterns of continuity.
By the mid-1200s, a traveler across the Plains would have encountered a wide array of communities and lifeways. In the far southwest, scattered households of small-scale farmers with strong ties to the southern part of the American Southwest lived in much of the Pecos Valley, while similar communities with closer connections to the Taos area lived to the north of them, perhaps into Colorado. People who made brownware pottery like that in the southern Southwest also occupied the grasslands from the Pecos across the southern Llano Estacado and may still have had settlements in the eastern Texas Panhandle and to the edge of central Texas, where they perhaps lacked maize horticulture but retained southwestern ceramic and other traditions. In Texas, these eastern groups would have met aceramic, probably seasonally settled, generalist hunter-gatherers. From Oklahoma to North Dakota, farmers dominated much of the eastern two-thirds or so of the region, living in fairly small communities in more southern areas and in substantial towns with hundreds of inhabitants in the north. All of these farmers grew maize and other cultigens, although they varied widely in their emphasis on this and there were persistent enclaves of communities (in areas like southeastern Kansas and the eastern part of the Dakotas) who knew and interacted with them but whose ways of life had changed relatively little since Late Woodland times. Much of the Western Plains of Colorado and Wyoming seems to have been substantially depopulated at this time, but farmers certainly reached out to the west in ways that we still do not fully understand. And industrial bison hunters filled the grasslands to the north and northwest, as they had for centuries.
I began this volume by noting the disconnect between widespread and long-standing views of the indigenous people and environment of the Great Plains and the reality of the character and history of that region. Mounted bison hunters like the ones we often visualize did live on the grasslands, but they existed for little more than a century and a half and many of the most famous groups who lived this way migrated to the Plains during the Colonial Era. Focusing on them neglects not only the farmers who dominated the Plains for a millennium but also the diversity of hunter-gatherer ways of life that people have lived there for perhaps 15,000 years or more. Like human history throughout North America, human history on the Plains is not a story of an unchanging way of life fixed for centuries in the forms that Euroamericans encountered; it is a story of constant change and interaction between human beings and the region’s potentials and limits. It is also a story that is difficult to understand without thinking about how Plains people reached out beyond the grasslands, establishing social and economic connections that spanned much of North America.
As the next three chapters discuss, communities of maize farmers appeared in a limited area at the northeastern edge of the grasslands during the 10th century and over a much larger area in the following centuries. This shift had implications for virtually every aspect of the lives the people in these communities and their neighbors lived, as did similar shifts throughout the world. This chapter presents a background to these changes on the Great Plains. Chapters 8 through 10 examine the archaeology of Plains farmers and their hunter-gatherer neighbors from AD 950 to AD 1500 more concretely with this background in mind.
This article discusses the aggregation and dispersion of the Chulmun hunter-gatherers (c. 8000–1500 bce) in prehistoric Korea. The following observations are made from settlement datasets. First, large numbers of houses do not necessarily imply aggregation, as they can be palimpsests of dwelling structures from different phases. Second, aggregation settlements were segmented and contained multiple discrete subunits. Individual residential clusters typically had fewer than 60 inhabitants. Third, there are some indications of social hierarchy in nucleated settlements such as Unseo-dong. Fourth, despite some evidence of emergent elites and social differentiation, social complexity did not intensify over the long run. Levelling mechanisms (e.g. group fission) were in operation and they suppressed the institutionalization of social hierarchy.
Decapitation was an integral part of the complex ritual practices recorded in the palaeographic and archaeological records at the Late Shang (c. 1250–1050 bce) site of Yinxu in Henan Province, China. Although representations of decapitation are often found in societies where the act was carried out, no clear evidence exists for Yinxu, where only a small number of human depictions have been uncovered to date. In this article, I use archaeological data from sacrificial contexts and material culture uncovered during excavations over the past 90 years to investigate the human head as Late Shang elite visual culture. I argue that the dramatic increase in decapitation at Yinxu necessitated the development of a ritually informed process for handling these remains that transformed them into elite objects, while simultaneously pacifying their potentially dangerous post-mortem agency. This research contributes to global comparative studies on the materiality of the human head.
The primitive race of Soay sheep from the St Kilda archipelago in northwest Scotland has played an important role in narratives of the history of domestic sheep. The Soays, apparently a ‘Bronze Age’ race of sheep, were probably confined to the precipitous isle of Soay as soon as ‘Iron Age’ sheep were introduced to Hirta, St Kilda's main island, owing to the competitive edge of the ferocious Soay rams over the new arrivals. In the 1880s, Pitt-Rivers, following his archaeozoological interests, was the first to keep Soays in his park, their epic journey from the edge of the Atlantic to southern England enabled by his acquaintance with their owner. In the early twentieth century, Soays featured in animal bone reports for archaeological sites, were kept in parks and involved in breeding experiments, particularly around Horsham, Sussex (where their owner lived), and in Edinburgh. The transfer of 107 Soays to Hirta in 1934 and 1935, after humans had evacuated St Kilda, was a remarkable feat, enabling the important long-running Soay Sheep Project. The historical exploitation of ‘feral’ Soay sheep by the islanders of St Kilda has significant cultural ramifications.
Medicinal practices were critical in ancient societies, yet we have limited insight into these practices outside references found in ancient texts. Meanwhile, historic and ethnographic resources have documented how a number of plants, from across the landscape, are assembled into pharmacopoeias and transformed into materia medica. These documentary resources attest to diverse healthcare practices that incorporate botanical elements, while residues in the archaeological record (seeds, phytoliths and starch grains) point to a variety of activities, some of them therapeutic in nature. Focusing on four pre-Hispanic communities in northwestern Honduras, I draw upon ethnobotanical and ethnobiological knowledge to infer medical practices potentially represented by ancient plant residues. Comparing these findings with prior investigations, I address the limits of dividing taxa into mutually exclusive categories such as ‘food’, ‘fuel’ and ‘medicine’. I consider the importance of apothecary craft in past lifeways, as well as the persistence of many traditions in contemporary medical practice.
The interpretation of Late Iron Age burial mounds often focuses exclusively on the discovered contents, the social identity or role of the interred and the economic and political implications that can be extracted. This article considers the mound itself as a basis for archaeological interpretation, and attempts to place substantial late Iron Age burial mounds within the landscape they are made of. Within these burial mounds internal references to time, place and the transformations and imbued associations within the earth-sourced materials are purposeful and significant. This is illustrated via comparable examples from southern Norway, and to add contrast, cases from the Viking Age Isle of Man will be explored. This article will outline why the selected mounds should be seen as closely related to each other in the references they contain, and how the materials used can be seen as a purposeful link to the land itself.