Landscapes, Olive Sieves, Tiles, and Pallets

Another week in the landscape of the Western Argolid brought another little assemblage. This time we discovered four or five olive sieves in a group. An olive sieve removes leaves and twigs from the olives making it easier to prepare the olives for pressing or curing.

They’re little studies in design and improvisation with bike wheels, snow fencing, chicken wire, and rebar attached to improvised frames and boxes. 

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We also checked out a few small houses that dot the olive groves. Most of them look pretty recent in date, but they have collapsed roofs and tile scatters. 

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And, of course, landscapes:

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Oh, and pallets!

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WARP Gear: Pants, Watches, and Socks

I like stuff. Readers of this blog know that my interest in things extends from by interest in archaeology, things, and ancient artifacts to modern audiophile gear and the things that archaeologists use in the field. As the first week of Western Argolid Regional Project is almost done, I wanted to share some of my new favorite things.

Last spring, Richard Rothaus and I chatted at some length about what’s in our bags, our trucks, and our archaeological tool kits. A few years earlier, I presented what was in my bag. Most of that still holds, with a few exceptions. For example, I’ve upgraded my headphones, my amplifier, and my portable music player. I accidentally left my beloved Wonpro plug strip in the Polis storerooms. Otherwise, my bag looks pretty much the same.   

I did add a little gear to person, though, that makes intensive pedestrian survey and archaeological fieldwork, in general, better.

1. Mountain Khakis. A few years ago on a lark, I bought a pair of Moutain Khakis to wear in the field. These pants changed my life. For the past four field seasons I’ve worn them almost every day in the field. They’re thick enough to prevent all but the most insistent thorns from getting through and they’re cotton which breathes well in the hot Mediterranean summer. These are canvass pants. They’re great. Get them for field work.

2. Seiko Watches. I wear a watch in the field for lots of reasons. Mostly I like to wear a watch, and, in particular, I like to wear a mechanical watch. It’s not that digital and quartz watches aren’t fine things, but for the dollar, a well-made mechanical watch is the way to go, and they don’t have batteries to worry about. Last year, I relied on a trusty Seiko 5, a more or less bullet proof Seiko watch that runs about $50 on Amazon. This year, I upgraded to something a bit more rugged, a Seiko dive watch, and a SRP777 in particular. This watch is a reproduction of the iconic 6309 diver made in the 1970s and 1980s which was known for its cushion shape and slightly recessed, polished bezel. It has a solid, mid-range, Seiko movement in it, is hacking, automatic, and hand winds. I get about two days of reserve on it. It’s a nice watch and great field work piece.

3. Smart Wool socks. Dimitri Nakassis mentioned these socks to me last year in an offhand way, and when I started looking for a some field socks this spring, they were there staring at me at a local sporting good store. So I got a few pairs to trial this season. So far, they’re great. Not only are they super comfortable, but they dry super quickly which is important when quick turn around after washing is important.  

The First Days of the Western Argolid Regional Project 2016

Today was the first full field day of the final full field season of the Western Argolid Regional Project (WARP). It was immeasurably better than the first full day of the project last year and probably a bit better than our first field day in 2014.

While we still have some open plains around the Inachos river, for this season, our survey area is a striking mix of narrow valleys and steep hill slopes. 

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Oranges, apricots, olives, peaches, vineyards, and the occasional pomegranate trees, planted in neat rows organize our survey units.

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More than any other year, we’ll have to contend with the early modern and modern landscape.

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So think of us as we stagger to our cars at 6:30 in the morning.

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From Cyprus to Greece

I head from Cyprus to Greece this morning and transition from our work at Polis (which is publishing an excavated site) to field work with the Western Argolid Regiona Project

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I haven’t quite finished the last bits of my season report for Polis and there are a few little database issues to resolved over the weekend. It was a good season overall, and I’ll miss spending time with artifacts and colleagues. More on my work at Polis in the next few days.

Onward to WARP!

Roads

I’ve been thinking about roads a bit over the last month. First, my colleagues with the Western Argolid Regional Project and I are giving a paper this week at the Archaeological Institute of America’s annual meeting on roads, routes and abandoned villages. I then had an interesting conversation about the role of roads as a form of local power in the Bakken oil patch. Finally, I enjoyed parts of Penny Harvey and Hannah Knox’s book Roads: An Anthropology of Infrastructure and Expertise (Cornell 2014). 

Dimitri Nakassis and I drew upon some of the early research in the Western Argolid to argue that roads and routes play a key role in constructing a “contingent countryside” in Greece. We identified three abandoned sites – two settlements and a fortification – and argue that they make sense in a landscape understood through a series of dynamic connections linking mountain villages to intermediate lands that ring the fertile plain. Families from mountain villages used these intermediate lands as a source for both winter pasture and hardy crops that did not require irrigation. Rugged, but well-defined mountain roads marked the social and economic relationship between mountain villages and their intermediate lands, but these routes had limited value to the state which invested in major arteries linking politically and economically important villages to the major regional markets. The state supported the paving of these major routes for carts and then motorized transportation over the course of the late 19th and 20th century, and in time, these major routes came to dominate the structure of settlement across the landscape. The spread of roads complemented the political organization of the state and the development of institutions like schools and government in towns linked to the center by roads further transformed the relationship between settlements. Roads, then, reflected both growing influence of the state on the structure of settlement in the 20th century. Abandoned villages and other rural places reflect social relationships that the material authority of the state has overwritten.

Roads have been an important focus of attention in the Bakken oil patch. From tragic road accidents to the need for greater investment in core infrastructure, roads have were a key issue in how people have come to understand the impact of the Bakken boom. Historically, routes linking western North Dakota to market and production centers elsewhere shaped settlement in this region. A grid of local roads provided access for farmers to plots of land at a remove from major overland or rail lines. The maintenance of these local roads remains a concern of the county, whereas major interstates – like US Route 2 and 85 or state roads in the area – are under the control of extra-regional entities. As a result, major arteries into the Bakken are developed much more quickly than local routes and with an eye toward state and even national economic interests. At the same time, the county does have the right to close or limit access to roads and many of the rural roads designed to provide access to agricultural land and homesteads are now routes plied by heavy trucks accessing remote oil wells. The tension between the interests of the state and the interests of local communities plays out in attitudes toward roads through the area.

Finally, Harvey and Knox’s book, Roads, provides a convenient set of comparative and conceptual tools to articulate the role of roads in the political, economic, and social life of communities. My reading focused primarily on the sections related to the state involvement in road building in Peru and how this both formalized and disrupted relationships between communities and settlement patterns there. While none of this counts as profound, I do think that the relative invisibility of roads as archaeological artifacts in regional level survey has perhaps led to their under appreciation as a structuring element in both pre-modern and modern settlement.     

Pastoralism and Islands

I was really excited to receive a copy of P. Nick Katdulias’s most recent edited volume titled The Ecology of Pastoralism (Boulder 2015). I’ve known Nick for as long as I’ve been active in the field of archaeology and his career which has spanned periods from Late Antiquity and Byzantium to the modern age and embraced excavation, field survey and remote sensing, has been a kind of model for my own, although he is far more of the anthropologist and archaeologist than I will likely ever be.

As readers of this blog know, I spent a couple weeks this summer with a team of graduate students and volunteers documenting an early modern pastoral site called Chelmis while on the Western Argolid Regional Project. Nick’s book will provide a cutting edge backdrop for our reflections on the history and archaeology of the site of Chelmis in the Western Argolid. I wish I had time right now to read this book, follow the various references, and begin to interrogate our evidence from Chelmis. The good news is that I’ll have to process at least some of this book before we give our paper on our work at Chelmis at the Archaeological Institute of America’s annual meeting this winter.

That being said, I couldn’t resist reading Nick’s contribution to this volume in large part because he documents a modern site on the almost abandoned island of Dokos off the coast of the Southern Argolid in the Aegean. The trips to this island were motivated in part by its proximity to the main land and other inhabited islands as well as Nick’s and Tim Gregory’s interest in deserted coastal islands in the Corinthian and Saronic Gulf. Like many of these islands, Dokos lacks a natural water source forcing any longterm residents of the island to rely on cistern for water. Tim and Nick worked to challenge the idea that during Late Antiquity (especially the 7th century) these islands became refuges for cowering imperial subjects as Roman (or Byzantine) control of Greece collapsed. Instead, they’ve suggested that settlements on these islands represented new strategies of economic exploitation brought on as much by population pressure and changing economic opportunities as disruptive invasions. This work has done a good bit to change how we think about Greece during Late Antiquity. (And a full publication of the Late Antique remains from Dokos would certainly contribute even more evidence to their larger arguments.)

Kardulias’s contribution to his edited volume does not deal with the Late Antique phase of activity on Dokos but draws on interviews with the modern residents of the island and some basic investigation of their settlement. The modern residents of the island consist of a single couple who have lived on-and-off on Dokos since the late 1940s. At that time they had herds of goats and sheep and grew grain and olives on the island’s rocky terraces. At times they’d move the flocks from Dokos to pastures in the Southern Argolid, but today, the couple keeps a goats, sheep, chickens, a few donkeys and a couple of dogs on the island full time.

Kardulias emphasized that their life on the island may be lonely, but it’s hardly isolated. Their family first settled on the island during the disrupted period of the Greek Civil Wars, but always relied on markets on surrounding islands and on the mainland. In fact, changes in the economic fortunes of the Southern Argolid in the 1940s and 1950s provided new opportunities for the residents on Dokos both in terms of markets and in terms of places for their  flocks to graze.

Like our work at Chelmis, Nick’s team complemented their interviews with archaeological documentation of the small settlement which consisted of the homes of the resident couple and on of their sons, a cheese making shed, pens for animals, and, of course, a cistern as well as a church. An abandoned cistern served as a dump for discarded household material and equipment. 

Our site at Chelmis shared certain characteristics with the settlement on Dokos. It clearly flourished in the period after the World War II as both a pastoral settlement and the site of agriculture with olives and grain being harvested by the same families whose sheep and goats grazed in the area. Moreover, despite the relatively marginal appearance and location of these sites, it is clear that they were deeply embedded in larger networks of travel and exchange. As the work in the nearby Southern Argolid has shown, the changing relationship of Greece with both Mediterranean and European markets had as much to do with the shifting strategies of settlement and creative opportunities to exploit even isolated landscapes for their value to nearby, regional, and even global markets.

A Guide to Byzantine Greece

Each summer my Facebook feed fills study-tour travelogues posted by my faculty colleagues. The best of these trips reflect careful selection of sites, thoughtful readings, and clear learning goals. Most study tours focus on the monuments of ancient Greece, but many of the most visually arresting monuments in the Greek landscape do not date to antiquity. Talking to students participating on the Western Argolid Regional Project for the last couple of year and contributing to study tours in Cyprus, I’ve come to realize that students are generally interested in the post-ancient world in part because they’re simply not as familiar with the narrative, and it has a sense of exotic novelty. In contrast the unfamiliar narrative, Medieval monuments associated are often more immediately accessible to their developing archaeological imaginations because many of them are still standing. 

This realization has led me to think a bit about producing a Guide to Byzantine Greece as a complement to the common itineraries followed by American study tours. 

If I was to do this, or find someone to do it with me, I figure that our guide has to have a couple features to make it useful.

1. Complementary. One of the most significant challenges will be that the guide has to complement traditional study tour itineraries which focus on ancient sites. While I’d love to write a book that leads a group of excited and interested students to the spectacular late Byzantine church of the Panayia Kosmostira in Ferres in Thrace, it’s not a realistic addition to most study tours of Greece. Instead, we have to focus on the main heartland of American study tours which tend to focus on Athens, Delphi, Olympia, the Corinthia and the Argolid. Fortunately, there are plenty of important and interesting post-ancient sites in this area.     

2. Modular. Along with being complementary, we have to write our guide in such a way that it can be used in a modular way. The traditional itinerary-based approach favored by, say, the Blue Guide, is a lovely way to experience Greece, but for the modern study tour which will not stop to enjoy the “lovely principle city of the demos Koutsopodi,” this approach makes dipping into the guide for some information on a particular building or site difficult.    

3. Encounters. The challenge of a modular guide is that they tend to fragment the landscape into distinct, isolated sites, and this works against presenting a cohesive view of Greece in the Medieval period. So, we have to figure out a way to weave unifying narrative throughout the encounters with individual places. We have to assume that the average American study tour might only see one Early Christian basilica or one middle Byzantine church or one “Slavic” cemetery, and our guide will need to find a way to make encounters with these single sites serve as synecdoches for larger trends, processes, or types. 

4. Open Access. It goes without saying that our guide should be available for free in some kind of digital form. I suspect that .pdfs will be the way to go for cross-platform compatibility, but we would also make a print copy of the guide available at as low a cost as possible. This would encourage adoptions (particularly if the book was to function as a supplement to a more traditional guide focused on ancient sites). 

5. Images, Rights, and Plans. One of the challenges of this kind of production is that there are some restrictive rules in place about using images of monuments in Greece and we’d have to reproduce plans which can be a time-consuming and frustrating project. It would be appealing to imagine ways that use the huge quantity of digital sources to supplement our book, but it is probably not useful to expect students to have constant internet connections while in Greece. Connectivity issues could make it more difficult to produce an interactive map that would provide directions to particular sites (although our students and staff this year almost all had phones with good internet connections).

Aside from the technical aspects of this kind of project, the intellectual challenge is very appealing to me. I’m not sure that I have time to do it properly, but I might have a collaborator who has both some time and expertise. For now, I’ll tuck this into my idea box and we’ll see where it goes over the next year or so…

Real Tools for Academic Landscapes

Over the last few months, I worked my way through Matthew Crawford’s Shop Class as Soulcraft (2009). The book argues for the value of “real,” hard work which he distinguishes from the professions that dominate the white-collar, college-educated, information-based, and academic worlds. Crawford himself straddles the line between academia, where he’s been a fellow at various prestigious universities, and work at his Richmond, Virginia area motorcycle repair shop.  On the whole, Crawford finds the latter work not only more challenging, but also more morally rewarding in that the relentless reality of vintage motorcycles refuse to be re-imagined, to succumb to elusive academic arguments, or problematized in more nuanced ways. If he wanted to make a living, he had to fix real, mechanical problems for his customers. The book is well-known and has been reviewed by more thoughtful critics than me. 

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It was fun to think about this book while I worked away on the landscape of the Western Argolid with the Western Argolid Regional Project. My job on the project was relatively unspecific, but I spent most of my field days walking our survey with one of our talented graduate students team leaders and dividing it into units to be walked by one of our 5 or 6 field teams. On an average day, we walked 5-7 miles through olive, orange, and apricot groves, up and down terrace walls, and through dense patches of maquis. As I’ve noted on this blog before, it was hard work, but at the end of the season, I felt like I had a much more thorough understanding of the landscape than was possible from viewing the splendid World View 3 satellite images on my laptop.

This got me thinking about how important having the right tools for my job is. The right tools were not important in the abstract way that having the right software for my laptop made a job easier, but in a genuinely physical way. For example, having the right pants for hiking around the Greek countryside prevented my legs from being cut to shreds by the thorny vegetation of the Mediterranean. Over the past four or five years, I’ve discovered the value of long-sleeve work shirts to protect my arms from sun, thorns, and insects. Boots are another matter entirely. This summer, I wore a pair of decent (and rather expensive) boots that barely stood up to my day-to-day. They were rugged enough to not disintegrate, but they did not provide enough cushioned to protect my feet from the daily pounding. 

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The right pants, shirts, and (probably the wrong) boots did remind me that there were physical realities to archaeological work that directly related to the kind of data that we collected from the field. I realize that other academic scholars confront these kinds of realities daily – whether they relate to the access hours of an archive or the maintenance of a fussy instrument in lab. At the same time, I wonder whether the relationship between our research and our bodies in archaeology (and this is true of all of the field disciplines) anchors our thinking in the same landscape (and perhaps even a shared physical reality) as the people whom we study. 

More Maps

One of the exciting challenges that I face at the end of every season on the Western Argolid Regional Project is producing maps. The goal of the maps is usually to communicate some basic information: number of units, artifact density, or the location of particularly important artifact clusters. 

Sometimes, however, we need to produce maps that allow for more complicated kinds of analysis. This analysis typically involves looking at several variables on a map simultaneously. At this point, I generally make a mess of things.

Here’s our basic survey map:

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Then I add densities:

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Then I outline in red some units that are interesting to me. In this case, they’re interesting because they are in the highest quartile of density per particular visibility. In the case below it is 10%-20% visibility.

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Then I decide to add pink and purple outlines for units that are in the top two quartiles for 30%-50% visibility:

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Then I just add the visibility numbers for each unit:

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Then I start to add dot densities for various periods of artifacts:

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By then the map is getting a bit cluttered, but it contains a bunch of useful information.