The Thrill of a Lifetime
It had been over two years, made up of 16 hour days, with a day each month to drive into
Del Rio, I had been all but a hermit. The drive was to shop, so I
could feed, that ever, never ending
nagging hunger I have within me.
The ever present feeling that there will be, an artifact recovered each day, one which will be so
different, as to allow me to add a new page into the history of the past, an unknown story, I
felt surrounded me. They were there, and I would find more pages than I could have
dreamed of at the start. However on this day, a page of history about the life of early man was
to be gained in one breathtaking moment.
It began as I encountered a shard of weaving. I did not use a shovel at the site, due to
the extreme quality of items being recovered, work was slow. A kitchen fork would
slowly lift small bits of debris and allow me to assure myself whether there was, either an
artifact present or not.
I worked a small area, about two feet by three feet. This shelf could be pursued until I either hit
the base of the shelter or a zone of sterile or uninhabited silt. As the floor sloped down
from the rear, the work would at times go as deep as seven feet.
On this day I had worked the ledge about two feet down,
that is when a bit of weaving
began to appear. As in the past, slowed the work, it became "very" slow work. Weaving shards
were not rare, but this one seemed larger than the average. It was sure to be the find of
the day.
After almost an hour it was obvious that here was more than just a weaving shard. The
weave was now more than a foot square, and the edges had begun to bend downward. To
continue to work from above would be to risk damage, as the weaving was certainly
more than a common shard. A new plan was needed.
I decided, to work the shelf with it's four foot wall, from
the front, which would allow me to
achieve a side view. My problem, one that makes a man of an archaeologist, is knowing
you must still treat the area you are working as before,
and go slow as there may be other
items you could encounter.
It would be several hours of anticipation, before I would have the full display of my prize,
the weaving. I had recovered others at the site, once these had been parts of burials. Not
so this one. This was very small, but appeared to be in what seemed in very good condition. As with any
item as old as the one before me, it would be very slow, ever so slow, carefully, oh so very caefully,
as I attempted to lift it
from the pit.
But remove it I could not. As I tried to ease the small weaving loose, I was to
learn that behind it was an obstacle. Fur, a new wall of fur! So now I needed to wait and
continue my excavation around the weaving. A task that would require several additional
hours. By mid afternoon I would have before me a block of weaving.
Slowly, again oh so slowly, I would now ease the weaving away from the inner object. It was
obvious that the weaving had been placed above it, then down on the sides. The wall of
fur would emerge as a small bundle of fur and fiber cords
I had recovered scores of artifacts in the past using rabbit fur, cords wrapped in strips of
hide, often as soft as the day they were discarded at the shelter.
Only now I had before me
not a single cord, but what must be thousands.
With the weaving safely removed and set aside, I now had a new
problem, how to handle
this mess? Should I try to remove it as a single block, or see if the many fur wrapped
cords were independent and each best be treated as an separate item? The first choice
seemed best, but first I would take a closer look.
It was then that life would take a turn for me. I no longer would be working with an
artifact, in hope it would be a clue within a page of lost history. I was about to discover a
chapter.
Noting that there was a flap in the mass of cords of fur, I slowly placed my fork under it
and eased it up. For over thirty years I had experienced the expectation of encountering
the unknown and been forced to make that last step in it's removal at the site. Again I was
alone in a world of anticipation, but not close to the point that would prepare me for
what was now before me.
Bone! A small area of bone, flat and curved, was without doubt the top of a child's head.
More than that, a small foot was before me. I was to step back and sit
for ages, to
gather my wits. Before me was a child wrapped in fur, and to protect it, a small weaving
had been wrapped about the little bundle. I had recovered a burial in a casket. This was
an archaic site, long before man would do little more than place his dead in a pit, if he even
took the time for that.
The time of burials containing items for an afterlife would be
thousands of years in the
future. Here at the Zueberbueler shelter it was common to place a body in the ground with
a weaving wrapped about it. I considered it burial furniture.
Some times the pit would
have a weaving pushed into the pit above the deceased. One would have
a mass of small
branches, leafs and all, pressed in.
This was intended to prevent coyotes or other animals from invading
the burial. The
need to supply the dead with items for the next life was not encountered. A total of
thirteen remains were recovered at the site.
To put an end to the story of the child's recovery, I would climb down to the Pecos river
and hail two fishermen. These poor guys had never anticipated someone dragging them
up two hundred feet of canyon wall. Much less ask then to aid with the slow transporting
of a three thousand year old child, back down that steep path.
Join me in a --visit to the shelter?
It would be many years later, in a cantata in Mexico, that a stranger would approach my
wife and I. With a story of the day a strange, dust covered man, had
convinced him and a
friend to give up their fishing, and climb the wall of the Pecos. A day he would never
forget. Nor I.
It had been over two years, made up of 16 hour days, with a day each month to drive into Del Rio, I had been all but a hermit. The drive was to shop, so I could feed, that ever, never ending nagging hunger I have within me. The ever present feeling that there will be, an artifact recovered each day, one which will be so different, as to allow me to add a new page into the history of the past, an unknown story, I felt surrounded me. They were there, and I would find more pages than I could have dreamed of at the start. However on this day, a page of history about the life of early man was to be gained in one breathtaking moment. It began as I encountered a shard of weaving. I did not use a shovel at the site, due to the extreme quality of items being recovered, work was slow. A kitchen fork would slowly lift small bits of debris and allow me to assure myself whether there was, either an artifact present or not. I worked a small area, about two feet by three feet. This shelf could be pursued until I either hit the base of the shelter or a zone of sterile or uninhabited silt. As the floor sloped down from the rear, the work would at times go as deep as seven feet. On this day I had worked the ledge about two feet down, that is when a bit of weaving began to appear. As in the past, slowed the work, it became "very" slow work. Weaving shards were not rare, but this one seemed larger than the average. It was sure to be the find of the day. After almost an hour it was obvious that here was more than just a weaving shard. The weave was now more than a foot square, and the edges had begun to bend downward. To continue to work from above would be to risk damage, as the weaving was certainly more than a common shard. A new plan was needed. I decided, to work the shelf with it's four foot wall, from the front, which would allow me to achieve a side view. My problem, one that makes a man of an archaeologist, is knowing you must still treat the area you are working as before, and go slow as there may be other items you could encounter. It would be several hours of anticipation, before I would have the full display of my prize, the weaving. I had recovered others at the site, once these had been parts of burials. Not so this one. This was very small, but appeared to be in what seemed in very good condition. As with any item as old as the one before me, it would be very slow, ever so slow, carefully, oh so very caefully, as I attempted to lift it from the pit. But remove it I could not. As I tried to ease the small weaving loose, I was to learn that behind it was an obstacle. Fur, a new wall of fur! So now I needed to wait and continue my excavation around the weaving. A task that would require several additional hours. By mid afternoon I would have before me a block of weaving. Slowly, again oh so slowly, I would now ease the weaving away from the inner object. It was obvious that the weaving had been placed above it, then down on the sides. The wall of fur would emerge as a small bundle of fur and fiber cords I had recovered scores of artifacts in the past using rabbit fur, cords wrapped in strips of hide, often as soft as the day they were discarded at the shelter. Only now I had before me not a single cord, but what must be thousands. With the weaving safely removed and set aside, I now had a new problem, how to handle this mess? Should I try to remove it as a single block, or see if the many fur wrapped cords were independent and each best be treated as an separate item? The first choice seemed best, but first I would take a closer look. It was then that life would take a turn for me. I no longer would be working with an artifact, in hope it would be a clue within a page of lost history. I was about to discover a chapter. Noting that there was a flap in the mass of cords of fur, I slowly placed my fork under it and eased it up. For over thirty years I had experienced the expectation of encountering the unknown and been forced to make that last step in it's removal at the site. Again I was alone in a world of anticipation, but not close to the point that would prepare me for what was now before me. Bone! A small area of bone, flat and curved, was without doubt the top of a child's head. More than that, a small foot was before me. I was to step back and sit for ages, to gather my wits. Before me was a child wrapped in fur, and to protect it, a small weaving had been wrapped about the little bundle. I had recovered a burial in a casket. This was an archaic site, long before man would do little more than place his dead in a pit, if he even took the time for that. The time of burials containing items for an afterlife would be thousands of years in the future. Here at the Zueberbueler shelter it was common to place a body in the ground with a weaving wrapped about it. I considered it burial furniture. Some times the pit would have a weaving pushed into the pit above the deceased. One would have a mass of small branches, leafs and all, pressed in. This was intended to prevent coyotes or other animals from invading the burial. The need to supply the dead with items for the next life was not encountered. A total of thirteen remains were recovered at the site. To put an end to the story of the child's recovery, I would climb down to the Pecos river and hail two fishermen. These poor guys had never anticipated someone dragging them up two hundred feet of canyon wall. Much less ask then to aid with the slow transporting of a three thousand year old child, back down that steep path. Join me in a --visit to the shelter? It would be many years later, in a cantata in Mexico, that a stranger would approach my wife and I. With a story of the day a strange, dust covered man, had convinced him and a friend to give up their fishing, and climb the wall of the Pecos. A day he would never forget. Nor I. |