Acorn Economics

For those who attended school in California, there is a better than even chance of being exposed to the fact that acorns were an important part of the diet of the Native Californians up to European colonization (and for many people, up through the early 20th century). When you begin looking into it, the reasons are pretty simple: the acorns are storeable (some species keep for up to a couple of years after being picked), predictable (you know where they'll be year after year), semi-stable (unlike many other food resources, when you go out looking for acorns, you will come back with some, even if some years were leaner than others), and very nutritious. However, while acorns are the emblematic food of California, they weren't used with any regularity until approximately 4,000 to 3,000 years ago in much of California, or 7,000 to 9,000 years after California was first populated (though there is evidence that acorns were used intensively as early as 8-9,000 years ago in some locations, especially in northwest California). Given the advantages of acorns this seems pretty strange, until you consider the cost of acorns in terms of time and labor.

Picking acorns, peeling/shelling them, pounding them into mush, and then leaching them of tannic acid is a long, laborious process. It can consume the efforts of an entire community, and can also lead to greater social rigidity due both to the semi-fixed locations for gathering and the social organization needed for efficient acorn gathering and processing. To put it in modern economic terms, I recently learned that a gallon of acorn mush made by members of a local tribe costs $50 - and that is after it is made using the more efficient technology of blenders and cheesecloth rather than stone mortars and woven baskets to process the acorn. So, we have a staple food, something that you would eat as part of your most basic diet, requiring so much work that with modern labor-saving devices it prices out at $50 a gallon.

Knowing that, it's fair to ask why people began eating acorns at all. Of course, like most things in archaeology, we don't know for certain, but, at least in California, we have some pretty good ideas.

The dominant idea regarding this, and I think it's generally a pretty sound one, is that the answer lies in a basic economic principle. Acorns are an expensive resource in that they take so much time, energy, and specific forms of social organization to gather and process, so it seems reasonable to expect that they would not be used if a cheaper (that is, more convenient) resource were available. Say, if something costs $10 per gallon as opposed to $50 a gallon. Now, I usually argue against over-extending these sorts of simplistic economic arguments - if they were as strong as many advocates of Adam Smith's writings believe then things such as designer jeans and urban SUVs would not exist - but they are useful if thought of as general trends rather than hard-and-fast laws of commerce. Proceeding this way, we can see that, while there are many, many exceptions, as a general rule it is true that when presented with two options for feeding a society, people tend to choose the easier/less expensive option* provided that it produces comparable nutrition value. In the case of acorns, there are numerous grass seeds, tubers, and other such basic foods that can serve much the same purpose that are significantly easier to gather and process, and in pre-acorn sites we see very few mortars but many, many milling basins and milling slicks of the sort that would be used for processing such plants. Over time, however, these milling tools, while never completely going away, begin to loose favor as compared to the mortar, which is good for processing oily seeds such as acorns.

There are alot of explanations for what happened, and given that acorns became the staple food at different times in different parts of California, I am of the opinion that several different things happened in several different places. In some places, the population may have grown sufficiently that it outstripped the capacity of the convenient resources, forcing people to use the more difficult ones. In other places, ecological change may have resulted in plant die-off that made the previously used resources more difficult to obtain or not sufficient to support the population. In still others, growing populations (and perhaps growing territorialism) may have resulted in less seasonal mobility and the need to use more local resources to make up for the fact that travel to resources was no longer feasible.

I could go on for a while, but I think you get the point - changes occurred which either made the previous staple foods more expensive in terms of time and labor involved in obtaining and processing them, or else rendered them insufficient for providing for the needs of the people depending on them. Generally the archaeological evidence seems to be consistent with this model - though it is one that is rather damnably difficult to test - but every new archaeologist looking at it teases out new and interesting elements. While most of us working in California would agree to the overall use of the economic model here, there are probably as many permutations of it as there are people looking at it.





*In case you're trying to think of an exception and stuck, then consider the number of foods that we eat that are actually quite expensive in terms of either money or time to prepare or obtain, but which we nonetheless consume whenever we get the chance because of intangibles such as taste or social prestige (Filet Mignon is a wildly impractical but delicious food, while I find it hard to imagine that anyone likes caviar enough to justify the price tag unless you take into account the social prestige that comes from having and serving caviar). Also, consider that many more difficult/expensive foods are consumed for reasons of ideology rather than reasons of economics, which explains the success of Whole Foods and similar stores. These types of behaviors all make sense, but only if you allow that economics is only one of many things that humans consider when making their choices.

The Pottery Puzzle

Native Californians were pretty damn adaptable. From the time that people first entered the area around 11,000 to 12,000 years ago up until the Europeans showed up, the people here managed to find a way to live in nearly every environment that the large and varied state offers - from deserts to glaciers, from swamps to forests, from plains to mountains. These people were smart, made good use of the resources available, and arranged themselves socially and politically in ways that allowed them to take advantage of their neighbor's resources (sometimes by violence, but more typically by trade).

Given this, there is one big glaring hole in California's archaeological record: pottery.

Generally, by the time a society has developed a sedentary or semi-sedentary lifeway (living in villages, collecting and storing food, etc.) one can expect to see pottery as part of the toolkit. Not so in much of California.

Pottery is a remarkably useful thing. It allows the creation of vessels of the exact size and shape that you need, which are relatively lightweight, and relatively durable - plus, if it breaks, you can create another identical one. Pottery can be made and sealed to be resistant to rodents, protect foods from the elements, and even mark who owns the contents of the pottery. Really, considering all that it can do, who wouldn't want pottery?

Well, apparently, the Native Californians.

I don't want to over-generalize. There were some groups in California - especially in the eastern Sierra Nevada and the Mojave Desert, who did make and use pottery, and pottery began to appear in the archaeological record of San Diego County late in prehistory. Also, some pottery from the peoples of the Great Basin (which covers most of Nevada and Utah) showed up in California, presumably brought by extensive trade networks. But for most of California there was little pottery until the Spanish showed up. Which is just kinda' weird.

So, given that pottery is useful and that it shows up all over the world, and that it likely would have been nice for the Californians to have it, you have to wonder why they didn't set about making it. Most of the usual explanations for why a technology didn't develop in a region don't wash:

They lacked the raw materials. Suitable clay and temper material are present throughout the state.

They didn't know how to do it. Baked clay balls* are found in San Joaquin Delta sites, indicating that the principle of "heat clay up, get rock-like material" was known, and there are other, rare, examples of locally-made ceramics in other parts of California, so the basic technique was known. Also, ceramic manufacture was independently invented at different places and time the world over, so even if there wasn't supporting evidence for the people comprehending the basic concept, why would California be any different from anywhere else?**

They didn't need it. Well, this one is kind of true. The Native Californians made extensive use of basketry to serve many of the functions that pottery normally serves. The thing of it is, though, that while the baskets are fine (or even ideal) for many of these functions, pottery is better for some of them (such as making storage containers that keep rodents out). Also, while they may not have manufactured ceramics, many people did make use of carved stone bowls and pots to serve the functions that ceramics would normally have served, and these stone vessels were considerably harder to manufacture.

We could keep going, but the simple fact of the matter is that we haven't quite developed a good reason for the Native Californians to have not made more extensive use of pottery. There must have been a good reason, we just don't know what it is. The answer may be complex, dealing with social mores and a need to keep all members of society gainfully employed (which may mean not bringing in a new technology that could replace an old one), or it could be as simple as a general lack of interest due to the development of compensating types of basketry and stone vessels.

Regardless, the lack of pottery is both curious and interesting.







*These are cool artifacts. One of the most common ways for native Californians to cook the seed gruels that were important parts of their diets was to put the gruel into a water-tight basket and toss heated rocks into the basket in order to cook it from within. Well, the San Joaquin Delta is prone to flooding, and so fine sediments covered most of the locally available rocks. In response, the people living here made their own heating rocks by making little balls of pottery.

**An offshoot of this one is: They lacked the aptitude to develop the techniques for making pottery. I have never heard this one from an anthropologist, but I have heard it from members of the public. And really, it's about as stupid, ignorant, and bigoted a statement as you could cook up. It's essentially saying "they weren't smart enough to figure it out." Look at the previous paragraph, the one that starts with "*", they not only could, but did figure it out. These were smart people, good at observing their surroundings, otherwise they would not have been as succesful ins preading across the land as they were. But, hey, if you think you're so much smarter, we'll dump your ass down in the middle of the Sierra Nevada, naked and with nothing but a pound of obsidian, and then we'll take bets on how long you'll last.

Snow in the Mojave Desert

I spent the last two weeks working in the western Mojave Desert, surveying transmission line routes for Southern California Edison (you know, I gripe about clients, but SCE really has been a fantastic client - they pay on time, they have us supervised by other archaeologists who speak our language, and they work with the agencies rather than against them - and I am very happy that we have won a contract that pretty much promises our job security for the next couple of years).

So, we were in the Mojave Desert in the winter, and it snowed. In the desert. It was pretty damn cool.

So, here's some photos of the fieldwork. I hope you enjoy them.

The Joshua Tree against the snow:




And now some snow-covered mountains:





And now, perhaps, some odd but pleasant clouds, plus a shot of John actually working while I take pretty pictures:





And, of course, artifact photos, check out the Prince Albert in a Can:




The black stuff in the top photo - that's slag, melted brick. This is from a site with a boiler - a brick structure that housed a furnace for powering a steam engine - and the temperatures would get hot enough to melt the bricks over time.




And it's interesting to note that sodas have now been around long enough to qualify as artifacts in archaeological sites - and because of the changing corporate logos over time, they are great for determining the age of the sites:

Kickin it with Dawkins

My friend John recently moved back to California (state motto: "once you get over the sticker shock, the pain of the mortgage really sets in"), which by the accounts of anyone who A) knows John, and B) lives in California, is a pretty groovy thing. He contacted me to let me know that he had returned to our state from Indiana (state motto: "why do we need a state motto?"). This resulted in me inviting John to come spend some time in the Bay Area, which he graciously accepted.

It was at this point that another rather excellent fellow that I know, Dave (who, like me, has always lived in California, but has spent time in Southern California - regional motto: "there's something north of San Luis Obispo?"), contacted me to let me know that Richard "fuckin'" Dawkins was going to be speaking in Berkely (legend holds that he was granted the epithet "fuckin'" after a steel cage match in which he went nine rounds pounding on Duane Gish - the fight was over after 30 seconds, but he wouldn't let anyone into the cage to pull Gish out.

For an encore, he took on the entire Watchtower Society single handedly in an incident that the Jehovah's Witnesses now refer to in hushed tones as "the thrashing by the limey"). So, I called John and let him know. John was excited, and this is where the third and fourth people enter the story - another very good guy I know by the name of Aaron (who has lived in California for the second half of his life, but did live in Maine [state motto: "at least we're not Florida"] for a good chunk of his life), and Aaron's fiance Nicole (who is from Iowa - motto: "Not as flat as Kansas!"). John was with Aaron when I told him the news, which caused us to think that Aaron should be invited, which, in turn, led us to think that Aaron should also invite Nicole.

And with the pack complete, we made plans to meet in San Francisco that Saturday (which, for those of you paying attention, was the 8th). Aaron, Nicole, John, and I met in San Francisco in the early afternoon, and proceeded to wander aimlessly without aim (yeah, that's right, I said it). After a short time, we came to Golden Gate Park, and found our way to the remains of the Sutro Baths. Initially, John and I thought that what we saw was the remains of an old fortress (there is more than one dating to the 19th century in the area), but we were wrong - it was in fact the remains of what had previously been the world's largest swimming pool.

Well, that killed a few hours, and we eventually heard from Dave. He and his girlfriend Eva were preparing for dinner, and wanted to join us afterwards. We found out where they were, and realized that we had way too many people in the group and not enough vehicles (in truth, bad planning on my part, since I was organizing everyone except for Dave's participation). So, while the others prepared for the evening ahead, what with the Berkeley and the Dawkins an the lecture and all, I found a place to park my car. Afterwards, we all headed to the local BART station.

BART is an odd thing. Now, I know that Nancy, if she is reading this, will find my awe of BART a bit funny and probably rather quaint. After all, regional trains have been an important part of New York City's culture since the early 20th century, but mass transit of any sort has been a woefully missing part of Californian culture. So, this was my first time in a subway of any kind and, not counting the short one in the Denver International Airport, my first time on a train. It really was amazing to me that this is not more widely favored. It was far more convenient than driving, not to mention a bit faster (and not much more expensive as far as fuel costs go). When we were in the tunnel under the bay, a loud screach was constant, but when we were above ground, it was quiet enough for us to have conversations from across the train's car. Very cool.

And now I sound like a dork.

At any rate, during the course of the train ride, we got to know Eva a bit better, which was very groovy, as I now see what a really great individual she is - Dave has chosen well. Also, this lead to discussions about welding, tattoos, and the different quality of East Coast vs. West Coast subway urine (Nancy, if you're reading, Eva assures me that San Francisco BART urine is fresher and more healthful than New york subway urine).

Well, we got to Berkeley about an hour before the talk. When we entered the building that houses the auditorium, we discovered that a line stretched throughout the entire length of the hallway that formed the building's outer perimiter. Apparently people had begun lining up hours earlier. We were a bit concerned about getting in (Dave especially so), but we took our place at the end of the line (and within minutes the line behind us was outside of the building and winding around the courtyard).

It is often said that the non-religious can not or will not form social groups or provide each other with support and a sense of belonging that religions do. What a load of crap. As evidence I provide things such as James Randi's "The Amazing Meeting", the increasing number of atheist/agnostic social and charitable organizations springing up around the country, and the line we were in on Saturday night.

Everyone with whom I spoke was extremely friendly, and everyone was clearly enjoying the shared experience of waiting for the talk (and we would all later enjoy the talk). Suffice to say that the feeling of community that I remember from those times that I have attended a church was present that evening as well.

After we were in line for about an hour (by the way, if you are going to be in line with a group in Berkeley, send one of the group out to get pizza slices from Blondie's Pizza - trust me on this one), representatives of the student group who were sponsoring the talk came around and handed out tickets. With tickets firmly in hand, the line began to filter into the auditorium.

We quickly found out seats, and saw that Dr. Dawkins, was standing on the stage fiddling with a computer as various student organizers and what appeared to be faculty members from the university milled about to their own mysterious ends on the same stage. Dave looked over at me and said "You know, I'm dissappointed that he's up there already. I had hoped that the theatre would go dark, and the spotlights would focus on the roof of the auditorium, where we'd see him descened form a complex pulley system while wearing a liberace-style cape."

And then Dawkins walked off stage, the lights went low, and Dave got his wish.

Okay, that's not what happened. But what if it had happened that way...

...anyways, back to the story...

After a short bit, Dawkins did walk off stage, the lights did go low, and a spotlight appeared on the stage, where one of the student organizers was standing next to a microphone. Presently, she began to describe her organization (SANE - Students for a Nonreligious Ethos), and then to introduce Richard Dawkins (mysteriously, she omitted any mention of the steel cage match with Duane Gish), who took the stage and began his talk.

His talk was centered on his book "The God Delusion", which has just come out in paperback, and on addressing criticisms he had received for having written the book. I'll not go into the details of the talk - you can easily find and read the book, and similar talks by Dawkins as well as media appearances in which he discusses the same matters are easily accessible on Youtube, as well as other internet sites. What was fascinating to me was the way in which having an author actually speaking about (and reading from) a work will change the way that it is read. I had experienced this in the past, when I would meet or hear talks by researchers, and then find that I was reading their works in a different way than before. In this case, parts of the God Delusion that I found to be offensively shrill (and note that I actually agree with much of what was said in the book, but I found the perceived tone frustrating), when read by the author, came off as being funny, thoughtful, or simply direct, but not shrill. Frankly, I did not much care for the book I read it, but now I think I may re-read it. It's amazing how much information is conveyed by the tone of voice and the cadance of speech, two things that don't come out in print.

At any rate, the talk was really very entertaining, and if you get a chance, I highly recommend taking the opportunity to hear Dawkins speak. The talk ended with a Q&A session that was interesting, though brief.

After the talk, I walked out to a table set up by the Center for Inquiry (a pro-critical thinking think-tank type organization), and discovered that they have just opened a San Francisco office (groovy), and I bought a Richard Dawkins book tour T-shirt (how many biology professors have rockband-style tour t-shirts? Only one that I know of, my friend). I then proceeded outside to see that Dave and Eva were standing, books in hand, to have them signed. Yep, not only did ol' Tricky Dicky Dawkins have a rocktour t-shirt, he also had a line of fans (and there were literally hundreds of people in line) waiting for his autograph.

Again, how many biology professors can claim that?

Well, in honor of Dr. Dawkin's native land, we did our best impression of Brittons and cued in line waiting our turn. Again, the folks around us seemed pretty cool, and everyone was happy to be there. When we finally got up to the front of the line, Dave, Eva, and John got their books signed, and we all got a group photo taken with Doc Dawkins.

Afterwards, we headed out to a bar in Berkeley for some drinks, food, and some conversation. I don't recall the name of the bar, though I do remember that someone had scrawled "Unholy" on the towel dispenser in the men's room. I don't know why. We got to hear what John had been up to, heard more from Eva, and Dave discussed his philosophy on approaching reality (which, considering that we formed them seperately during times where we had limited contact with each other, are bizarrely like my own).

In all, a good night, and I think a good time was had by all.

Part of me feels bad about posting a "what I did with my weekend" blog - I'm sure that many folsk want to hear more about inane government officials and nutty professors and less about my personal life. But, you know, it was a great way to spend a day.