Mississippian Community Organization: The Powers Phase in Southeastern Missouri (Interdisciplinary Contributions to Archaeology)

Mississippian Community Organization The Powers Phase in Southeastern Missouri INTERDISCIPLINARY CONTRIBUTIONS TO ARC...

Author: Michael J. O'Brien

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Mississippian Community Organization The Powers Phase in Southeastern Missouri

INTERDISCIPLINARY CONTRIBUTIONS TO ARCHAEOLOGY Series Editor: Michael A. Jochim, University of California at Santa Barbara Founding Editor: Roy S. Dickens, Jr., Late of University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill Current Volumes in This Series: THE ARCHAEOLOGIST’S LABORATORY The Analysis of Archaeological Data E. B. Banning AURIGNACIAN LITHIC ECONOMY Ecological Perspectives from Southwestern France Brooke S. Blades DARWINIAN ARCHAEOLOGIES Edited by Herbert Donald Graham Maschner EARLIEST ITALY An Overview of the Italian Paleolithic and Mesolithic Margherita Mussi FAUNAL EXTINCTION IN AN ISLAND SOCIETY Pygmy Hippopotamus Hunters of Cyprus Alan H. Simmons and Associates A HUNTER–GATHERER LANDSCAPE Southwest Germany in the Late Paleolithic and Mesolithic Michael A. Jochim HUNTERS BETWEEN EAST AND WEST The Paleolithic of Moravia Jiri Svoboda, Vojen Ložek, and Emanuel Vlcek ∨

∨

MISSISSIPPIAN COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION The Powers Phase in Southeastern Missouri Michael J. O’Brien MISSISSIPPIAN POLITICAL ECONOMY Jon Muller PROJECTILE TECHNOLOGY Edited by Heidi Knecht VILLAGERS OF THE MAROS A Portrait of an Early Bronze Age Society John M. O’Shea A Chronological Listing of Volumes in this series appears at the back of this volume. A Continuation Order Plan is available for this series. A continuation order will bring delivery of each new volume immediately upon publication. Volumes are billed only upon actual shipment. For further information please contact the publisher.

Mississippian Community Organization The Powers Phase in Southeastern Missouri

Michael J. O’Brien University of Missouri-Columbia Columbia, Missouri

with contributions by James W. Cogswell J. Eric Gilland Daniel S. Glover James J. Krakker Timothy K. Pertula

KLUWER ACADEMIC PUBLISHERS New York, Boston, Dordrecht, London, Moscow

eBook ISBN: Print ISBN:

0-306-47196-5 0-306-46480-2

©2002 Kluwer Academic Publishers New York, Boston, Dordrecht, London, Moscow All rights reserved No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without written consent from the Publisher Created in the United States of America Visit Kluwer Online at: and Kluwer's eBookstore at:

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Contributors

James W. Cogswell • Northland Research, 2510 S. Rural Road, Suite 102, Tempe, Arizona 85282 J. Eric Gilliland • Burns and McDonnell, 9400 Ward Parkway, Kansas City, Missouri 64114 Daniel S. Glover • College of Arts and Science, University of Missouri, Columbia, Missouri 65211 James J. Krakker • Department of Anthropology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C. 20560 Timothy K. Perttula • 10101 Woodhaven Drive, Austin, Texas 78753

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Preface

The Powers Phase Project was a multiyear archaeological program undertaken in southeastern Missouri by the University of Michigan in the late 1960s and early 1970s. The project focused on the occupation of a large Pleistocene-age terrace in the Little Black River Lowland—a large expanse of lowlying land just east of the Ozark Highland—between roughly A.D. 1250 and A.D. 1400. The largest site in the region is Powers Fort—a palisaded mound center that received archaeological attention as early as the late nineteenth century. Archaeological surveys conducted south of Powers Fort in the 1960s revealed the presence of numerous smaller sites of varying size that contained artifact assemblages similar to those from the larger center. Collectively the settlement aggregation became known as the Powers phase. Test excavations indicated that at least some of the smaller sites contained burned structures and that the burning had sealed household items on the floors below the collapsed architectural elements. Thus there appeared to be an opportunity to examine a late prehistoric settlement system to a degree not possible previously. Not only could the spatial relation of communities in the system be ascertained, but the fact that structures within the communities had burned appeared to provide a unique opportunity to examine such things as differences in household items between and among structures and where various activities had occurred within a house. With these ideas in mind, James B. Griffin and James E. Price launched the Powers Phase Project in 1967. In terms of what it accomplished, the project was an unqualified success. Over the course of the 7 years or so of its operation, dozens of students from the University of Michigan and other institutions received excellent field training, and numerous research papers and dissertations emanated from the work. Suffice it to say, without mentioning names, that some of the most well-known individuals in Americanist archaeology today cut their professional teeth working in the horribly hot and humid summer climate of southeastern Missouri. vii

viii

PREFACE

Key project personnel saw to it that the basic research results were published in visible outlets. For example, Price and Griffin (1979) published an analysis of the Snodgrass site, one of the burned villages, which had earlier formed the basis of Price’s (1973) dissertation. Similarly, Thomas Black (1979) published an analysis of human skeletal materials from the Turner site, another burned village, and Bruce D. Smith (1978b) reported on his excavation of the Gypsy Joint site, a small, two-house settlement. Additionally, Price (1978) provided an overview of the Powers phase settlement system in a lengthy review article. Data from the Powers Phase Project have figured prominently in several overviews of the late prehistory of the Mississippi River valley (e.g., Morse and Morse, 1983), in some cases (e.g., Chapman, 1980) serving as a proxy for how prehistoric groups outside the Little Black River Lowland organized themselves socially and politically. There are obvious dangers involved in using the Powers phase settlement system as an analogue for what was happening elsewhere during the time span known as the Mississippian period (ca. A.D. 900-1600), but given the unparalleled nature of the data base it is not difficult to see why archaeologists would find it alluring. Despite what has been published on the Powers phase, there are large segments of the data base that have not been reported. For example, analysis of the houses at Snodgrass, the largest settlement excavated during the course of the project, was restricted to select material classes, and only the burials from Turner were analyzed. The original goal of this volume was to add to the Powers phase data base through analysis of additional material classes from excavated houses at Turner and Snodgrass, but as analysis progressed it became evident that certain assumptions originally made about the occupational history of the two settlements were incorrect. The archaeological signatures were much more complicated than presumed originally, and thus some published statements about not only the two sites but also the settlement system generally are in need of revision. A significant component of this volume is a presentation of the archaeological evidence for why older, published interpretations should be changed. This should in no way undermine the prominent position of either the Powers Phase Project or the data set it produced. Rather, it places the data on a firmer footing, thus enhancing their usefulness for archaeologists interested in the late prehistory of the Mississippi River valley.

Acknowledgments

I gratefully acknowledge the advice and assistance of my editor at Kluwer Academic/Plenum, Eliot Werner, and the assistance of production editor Rosemary Sheridan and copyeditor David Bahr. All figures were created or modified by Dan Glover, and the artifacts were photographed by Cliff White. Lee Newsom provided all of the wood identifications used in the discussion of Powers phase structures and answered innumerable questions about tree growth in a swampy environment. Lee Lyman read the manuscript in its entirety and made numerous suggestions for improvement, but his most significant contribution to the project was his constant willingness to provide advice on and assistance with analytical procedures. Michael Jochim, series editor, and Carol Morrow also reviewed the manuscript and provided helpful advice. E. J. O’Brien also read the manuscript in its entirety and edited it for content as well as for style. This is the eleventh book of mine on which he has worked, and as always, I greatly appreciate the help and advice he has provided over the years. Finally, I gratefully acknowledge the advice and constructive criticism provided by Bruce Smith, who spent 5 years reanalyzing the materials from Turner and Snodgrass and creating a significant portion of the massive data base discussed here. He was supposed to be my coauthor, but his first love-the origins of tropical domesticates—got in the way, much to the detriment of this project.

ix


Contents

Chapter 1 • The Powers Phase: An Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1

Michael J. O’Brien The Powers Phase Project . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Present Volume . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

4 15

Chapter 2 • The General Physical and Cultural Environment . . . . . .

19

Michael J. O’Brien The Physical Setting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Cultural Setting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

24 30 52

Chapter 3 • The Physical-Environmental Context of Powers Phase Settlements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

55

James J. Krakker The Study Area . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

58 72

Chapter 4 • Powers Phase Settlement in the Western Lowlands . . . . .

77

Michael J. O’Brien and James J. Krakker The Pattern of Powers Phase Settlement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . xi

85 97

xii

CONTENTS

Chapter 5 • Community Organization and Dates of Occupation . . . .

99

Michael J . O’Brien and Timothy K . Perttula Powers Fort: The Civic-Ceremonial Center . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Villages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Hamlets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Farmsteads. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

99 110 132 133 135

Chapter 6 • The Construction and Abandonment of Powers Phase Structures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

141

Michael J. O’Brien and James W. Cogswell Construction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Use of Structures. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Structure Abandonment and Burning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Postburning Use of Structure Basins . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

143 163 164 167 179

Chapter 7 • The Artifactual Content of Selected House Floors at Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

181

James W. Cogswell, Michael J . O’Brien, and Daniel S . Glover Turner Structures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187 Snodgrass Structures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195 Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214 Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226

Chapter 8 • Stone Artifacts from Turner and Snodgrass ..........

231

J . Eric Gilliland and Michael J. O’Brien Chipped-Stone Artifacts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Groundstone Artifacts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Miscellaneous Tools and Other Items . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

232 260 262 263

CONTENTS

xiii

Chapter 9 • Pottery from Turner and Snodgrass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265 James W. Cogswell and Michael J. O’Brien Vessel Form . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vessel Temper . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vessel Decoration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Handle Forms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vessel Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Compositional Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

266 282 284 286 288 290 290

Chapter 10 • Concluding Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293 Michael J. O’Brien Lingering Issues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 294 A Final Note . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 300

References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

301

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315


Figures and Tables

FIGURES Figure 1.1

Figure 1.2 Figure 1.3 Figure 1.4 Figure 1.5 Figure 1.6 Figure 1.7 Figure 2.1

Figure 2.2 Figure 2.3


Map of southeastern Missouri showing the locations of Powers Fort, Turner, Snodgrass, and Gypsy Joint in the Little Black River Lowland. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Photograph of the 1971 excavation of Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . Photograph of Structure 12 at Turner showing burned architectural elements and the structure basin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Photograph showing slit trench following barely visible outline of the white-clay wall at Snodgrass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Photograph of Structure 50 at Snodgrass Showing the basin outlined for excavation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Photographs of field operations at Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Photograph of the excavation of Pit 43 at Snodgrass showing how pit fill was sectioned during removal. . . . . . . . . Map of the central Mississippi River valley showing physiographic features and locations mentioned in the text . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Map showing major rivers and physiographic features in south–eastern Missouri and northeastern Arkansas. . . . . . . Map of southeastern Missouri and northeastern Arkansas showing locations of Mississippian-period sites mentioned in the text . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Map of the Matthews site, New Madrid County, Missouri, prepared by W. B. Potter in the 1870s. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ceramic vessels from the Cairo Lowland of southeastern Missouri illustrated by Edward Evers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xv

3 7 8 11 12 13 14

20 27

31 32 33

xvi

FIGURES AND TABLES

Figure 2.6

Photographs of the Lilbourn site, New Madrid County, Missouri, 1941 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Figure 2.7 Aerial photograph of Beckwith’s Fort, Mississippi County, Missouri . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Figure 2.8 Photograph of part of the fortification system at Beckwith’s Fort, Mississippi County, Missouri, 1970. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 Figure 2.9 Profile of southwest wall of trench through Mound 2 at Beckwith’s Fort, Mississippi County, Missouri, 1989. . . . . 42 Figure 2.10 Aerial photograph of the Langdon site, Dunklin County, Missouri, 1937, showing Langdon as a walled rectangle. . . . 47 Figure 3.1 Figure 3.2

Figure 3.3

Figure 4.1 Figure 4.2 Figure 4.3 Figure 4.4 Figure 4.5

Figure 4.6

Figure 5.1


Map of a portion of the Little Black River Lowland showing the study area relative to physiographic features. . . 56 Map of the study area showing the locations of six major sandridge systems as defined by Bosket soil. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 Schematic cross section of the study area showing major physiographic regions, soil types, and trees common to each region. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62 Archaic- and Woodland-period projectile points from Powers phase sites. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 Map of the study area showing locations of Powers Fort, villages, hamlets, and farmsteads. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 Map of the northern end of Barfield Ridge showing locations of known Powers phase sites. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88 Map of the study area showing circles of one-kilometer radius around ten villages. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 Map of the northern portion of the study area showing soil types and a circle of one-kilometer radius around Powers Fort. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 Map of the southern end of Sharecropper Ridge showing the amount of Bosket silt-loam within circles of onekilometer radius around Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . 96 Plan map of Powers Fort, made by Col. P. W. Norris for the Bureau of (American) Ethnology, Division of Mound Exploration. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 Cross section of Mound 1 at Powers Fort as depicted by Col. P. W. Norris. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 Topographic map of Powers Fort showing locations of mounds, surface-collected areas, and excavations. . . . . . . . 106

FIGURES AND TABLES

Figure 5.4

Figure 5.5 Figure 5.6 Figure 5.7 Figure 5.8

Figure 5.9 Figure 5.10 Figure 5.11 Figure 5.12 Figure 5.13 Figure 5.14



Radiocarbon dates from Structure 1 and thermoluminescence dates from Structure 2 at Powers Fort arranged in chronological order. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thermoluminescence dates from Structure 2 at Powers Fort arranged in chronological order by laboratory. . . . . . . Topographic map of the Turner and Snodgrass sites showing locations of structures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Map of Snodgrass showing in cumulative fashion the progression of field work between 1967 and 1973. . . . . . . . . Map of Snodgrass showing locations of structures, pits, portions of the outer fortification ditch, and what was identified during excavation as the “white-clay wall.” . . . . . Map of Turner showing locations of structures and pits. . . . Plan view of a portion of the ditch surrounding Snodgrass, showing arrangement of post molds and hard-packed clay. . Photographs of the cemetery at Turner. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Map showing the locations of burials in the cemetery at Turner and of surrounding structures. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Radiocarbon dates from Turner and Snodgrass arranged in chronological order. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Radiocarbon dates from Turner and from inside and outside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass arranged in chronological order, using only dates for which the mean falls within one standard deviation either side of the average of all radiocarbon dates from that set . . . . . . . Topographic map of the area containing the Big Beaver site on the northern end of Barfield Ridge. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Topographic map of the area containing the Gypsy Joint site on the northern end of Barfield Ridge. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary graph of all radiocarbon dates from Powers phase sites. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

xvii

109 114 116 117

119 120 121 125 126 128

131 134 136 138

Photograph of Structure 10 at Snodgrass showing the remarkable preservation of burned architectural elements resting on the floor of the structure basin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142 Maps showing locations of wall-trench structures at Snodgrass and Turner. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144 Plan of Structure 2 at Gypsy Joint showing the positioning of wall trenches, Pit 1, and the hearth in the structure basin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145

xviii

Figure 6.4

Figure 6.5

Figure 6.6


Figure 6.9




Figure 6.16

Figure 6.17

Figure 6.18

FIGURES AND TABLES

Plan of Structure 8 at Neil Flurry showing the positioning of burned construction elements and burned floor in the basin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146 Plan of Structure 1 at Powers Fort showing the positioning of wall trenches, pits, and areas of burned clay in the structure basin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147 Plan of Structure 3 at Snodgrass showing the positioning of pits, posts and/or post molds, and burned wall elements in the structure basin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148 Photograph of a burned wall section in the north-central part of the Structure 3 basin at Snodgrass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149 Plan of Structure 21 at Snodgrass showing the locations of wall trenches, the main roof-support post, post molds, and burned construction elements in the structure basin . . . 150 Plan of Structure 19 at Snodgrass showing the positioning of burned construction elements and post molds in the structure basin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 Photographs of split cane and woven matting made from split cane in Sructures 44 and 17 at Snodgrass. . . . . . . 152 Two views of what a typical Powers phase structure might have looked like, based on evidence from Turner, Snodgrass, Neil Flurry, and Powers Fort . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153 Percentage occurrence of the 12 most abundant tree taxa used in the construction of structures at Snodgrass. . . 156 Histogram showing number of structures at Snodgrass by size class for the areas inside and outside the white-clay wall. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160 Map of Turner showing Christine King’s subdivision of the village into three segments. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 Histogram showing number of structures at Turner by size class for each of the two segments defined by Christine King. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162 Plan of some of the structures excavated at Lilbourn, in New Madrid County, Missouri, showing the overlapping nature of the structures. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163 Plan of some of the structures excavated at Beckwith’s Fort, in Mississippi County, Missouri, showing the overlapping nature of the structures. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 164 Plan of Structure 1 at the base of Zone 3b at Callahan– Thompson, in Mississippi County, Missouri, showing the overlapping nature of wall trenches related to various rebuilding episodes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165

FIGURES AND TABLES

Figure 6.19

Figure 6.20


Photographs taken during the excavation of Structure 18 at Snodgrass showing artifacts and architectural elements that were mapped in place. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Map of Snodgrass showing locations of structures for which clear evidence exists of postburning deposition of artifacts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Distribution of arrow points and pottery disks across structures at Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Distributions of ear spools and ear plugs and notched bowl and jar rims across structures at Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . Plot of average structure size versus the number of artifact categories present at Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Map of Snodgrass showing locations of right/left matches of white-tailed-deer elements from structures and pits. . . . .

169

170 173 174 176 178

Figure 7.1

Figure

Figure Figure

Figure

Figure

Figure

Figure Figure

Figure

Plan of Structure 4 at Turner showing the locations of wall trenches, post molds, fired-clay areas, burned construction elements, and pits in the structure basin. . . . . 7.2 Photograph of a portion of Structure 55 at Snodgrass showing burned construction elements resting on the floor of the basin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Schematic showing the vertical relation between floor 7.3 and nonfloor artifacts in a structure basin.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4 Locations of randomly drawn structures and additional, specially selected structures at Turner that were subjected to floor-artifact analysis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.5 Locations of randomly drawn structures and additional, specially selected structures at Snodgrass that were subjected to floor-artifact analysis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.6 Floor plan of Structure 10 at Turner showing locations of various artifact categories and a concentration of hoe flakes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.7 Floor plan of Structure 5 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and concentrations of hoe flakes and hickory nuts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.8 Floor plan of Structure 11 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.9 Floor plan of Structure 55 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and concentrations of white-tailed-deer scapulas and hickory nuts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.10 Floor plan of Structure 62 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

xix

182

183 185

187

188

194

196 198

200 201

xx

Figure 7.11 Figure 7.12 Figure 7.13 Figure 7.14 Figure 7.15 Figure 7.16 Figure 7.17

Figure 7.18


Figure 7.21

Figure 7.22

Figure 7.23 Figure 7.24 Figure 7.25 Figure 7.26 Figure 7.27 Figure 7.28

FIGURES AND TABLES

Floor plan of Structure 14 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and a concentration of shell. . 203 Floor plan of Structure 18 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and concentrations. . . . . . . . . 204 Floor plan of Structure 25 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and a concentration of shell. . 205 Photograph of mussel- and snail-shell concentration in the western corner of Structure 25 at Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . 206 Floor plan of Structure 43 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207 Floor plan of Structure 47 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208 Photograph of the excavation of Structure 47 at Snodgrass showing burned construction elements and artifacts on the house floor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209 Photograph showing broken jar and pottery trowels alongside other refuse and burned construction elements on the floor of Structure 47 at Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210 Floor plan of Structure 70 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and antler-tine concentrations. 211 Photographs showing a concentration of white-taileddeer antler and a limestone metate/anvil and two chert hammerstones on the floor of Structure 70 at Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212 Floor plan of Structure 84 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and a small refuse concentration. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213 Histogram of the number of artifact categories versus sample size for structures in the randomly drawn sample and the additional sample from Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 Histograms of the number of artifact categories versus structure area for sampled structures at Snodgrass. . . . . . . . 216 Histograms showing the percentage occurrence of 17 artifact categories in samples from Snodgrass structures. . . 218 Histograms showing the percentage occurrence of 17 artifact categories in samples from Snodgrass structures. . . 219 Histograms showing the percentage occurrence of 12 artifact categories in samples from Turner structures. . . . . . 220 Scatter plots showing the number of artifacts versus floor area for sampled Snodgrass structures. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225 Photograph of broken ceramic vessels lying on the floor of Structure 8 at Neil Flurry. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228

FIGURES AND TABLES


Figure 8.5

Figure 8.6


Figure 8.9

Figure 8.10 Figure 8.11 Figure 8.12 Figure 8.13 Figure 8.14 Figure 8.15 Figure 8.16 Figure 8.17 Figure 9.1 Figure 9.2 Figure 9.3 Figure 9.4 Figure 9.5 Figure 9.6

Morrow Mountain Stemmed point from the floor of Structure 55 at Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bivariate scatter plots of arrow points from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bivariate scatter plots of dart points from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Histograms showing frequencies of projectile points from Turner and Snodgrass by length, maximum blade width, minimum neck width, and weight. . . . . . . . . . . . Histograms showing frequencies of projectile points from east-central Arkansas by length, maximum blade width, minimum neck width, and weight. . . . . . . . . . . Histogram showing frequencies of projectile points from Turner and Snodgrass by length, rescaled to intervals shown in Figure 8.5. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Scallorn points from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Histograms showing frequencies of Scallorn points from Turner and Snodgrass by length, maximum blade width, minimum neck width, and weight. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bivariate scatter plots of 221 Scallorn points from Turner and Snodgrass using combinations of maximum blade width, minimum neck width, weight, and length . . . . . . . . . . Madison points, Nodena points, Morris point, and Alba point from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bivariate scatter plots of 19 Madison points and 13 Nodena points from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Small straight-stem points from Turner and Snodrass. . . . . . . . Small broad-stem, small side-notched, and small contracting-stem points from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . Stone hoes from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Chert adze from the surface of Turner. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bifacially chipped knife from Structure 3 at Snodgrass.. . . . . Greenstone celts from Turner. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Profiles of selected rim-form class 3-6 vessels from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Profiles of selected rim-form class 7-10 vessels from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Profiles of selected rim-form class 11, 12, and 16 vessels from Turner and Snodgrass.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Photograph of rim-form class 11 jar from Snodgrass. . . . . . Photograph of bottle section from Turner Burial 19. . . . . . . . Photograph of jars from Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

xxi

233

234 236

238

239

240 2 41

243

244

246 249 250 252 25 6 258 25 9 261 269 270 271 272 273 2 74

xxii

Figure 9.7 Figure 9.8 Figure 9.9 Figure 9.10 Figure 9.11 Figure 9.12 Figure 9.13 Figure 9.14 Figure 9.15 Figure 9.16 Figure 9.17 Figure 9.18

FlGURES AND TABLES

Photograph of bowls and pan from Turner and Snodgrass. . Photographs of ollas from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . Photographs of effigy vessels from Turner and Snodgrass.. . Histograms of jar-orifice diameters from Turner and Snodgrass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Histogram of orifice diameters for all expanding-rimformvessels from Turner and Snodgrass combined . . . . . . . . . . Histograms of orifice diameters for expanding-rim-form bowls from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Histograms of pan-orifice diameters from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Photograph of incised and/or punctated sherds from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Photograph of bowl with effigy rim rider from Structure 44 at Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Photographs of jars with strap handles and with loop handles from Turner and Snodgrass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Photograph of Kersey clay objects from Snodgrass. . . . . . . . Plot of principal components showing the chemical differentiation of pottery samples from Powers Fort and from Turner and Snodgrass, based on 29 element concentrations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

275 276 277

Summary Descriptions of Soil Types in the Study Area . . . . . Names of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Distribution of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes by Physiographic Division . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ranked Occurrences of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frequency and Percentage of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes for the Little Black River and Cane Creek Lowlands . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frequency and Percentage of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes That Occurred on Calhoun Soil in the Little Black River and Cane Creek Lowlands . . . . . . Frequency and Percentage of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes by Topographic Location . . . . . . . . . . . . .

60

278 279 280 281 284 285 287 289

291

TABLES Table 3.1 Table 3.2 Table 3.3 Table 3.4 Table 3.5

Table 3.6

Table 3.7

66 68 70

71

72 74

FIGURES AND TABLES

xxiii

Table 3.8

Frequency and Percentage of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes by Soil Type. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75

Table 4.1

Area of Bosket Soil within One Kilometer of Selected Powers Phase Sites. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92 Area of Bosket Soil on Each of the Six Sand Ridges in the Study Area . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95

Table 4.2 Table 5.1

Radiocarbon Dates for Powers Phase Sites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111

Table 6.1

Taxa Represented by Analyzed Burned Construction Elements from Structures at Snodgrass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155 Sizes of Structures at Turner and Snodgrass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159

Table 6.2 Table 7.1 Table 7.2

Primary and De Facto Refuse on Structure Floors at Turner 189 Primary and De Facto Refuse on Structure Floors at Snodgrass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192

Table 9.1

Frequencies of Rim Forms by Vessel Type at Turner and Snodgrass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267 Frequencies of Vessel Types on Sampled Structure Floors at Turner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 282 Frequencies of Vessel Types on Sampled Structure Floors at Snodgrass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283

Table 9.2 Table 9.3


Chapter

1

The Powers Phase: An Introduction MICHAEL J. O’BRIEN

For more than five centuries before the arrival of Europeans in the New World, many of the fertile river valleys in what is now the eastern United States were inhabited by societies archaeologists commonly refer to as Mississippian. This general label applies to a rich and diverse array of post-A.D. 900 groups organized in many instances into complex hierarchical sociopolitical systems (Knight and Steponaitis, 1998; Pauketat, 1991, 1994; Smith, 1986, 1990a; Steponaitis, 1983). Questions of exactly how such systems were organized, especially relative to the place of individual communities in the socioeconomic structure, have long been of archaeological interest and have led to considerable debate over the relative level of intercommunity integration and independence (Smith, 1990a). Settlement-pattern analyses of numerous Mississippian polities (e.g., Dunnell, 1998; Emerson and Lewis, 1991; Klinger, 1975; Milner, 1990, 1998; Smith, 1986; Teltser, 1998; Welch, 1998; chapters in Smith, 1978a) have provided a general understanding of the spatial relations that existed between mound centers, often assumed to be corporate–ceremonial in nature, and outlying “villages” and “farmsteads.” Until recently, however, investigation of the internal organization of individual settlements has been more limited. This is especially true of large mound centers and villages, although there are several notable exceptions to this general rule—for example, Moundville, located on the Black Warrior River in northwestern Alabama (Knight and Steponaitis, 1998; Steponaitis, 1983);Cahokia, located on the great expanse of Mississippi River bottomland east of St. Louis known as the American Bottom 1

2

CHAPTER 1

(Fowler, 1973, 1975, 1989; Milner, 1998; Pauketat, 1994); and Lake George, located in Yazoo County, Mississippi (Williams and Brain, 1983). In the majority of cases, the sheer size of the large sites and the apparent long time spans of occupation have left complex archaeological signatures that are not easily decipherable. Over several centuries, house structures at such communities were repeatedly rebuilt and relocated; pits were redug, reused, and filled with refuse; and enveloping trash middens accumulated (e.g., Chapman et al., 1977; Perttula, 1998; Phillips et al., 1951). The size and complexity of such settlements preclude intensive—much less complete—excavation, and even under rigorous sampling protocols partial excavation yields only limited insights into community organization. At the other end of the size scale are what are often referred to as Mississippian farmsteads, which consist of only one or two house structures and associated pits and activity areas. Because of their short occupations, farmsteads often are relatively intact—meaning that house structures, pits, and associated artifacts were minimally disturbed by cycles of reconstruction and reuse. As a result, careful excavation and detailed contextual analysis potentially can provide answers to a wide range of questions regarding the internal organization of activities and the size and composition of groups that occupied these sites. Several dozen Mississippian farmsteads have now been excavated and reported in some detail (e.g., Conner, 1985; Jackson and Hanenberger, 1990; Jackson and Scott, 1995a; Mistovich, 1995; Smith, 1978b), providing at least a general understanding of the single-family household economic units that both occupied such settlements and constituted the basic building blocks of Mississippian society. But how these household units were organized and integrated within large villages (or indeed if they were) remains an unanswered question of critical importance for understanding late prehistoric society in the midwestern and southeastern United States. In the midrange of the size scale are what commonly are referred to as villages, which vary in size from a dozen or so to well over a hundred houses. Excavated villages in the central Mississippi River valley underscore the potential for intrasite analysis that exists in such sites, provided they are well preserved and represent relatively short time spans. For example, the remarkable sequences of community plans exposed at the Range site (Kelly, 1990a) and other locations in the American Bottom (e.g., Emerson and Jackson, 1984; McElrath and Finney, 1987; Mehrer and Collins, 1995; Milner, 1984) provide a clear picture of evolving community organization over a period of several centuries, and the excavation of the Moon and Priestly sites in northeastern Arkansas (Benn, 1990, 1992, 1998) likewise demonstrates the degree to which community organization can be identified at a village occupied for only a brief period. Such narrow slices of time are rarely encountered archaeologically. This

THE POWERS PHASE: AN INTRODUCTION

3

Figure 1.1. Map of southeastern Missouri showing the locations of Powers Fort, Turner, Snodgrass, and Gypsy Joint in the Little Black River Lowland. Other Powers phase sites (not shown) extend to the east and south of Powers Fort.

CHAPTER 1

volume focuses in large part on two such short-lived villages—Turner and Snodgrass, located in the Little Black River Lowland of southeastern Missouri (Figure 1.1)—that were excavated in the late 1960s and early 1970s. They are part of a complex of sites located between the Ozark Highland to the west and Crowley’s Ridge to the east that were occupied for short periods of time during the fourteenth century A.D. This complex is termed the Powers phase (Price, 1973, 1974, 1978; Price and Griffin, 1979). Sites identified as belonging to the Powers phase occur on low, sandy interfluves extending across an area of about 300 square kilometers along the western margin of the Mississippi River valley. It has long been proposed (e.g., Price, 1974, 1978) that the Powers phase encompasses a distinct hierarchy of settlements. At the top is Powers Fort, which has an embankment and ditch enclosing an area of about 4.4 hectares,¹ a central plaza flanked by four mounds, and perhaps several hundred houses. At the second level are at least 10 large villages that range in size from 0.6 hectare to over a hectare and contain 40– 130 houses. At the third level are hamlets, each under 0.4 hectare in area and containing roughly a dozen houses. At the fourth level are small one- or twohouse farmsteads and other resource-extraction sites. Most Powers phase structures burned, either accidentally or through deliberate firing, and their remains subsequently were preserved in the shallow basins in which the structures were erected. With the exception of Powers Fort, the communities appear to have been occupied for short durations—perhaps on the order of 5–10 years.

THE POWERS PHASE PROJECT The considerable research potential of the Powers phase settlements for addressing questions of community organization and patterns of household integration within a Mississippian polity led to the excavation of several sites in the late 1960s and early 1970s by University of Michigan field crews using funding from the National Science Foundation. Objectives of the Powers Phase Project included (1) locating all traces of settlement within a 15-kilometer radius of Powers Fort; (2) defining the size of each community in the Powers phase hierarchy; and (3) determining the range of activities carried out at each site. Sites in each size class were selected for either test excavation or largescale block excavation in order to create a data base that would crosscut the presumed vertically integrated hierarchy of the Powers phase. Archaeologists trained in the 1960s or early 1970s will remember that time as a period of intense interest in making archaeology more than what some saw as a descriptive and chronological exercise. This was in some respects an unfair characterization of that broad span of Americanist archaeology


5

commonly referred to as the culture-historical period (Lyman et al., 1997), but it had some validity as well. The so-called “new” or “processual” archaeology that arose in the early 1960s at the hands of Lewis Binford (e.g., 1962, 1965) and others was, first and foremost, aimed at proving that archaeology was more than “the tail on the ethnological kite” even if “an extraordinarily long tail” (Steward, 1942:341). New agendas were set in order to get at the “Indian behind the artifact,” as Robert Braidwood (1959:79), echoing Walter Taylor (1948), put it, and one area of interest was in understanding the nature of the distribution of humans across the landscape. More precisely, how had prehistoric humans organized themselves into functioning systems? As Jeffrey Parsons (1972:132) noted during the heyday of settlement analysis, Americanist archaeologists in the mid-1960s began to realize some of the methodological and analytical limitations of concepts and definitions used previously in attempting to understand such systems. He judged that one of the key contributions to settlement analysis was Howard Winters’s (1967) differentiation between what were referred to as settlement patterns and settlement systems. In a later publication, Winters (1969:110) defined the former as “the geographic and physiographic relationships of a contemporaneous group of sites within a single culture” and the latter as “the functional relationships among the sites contained within the settlement pattern [—that is,] the functional relationship among a contemporaneous group of sites within a single culture.” There were several suggested avenues that could be followed in settlement-system analysis, including those contained in three widely cited articles that were published in the 1970s, although what was contained in the papers had been discussed in archaeological circles for years prior to publication— Stuart Struever’s (1971a) “Problems, Methods and Organization: A Disparity in the Growth of Archaeology,” Struever’s (1971b) “Comments on Archaeological Data Requirements and Research Strategy,” and Charles Redman’s (1973) “MultiStage Fieldwork and Analytical Techniques.” Struever’s argument was that despite an insistence on the part of the new archaeologists that processual studies—literally, studies designed to investigate the processes by which cultures change—were the direction in which the field should be heading, actual research strategies seldom if ever were designed and carried out to maximize the recovery of pertinent information. Most strategies were the same tried-andtrue procedures that had been standard archaeological practice for decades. However, to develop an understanding of such things as how people distributed themselves over the landscape or how they obtained their food necessitated a change in procedure. Struever (1971a) proposed that a six-step process was needed. First, reconstruct the paleoenvironment and delineate significant microenvironmental zones. Second, sample each microenvironment by surface survey to locate rep-

6

CHAPTER1

resentative samples in the various zones. Third, make intensive surface collections and analyze them with an eye toward identifying temporal placement and site function. Fourth, excavate a series of randomly selected test units across a site to sample the population of artifacts and subsurface features. Fifth, carry out large-scale excavations in areas of sites where the units defined activity areas. Sixth, expose large sections of sites through the use of heavy equipment to provide sufficient samples of artifacts in association with features to control for sampling error. In summarizing the state of regional analysis in the early 1970s, Parsons (1972:134) noted that “needless to say, a research program of the scope outlined by Struever has never been carried out. At the moment its major utility lies in reminding us what our present programs lack and cannot achieve.” Certainly one contribution of the Powers Phase Project was that it demonstrated that attaining the goals of regional analysis was possible. With some allowance for specific dictates, the strategy outlined by Struever more or less described the research design of the project. Not all goals of the research design were met—a point admitted freely by James E. Price and James B. Griffin (1979:xii) in summarizing the results of the project. For example, a detailed model of the vegetation cover never was constructed, nor was a planned ethnohistorical study of cultural patterns of late seventeenth and early eighteenth century Native American groups ever carried out. But as the present volume demonstrates, the successes of the project far outweighed any deficiencies. In attempting to summarize the results of archaeological work conducted several decades earlier, one constantly runs the risk of taking the work out of context. Anyone, through hindsight, can denigrate an older effort, even if only to note wistfully that, “If the excavators had only. . . . ” Given that the Powers Phase Project began over three decades before this volume was written, it stands to reason that some of its goals and objectives might seem outdated by today’s standards—or if not outdated, perhaps a bit naive. But taken in the context of the times, this is an unfair assessment. In fact, the project was a model in regional archaeology and stands as testament to how various research interests can be subsumed under a broad, umbrellalike framework. In addition, the Powers Phase Project was and still is a model of how adherence to a well-reasoned, multiyear archaeological research design can produce significant and (just as important) integrated results. The driving force behind the Powers Phase Project was Price, a local Ripley County, Missouri, native who did his undergraduate work in archaeology at the University of Missouri and his doctoral work at the University of Michigan. As an undergraduate, Price excavated several test units at Powers Fort in 1964 and 1965, uncovering at least two houses and several burials. In 1966 he surveyed a portion of the Little Black River from the Missouri-Arkansas border


7

north for approximately 30 kilometers and also a section of the ancient braidedstream surface created by the Mississippi River that contains the Powers phase sites (Figure 1.1). Concurrent with the survey, Price excavated a small portion of the Turner site, which was being looted by local residents, and determined that the village had burned, effectively sealing the house floors and the items that were on them (Price, 1969). The remarkable state of preservation at Turner—a phenomenon suspected to exist at other late prehistoric-period communities in the area—and its potential for addressing numerous questions about prehistoric life in the central Mississippi Valley was not lost on Griffin when he visited southeastern Missouri in 1966. Through the Museum of Anthropology at the University of Michigan, Griffin supplied funding for continued excavations at Turner during 1966 and 1967, and in the latter year Griffin and Price wrote a successful National Science Foundation grant proposal to continue excavations at several other sites in the region, including Snodgrass, located just to the east of Turner. The research design established by Griffin and Price called for the almost complete excavation of Turner and Snodgrass and the testing of several other sites, all carried out primarily between 1968 and 1972 (Figure 1.2) with work continuing intermittently until 1976.

Figure 1.2. Photograph (looking west-northwest from Structure 26) of the 1971 excavation of Snodgrass.

8

CHAPTER 1

Burned houses that date to the Mississippian period (ca. A.D. 900–1600) are not unique to Turner and Snodgrass; what set those sites apart from others in the Midwest and Southeast was the state of preservation of the structures and related artifact-bearing deposits (Figure 1.3). Location of the sites on large sand ridges connected with Pleistocene-age braided-stream channels of the Mississippi River—logical places for habitation and agriculture in a low-lying region susceptible to frequent flooding—ensured their survival. Coarse sediments, which are constantly being reworked by wind and rain, spread over the villages from higher-elevation areas on the ridge network and created an effective barrier against erosion and destruction through plowing and disking. By 1969 over 200 square kilometers of the Little Black River drainage had been surveyed—first by Price in 1966, then by Bruce D. Smith in 1969—and 80 Mississippian-period sites had been located. Additional surveys were carried out between 1972 and 1975 by various project personnel, and several additional sites were located. Price (1978:210) noted that the research design for the Powers Phase Project surveys was formulated to 1. Locate a large percentage of the Powers phase sites in various environmental zones of the Little Black River area north of the ArkansasMissouri line.

Figure 1.3. Photograph (looking south) of Structure 12 at Turner showing burned architectural elements and the structure basin.

THE POWERS PHASE: AN INTRODUCTlON

9

2. Assess site size by establishing both the area of surface distribution of material remains and the presence of midden or surface stains indicating the presence of structures. 3. Assess the location of sites relative to environmental variables of elevation, soil type, and landform. 4. Recover surface collections of cultural material for comparative purposes and for assessment of intersite variability among sites of the Powers phase. Striking similarities in artifact content suggested that the majority of the sites might have been occupied within the same short span of time—hence the use of the term phase, defined by Gordon Willey and Philip Phillips (1958:22) as “an archaeological unit possessing traits sufficiently characteristic to distinguish it from all other units similarly conceived, whether of the same or other cultures or civilizations, spatially limited to the order of magnitude of a locality or region and chronologically limited to a brief span of time.” Price (1978:225) characterized the Powers phase as both “a Mississippian influx into the Western Lowland[s] of Southeast Missouri” and a “colonization effort that failed.” Whether or not the effort failed, and whether it was a colonization effort in the first place, there is no question that most if not all of the Powers phase communities were short lived. The first series of radiocarbon and thermoluminescence dates (Lynott, 1987; Price and Griffin, 1979) from Turner, Snodgrass, and Powers Fort—the latter of which received test excavations in 1969 as part of the Powers Phase Project—placed the sites between ca. A.D. 1250 and A.D. 1400 (see Chapter 5). For whatever reason, the Powers phase communities “were consumed by fire, bringing the cultural activities to an abrupt and instantaneous halt” (Price and Griffin, 1979:7). This does not appear to have been the fate of Mississippian communities in the Eastern Lowlands of Missouri (see Chapter 2), which, while showing scattered evidence of burning, do not exhibit the amount of destruction seen in Powers phase communities. A key component of the project was the almost total excavation of Turner and Snodgrass, which lie approximately 160 meters apart and 5 kilometers southeast of Powers Fort, and Gypsy Joint (Smith, 1978b), located approximately 3 kilometers south-southwest of Powers Fort (Figure 1.1). Price’s survey results indicated that Turner and Snodgrass were only two of several “paired communities” that existed across the ridge-and-swale topography south of Powers Fort (Price, 1978), with each community in a pair located within a short distance of its partner. Turner and Snodgrass contained 45 and 93 structures, respectively, along with hundreds of pits inside and outside of the structures. Houses at both sites were set in shallow basins, which protected house floors and roof fall from some but not all of the destruction caused by twentieth cen-

10

CHAPTER 1

tury plowing and agricultural activities (Figure 1.3). Although the two villages—not surprisingly—looked similar in many respects, they also differed in important ways. Snodgrass was surrounded by a ditch and had what the excavators labeled as a “white-clay wall” that divided the village into two segments, whereas Turner had no protective wall. Turner, however, contained a fairly well defined cemetery area containing 118 children and adults interred in 54 graves (Black, 1979), whereas with a few exceptions the only burials at Snodgrass were those of infants placed beneath house floors. Thus, somewhat paradoxically even though Snodgrass was the more substantial of the villages, Turner clearly was preeminent in terms of the number of interments. In a historical sense, the excavation of Turner and Snodgrass represented a turning point in Mississippian-period archaeology. As Griffin (1985: 15) noted, up to that point no Mississippian villages anywhere in the eastern United States had been excavated in their entirety. He also raised a point that was characteristic of the 1960s: the use of the latest methods or techniques that were espoused in the literature of the new archaeology. One of those techniques was random sampling. Some archaeologists might not have understood how to use it, but they knew they were supposed to use it: At that time random sampling was the golden key to unlocking the door to many archaeological questions, and some number of graduate students, when we initiated the field program, were insistent that random sampling should be the procedure followed. However, we already knew where an adequate number of sites were located, their dimensions, the locations of house structures, and that surface finds demonstrated rough contemporaneity. . . . I thought it was more important to deviate from a then popular acceptable archaeological approach. (Griffin, 1985: 15)

In other words, why sample probabilistically when you have the manpower to excavate an entire site? Two types of excavation procedures were employed at Turner and Snodgrass, one for preliminary detection of features and another for exposing the features in their entirety.2 Neither was revolutionary in archaeology; what was revolutionary was the use of the procedures in excavating two entire Mississippian villages without destroying a large percentage of the archaeological record in the process. First, long, narrow slit trenches were excavated down through the plow zone to locate structure basins and pits (Figure 1.4). The trenches measured 1.5 feet wide and more than 50 feet long. When a structure or pit was encountered, a cross slit trench was excavated in order to determine the feature’s dimensions. Then, large areas of plow zone were removed through the use of a tractor and a rear-mounted bucket that was raised and lowered hydraulically. The scoop was lowered until it engaged the soil; then the tractor was moved forward until the bucket was filled, then lifted, and the backfill dirt


11

Figure 1.4. Photograph (looking southwest) showing slit trench following barely visible outline of the white-clay wall at Snodgrass. Partially excavated Structure 42 is in the foreground; the plow zone has been removed from Structure 36 in the upper left.

dumped in a designated area. The tractor work was followed by a row of workers with sharp shovels, removing what little remained of the plow zone and shoveling it ahead of them. The tractor was then backed up, the bucket lowered, and the shoveled sediment hauled away and dumped. This proved to be a very fast and efficient method of plow-zone removal. Its primary asset lay in the fact that the tractor never had to be driven over the area that had been trimmed with the shovels, and the loose soil could be hauled away as fast as it accumulated in front of the shovelers. As soon as a feature was uncovered, it was outlined and recorded, thus making it ready for final excavation (Figure 1.5). When the designated area was uncovered, a staking crew, using a transit and two 100-foot steel surveying chains, set stakes at 10-foot intervals over the area. Next, the features were recorded, using the established stake grid for control. Then, stakes were driven at 5-foot intervals over large features such as structures. These were then excavated with trowels, spoons, grapefruit knives, dental picks, and brushes (Figure 1.6 [top]). All large artifacts—sherds, animal bones, and pieces of stone-and architectural elements were left in place and recorded in three dimensions (Figure 1.6 [bottom]).

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Figure 1.5. Photograph (looking south-southwest) of Structure 50 at Snodgrass showing the basin outlined for excavation.

Refuse pits were excavated with hand tools in diagonally opposing quadrants, which left two profiles at right angles to each other (Figure 1.7). Most material was removed and bagged according to quadrant; but if a pit was visibly stratified, it was excavated in natural levels, and all material was kept separate according to quadrant and stratum. Any obvious concentrations of material or associations were recorded. Soil samples were taken from the top, middle, and bottom of each pit. Flotation was used on samples from pits and structural basins, and as a control flotation was used on the entire contents of Structure 22 at Snodgrass and on the contents of several pits. Two sets of maps were generated at the conclusion of the project: (1) largescale maps of the two villages showing the locations of house basins relative to other features and (2) larger-scale maps of each basin showing the locations of over 26,000 piece-plotted artifacts. Another 250,000 artifacts were recovered from screening excavated house and pit fill through quarter-inch mesh. In sum, the two villages yielded one of the largest well-provenienced artifact assemblages ever recovered in North America. The sheer volume of artifacts recovered from Turner and Snodgrass presented a daunting analytical challenge, and although several publications dealing with select aspects of the two sites appeared in the years immediately following the close of field work (e.g., Black, 1979; Price, 1973; Price and Griffin,


Figure 1.6. Photographs of field operations at Snodgrass: top, excavation of Structure 54 showing artifacts and burned architectural elements left in place; bottom, a large ceramic vessel left in place within the Structure 3 basin.

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Figure 1.7. Photograph (looking northeast) of the excavation of Pit 43 at Snodgrass showing how pit fill was sectioned during removal.

1979; Smith, 1975), most of the artifacts from the two villages remained largely unstudied. There was little available information on such basic issues as the ceramic holdings of individual households or the range in number and type of vessels from house to house. These and other similar issues have been raised with respect to other Mississippian communities, but rarely has it been possible to answer them in a definitive manner. Turner and Snodgrass are prime data sets for addressing these issues. There is a caveat, however: Analyses conducted in the 1970s were based on the belief that much of the archaeological records at Turner and Snodgrass consisted of artifacts that had been left in place when the villages burned. Based on this assumption, a number of claims were made about social and economic relations among the Snodgrass residents— claims that over the years have become accepted at face value. However, it now is apparent that the depositional histories of Turner and Snodgrass are extremely complex and that many of those claims cannot be substantiated. This topic is explored at length in Chapters 6 and 7. The advent of powerful personal computing and the development of appropriate software eventually made it practical to analyze materials from Turner and Snodgrass at a level not previously possible, and in 1989 the field records and artifacts—some 400 boxes of material-were moved from southeastern


15

Missouri to the Smithsonian Institution. Facilitated by Smithsonian grants to Bruce Smith and a National Science Foundation grant that I obtained, personnel analyzed most classes of material and entered the resulting information into large data bases. This phase of the project was carried out between 1989 and 1996. During that period, long-count radiocarbon dates were obtained to supplement the dates produced in the 1970s, and the faunal assemblage from Snodgrass was analyzed (Zeder, 1991; Zeder and Arter, 1993, 1995, 1996). The data base, artifacts and field records were transferred to the University of Missouri-Columbia in mid-1997, and additional analysis of pottery and stone artifacts was carried out over the next 2 years. Simultaneously, an overview of the physical environment was prepared by James Krakker (see Chapter 3). By mid1998 it became possible to begin integrating the different analyses into the synthetic overview that appears here.

THE PRESENT VOLUME Given the uniqueness of the Powers phase settlements, there has long been considerable interest within the archaeological community regarding both the research project and its analytical results. Previous publications have been well received, but there has been continued interest in seeing one of the truly marvelous data sets relative to the archaeological record of the late prehistoric period in the Mississippi Valley reported in a more comprehensive manner. This is especially true of the data sets from Turner and Snodgrass. However, not all readers-perhaps not even the majority of readers—will be interested in all of the fine details that could be incorporated into such a volume. Thus, in devising publication plans I took a middle-of-the-road approach in an attempt to highlight the analytical results without bogging the discussion down in minutiae. I want to make it clear that the book is in many ways an introduction to the myriad data sets as opposed to being an exhaustive summary of them. This volume also serves as an excellent means of drawing together into one place the analyses that already have been done on select aspects of the Powers phase. Some of these have been published in widely distributed form (e.g., Black, 1979; Perttula, 1998; Price, 1978; Price and Griffin, 1979; Smith, 1978b; Zeder and Arter, 1996), some in dissertation form (e.g., Price, 1973), some in limited form (e.g., Lynott, 1987), and still others have not been published previously (e.g., Price, 1974). There are several ways in which the volume could be organized, and the one selected follows directly from the two major research questions that guided excavation and subsequent analysis of the Powers phase sites. First, what was the general nature of settlement in the Little Black River Lowland during the

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period from roughly A.D. 1250 to A.D. 1400 and how did it differ from that of contemporary settlement systems to the east and south? Second, what was the general nature of the settlements within the proposed Powers phase settlement hierarchy? Specifically, were there differences among settlements in terms of architecture, household items, and food stuffs, and were such differences manifest even among houses in the same or neighboring settlements? As a backdrop, Chapter 2 places the Powers phase settlements in the general physical and cultural context of t he central Mississippi River valley during the Mississippian period, ca. A.D. 900–1600. It would be difficult to find another region in the southeastern United States that has played a more significant role in the archaeology of late prehistoric-period societies than the central Mississippi Valley. Given the presumed cultural affinities that Powers phase peoples had with contemporary groups to the east and southeast, it is important to have at least a cursory understanding not only of the cultural history of those groups but also of the physical-environmental history of the region in which they resided. Chapter 3 summarizes the immediate physical environment in which the Powers phase sites are located, with particular emphasis on the distribution of soil types and the composition of bottomland forests during the nineteenth century. At first glance the Little Black River Lowland appears to be nothing more than an almost featureless, low-lying plain, but in reality it is an amalgam of physiographic zones, the result of two fluvial regimes that together created a complex topography across the region. The first is the braided-stream regime of the ancestral Mississippi River when it flowed through the Western Lowlands of southeastern Missouri and northeastern Arkansas during the Pleistocene. The second is the meander-belt regime of smaller streams that exit the Ozark Highland and flow through earlier abandoned Mississippi channels. The environmental mosaic created by these two regimes was an attraction to prehistoric peoples throughout the Holocene. Chapter 4 examines the distribution of archaeological remains across the physiographic features related to the two fluvial regimes. Groups living in the Little Black River Lowland prior to about 1000 B.C. made extensive use of levees and prairie mounds along and just east of the Little Black River. There is considerable evidence that after that date attention shifted farther east to sand ridges located on a large ancestral terrace of the Mississippi River. By A.D. 1250, occupation in the region was confined largely to these ridges, presumably because of the presence of well-drained, sandy soils ideally suited for corn agriculture. Of considerable interest is the spatial distribution of Powers phase communities relative to topography and soil type. Chapter 5 examines the internal organization and dates of occupation of


17

the four classes of sites that Price and others have posited for the Powers phase. Powers Fort—with four mounds, a central plaza, and an earthen embankment and ditch—is the largest site in the Western Lowlands and the only one known to have been fortified. The earliest archaeological work at the site dates to 1882 and the work of the Mound Exploration Division of the Bureau of Ethnology (Thomas, 1894), but it is primarily through excavations conducted in the 1960s that we have some idea of the internal organization of the center. Radiocarbon and thermoluminescence dates demonstrate that Powers Fort probably was occupied throughout the fourteenth century and perhaps for an unspecified period on either side of that span. Most of what is known about Powers phase villages derives from the analysis of materials from Turner and Snodgrass—the first containing 45 structures and the second 93 structures. Given that Turner and Snodgrass were almost completely excavated, there exists extensive information on the spacing of structures and pits within the villages as well as on the locations of other features such as a fortification ditch at Snodgrass and a cemetery at Turner. Numerous radiocarbon dates place the occupation of the villages in the fourteenth century, but the key question has long been whether the settlements were contemporaneous or whether one predated the other. No excavations of hamlets were undertaken during the Powers Phase Project, and the only data that exist are impressionistic maps of house stains as they became evident in plowed fields during periods of ideal ground conditions. However, several farmsteads were examined—including Gypsy Joint, which was excavated in its entirety. This small site, which covered no more than about 360 square meters, contained two structures, a burial, eight pits, and a concentration of burned corn. The excavated artifact assemblage, when viewed in conjunction with the site plan, yields an excellent picture of activities conducted at one of the smallest communities of the Powers phase. Chapter 6 examines Powers phase architecture in terms of a structure’s use-life, beginning with its construction, continuing through its use and abandonment, and concluding with its reuse as a trash-disposal facility This discussion is integral to understanding the nature of the archaeological deposits at Turner and Snodgrass—an issue that is not as straightforward as previous discussions have made it seem. These discussions have not pointed out, for example, that there is extensive evidence of redeposition in the structure basins at Snodgrass—a phenomenon that calls into question previous conclusions about such things as status differences among Powers phase peoples. Chapter 7 examines selected house floors at Turner and Snodgrass in terms of artifact classes represented and the spatial patterns of artifact classes within structures. Data resulting from the analysis of artifacts determined to have been

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CHAPTER1

on the house floors as opposed to in the fill above the floors are used to determine if there are differences between structures at Turner and Snodgrass and between sets of houses in different areas of Snodgrass. Chapters 8 and 9 summarize two aspects of Powers phase material culture, lithic artifacts and pottery, using materials from Turner and Snodgrass. Both sets of artifacts have technological and morphological features in common with contemporary materials from other parts of the central Mississippi River valley, but there are several (often subtle) differences in the Powers phase assemblages that set them apart from those to the east and south. The basic artifact descriptions are intended to serve as baselines against which to measure such similarities and differences. Chapter 10 summarizes the data presented in Chapters 2–9 and examines the Powers phase communities in terms of their place on the late prehistoricperiod cultural landscape of southeastern Missouri.

NOTES ¹Throughout the volume there is a mix of metric and English measurements. Powers phase communities were excavated using the English system, and I retain these measurements here. The analysis of communities, structures, and artifacts conducted subsequently employed metric units. 2

The discussion of field procedures is adapted from Price and Griffin (1979).

Chapter 2

The General Physical and Cultural Environment MICHAEL J. O’BRIEN

In one respect the Powers phase settlements were a microcosm of prehistoric life in southeastern Missouri between A.D. 1250 and A.D. 1400, which in turn resembled life in the greater central Mississippi River valley during that period. In another respect the villages that occupied the high, sandy rises in the Little Black River Lowland probably were distinctive in terms of their social, political, and economic pursuits—just as other late-period polities were—but our current level of understanding is rarely fine-grained enough for us to recognize more than a few of the distinctions between and among those polities. Hence, common practice is to rely on the term Mississippian as a catch-all category for late-period groups and their material culture. Despite the fact that a general term such as Mississippian masks tremendous variation, it also calls attention to the fact that there were underlying characteristics that many groups living in the midwestern and southeastern United States after A.D. 900 held in common. This certainly was true of groups living in the central Mississippi River valley, which, following the work of several scholars (e.g., Morse and Morse, 1983; Williams, 1956), I take to be that portion of the Mississippi Alluvial Valley (Fisk, 1944) lying between Thebes, Illinois, on the north and the Arkansas River and its deposits on the south (Figure 2.1). This demarcation is not wholly arbitrary, despite the southern boundary being less well marked than boundaries to the north, east, and west. North of Thebes, the Mississippi River flows in a narrow valley only a few kilometers wide and deeply incised into Paleozoic bedrock, but south of that point it occupies a major structural depression—the 19

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Figure 2.1. Map of the central Mississippi River valley showing physiographic features and locations mentioned in the text (after O’Brien and Dunnell, 1998a).

Mississippi Embayment—filled primarily with poorly consolidated or unconsolidated sediments of Cretaceous and later age (Saucier, 1994). The archaeological record of the central Mississippi River valley has long been highly visible, in large part because of the presence of large, prehistoric earthen mounds. By the middle of the nineteenth century it was well known

THE GENERAL PHYSICAL AND CULTURAL ENVIRONMENT

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that many of the mounds so evident across the landscape had been constructed to house the dead. More importantly, it was known that the presence of skeletons often signified the presence of grave goods, especially ceramic vessels. This is the way an amateur prehistorian writing in 1878 characterized the southeastern Missouri portion of the valley: There is, doubtless, now no richer field for archaeological research in this great basin of the Mississippi Valley than is to be found in [southeastern] Missouri. The wonderful extent and variety of the ancient works and monuments therein, the relics they disclose, the huge burial mounds filled with the bones of the dead, disposed in orderly array, as though by loving hands, along with vessels of pottery of graceful forms and varied patterns, often, too, skillfully ornamented,—all bear witness to a settled and permanent condition of society and government and obedience to law, and to certain convictions of a future life. (Conant, 1878:353)

By the end of the nineteenth century, thousands of pots that lay concealed in the large prehistoric cemeteries along the Mississippi and its tributaries in Missouri and Arkansas had been mined for their commercial or aesthetic value, often by local residents acting as prospectors for eastern museums and collectors (Morse and Morse, 1983; O’Brien, 1994b). The vast majority of mounded sites that have figured prominently in the archaeology of the central Mississippi River valley date to the Mississippian period—a span of time that varies considerably in the literature and which I take here to be roughly A.D. 900–1600. It was during this period that much of the southeastern United States witnessed wholesale changes in the social landscape as a result of the rise of complex units often referred to as chiefdoms— an unfortunate term, perhaps, given its basis in ethnographic analogy, but one meant to underscore such things as differential access to prestige positions and hence to certain societal goods. Confusingly, these chiefdoms routinely are regarded as being Mississippian societies, and hence we have the awkward situation of the same term being used for both a time period and, for lack of a better way of expressing it, a cultural tradition. The term Mississippian dates from the late nineteenth century. William Henry Holmes (1886) used the designation Middle Mississippi Valley group to segregate ceramic vessels found in the central Mississippi River valley from vessels found farther north, which he labeled the Upper Mississippi Valley group, and Fay-Cooper Cole and Thorne Deuel (1937) later employed those same designations to refer to two separate culture types they identified. W. C. McKern (1939) coined the term Mississippi pattern, which had two manifestations—the Middle Mississippi phase and the Upper Mississippi phase— and James B. Griffin (1952) used the term Mississippi to refer to a period as well as to a culture type. He subdivided the culture types into Middle and Upper Mississippian and the

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period into two parts, early and middle Mississippian. Gordon Willey, in his summary volume on the archaeology of North America and Mesoamerica (Willey, 1966), used the designation Mississippian tradition, the term commonly used today. In short, the situation has become confusing, made all the more so by the fact that the dates one usually associates with the Mississippian period—which, granted, vary between investigators—often have nothing in common with the appearance of features in the archaeological record that usually are referred to as Mississippian-tradition traits. As an example of the lack of congruity between dates and traits, we have the term Emergent Mississippian. The genesis of the term is difficult to pinpoint, but it appeared in the 1970s as a designation for archaeological remains dating to and indicative of the appearance of Mississippian “culture” in the midwestern and southeastern United States. There is nothing particularly wrong with the designation except that it begs the question of what Mississippian itself is. John Kelly (1990b:117) presents a reasonable assessment of what is implied in most archaeological uses of the term Mississippian: “1. Dramatic changes in technology and material culture, 2. A shift to maize-dominated field agriculture, 3. Interregional exchange, 4. An increase in the size and organization of sociopolitical units, 5. A marked increase in social differentiation.” Note that numbers 1 through 3 can be viewed directly through inspection of the material record; numbers 4 and 5 are inferences. Missing in Kelly’s list is any mention of shell-tempered pottery, though it figures prominently in most characterizations of “Mississippian.” The reason shell-tempered pottery does not appear in the list is because it was a late occurrence in the American Bottom of western Illinois, which was the focus of Kelly’s discussion. Shell-tempered pottery postdates the “emergence” of Mississippian by at least 300 years in the southern half of the American Bottom and by 200– 250 years in the northern half. The beginning of the Emergent Mississippian period in the American Bottom is placed at A.D. 750 (ending at A.D. 1000), but shell-tempered pottery did not show up until after A.D. 1050. By that time, American Bottom groups were engaged in corn agriculture, the population had begun to nucleate in and around at least six mound centers, Cahokia was well on its way to becoming the largest of the mound centers, and at least 240 burials had been placed in Cahokia’s Mound 72 (Rose and Wells, 1972)—one of which had associated with it what appear to have been human retainers as well as an incredible wealth of goods that included rolled copper, sheets of mica, non-locally produced projectile points, and a beaded blanket (Fowler, 1975). In other words, Mississippian had “emerged” well before shell-tempered pottery made its way into the American Bottom. Alternatively, Emergent Mississippian has been used to refer to the earliest shell-tempered pottery from the eastern Ozark Highland of Missouri (e.g.,


23

Lynott, 1986; Lynott and Price, 1989; Lynott et al., 1984, 1985; Price, 1986)— the area just to the west of the Powers phase settlements. Mark Lynott (1982:18) clearly associated shell temper with Mississippian: “Although it is unlikely that the eastern Ozark region is the birthplace of Mississippian culture, there is growing evidence that it was occupied by early Mississippian groups with a settlement pattern of small, dispersed units.” The evidence to which Lynott was referring was the presence of shell-tempered pottery. Lynott et al. (1984:20) stated that “the nature of this Early or Emergent Mississippian [in the eastern Ozarks] is not yet fully clear. . . . This level of development must be placed on the cultural trajectory that ultimately led to the lifeway typified by the complex sociopolitical organization evident at later civic-ceremonial centers and villages” such as those connected with the Powers phase. What Lynott and associates seem to be claiming is that any group that used shell-tempered pottery was, by definition, at least “emergent” Mississippian and therefore on a trajectory toward complex social and political organization. This is not necessarily true. If the seventh century dates for shell-tempered pottery in the eastern Ozark Highland are correct, or even if they are too early by a hundred years, all they indicate is that some groups along the Eleven Point River, Fourche Creek, and probably other upland streams were beginning to temper their jars with shell earlier than were some groups elsewhere. The presence of shell tempering was in no sense a predictor that a group was on an evolutionary pathway toward becoming “Mississippian.” Even if we rely on criteria such as those suggested by Kelly (1990b) to define “Mississippian” culture we still have to realize that the term, like most normative categories used in Americanist archaeology, conflates a sizable amount of variation. As Bruce Smith (1990a:1) points out, the emergence of Mississippian societies that took place in large southeastern United States river valleys between A.D. 750 and A.D. 1050 exhibited considerable diversity in terms of background and complexity—a diversity that continued unabated for the next 500-plus years. Beneath the veneer of similarity, the degree to which various historical developmental sequences paralleled each other is open to considerable interpretation (Smith, 1990a:1–2). For example, to what degree were the broadly similar processes of culture change the result of interaction as opposed to independent response to constraints and opportunities? In other words, how much of the similarity among Mississippian groups is homologous, and how much is analogous? If homologous, then we should be looking for common origins among historically related groups. If analogous, then we should be seeking to identify common problems that faced those groups—for example, landscape partitioning and resource imbalance—and attempting to understand how they arrived at similar functional solutions. Or maybe Smith (1990a:2) is correct when he notes that neither gives us a truly satisfying answer—that is, that

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both adaptive convergence and phyletic evolution played major roles in the development of Mississippian societies. Turner and Snodgrass—the two small, short-lived communities in the Western Lowlands of southeastern Missouri that form the key focus of this book—cannot be expected to yield data that in and of themselves address such issues. Each was occupied for only a few years—a mere moment in the 700year-long Mississippian period—and each was but a mere point on the huge map that encompassed the Mississippian world. They can, however, tell us quite a bit about what went on during a brief period of time in a specific locality—how a certain group of Mississippian people laid out their communities, how they built their houses, how they subsisted, how they manufactured their tools, and how they buried their dead. As such, the data from Turner and Snodgrass can be used to construct a baseline against which contemporaneous archaeological assemblages from other areas can be compared. To accomplish that objective we need to place the archaeological records of Turner, Snodgrass, and the other Powers phase communities in some sort of temporal and spatial context relative to what was going on elsewhere at the time they were occupied. In this chapter the main focus is on the Mississippian-period record in that section of the central Mississippi River valley from Thebes Gap on the north to the Missouri–Arkansas state line on the south, with a minor focus on the area between the state line and the confluence of the St. Francis and Mississippi rivers. For broader coverage of the Mississippian period in the greater Southeast, see Rogers and Smith (1995) and Smith (1986, 1990b), and for the central Mississippi River valley as a whole, see Lafferty and Price (1996), Morse and Morse (1983, 1996), O’Brien and Dunnell (1998b), and O’Brien and Wood (1998). As I note elsewhere (O’Brien and Dunnell, 1998a), because the unique character of the Mississippi Alluvial Valley intruded so heavily into prehistoric settlement, it is important to understand at least the essential components of the physical environment. I focus here on only one, and perhaps the most important, component—the two great fluvial regimes that together created the landscape on which various Mississippian groups carried out their social interactions and economic pursuits.

THE PHYSICAL SETTING1 The modern Mississippi River borders the eastern margin of the valley from Thebes, Illinois, southward, moving well west of the loess bluffs only south of Memphis (Figure 2.1). A major feature of the central valley—one that sets it apart in striking fashion from the lower portion—is Crowley’s Ridge, a north–south-trending, loess-capped Tertiary landform that divides the alluvial


25

valley into two segments (Figure 2.1). The part between Crowley’s Ridge and the Mississippi River consists of a series of named lowlands collectively referred to as the Eastern Lowlands (Figure 2.1); the part between Crowley’s Ridge and the Ozark Highland comprises several lowlands collectively known as the Western Lowlands (Figure 2.1). The Eastern Lowlands make up the greatest proportion of the St. Francis River basin—a large drainage area that extends from the head of the Mississippi Alluvial Valley south to the junction of the St. Francis and Mississippi Rivers (Figure 2.1). The Western Lowlands vary in width, from only a few kilometers at the northern end, where Crowley’s Ridge approaches the Ozark Highland, to almost 50 kilometers along the Missouri–Arkansas border. Except for a small area in the extreme northern Western Lowlands that is drained by the St. Francis, drainage west of Crowley’s Ridge is controlled by numerous tributaries of the White River, which empties into the Arkansas River just west of the confluence of the latter and the Mississippi (Figure 2.1). One of these is the Little Black River, the central drainage in the Powers phase settlement area (Figure 1.1). The kinds and ages of the various sediments in the central valley are products of where the ancestral Mississippi and Ohio rivers happened to be at various times during the Pleistocene and early Holocene—channel positions that in large part were controlled by the enormous volumes of water those rivers carried into the embayment during interstadials. Harold Fisk, in his Geological Investigation of the Alluvial Valley of the Lower Mississippi River (1944), attempted to provide a history of the valley by mapping and dating all physiographic features from just north of Cairo, Illinois, south to the Gulf of Mexico. Although Fisk produced a series of excellent maps of the valley, many of his channel reconstructions were speculative, and his chronological ordering of most channels, in terms of both absolute and relative time, was based on several faulty assumptions (Autin et al., 1991; Saucier, 1981). More-recent mapping of portions of the valley (e.g., Saucier, 1994; Saucier and Snead, 1989) has modified Fisk’s sequence of events and greatly altered their timing. Understanding the geomorphological history of the Mississippi Alluvial Valley is built primarily on recognizing the presence of two different fluvial regimes—those associated with braided streams and those associated with meander-belt streams—each of which left dissimilar evidence of its history in the form of sediments and landforms. Extensive evidence of braided-stream courses—complex features composed of master channels and an interlocking series of gathering channels and dispersal channels—is found in the Western Lowlands (Royall et al., 1991; Saucier, 1974; Smith and Saucier, 1971)—the result of the ancestral Mississippi River—and in the Little River Lowland—the result of both the ancestral Ohio and Mississippi rivers (O’Brien, 1994a; O’Brien and Dunnell, 1998a).

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Braided surfaces, or valley trains, comprise outwash sediments derived from midcontinental glaciers that formed throughout the Pleistocene (Autin et al., 1991; Blum et al., 2000; Saucier, 1974; Teller, 1987, 1990). The oldest exposed valley-train surface in the Western Lowlands is located west of the extreme southwestern edge of Crowley’s Ridge and probably dates in excess of 120,000 years (Autin et al., 1991; Blum et al., 2000; Rutledge et al., 1985) (Figure 2.2). Older braided-stream deposits in the Eastern Lowlands are (1) a narrow strip along the base of the northern half of Crowley’s Ridge and (2) Sikeston Ridge, located south of the Bell City–Oran Gap (Figures 2.1 and 2.2). Formed as a result of glacial outwash, the deposits once were continuous from the point where the Ohio River exited the Illinois uplands southwestward to its then-junction with the Mississippi River in southern Arkansas. At that time, the Mississippi flowed between Crowley’s Ridge and the Ozark Highland. Toward the end of the Pleistocene, when the Mississippi abandoned its Western Lowlands course and began draining to the east of Crowley’s Ridge, the Ohio River alluvial fan was bisected by south-flowing Mississippi River channels and buried under Mississippi outwash. Royall et al. (1991:168) present a plausible set of factors that could have led to the diversion of the Mississippi River through the northern end of Crowley’s Ridge and into the Eastern Lowlands: We speculate that an initial, partial shift eastward in flow . . . [corresponded] with the first pulse of increased meltwater discharge associated with the full-glacial/late-glacial climatic transition and the initial phase of deglaciation along the southern and southwestern margins of the Laurentide Ice Sheet . . . characterized by a fluctuating series of minor glacial readvances, alternating with episodes of ice wastage and ephemeral ponding of glacial meltwater in extensive proglacial lakes. Catastrophic release of this meltwater. . . provided the mechanism in the Central Mississippi Alluvial Valley for flood overtopping and incision of the Bell City– Oran Gap [ Figure 2.2].

A radiocarbon chronology of sediments from corings in Powers Fort Swale near the base of the Ozark Escarpment in Butler County (Figure 2.2) establishes the dating of the permanent shift of the Mississippi River to the east of Crowley’s Ridge (Royall et al., 1991). Intermittent to continuous braided-stream flow in the Western Lowlands occurred around 18,000 years ago, characterized by accumulations of medium-size sands. A major decrease in fluvial competence and capacity around 16,300 years ago may have resulted from partial diversion of meltwater through the Bell City–Oran Gap. After that time, meltwater flow became progressively sporadic, with the Western Lowlands serving as an “ephemeral sluiceway, particularly between about 14,500 and 11,500 yr B.P. In Powers Fort Swale, the last deposition of fine sand layers by 11,500 yr B.P.


27

Figure 2.2. Map showing major rivers and physiographic features in southeastern Missouri and northeastern Arkansas. The four major features, from west to east, are the Ozark Highland, the Western Lowlands, Crowley’s Ridge, and the Eastern Lowlands (see Figure 2.1). The Qtb designations refer to landforms/deposits of different ages, with Qtb1 being the oldest and Qtb6 the youngest. In the simplest of terms, during the deposition of Qtb1 and Qtb2, the Mississippi River was flowing west of Crowley’s Ridge, and the ancestral Ohio occupied the flood plain east of Crowley’s Ridge. At the end of the Pleistocene, the Mississippi broke through the Commerce Hills, creating the Bell City–Oran Gap, and began draining the Eastern Lowlands. The upper sediments of Qtb5 and Qtb6 were deposited at that time. Dots represent locations of pollen cores mentioned in the text (after O’Brien and Dunnell, 1998).

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marks the termination of glacial meltwater flow through the Western Lowlands, after which full meltwater flow was funneled east of Crowley’s Ridge” (Royall et al., 1991:167–168). At least two northeast–southwest-trending braided surfaces connected with the displaced Mississippi River are exposed in the Eastern Lowlands. The more western of the two, the Malden Plain, extends in a 175-kilometer-long arc along the eastern base of Crowley’s Ridge (Figure 2.1). Primary drainage of the surface today is provided by the St. Francis River. The eastern braided surface extends from the northern wall of the alluvial valley, through the Bell City–Oran Gap, to Marked Tree, Arkansas, a distance of approximately 170 kilometers (Figures 2.1 and 2.2). When the Mississippi River shifted its course out of the Western Lowlands and began to drain east of Crowley’s Ridge, it created its own outwash fan and braided drainage pattern, in the process reworking earlier sediments and eradicating previous northeast–southwest-trending Ohio channels. East of Crowley’s Ridge, the braided-stream deposits have been partially eroded by the meandering of the modern Mississippi. In the northern part of the valley, surface sediments of the Malden Plain (Figure 2.1) comprise braidedstream deposits that are somewhat younger (less than ca. 13,300 years old) than those of the Western Lowlands and thus lack any substantial overlying loess (Guccione and Rutledge, 1990; Guccione et al., 1988). The large braidedstream channels, which contain older sediments, are well known locally for their terminal Pleistocene fauna such as mastodon and paleollama (O’Brien and Dunnell, 1998a). Inasmuch as the surface of the braided-stream deposits has a steeper gradient than those created by the meandering Mississippi, the erosional escarpment that forms the boundary between the two is more marked in the north (up to 5 meters high) and gradually disappears in northeastern Arkansas. The second great diversion event occurred when the Mississippi River breached the Commerce Hills near Thebes, Illinois, and captured the Ohio River south of Cairo, Illinois. Several minimum ages of this last movement east by the Mississippi are available, based on radiocarbon chronology of cored sediments: 8810 years ago from the Old Field site, located in the Bell City–Oran Gap (King and Allen, 1977) (Figure 2.2); 9050 years ago from Big Lake, Arkansas (Guccione, 1987; Guccione et al., 1988; Scott and Aasen, 1987) (Figure 2.2); and 8530 years ago from Pemiscot Bayou just south of the Missouri– Arkansas line (Guccione, 1987; Guccione et al., 1988; Scott and Aasen, 1987) (Figure 2.2). Roger Saucier (1981:16) stated “emphatically that at no time in the last 9000 years have the Mississippi and Ohio rivers flowed in separate channels farther south than a point only 16 km south of Cairo, Illinois.” The shift in channel location from the Bell City–Oran Gap to the Thebes Gap probably was caused by several interrelated events. Fisk (1944:25, 41)


29

stated that a minor north-flowing stream drained the Commerce Hills during a portion of the glacial cycle and that perhaps faulting and erosion of the southern margin of the Commerce Hills by the Ohio River when it occupied the Cache River channel caused a sag in the escarpment of the Eastern Lowlands. Entrenchment by the stream to reach grade with the Mississippi River, along with later aggradation, also to reach grade with the Mississippi River, caused the tributary to become subject to backwater flooding by the Mississippi. Continued erosion during periods of overflow finally eroded the valley to a relief position where more normal flow could exit through the gap. The shorter course through the gap provided a gradient advantage over that provided by the Bell City–Oran Gap, leading to increased erosion in Thebes Gap and the shift of all or most of the flow east. Royall et al. (1991:169; see also Blum et al., 2000), while not denying Fisk’s scenario of a prolonged period of erosion by the Ohio River and valley development by the north-flowing stream, cite another, more direct cause of the diversion through Thebes Gap: “We speculate that the catastrophic release of water from the Emerson high stage of proglacial Lake Agassiz (which covered 350,000 km2) down the Mississippi Alluvial Valley at about 9500 yr B.P. (Teller, 1987, 1990) was responsible for cutting the new meltwater channel at Thebes Gap.” After the Mississippi River began flowing through Thebes Gap, the combined Mississippi–Ohio converted to a meandering regime, the result of disequilibrium between sediment load and discharge brought about by a change in sediment type (from coarse, glacially derived sands and gravels to a mixed load) (Saucier, 1964, 1968, 1970). The exceedingly complex history of the Mississippi River meander belt is a result of 9000 years of channel migrations across the flood plain, where older channels were abandoned during periods of flooding, older channels were cut off by newer ones, and new levees were built up over previous levees and channels. It was on this highly varied landscape that Mississippian groups carried out their social interactions and economic pursuits. They were preceded there by over 10,000 years of occupation by human groups that used the same landscape, albeit in varied form, for similar activities. The ways in which Mississippian groups carried out those activities differed dramatically from the ways in which their predecessors had structured their activities, and I suspect that if we had the necessary resolution we would notice significant variation in how the various groups that lived in the Eastern and Western Lowlands structured their pursuits and interactions. Unfortunately, that resolution simply is not available. Instead, we see a veneer of similarity that Smith (1990a:1–2) noted for Mississippian societies across the Southeast. Still, that similarity is noteworthy in its own right because it tells us something about communication networks that existed in the region after ca. A.D. 1000.

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THE CULTURAL SETTING At the end of the first millennium A.D., the central Mississippi River valley contained a population of unknown size, but all indications point to the fact that it was substantial. By A.D. 1200, it appears to have increased considerably. Decades of archaeological work in the region have located hundreds of sites that date within 100–150 years on either side of that benchmark, and well over a century of digging—some of a professional nature, most of it not—has made it clear that the archaeological record of the Mississippian period in southeastern Missouri and northeastern Arkansas is exceedingly complex. Despite the archaeological prominence of Mississippian sites in the Eastern and Western Lowlands (e.g., Chapman, 1980; Morse and Morse, 1983), our knowledge of the archaeological record of most of those sites is woefully inadequate. In an overview of the region, Dan Morse and Phyllis Morse (1990:166) noted that the Cairo Lowland (Figure 2.1), “is more complex than the remainder of the Central Valley in terms of the identification of a progressional sequence of events after A.D. 1000. Most sites are multicomponent and have received only minimal excavation or analyses.” Morse and Morse singled out the Cairo Lowland because of its obvious importance in the prehistory of the central Mississippi River Valley and hence its having received considerable archaeological investigation. I agree with them, but there is little reason to judge the Cairo Lowland any differently than any of the other named lowlands in the region. Few “progressional sequences” in any of them are well understood. Because of its archaeological visibility, not only in the literature but also on the landscape, I begin this summary with a discussion of some of the more prominent sites in the Cairo Lowland and then turn attention to several sites on the Malden Plain. Finally, I examine the rise and decline of the large fortified centers that form the centerpiece of the regional archaeological record. This topic is of particular interest here because Powers Fort was one such center.

The Cairo Lowland The Cairo Lowland is a bulge of various-aged sediments that extends from the base of Sikeston Ridge east to the Mississippi River (Figure 2.1). Excavation of Mississippian-period sites in the Cairo Lowland began with the nineteenth century antiquarian-oriented work of Thomas Beckwith (1887; Putnam, 1875a), George C. Swallow, and others and continued through expeditions by the Academy of Science of St. Louis under the direction of W. B. Potter (1880; Evers, 1880) and by Cyrus Thomas’s Bureau of (American) Ethnology crews in the 1880s (Thomas, 1891, 1894). The main attraction of the Cairo Lowland was the presence of large, fortified mound sites (Figure 2.3) that extended from


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Figure 2.3. Map of southeastern Missouri and northeastern Arkansas showing locations of Mississippian-period sites mentioned in the text (after O’Brien and Wood, 1998).

the north of the lowland—in fact, edging over into the Morehouse Lowland— down into the Little River Lowland. Much of what we know of the original plans of the fortified Cairo Lowland sites comes from Potter’s work in the 1870s. His maps and descriptions of the five sites (Potter, 1880) included in the report—Matthews, Lilbourn, Sikeston, and East Lake, which are located on Sikeston Ridge, and Sandy Woods (Figure 2.3)—are unduplicated in terms of what they tell us about the configuration of large Middle Mississippian–period (ca. A.D. 1200–1400) communities in the region (O’Brien 1996). Two sites—Lilbourn and Matthews—received considerable excavation in the twentieth century (Chapman et al., 1977 [Lilbourn]; Walker and Adams, 1946 [Matthews]). Potter’s maps, such as the one for Matthews shown in Figure 2.4, in some cases provide the only evidence that the communities were fortified, since erosion and agricultural activities have subsequently destroyed embankments and ditches. Potter also plotted locations of mounds, house basins, and larger de-

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Figure 2.4. Map of the Matthews site, New Madrid County, Missouri, prepared by W. B. Potter in the 1870s (from Potter, 1880).

pressions that resulted from the removal of soil for use in mound construction. In most cases, dimensions he listed for the features are at odds with those given by contemporary investigators such as Horatio Rust (1877), Caleb Croswell (1878), and Alban Jasper Conant (1877, 1878, 1879a), but their estimates were, at best, guesses. Potter’s descriptions, on the other hand, correlate well with what is shown on his maps (O’Brien, 1996), and subsequent investigations (e.g., Chapman et al., 1977; Walker and Adams, 1946) have supported most of his measurements. If one carefully reads Potter’s descriptions of his excavations (e.g., Chapman, 1980; Williams, 1964), it is fairly easy to relate them to individual mounds and sectors of the various sites. What is apparent in Potter’s descriptions is that the mounds at various sites served different purposes—some were burial mounds


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and others were substructure mounds for buildings. For example, several of the larger mounds at Sandy Woods (Figure 2.3) were said to contain nothing, while two of the mounds—both of which had been looted over a period of years—were estimated by Potter (1880:9–10) to have produced 800–1000 ceramic vessels and 100–200 skeletons. It was, of course, pots that antiquarians were after, and the Cairo Lowland was loaded with vessels of all shapes, sizes, and kinds of decoration (Figure 2.5). Pot fever had hit the residents of Charleston, Missouri, as early as 1879 (Thomas, 1894: 183), but the epidemic evidently started even earlier, because Potter (1880) stated that by the time the Academy of Science of St. Louis began its mapping-and-excavation project in 1878, which produced numerous skeletons and pots (Evers, 1880), hundreds of skeletons and vessels had already been unearthed at sites in and around the Cairo Lowland. Rust (1877), for example, excavated several mounds at Sandy Woods, as well as mounds at sites the locations of which are unknown, and it appears his work was done for commercial purposes. Croswell (1878) excavated at Matthews and Sandy Woods,

Figure 2.5. Ceramic vessels from the Cairo Lowland of southeastern Missouri illustrated by Edward Evers (1880).

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and Conant (1878) apparently excavated at least several skeletons from the Sikeston site (Figure 2.3). Slightly earlier, the well-published antiquarian J. W. Foster (1864) worked at Beckwith’s Fort (Figure 2.3), as did the owner, Thomas Beckwith (1887), who between 1884 and 1887 assembled a collection of “about sixteen hundred pieces in all, consisting of pottery, tools, ornaments etc.” (Beckwith, 1887:229). The work of Potter and his fellow St. Louis academy members was followed in the early 1880s by excavations undertaken by crews working for Cyrus Thomas. Among the 14 sites in eastern Missouri they excavated were Beckwith’s Fort in the Cairo Lowland and Powers Fort in the Western Lowlands (Figure 2.3). Excavations ranged from a small test trench placed through a mound to more-thorough examinations of the larger sites. All four mounds at Powers Fort received some excavation (Chapter 5). More important than the excavation descriptions, which were minimal, were the site plans and descriptions of site layout. The scale at which they were reproduced makes the plans difficult to use, but as with the site plans produced by Potter (1880), they illustrate features that subsequently were destroyed through agricultural practices during the twentieth century (Chapter 5). Despite the amount of detail shown, the maps are not without their problems. Thomas did not visit each site to check the information supplied by his assistants, though in some cases he made field inspections and corrected earlier information (e.g., Thomas, 1894:181). The modern era of work in the greater Cairo Lowland area began with excavations at the Matthews site undertaken by Winslow Walker and Robert M. Adams in the 1940s (Walker and Adams, 1946), followed by Stephen Williams’s (1954) survey of southeastern Missouri and excavations at the Crosno site (Figure 2.3). Williams’s work was followed in the 1960s by a concerted effort on the part of the University of Missouri, under the direction of J. R. Williams, to salvage information from a number of sites before they were land leveled. In the 1970s the university also excavated sizable segments of Lilbourn and Beckwith’s Fort as well as a number of sites in the Cairo Lowland proper. Based on this century-plus of work, we know a lot about the Mississippian-period archaeological record of the Cairo Lowland; the difficult part is sorting through the information and putting it in some kind of spatio-temporal framework. Stephen Williams attempted to do that by creating four Mississippian-period phases, one of which was the Cairo Lowland phase. Williams (1954:273) characterized this phase as “having rather compact and well laid out sites often surrounded by a wall and ditch. A medium sized main mound usually adjoins a well-defined plaza area.” If we examine the archaeological record of the Cairo Lowland, we immediately see that Williams’s statement is accurate: There are several sites that are (apparently) well laid out and that are surrounded by walls and ditches. At these sites there usually is one mound that


35

is larger than the others and which, on the basis of how the large mound is positioned relative to the others, appears to adjoin what might be described as a plaza. J. R. Williams (1964) undertook an analysis of 11 of the fortified settlements in southeastern Missouri—Lilbourn, Matthews, East Lake, Sikeston, Beckwith’s Fort, Crosno, Lakeville, Peter Bess, Sandy Woods, County Line, and Powers Fort (Figure 2.3). He excluded Langdon, in Dunklin County (Figure 2.3), from consideration, perhaps believing it was not fortified. Seven centers had fortification walls that were oriented within a few degrees of the cardinal directions; three others had walls that were nearly so. At least 10 of the sites exhibited evidence of house pits, and at least 5 had low burial mounds. Seven had what Williams inferred to be temple mounds, and at least 7 had plazas. I examine several of the centers below in terms of site structure and content.

Lilbourn The Lilbourn site is located at the extreme southern end of Sikeston Ridge (Figure 2.3). When the site was occupied, a wide slough (a former channel of the Mississippi River) bordered the western edge of the ridge and curved around the southern end of it. Potter (1880) mapped the site in 1878, although his sketch left out some interesting details that are visible on low-level aerial photographs such as the one shown in Figure 2.6. We now know (Chapman et al., 1977) that when the enclosed area was at its maximum extent, the fortification wall enclosed about 17 hectares. The wall was composed of upright timbers set into an earthen embankment that was 3 to 4 feet high in 1878 (Potter, 1880). A ditch encircled the wall on the outside, which was typical of the fortified communities in the Cairo Lowland. Potter described 11 mounds in and around the palisaded area, the largest of which, mound A, was said to have “a level top 165’ long by 110’ wide at the middle, the north end being somewhat wider than the south end. Its base is 270’ by 140’ to 210’ and the height 21”’ (Potter, 1880:13). Mound A had earlier been excavated by Professor George Clinton Swallow of the University of Missouri, who made brief reports of what he recovered ( Transactions of the Academy of Science of St. Louis 1:36) and described his excavations in a manuscript that accompanied his artifact collection when it was donated to Harvard’s Peabody Museum (Putnam, 1875a). Swallow’s excavation of the “Big Mound” at Lilbourn probably is the largest single excavation of a mound ever undertaken in Missouri. Swallow claimed that in December 1856 and January 1857 he and 10 friends used their “servants and teams” (Putnam, 1875b:322) to “cut a passage six feet wide entirely through the ‘Big Mound’ from side to side [east to west] and from top to bottom, laying open its entire structure” (Putnam,

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Figure 2.6. Photographs of the Libourn site, New Madrid County, Missouri, 1941: top left, Mound 1, looking west; top right, Mound 1, looking east (the trench excavated by G. C. Swallow in 1856– 1857 is to the right); bottom, aerial view, north at the top (Mound 1 is in the grove of trees slightly below the center of the photograph, and the fortification walls and some of the house outlines are clearly evident in the crop marks) (from Chapman et al., 1977).

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1875b:322). The trench was still 5 feet deep in 1916 (Moore, 1916:503), and its outline can be seen today (Figure 2.6). Swallow noted that the Lilbourn mound contained a central vault: A room seems to have been built by putting up poles (like rafters in the roof of a house); on these rafters were placed split cane (Arundinaria macrosperma); plaster, made of the mark of the bluff formation, was then applied above and below so as to form a solid mass, inclosing the rafters and lathing of cane, and this held all in place; over this room was built the earth work of the mound, so that when it was completed the room was at its centre. The earth work was then coated with the plaster, and over all nature formed a soil. (quoted in E W. Putnam, 1875b:322)

This central “room” may have actually been no more than the remains of a well-preserved house that at one time had been erected on a smaller substructure mound within the larger mound (Williams, 1954:162–163)—a not uncommon occurrence in flat-topped pyramidal mounds. The “plaster” probably was fired clay that had lined the walls of the house. Swallow excavated at least one other mound at Lilbourn and found “ashes, shells, charcoal, fragments of bones and pots. Nothing of any great value” (Putnam, 1875b:333). The house depressions noted by Potter (1880:14) are not visible on aerial photographs, although excavations in the 1970s by the University of Missouri documented the presence of wall-trench houses set in shallow basins as well as non-wall-trench houses that had been erected on the original ground surface or in basins (Chapter 6). Houses ranged in size from 13 by 14 feet up to 25 feet on a side. A few circular structures, similar to those at Crosno (Williams, 1954), were also found. The complicated manner in which structures were superposed made it impossible to determine how many houses might have been occupied at any one time—a problem rarely encountered on other sampled Powers phase sites (Chapter 6). The University of Missouri’s excavations at Lilbourn produced a large number of skeletons, the exact number of which is unknown because of inadequate reporting. David Evans (1977) stated that 78 interments were excavated in 1971, though current analysis indicates that the number might be as high as 100. In some cases grave goods, usually ceramic vessels, were placed alongside a body, but in other cases, especially those involving children, the bodies were unaccompanied by objects. Chapman (1980:216) stated that “there were also special burials for individuals or social units with high status or prestige, as they were given special treatment and rare artifacts were placed with them.” One body had been interred with a chipped stone mace or scepter lying on the chest with one end over the left portion of the thorax and the other over the right innominate; a circu-

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CHAPTER 2 lar copper disk with a bird bone point 14 cm. long under it and overlying the left innominate. A mollusk shell and a large potsherd were located near the right humerus and a rounded river cobble was near the left radius. The chipped stone mace was made of a pink chert identified as Mill Creek chert from a source in southern Illinois. It is 40 cm. long, and has a maximum width of 2.3 cm. The dark color of the patina and the circular spall absent from the central portion of the object suggest that the mace had been heat treated. The total weight is 867 grams. (Evans, 1977:114)

Beckwith’sFort Beckwith’s Fort (Figure 2.3) lies at the eastern edge of Pinhook Ridge, a topographically high series of point bars deposited when a former Mississippi River channel was increasing its northwestward curvature (Saucier, 1990:79). Capping the point-bar deposits is a thin veneer of natural-levee sediments (Saucier, 1990:77). Thomas (1894:186), in commenting on the location of the site, noted that it “was wisely chosen, as it is the only point within an area of many miles square where the natural surface of the ground was not covered by the great flood of 1882. The bank facing the swamp is here quite steep and fully 30 feet high.” The site has always drawn its share of attention from antiquarians and archaeologists. The first intensive examination was made by Thomas’s crew (Thomas, 1894). The field party produced a sketch plan showing six mounds (there actually are seven), the earthen embankment and ditch that surrounded the settlement (Figure 2.7), and three low areas from which dirt was excavated during mound construction. As Chapman (1980:210) pointed out, the map couldn’t have been more than a sketch, given that the mounds and fortification are completely out of true spatial relation to one another. Thomas’s crew conducted excavations in several areas of the site, especially in areas where there was evidence of “hut rings,” which the map shows to have been ubiquitous across the site except for an area 200 feet square at the eastern edge of the base of the largest mound. This “vacant” area was long suspected to be a plaza, though excavations undertaken in 1989 (Price and Fox, 1990) demonstrated that it contained structure basins and deep midden deposits. Numerous field seasons of work were undertaken at Beckwith’s Fort by the University of Missouri in the 1960s and 1970s (e.g., Cottier and Southard, 1977; Healan, 1972; Williams, 1968), by Southeast Missouri State University in 1986 and 1987 (Wilkie, 1988), and again by the University of Missouri in 1989 (Price and Fox, 1990). As at Lilbourn, wall-trench houses were abundant in most areas of the site, and it was clear from the way in which wall trenches cut across other trenches that houses had been rebuilt several times on the same spot. Several hundred feet of stockade wall and accompanying bastions

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Figure 2.7. Aerial photograph (north–northeast at the top) of Beckwith’s Fort, Mississippi County, Missouri (date unknown). The trees mark locations of mounds; the circular band of lightercolored sediments marks the location of the ditch and fortification wall that encircled part of the community (from Chapman, 1980).

were excavated during the various field seasons, giving us a pretty good idea not only of how the presumed defensive works were constructed but also of how they were enlarged over time. These defensive works included elaborate systems of ditches, embankments, and palisades (Figure 2.8). Excavations along the northern section of the large fortification ditch that was still evident in the late nineteenth century revealed that the system began as a simple palisade around the site, built in a narrow and shallow wall trench. A second trench was dug, overlapping the first on the town side, and palisade posts were set in it. This trench was followed by yet another palisade that consisted of single posts set into the ground without a trench. Next, sediment from the ditch was piled up to create a major embankment on its inner side. This event created a major palisade trench far larger than the preceding ones. It served as a wall for some time, after which the posts were removed and a large ditch was excavated. (Price and Fox, 1990:65)

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Figure 2.8. Photograph (looking northwest) of part of the fortification system at Beckwith’s Fort, Mississippi County, Missouri, 1970. Three separate systems are evident: Stockade A on the right, followed by Stockades B and C. Stockades A and B were built of vertical posts set in trenches; Stockade C contained no trench (from Chapman et al., 1977).

Excavations in the southeastern portion of the site in 1969–1971 revealed features of the defensive works not evident in the 1989 excavations. No evidence of ditches was found, but there was clear evidence of at least two, and perhaps three, palisade lines and a bastion. Uncalibrated radiocarbon dates on the defensive works range from A.D. 710 ± 145 to A.D. 1275 ± 70. Excavations in 1989 (Price and Fox, 1990)were also geared toward determining whether a bulge on the “plaza” side of the largest mound was a ramp that had ascended to the summit of the earthen structure. Instead of representing a ramp, the bulge contained an inordinate amount of refuse that had been


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thrown over the edge of the mound. A deep trench cut into the mound revealed a complicated history of constructional, depositional, and erosional events (Figure 2.9). A mixture of pre-Mississippian- and Early Mississippian–period pottery was found several meters below the present ground surface at the base of the mound; a charcoal sample from the lowest occupational level produced an uncalibrated radiocarbon date of A.D. 410 ± 60. Sometime before A.D. 900, a small platform mound was erected and later expanded into the large mound evident today. At some time, a palisade was erected across the mound face. Later, probably in the fifteenth century, a structure on top of the mound (Price and Fox [1990] referred to it as a temple) was burned, and the resulting debris was thrown over the eastern edge of the crest.

Crosno The Crosno fortified community (Figure 2.3) was once represented by one large mound and three small mounds located within a rectangular embankment on the edge of a wide former channel of the Mississippi River. The University of Missouri excavated several houses at the site in the late 1940s (Williams, 1964:126), but it was Stephen Williams’s work at Crosno in 1952 (Williams, 1954) that gives us the most useful information about the site. He excavated all or portions of nine house structures, one of which was circular, similar to one at Lilbourn. The others were either wall-trench structures or structures with posts not set in trenches. Three infant burials were found in the floor of one of the structures. The midden associated with Crosno was up to 4 feet thick in areas and was constantly churned during the time the site was occupied. A wide range of pottery types was evident at Crosno, as at all the other large Cairo Lowland phase sites, including sherds of several types that date primarily to the period post-A.D. 1400.

Mat thews The Matthews site (Figure 2.3), almost no traces of which remain, was located on the western edge of Sikeston Ridge, a few miles south and on the opposite side of the ridge from the East Lake site. This walled-and-ditched settlement was the focus of numerous examinations over the years (e.g., Croswell, 1878; Potter, 1880; Walker and Adams, 1946), and taken together the work gives us a fairly detailed picture of the internal arrangement of the 9hectare site (Walker and Adams, 1946:85). There were at least seven mounds within the enclosure and, if Potter’s count is anywhere near accurate, several hundred “hut rings” (Figure 2.4). Croswell (1878:535) noted that 300 burials came from mound B and that they were stacked in layers. Walker and Adams

Figure 2.9. Profile of southwest wall of trench through Mound 2 at Beckwith’s Fort, Mississippi County, Missouri, 1989. Zone 8 is the clay core that formed the original mound; an old mound surface, Zone 4, is evident in unit XU7. Note the depth of pre-mound construction archaeological deposits (after Price and Fox, 1990).

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(1946:83) later found intact vessels in remnants of the mound. At least one other mound contained burials (Croswell, 1878:535). Two small mounds excavated by Walker and Adams (1946:83) contained house structures at several levels. Walker and Adams also excavated portions of the largest mound at Matthews, which had earlier been examined by Croswell, and identified at least three building episodes. They excavated 19 houses, most of which were of wall-trench construction, estimating that there were 300–350 houses within the enclosed area in addition to the ones Potter (1880:12) stated were located outside the enclosed area to the south. Perhaps the most important information produced by Walker and Adams concerned the nature of the defensive works. They cross sectioned the works in two places and found a 7-foot-wide embankment of hard-packed clay containing a double row of post molds on top, surrounded by a 1-to-2-foot-deep ditch.

Other Cairo Lowland Sites Lilbourn, Beckwith’s Fort, Crosno, and Matthews were among the largest settlements in the Cairo Lowland—and indeed were among the largest sites in the central Mississippi River valley—but they represented only one class of settlement, the fortified community. There literally were hundreds of other settlements spread across the southeastern Missouri landscape, dozens of which have been excavated to varying degrees. I briefly mention a few of them, with an eye toward elucidating the range of variation that has been included in the Cairo Lowland phase. Bryant. Williams (1967) excavated the Bryant site (Figure 2.3) as part of the land-leveling-salvage project conducted by the University of Missouri. Like many sites in the Cairo Lowland, it contained sherds that represent a wide range of time. A portion of one Mississippian-period wall-trench structure was excavated, but the more important work was carried out at one of two small mounds present at the site. Nineteen burials were excavated from the mound— 2 of adults, 1 of a juvenile, and 16 of infants. The infants were placed most often in or under large vessel fragments; in a few instances they were interred along with a complete vessel. Burial of infants in mounds is unusual at Cairo Lowland sites, the more common form of interment being under house floors. The vessels and vessel fragments were of types that occurred throughout the Mississippian period, but a charcoal sample from level 8 within the mound produced an uncalibrated radiocarbon date of A.D. 1340 ± 80 (Williams, 1968: 189)—near the point at which most archaeologists place the abandonment of the Cairo Lowland (Morse and Morse, 1983; Williams, 1990).

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Callahan–Thompson and Hess. The Callahan–Thompson and Hess sites are located on Pinhook Ridge within a few kilometers of Beckwiths Fort (Figure 2.3). Given their proximity to that fortified center, they have long been suspected as having been satellite communities to Beckwith’s Fort (e.g., Chapman, 1980:212). Three wall-trench houses were found at Hess (Lewis, 1974, 1982; Williams, 1967), two of which were excavated (Chapter 6). Structural remains also were encountered at Callahan–Thompson—the site identified in the earlier literature (e.g., Thomas, 1894) as Beckwiths Ranch. Because of fine-recovery techniques used when the sites were excavated, numerous carbonized plant remains were found at both sites, including those of beans and 8-to-14-row corn (Cutler and Blake, 1974). The pottery recovered during the excavation of Hess points to a rather lengthy occupation, from some time in the pre-Mississippian period to some time in the Mississippian period. The same is true for Callahan– Thompson (Lewis, 1982). Effigy vessels removed during excavation in the 1880s (Thomas, 1894:188–192) indicate a post-A.D. 1200 date for the latter site. What has made Hess and Callahan–Thompson controversial is the lateness of their uncalibrated radiocarbon dates: A.D. 1595 ± 75 and A.D. 1600 ± 90 for Hess (Lewis, 1982; Williams, 1968) and A.D. 1380 ± 90 and A.D. 1470 ± 65 (Brandau and Noakes, 1972; Lewis, 1982) for Callahan–Thompson. Most archaeologists familiar with central Mississippi River valley archaeology believe the Cairo Lowland was abandoned, as were the Western Lowlands, sometime during the fourteenth century. Arguments for abandonment appear to have considerable merit. Certainly the large centers either were abandoned or lost their places of primacy. Radiocarbon dates from Lilbourn and Beckwiths Fort suggest that these centers experienced a significant lack of building during the fourteenth century. Turner, Snodgrass, and other Powers phase communities appear to have been abandoned sometime during the fourteenth century as well (Chapter 5). Were sites such as Hess and Callahan–Thompson anomalies in the sense that they were occupied later than A.D. 1400? Most archaeologists would say no, citing the lack of Late Mississippian-period artifacts as evidence that the sites were abandoned at least by that date. They contend that the radiocarbon dates from Callahan–Thompson and Hess are wrong. I take up the issue of abandonment later.

The Malden Plain Archaeological signatures dating A.D. 1150–1350 are common across the Malden Plain—that Pleistocene terrace remnant of the Ohio–Mississippi River system that abuts the eastern base of Crowley’s Ridge from northern Stoddard County, Missouri, on the north well into Arkansas on the south (Figure 2.1). Three of the largest sites on the plain are Rich Woods, County Line, and Langdon.

THE GENERAL PHYSlCAL AND CULTURAL ENVIRONMENT

45

Rich Woods At one time Rich Woods, located on the edge of the Malden Plain in southern Stoddard County (Figure 2.3), may have been the largest settlement in southeastern Missouri. As Chapman (1980:217) noted, the true size of the settlement will never be known because of extensive land leveling that has taken place over the years. When Thomas’s crew visited the site in the 1880s, 35 mounds were visible along the edge of the plain, which was bordered on the east by a backwater swamp from Little River. The crew mapped the locations of the mounds and excavated 11 of them (Thomas, 1894:175–183). Thomas visited the site after the crew had worked there and later felt inspired to write that “descriptions and plats, though critically correct, fail to convey a true conception of this magnificent [mound] group” (Thomas, 1894:181). The site was described as being approximately 1600 yards north–south and 500 yards east– west. Chapman (1980:221) speculated that these dimensions were much larger than those that defined the area occupied during the Mississippian period. He may have been correct in that some of the mounds, especially the conical ones, probably were pre-Mississippian in age. Collections of pottery made over the years (e.g., Leeds, 1979; Williams, 1954) document a long history of occupation, from at least A.D. 600 through A.D. 1300 and perhaps later.

County Line The County Line settlement is located just south of Rich Woods (Figure 2.3), and like its neighbor to the north is located on the edge of the Malden Plain adjacent to what was labeled as East Swamp by Thomas’s surveyors (Thomas, 1894). The site was described as being surrounded on the other three sides by a ditch . . . that averages 10 feet wide and 3 feet deep. The dirt seems to have been thrown out equally on each side, but there is nothing that can be called a wall or an embankment. The enclosure is 330 yards long by 200 in width, and contains 15 acres. Nearly the whole of this space is occupied by circular depressions or hut rings of the usual size and appearance, containing the usual amount of ashes, broken pottery, bones, etc. There are no mounds in the enclosure, but just outside, near the [northwest] corner, is a low circular one about 4 feet high and 100 or more feet in diameter. (Thomas, 1894:16)

Based on her reading of soil signatures on aerial photographs of the site taken over about a 30-year period, Patrice Teltser (1988, 1992) estimated the enclosed area actually measured closer to 4 hectares instead of Thomas’s 6 hectares. The mound mentioned by Thomas was not apparent in the early 1950s (Williams, 1954). Teltser (1992) speculated that the mound might have been a

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low natural rise, in which case it would have comprised sandy sediments as opposed to clay, and that it had been obscured by plowing. She further suggested that its location outside the ditch argued for the fact that the mound was not connected with the Mississippian occupation. This may or may not be true. Several fortified settlements in the Cairo Lowland had mounds outside the fortifications that contained Mississippian-period burials. Perhaps a more accurate statement would be that the mound at County Line (if such a feature existed), like mounds at the other sites that are or were located outside the embankment/ditches, dates to the Mississippian period but predates major construction of the fortification. Teltser’s controlled surface collections from County Line point to substantial pre-Mississippian- and Mississippian-period occupations. Most of the pottery probably dates to A.D. 1000–1300, although sherds of several pottery types indicate it was occupied into at least the fifteenth century. Three thermoluminescence dates were obtained on pottery Teltser (1992:26) noted that two samples displayed a slight degree of anomalous fading when they were run, and hence the dates—A.D. 1325 ± 92 and A.D. 1370 ± 83—represent estimates. A more secure date is A.D. 1511 ± 73, which places the use of the site well into the late stages of the Mississippian period.

Langdon The Langdon settlement, located on the edge of the Malden Plain in southcentral Dunklin County (Figure 2.3), is the most southerly of the fortified Missouri communities. It shares many of the features exhibited by its northern counterparts, but it also differs from them in several important respects. Stephen Williams (1954) reported the occurrence of six mounds (plus two possible mounds) at the site, five of which were arranged around what Williams termed a plaza. Recent investigations by Robert Dunnell (1998) have demonstrated that there were only four mounds around the plaza, three of which were erected on a single platform. A fifth mound, located east of the plaza, was destroyed in the recent past. If there indeed was a plaza at Langdon, it was small, perhaps on the order of 75 by 50 meters. As Dunnell (1998) points out, the largest of the four remaining mounds is more reminiscent of mounds in northeastern Arkansas (Phillips et al., 1951), which are tall for their basal diameter, than it is of the mounds at Lilbourn, Beckwith’s Fort, and other Cairo Lowland settlements. In fact, the Langdon settlement looks more like those found farther south along the St. Francis River (the “St. Francis type” settlements of Phillips et al., 1951) than it does any of the others to the north. Aerial photographs taken as early as 1937 (Dunnell, 1998) show Langdon as a rectangular settlement contained within a wall-andditch system (Figure 2.10). In addition, it is clear that part of the topographic


47

feature containing the settlement was constructed of refuse that was brought in and dumped in low areas to raise the surface up level with the surrounding land. There is no indication at Langdon of a sizable occupation that predates ca. A.D. 1100. Six thermoluminescence dates on sherds range from A.D. 1233 ±51 to A.D. 1609 ± 34, with most of them falling in the fourteenth century (Dunnell and Feathers, 1994). The 400-year span for the occupation of Langdon seems reasonable on other grounds, but the dates in general appear late, apparently the result of loss of decay products due to sample porosity (Dunnell and Feathers, 1994; Feathers, 1993). Dunnell (1998) regards the dates as minimum ages; correction based on porosity correlations would fix the occupation range between A.D. 1100 and A.D. 1500.

Figure 2.10. Aerial photograph (north at the top) of the Langdon site, Dunklin County, Missouri, 1937, showing Langdon as a walled rectangle (aligned parallel to and bisected by the highway). Note the abandoned channel of Little River just east of the Malden Plain escarpment (from Dunnell, 1998).

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If Dunnell (1998) is correct, Langdon began life as an internally planned, walled-and-ditched Mississippian community. He found no evidence that the palisade had ever been moved. Further, signatures on aerial photographs, especially crop marks created by phosphorus generated by decomposed bone (Dunnell, 1993), indicate complete homogeneity in terms of the chemical nature of the sediment, which suggests that the rectangular configuration evident in the photographs is the original one. Beckwith’s Fort, on the other hand, was an ongoing entity immediately prior to the Mississippian period and was an accretionary settlement that continued to enlarge itself throughout its history. Lilbourn also was occupied prior to A.D. 1000, but it apparently contained no mounds at that point. Superposition of features and radiocarbon dates indicate that it, like Beckwith’s Fort, expanded considerably through time.

The Rise and Decline of the Fortified Centers It is clear that after ca. A.D. 1100 some groups in the central Mississippi River valley underwent a change in how they distributed themselves across the landscape. Instead of residing in small, dispersed communities, groups nucleated in certain localities and constructed palisades around their centers, as is evident at Powers Fort in the Western Lowlands and at Lilbourn, Beckwith’s Fort, Langdon, and other centers in the Eastern Lowlands. It also seems clear, at least in the Eastern Lowlands, that this was a rearrangement by local populations as opposed to a settlement pattern effected by intrusive groups—a statement based on the fact that all of the centers contain earlier components that exhibit artifact suites not unlike the later assemblages. Evidence for intrusion in the Western Lowlands, which some archaeologists (e.g., Price, 1978) have suggested led to the development of the Powers phase settlements, is examined in Chapter 4. The reasons for the change in settlement pattern are unknown, although the literature is rife with speculation. Morse and Morse (1983:264) suggest that the following sequence of events led to the development of at least Beckwith’s Fort: A ceremonial center developed after the Hoecake site [located just north of Beckwith’s Fort] was largely abandoned and the population concentrated more upon the meander belt soils of this portion of the Cairo Lowland. [Beckwith’s Fort] at this time was a dispersed site of mounds and residential areas over an area of perhaps up to several hundred hectares. At some time during the twelfth century a fortified civic-ceremonial center that was more restrictive in area was constructed within the dispersed mound area. . . . Such a center would have provided refuge to the population dependent upon the center.


49

The question that is unanswerable at present is why the population would have sought refuge. If we take the sudden development of the fortified centers to be an indication of increased intergroup hostility—a consideration without much support from other evidence (a few skeletons from Turner had arrow points embedded in them [Black, 1979])—then perhaps the population relied on the center for defensive purposes. This is exactly the scenario that has been used to explain the development of the centers—defense from neighboring groups—and it is closely related to the explanation archaeologists have developed relative to the rise of the socalled Mississippian tradition in general, namely, the formation of powerful, and often competing, chiefdoms. Views are split over the precise nature of the chiefdoms in the Eastern and Western Lowlands. Carl Chapman (1980), for example, borrowing from the model James Price (1973, 1978) developed for the Powers phase, viewed each fortified community as the apex of a chiefdom, with outlying settlements ranked below the central community Chapman believed, not unreasonably, that each center had a series of “satellite villages, farmsteads, and collecting stations” located out away from it. In other words, there was a settlement hierarchy, with the fortified centers at the top, villages in the second tier, farmsteads in the third tier, and small collecting stations at the bottom. Morse and Morse (1983), on the other hand, view some of the smaller fortified centers, such as Crosno (Williams, 1954), as being subsidiary to the larger sites (in the case of Crosno to Beckwith’s Fort). Further, they see all or at least a majority of the fortified sites in the Cairo Lowland as having been part of a single sociopolitical entity: The politics of the thirteenth century revolved around the development of a very major chiefdom, known as the Cairo Lowland phase, characterized by large fortified sites and evidently the monopolization of major upland lithic and copper resources and salt. Whatever the specific causes, fortification and defense became a predominant concern by most or all Central Valley inhabitants. This reaction to political evolution nucleated formerly dispersed households into fortified villages. Braided stream surfaces [former courses of the Pleistocene-age Mississippi River] could not support large nucleated populations dependent upon agriculture. Nucleation of these populations near the end of the fourteenth century had to take place in favorable alluvial environments where soils best suited for hoe agriculture were clustered. (Morse and Morse, 1983:301)

Morse and Morse see the pre-thirteenth-century central Mississippi River valley as having contained numerous small chiefdoms, with the territory of each corresponding to archaeological phases. Apparently through time there was more need to protect “ceremonial centers,” and the communities were for-

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tified through the addition of walls and ditches. Then, sometime around A.D. 1300, one chiefdom, identified by Morse and Morse as the Cairo Lowland phase, began to dominate other chiefdoms in southeastern Missouri, apparently leading to settlement nucleation and finally to abandonment of the braided-stream and meander-belt surfaces in the Eastern Lowlands and abandonment of the braided-stream surfaces in the Western Lowlands—an area of over 10,000 square kilometers. According to Morse and Morse, one chiefdom from the Western Lowlands—the Powers phase chiefdom—probably relocated to an area near Batesville, Arkansas, and became the Greenbrier phase. A second chiefdom relocated near Memphis and became the Walls phase; a third moved even farther southwest, near Helena, Arkansas, and became the Kent phase; a fourth moved farther south still and became the Old Town phase; a fifth relocated near the confluence of the St. Francis and Tyronza rivers in Arkansas and became the Parkin phase; and a sixth moved into extreme northeastern Arkansas between the Mississippi and Little rivers “to help form the Nodena phase” (Morse and Morse, 1983:283). Interestingly, Morse and Morse (1983:301) propose that “the Nodena phase core appears to have been the older Cairo Lowland phase shifted downriver into a larger meander belt surface and adjacent to its traditional enemies, now incorporated as the Parkin phase.” They further propose that the towns of each chiefdom were fortified to protect them from the Nodenaphase chiefdom, which “apparently was expanding at the expense of other phases” (Morse and Morse, 1983:284) What evidence is there that indicates that chiefdoms were driven out of southeastern Missouri by the large and powerful “Cairo Lowland chiefdom” or that they relocated to northeastern and eastern Arkansas? None that can readily be observed, although I think Morse and Morse are correct when they note that some type of settlement disruption occurred in the region after ca. A.D. 1350– 1400. It appears that the large mounded and palisaded sites that were common across southeastern Missouri were abandoned in the fourteenth century (or at least their populations were decreased in size), but there is no evidence to suggest where the populations went. In fact, if one examines Morse and Morse’s (1983) distributions of sites in northeastern Arkansas that they believe were occupied sometime during the period A.D. 1000–1350, it is evident that the area contained a substantial population. Where did those groups go when the southeastern Missouri chiefdoms fled south? Were they pushed even farther south, or were they assimilated by their new neighbors? And it is odd that all the Eastern Lowlands chiefdoms moved south to get away from the Cairo Lowland chiefdom and that the latter then followed them to northeastern Arkansas. One might have suspected that the Cairo Lowland chiefdom, instead of moving south “to help form the Nodena phase,” would have delighted in the fact that everyone else had suddenly packed up and moved south. I think that


51

Morse and Morse have a ready answer for this: The Cairo Lowland chiefdom was getting so populous that it had to move to the large expanse of meanderbelt bottomland between Little River on the west and the Mississippi River on the east (Figure 2.1). Regardless of what happened to which group, the archaeological record of the Eastern and Western Lowlands after A.D. 1350–1400 appears strikingly different from the one that dates prior to that time. Morse and Morse (1983:271) summarized one commonly held view of the abandonment: Suddenly—that is, in terms of 50–100-year time units—large portions of the Central Valley became uninhabited. . . . The dating of this happening is around A.D. 1350–1400, definitely prehistoric in origin. The areas not abandoned experienced significant population increases at about the same time, and extraordinary population nucleation. During this process of chiefdom consolidation a critical point must have been reached that resulted in a severe demographic adjustment. That it could happen at all is a tribute to Mississippian political organization.

Opponents of this view maintain that the evidence is being misread and that large sections of the region were not abandoned in the late prehistoric period. Regardless of which position, if either, is correct, I agree with Kit Wesler (1991:278) that the post-A.D. 1400 occupation of the central Mississippi River valley is the “most vexing problem in the [regional] Mississippian period archaeology. . . . To a great extent this is an argument about chronology and sequence and about radiocarbon dates and horizon markers.” Debate over abandonment began with two papers presented by Stephen Williams in 1977 and 1978 (but published in reverse order in 1980 and 1983), in which he formulated a series of late Mississippian-period markers (his Markala horizon) and commented on the geographical distribution of those markers. When the distribution was plotted, according to Williams (1983), a large void appeared in the center, which he termed the vacant quarter. The vacant quarter centers on the mouth of the Ohio River and includes all of the Missouri portion of the Western Lowlands and sections of the Eastern Lowlands almost as far south as the state line. Williams’s use of the term vacant was not meant to imply that the region was necessarily completely void of people; rather, it referred to the desertion of the large, fortified mound centers that occurred, according to Williams (1990:173), between A.D. 1450 and 1550. Most archaeologists (e.g., Morse and Morse, 1983) believe Williams’s timing of the abandonment is too late and place it between about A.D. 1350 and 1400. Williams’s notion of a vacant quarter has enjoyed widespread support (e.g., Morse, 1990; Morse and Morse, 1983; Price and Price, 1990; Smith, 1986), although Barry Lewis (1986, 1990) has raised objections to the proposal, based in large part on the lateness of radiocarbon dates (fifteenth and sixteenth cen-

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turies A.D.) from Callahan–Thompson and Hess in the Cairo Lowland. Lewis’s argument—that the evidence for the lack of late-period sites is not being recognized because of a bias on the part of analysts—has merit. That bias, according to Lewis (1990), stems from the belief that all late-period evidence should look the same. In other words, late Mississippian-period artifacts from the so-called vacant quarter, if they were there, would look the same as artifacts from, say, the confluence of the Wabash and Ohio rivers or from extreme southeastern Missouri-northeastern Arkansas. Lewis argued that the evidence of sizable populations is there, but we do not recognize it (see Teltser, 1988). Wesler (1991:279) summed up the problem nicely: Much of the argument arises from too few data, so that both sides have to argue negative cases. If there were a convincing explanation for a late prehistoric abandonment of a fertile environment, then the vacant-quarter hypothesis would be stronger. . . . On the other hand, Lewis’s case for continued occupation until European disruption rests in part on the argument that late occupations have not been recognized, because little changed in artifact assemblages and settlement patterns after A.D. 1300. A further problem is that the debate polarized so quickly that alternative scenarios have not been considered adequately.

Regardless of how one views the archaeological record of the so-called vacant quarter, one fact is clear: The majority of late Mississippian-period remains in southeastern Missouri—that is, those postdating A.D. 1400—are concentrated along and near a small former crevasse channel of the Mississippi River—Pemiscot Bayou—that drains the southern third of Pemiscot County (O’Brien, 1994b). The late sites there never were large, nor were they fortified. The locality also contains numerous sites that date earlier in the Mississippian period, but the amount of earlier material that occurs on the late sites is miniscule (O’Brien, 1994b).

SUMMARY Perhaps one day we will have the requisite data to address some of the important issues surrounding the rise of complex, integrated societies in the Eastern and Western Lowlands, but at this point such fine-scale data do not exist. What we do know is that by roughly A.D. 1000 there were visible changes in the ways in which groups distributed themselves across the braided-stream and meander-belt alluvial deposits that mantle the lowlands. That change involved the genesis of large fortified communities, some or all perhaps sitting at the apex of individual settlement hierarchies. Not surprisingly, these large communities were situated on extensive tracts of elevated land, which acted to


53

keep them above the reaches of flooding that was so prevalent in the flat, lowlying region. Powers Fort, by far the largest archaeological site in the Western Lowlands, was one such settlement. The degree of interaction between communities strung out across the lowlands is unknown, but the material record suggests that it was extensive. Author after author (e.g., Chapman, 1980; Morse and Morse, 1983; O’Brien and Wood, 1998) has commented on the similarity across the Cairo Lowland in terms of the artifact content of various assemblages. It was this artifact similarity that led Williams (1954) to create the Cairo Lowland phase in the first place. But, and this is extremely important, recent multivariate statistical analysis of excavated and surface-collected pottery from sites in the Eastern Lowlands (Fox, 1992, 1998; O’Brien and Fox,1994a) has shown that there are significant differences among sherd assemblages even from those sites that Williams (1954) and others placed in the Cairo Lowland phase. Some differences may be temporal, whereas others may be spatial. The point is that future analysis should be directed at teasing apart the variation present in the Mississippian-period record of the Eastern and Western Lowlands instead of trying to pigeonhole it in phases (O’Brien, 1995, 2000).

NOTE ¹Part of this section is adapted from O’Brien (1994a) and O’Brien and Wood (1998).


Chapter

3

The Physical-Environmental Context of Powers Phase Settlements JAMES J. KRAKKER

An important component of the Powers Phase Project was an analysis of the pattern of settlement that developed east of the Little Black River after ca. A.D. 1250 (this subject is taken up in more detail in Chapter 4). Whatever theories of settlement location are held, explaining the Powers phase settlement pattern requires considerable knowledge of the physical environment of the greater Little Black River Lowland, particularly of the Pleistocene terrace containing the settlements. The environment and general settlement pattern have been reviewed in earlier studies (Price, 1978; Price and Griffin, 1979; Smith, 1975, 1978b), but here I use quantitative data on the early historical-period environment. These data consist primarily of tree composition derived from nineteenth– century surveys by the General Land Office and detailed soil distributions derived from surveys by the U.S. Soil Conservation Service. The three major topographic and geographical divisions in the vicinity of the Powers phase sites are a Pleistocene-age terrace, a low-lying area that separates the terrace from the Ozark Highland to the west, and another low-lying area to the east of the terrace that is drained by Cane Creek (Figure 3.1). For ease of presentation, I refer to the area between the Ozark Highland and the Pleistocene terrace as the Little Black River lowlands (not to be confused with the larger unit, the Little Black River Lowland proper) and the area along Cane Creek as the Cane Creek lowlands. The terrace surface preserves the late Pleistocene-age braided Mississippi River channels and bars (Chapter 2) and covers an area of about 180 square kilometers in Missouri and at least that much in 55

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Figure 3.1. Map of a portion of the Little Black River Lowland showing the study area relative to physiographic features. The Pleistocene-age terrace comprises sand ridges, swales, and other braided-stream features (Figure 3.2) connected with the ancestral Mississippi River when it flowed between the Ozark Highland and Crowley’s Ridge. Areas of Kobel clay, associated with perennially wet areas, are shown by cross hatching.

Arkansas. The terrace surface consists of a series of sand ridges and intervening low-lying areas (Figure 3.2). The larger sand ridges rise an average of 2 meters or more above the surrounding low areas and never flood. Without obvious exception, Powers phase settlements, regardless of size or inferred function, were located on one of the six large ridge complexes—Barfield, Sylvan, Mackintosh, Harris, Sharecropper, and Buncomb—shown in Figure 3.2. The major ridge complexes vary in shape and size, and although they are named for convenience, they really are more composites of many small ridges than they are large, contiguous expanses of elevated surface. Swales up to a kilometer or more wide separate these sand-ridge complexes. For example, Barfield and Sylvan ridges are separated from the other ridges by a broad swale— a former Mississippi River braided channel—through which water flows from the Little Black River during periods of high water. Before modern drainage, sluggish waterways drained the low areas, although soil and vegetation evidence discussed below suggests that long-term or permanent standing water

PHYSICAL-ENVIRONMENTAL CONTEXT

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Figure 3.2. Map of the study area showing the locations of six major sand-ridge systems as defined by Bosket soil. The lines forming the bases of the elevated areas correspond roughly to the 300-foot AMSL contour.

was limited in extent. Kobel clay, a soil type characteristic of areas of longstanding water, is not common in the area (Figure 3.1). The Little Black River lowlands lie between the Ozark Highland and the edge of the Pleistocene terrace (Figure 3.1). After emerging from the highlands, the Little Black River flows southwestward along the base of the escarpment. Width of the lowlands averages 1 to 2 kilometers at most points, although it broadens considerably at the western edge of T22N R4E (Figure 3. 1). Northeast of the point at which the Little Black emerges from the escarpment, the Pleistocene terrace actually abuts the uplands, but a narrow lowland about 0.3 kilometer wide separates the rest of the terrace from the Ozark Highland. East of the Pleistocene terrace, Cane Creek flows through lowlands about 8 kilometers wide, bounded on the east by another Pleistocene terrace. Cane Creek enters the Western Lowlands about 5 kilometers northeast of the Pleistocene terrace and curves southwest to flow for several kilometers along the eastern edge of the terrace (Figure 3.1). The Black River flows farther east, but it curves to the southwest to within about 6.5 kilometers of the Pleistocene

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terrace (Figure 2.3). Distinguishing features of the Cane Creek lowlands in the immediate vicinity of the Powers phase communities include meandering channels and associated levees of streams much larger than Cane Creek. These features date to earlier stages of Holocene drainage development (Fisk, 1944; Royall et al., 1991:159) that postdate abandonment of the Western Lowlands by the Mississippi River (Chapter 2). Scrolls from a channel stage early in that development when the St. Francis and Black flowed as one stream impinge on the Pleistocene terrace along the Missouri–Arkansas state boundary, mapped on Figure 3.1 as the distribution of Kobel clay.

THE STUDY AREA The study area defined for the purpose of quantitative investigation of trees and soils is shown in Figure 3.1. It forms a triangle about 19.5 kilometers north–south along its east side and about 24 kilometers east–west along its south edge and contains about 270 square kilometers. This area includes all of T22N R5E, the lowland portions of T22N R4E and T23N R5E, and the southeast corners of T23N R4E and T22N R3E. The Ozark Highland bounds the study area on the west. On the east the boundary is within the Cane Creek lowlands, about 3.2 kilometers east of the Pleistocene-terrace edge and along the east side of T22N R5E and T23N R5E. The Missouri–Arkansas border forms the south side. The study area consists of 179 square kilometers of Pleistocene terrace, 61 square kilometers of the Cane Creek lowlands, and about 30 square kilometers of the Little Black River lowlands. Included for convenience in the last-mentioned zone is a lowland area of about 2 square kilometers at the terrace edge along the Ozark Highland that extends roughly 7 kilometers northeast of the point at which the Little Black River enters the lowlands (Figure 3.1). In defining the study area so as to encompass the Powers phase sites, the state boundary is an arbitrary limit because the terrace continues well south into Arkansas. However, all known sites of hamlet size or larger are no closer than about 4 kilometers north of the state line. Mississippian-period sites, including a large moundless site the size of Powers Fort, exist south of the state line on separate ridge complexes (Price, 1978), but they are not well known archaeologically.

General Soil Associations Three major soil associations are common across the Western Lowlands (Garrett et al., 1978; Graves, 1983). Since these associations do not occur in


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the Eastern Lowlands, they form a rather small part of the total area of the aggregate southeastern Missouri lowlands.

Calhoun–Amagon The Calhoun–Amagon association is composed of 54 percent Calhoun soil and 21 percent Amagon soil in Butler and Ripley counties (Graves, 1983). Calhoun soils occupy broad low areas, and Amagon soils occur in more poorly drained locations (Table 3.1). Adler and Dubbs soils, and less commonly Bosket and Tuckerman soils, occur on better-drained levees. Kobel clay occurs in poorly drained locations that are subject to long periods of inundation. The Little Black River and Cane Creek lowlands are included in this major soil association.

Tuckerman–Bosket The Tuckerman–Bosket association corresponds to the Pleistocene terrace. The association is composed of 53 percent Tuckerman soil and 35 percent Bosket soil. Tuckerman soil occurs in the more poorly drained lowlands between major ridges and basins within the ridges (Table 3.1). The well-drained ridges are mantled with Bosket soil. In some localities both soils are too small in area and too intermingled to map as separate units.

Calhoun–Crowley–Foley The Calhoun–Crowley–Foley association occurs in an area of about 6 square kilometers along the Arkansas–Missouri border in T22N R5E. The terrain characteristics of the area occupied by this association are similar to those of the Calhoun–Amagon association, the major difference being that levee soils are Crowley on better-drained locations and Foley on poorer-drained locations (Table 3.1). Foley soil also is distinguished by a high sodium content. This general soil association is of little importance in the study area but is common elsewhere in the Western Lowlands, especially farther east in Butler County and along Crowley’s Ridge in Dunklin and Stoddard counties. Also, there is an adjacent large tract of the Foley–Crowley–Jackport association in Arkansas (Fielder et al., 1978:5). Nearly all of the Foley soil, of which only 0.6 square kilometer exists within the study area, is located along the Arkansas–Missouri border.

Distribution of Soil Types in the Study Area A few soil types dominate the study area, each occurring in a distinct topographic location. The distribution of these soils can be considered within

Texture Silt-loam Silt-loam Fine sandy loam Silt-loam Silt-loam Silt-loam Silt-loam Clay Fine sandy loam

Soil Type Adler Amagon Bosket Calhoun Crowley Dubbs Foley Kobel Tuckerman

Moderate Poor Good Poor Moderate Good Poor Poor Poor

Drainage

Location Levee Lower flood plain Terrace Flood plain Levee Levee Levee Slack-water areas Low terrace

Table 3.1. Summary Descriptions of Soil Types in the Study Area


61

four topographic positions that correspond to parts of two major soil associations (Figure 3.3). The Pleistocene terrace represents the Tuckerman–Bosket association and can be divided into two topographic divisions consisting of sand ridges and the troughs between them. The two lowland areas—the Little Black River and Cane Creek lowlands—represent the Calhoun–Amagon association on either side of the Pleistocene terrace. The sand ridges are overlain primarily by Bosket soil, but contained within the ridges are poorly drained areas of Tuckerman soil partially or completely enclosed by Bosket soil. Some of the enclosed basins hold water into the early summer. On the west side of the terrace, the low-lying areas between major ridge complexes are dominated by Tuckerman soil with a few areas of Kobel clay. On the east side of the terrace Tuckerman and Bosket are intermingled in small, low-lying areas between ridges. Perhaps the low-lying areas have higher elevations and adequate drainage or at least a complex intermingling of betterand poorer-draining tracts. Examination of aerial photos with soil associations mapped on them indicates that in some areas the Tuckerman–Bosket complex is the result of fields of small hummocks no more than a half hectare in extent that appear to be prairie mounds (O’Brien et al., 1994). Calhoun soil dominates the Little Black River lowlands. Only about 4 square kilometers, or 13.5 percent of that area, is composed of soils other than Calhoun. Small isolated pockets of Bosket soil occur, the most extensive in the vicinity of two notable Archaic and Woodland sites, 23RI51 and 23RI37. Areas of Adler soil are found along the escarpment base and in the lowland extension north of the Little Black River. Calhoun soil also dominates the Cane Creek lowlands east of the Pleistocene terrace. Tuckerman, Bosket, and Kobel soils are also present, but only about 5 square kilometers (about 10 percent) is soil other than Calhoun. Adler and Dubbs soils occur on levees along stream courses and are especially evident in the northern part of the Cane Creek lowlands.

Vegetation Composition The modern Mississippi Alluvial Valley in general conforms to the area delimited as the Southern Floodplain Forest (Kuchler 1964), a mix of deciduous, moisture-sensitive trees. Guccione et al. (1988:67) subdivide the valley into three communities—swamp forest, hardwood bottoms, and ridge bottoms (natural levees and low terraces)—each of which is present in the Eastern Lowlands but only the last two of which are present to any extent in the Western Lowlands. Swamp forests—where water stands year round except during periods of prolonged drought—are dominated by tupelo (Nyssa) and bald cypress (Taxodium). Although tupelo occurs in portions of the Western Lowlands, it

Figure 3.3. Schematic cross section (west–east) of the study area showing major physiographic regions, soil types, and trees common to each region.


63

usually is a minor taxon. Hardwood bottoms, which are subject to frequent flooding and prolonged periods of inundation during late winter and spring, are dominated by sweet gum (Liquidambar), maple (Acer), oak (Quercus), and elm (Ulmus). Although there is reason to suspect that the taxa currently present in the greater Little Black River Lowland—here including the Pleistocene terrace and the Cane Creek lowlands—reflect to some degree those present before the area was cleared during the late nineteenth century, forest density has changed dramatically. And there certainly is substantial evidence that the local forest composition changed significantly throughout the Holocene. Climatic changes that were responsible in part for the evolution of the drainage regimes in the Mississippi River valley (Chapter 2) also effected large-scale changes in both the composition and distribution of plant communities. Understanding the response of plant communities to climatic and geomorphological changes is crucial to understanding both the evolution of the flood plain during the Holocene and how and why human groups residing in the area responded as they did to those changes. To gain an understanding we turn to fossil pollen. Two sites in or adjacent to the Western Lowlands have produced pollen profiles that date to the late Pleistocene and the Holocene: Powers Fort Swale in the Little Black River Lowland (Royall et al., 1991) and the Old Field site in the Morehouse Lowland (King and Allen, 1977). Together they provide supporting evidence of broad trends in Holocene climate that have been observed elsewhere in the Mississippi River valley (e.g., H. R. Delcourt and P. A. Delcourt, 1985; P. A. Delcourt and H. R. Delcourt, 1977, 1984; Delcourt et al., 1980). The Powers Fort Swale (Figure 2.2) pollen profile documents the transition from late-glacial/early Holocene floral communities to more-modern communities, especially the shift from boreal forest dominated by spruce (Picea), pine (Pinus), and fir (Abies) to the mixed conifer–northern deciduous forests dominated by oak, hickory, hornbeam (Carpinus), and maple that occurred between 14,500 and 9500 years ago. Buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis), which today commonly occurs along lake and stream margins in temperate regions, became established in the Western Lowlands by 14,500 years ago, indicating climatic warming. Royall et al. (1991:168) state that between 9500 and 4500 years ago, cool-temperate deciduous taxa either were eliminated from the Powers Fort Swale or were greatly reduced in frequency. They were replaced by warm-temperate trees such as bald cypress and sweet gum. Oak, ash (Fraxinus), and hickory increased in frequency, along with open-mudflat taxa such as goosefoot (Chenopodium) and ragweed (Ambrosia). Significant numbers of pollen grains of several kinds of grasses were interpreted as representing early and mid-Holocene cane thickets along the nonforested edges of the swale. Pollen assemblages less than 4500 years old are similar to the modern

64

CHAPTER 3

pollen spectrum. Oak decreased by nearly 40 percent, and swamp-forest trees such as bald cypress, willow (Silax), ash, elm, and sycamore (Platanus) increased. This pattern follows the general trend noticed in other parts of the Midwest (see Delcourt et al., 1986) of increased precipitation following the Hypsithermal. As Royall et al. (1991:168) note, “Higher available moisture permitted the re-establishment of mesic tree species on well-drained levees and relict bars of braided-stream terraces; the increased area of standing water favored populations of hydric trees in bottomland swamps and slackwater swales (Robertson and others, 1978).” The Old Field (Figure 2.2) pollen sequence from just outside the northern end of the Western Lowlands indicates that between 9000 and 8700 years ago, the immediate area contained a mixture of bottomland forest, possibly canebrake, and open-swamp communities (King and Allen, 1977:319). By 8700 years ago, the open-swamp community declined and herb and grass communities expanded. As water level in Old Field dropped, bottomland swamp forests migrated to lower, wetter areas, greatly reducing their areal extent. By 8000 years ago, grasses and ragweed increased significantly in frequency, a result of expansion of their habitat by the lowering of the water table. As King and Allen (1977:319) point out, the Old Field locality has such little relief that lowering the water table by only 1.5 meters increases the surface area above fluctuating seasonal water by at least 10 times. By 6500 years ago, grasses declined abruptly and taxa such as ash and willow reappeared. In response to an increase in effective precipitation, by 5000 years ago, swamp size increased and the bottomland arboreal vegetation renewed its development. After 4500 years ago, the pollen spectrum is similar to the modern species composition. Forest composition during the last few thousand years was not completely stable, a result of local hydrological shifts and short-term climatic variation. The several centuries that have passed since the sand ridges of the Little Black River Lowland were occupied by Mississippian groups seem sufficient for fully mature forest to have developed in areas disturbed by that occupation. Many tree species, sweet gum in particular, sprout profusely after cutting or burning, so forest cover would have rapidly reestablished itself after aboriginal cultivation. It is an open question if aboriginal cutting modified the composition. What does not appear open to question is the lack of congruence between modern forest composition and that which existed prehistorically. In short, modern composition is not a particularly useful proxy for what might have existed during various periods in the past. Most of the lowland currently is under rowcrop cultivation, and the little remaining lowland forest has been impacted by a century and a half of drainage, lumbering, livestock grazing, and fires. We can, however, obtain some idea of what late prehistoric-period forests were like by examining the field notes and maps made by government survey-


65

ors during the first half of the nineteenth century. In order to provide for orderly sale of public lands, the Ordinance of 1785 established a systematic survey of public lands (Bourdo, 1956). The land was laid out in townships roughly 6 miles square divided into 1-mile-square sections. General Land Office (GLO) specifications required surveyors of the township and section lines to mark trees at section corners and quarter-section corners, that is, at the half mile point between section corners. These are called witness trees or bearing trees (Bourdo, 1956:757). Additional trees noted along the section lines are called line trees (Bourdo, 1956:758). Field notes list the common names and diameters of the trees in addition to their locations. The records also provide descriptions of understory. Although the GLO records contain biases (Potzger et al., 1956; Wood, 1976), they provide the best available information on presettlement vegetation patterns (O’Brien, 1994a; Warren, 1982). Botanists have made use of the data provided by land-survey records since the 1920s (Sears, 1970), and more recently so too have archaeologists. The usefulness of such an approach in archaeology in southeastern Missouri and northeastern Arkansas has been demonstrated in the Cairo Lowland (Lewis, 1974), the Little River Lowland (O’Brien, 1994a), and the Fourche Creek watershed of Ripley County, Missouri, and Randolph County, Arkansas (Harris, 1981). The study reported here used only trees noted at section and quarter-section corners and trees noted along the original and resurveyed Missouri–Arkansas boundary. The precise location of trees identified by common name in the land-survey records can be associated with specific soil types identified and mapped by the U.S. Soil Conservation Service in Butler and Ripley counties (Graves, 1983). Section corners are clearly marked on the soil maps, and quarter-section corners usually are easy to identify on the air-photo mosaic by visible fence rows or field boundaries. Vernacular tree names and botanical names are presented in Table 3.2. Although most of the common names are familiar, the correspondence to a botanical name at times is problematic, and in some cases a vernacular tree name may not correspond to a single species. For example, surveyors seem to have recognized a number of different oaks. One frequently identified oak is the cow oak, a vernacular name applied to Quercus michauxii, for which swamp chestnut oak is a more common name. Apparently its acorns were favored as food by cattle, hence the common name cow oak (Steyermark, 1963:539). Black oak (Q. velutina), a common upland tree in Missouri, is ecologically out of place in a lowland setting (Asch and Sidell, 1992:182), and its mention in the field notes of the surveyors who worked in the Western Lowlands probably is a result of misidentification (see O’Brien, 1994a, for a similar conclusion). It is apparent that they did not consistently distinguish among black oak and cer-

Table 3.2. Names of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes Name Used by Surveyors White oak Black oak Cow oak Willow oak Water oak Overcup oak Pin oak Red oak Bur oak Ash Black ash White ash Cypress Elm White elm Red elm Sweet gum Black gum Tupelo Maple Sugar maple Mulberry Sassafras Hickory Black hickory White hickory Hackberry Honey locust Ironwood Hornbeam Basswood Walnut Catalpa Persimmon

Alternative Vernacular

Swamp chestnut oak

Southern red oak

Green ash?

American elm Slippery elm

Water hickory? Bitternut hickory? Mockernut

Hornbeam

Western catalpa

Botanical Name Quercus alba Quercus velutina Quercus michauxii Quercus phellos Quercus nigra Quercus lyrata Quercus palustris Quercus falcata Quercus macrocarpa Fraxinus sp . Fraxinus pennsylvanica Fraxinus americana Taxodium distichum Ulmus sp. Ulmus americana Ulmus rubra Liquidambar styraciflua Nyssa sylvatica Nyssa aquatica Acer sp . Acer saccharum Morus rubra Sassafras albidum Carya sp. Carya aquatica Carya cordiformis Carya tomentosa Celtis laevigata Gleditsia triacanthos Carpinus caroliniana Ostrya virginiana Tilia americana Juglans nigra Catalpa speciosa Diospyros virginiana


67

tain other species of the red-oak group, especially Shumard oaks (Q. shumardii), cherrybark oaks (Q. falcata var. pagodaeifolia ), and nuttall oaks (Q. nuttallii) (Steyermark, 1963:544, 548, 551–552), which are more commonly found in lowland settings. A similar problem exists with ash, particularly black ash, which the surveyors of townships T22N R4E and T22N R5E noted. Black ash is a vernacular name usually associated with Fraxinus nigra, a common northern-occurring species and one not listed by Steyermark (1963) as having been in Missouri. Green ash, F. pennsylvanica, and white ash, F. americana, on the other hand, are common occurrences in Missouri (Steyermark, 1963:1179–1180), with the former occurring in wetter locations. It may be that the surveyors made an error in their species assignment relative to that taxon as well. Several other comments on taxa are necessary. First, white hickory probably is more widely known as mockernut hickory (Carya tomentosa) (Moore, 1972:40). Black hickory is a common name for C. texana (Settergren and McDermott, 1974:22), although this clearly is an upland tree. Perhaps the actual taxon was water hickory (C. aquatica) or bitternut hickory (C. cordifomis) (Settergren and McDermott, 1974:23–24). Second, “sugar tree” probably is sugar maple (Acer saccharum) (Moore, 1972: 105), although sugarberry (Celtis laevigata ) (Settergren and McDermott, 1974:56) is a possibility. Third, ironwood and hornbeam are both probably American hornbeam (Carpinus caroliniana), an understory tree found on moist soils. However, ironwood and hornbeam are also common names sometimes used for hop hornbeam (Ostrya virginiana) , another understory tree but one occurring in drier, upland locations (Settergren and McDermott, 1974:25–26; Steyermark, 1963:526). Fourth, although the vernacular term elm usually was used in the GLO field notes, white elm was identified in some townships. For white elm, American elm (Ulmus americana) is the more generally used name. Table 3.3 shows the distribution of the 934 trees that were identified at 371 locations. Although identified trees are not evenly distributed among physiographic divisions of the study area, enough are identified in each division so that comparisons of the tree composition can be made across the divisions and major soil types. Table 3.4 shows identified trees ranked by frequency of occurrence. Clearly, a few trees account for a large part of all identifications. Sweet gum is the most common tree identified and white oak is second. Together, lowland oaks—water oak, willow oak, overcup oak, and swamp chestnut— rank after white oak and ahead of black gum. Combining elm and white (American) elm results in only a slight shift in rank to third, but the combined count of 114 is much closer to that of black gum. Ash and black (green) ash combined would rank fifth, ahead of black oak.

104 255 27

52 113 12 30

Number of locations Number of trees Percentage of trees Area (km2) 44

Terrace Ridge

Little Black Lowland

Variables

135

121 313 34

Terrace Channel

56

94 253 27

Cane Creek Lowland

Table 3 . 3 . Distribution of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes by Physiographic Division

265

371 934 100

Total


69

Cane Creek and the Little Black River Forest composition in the lowlands on either side of the Pleistocene terrace is similar, though geographically the areas are quite distinct. The Little Black River lowlands form a long and relatively narrow strip along the base of the Ozark Highland, whereas the Cane Creek lowlands are farther from the escarpment and more expansive. Lowland tree composition in the Little Black River lowlands and that in the Cane Creek lowlands are compared in Table 3.5. Combined, oaks account for 23.8 percent in the Little Black River lowlands compared to 30.8 percent in the Cane Creek lowlands. Sweet gum is the most common tree identified in both lowlands, 20.4 and 18.6 percent, respectively, in the Little Black River and Cane Creek lowlands. In the former, sweet gum is nearly as common as the combined oaks are. Elm, ash, and maple together represent 28.4 of taxa in the Little Black River lowlands and 23.3 percent of taxa in the Cane Creek lowlands. Calhoun soil dominates the Little Black River lowlands. In the Cane Creek lowlands, although Calhoun soil is common, other soils are present. Table 3.6 compares the Little Black and Cane Creek lowlands for Calhoun soil only. The Cane Creek lowlands Calhoun soil–tree sample is twice the size of that of the Little Black River lowlands, so less-frequent trees are likely to increase the relative diversity. Oak dominates slightly more in the Cane Creek lowlands, 28.5 percent compared to 23.3 percent in the Little Black River lowlands. Together, elm, ash, and maple make up 28.5 percent of the trees in the Little Black River lowlands compared to 21.8 percent of the trees in the Cane Creek lowlands. Sweet gum is present in similar percentages in both areas—20 percent for the Little Black River lowlands and 17.6 percent for the Cane Creek lowlands.

Pleistocene Terrace Recall that across the Pleistocene terrace there are well-drained ridges and low, poorly drained areas between the ridges. Table 3.7 compares tree composition on the sand ridges to that in the low areas between sand ridges. A slightly higher percentage of trees other than oak occurs in the interridge areas compared to that on the sand ridges. Oaks account for 42.8 percent on sand ridges and 31.2 percent in the low areas between sand ridges. Elm, ash, and maple together represent 23.9 percent between sand ridges compared to 27.0 percent for sand ridges. Sweet gum represents 21.7 percent of the trees between sand ridges compared to 16.5 percent of those on sand ridges. Trees characteristic of areas subject to long-term flooding do not dominate the Pleistocene-terrace lowlands. Cypress is not common in the interridge areas, but tupelo accounts for 5.8 percent of the trees identified.

Table 3 .4. Ranked Occurences of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes Rank

Tree

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 11 13 13 15 16 17 18 19 19 21

Sweet gum White oak Black gum Elm Black oak Ash White elm Maple Cow oak Hickory Black ash Water oak Tupelo Willow oak Overcup oak Cypress Sassafras Ironwood Hackberry Catalpa Honey locust

21 23 24 24 24 24 28 29 29 29 29 29 29

Walnut Mulberry Persimmon Bur oak Black hickory Red elm Red oak Basswood Pin oak Sugar maple White ash White hickory Hornbeam

Total

Count

Percentage

180 155 101 66 54 49 48 44 40 38 23 23 22 22 13 11 7 5 4 4 3 3 3 2 2 2 2 2 1 1 1 1 1 1

19.3 16.6 10.8 7.1 5.8 5.2 5 .1 4.7 4.3 4.1 2.5 2.5 2.4 2.4 1.4 1.2 0.7 0.5 0 .4 0 .4 0.3 0.3 0.3 0.2 0.2 0.2 0.2 0.2 0.1 0.1 0.1 0.1 0.1 0.1

934

99.9

Table 3 .5. Frequency and Percentage of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes for the Little Black River and Cane Creek Lowlands Taxon

Little Black River

Cane Creek

Frequency Percentage


White oak Black oak Cow oak Water oak Willow oak Overcup oak Red oak

16 5 5 1 – – –

14.2 4 .4 4.4 0.8 – – –

32 15 16 4 9 1 1

12.6 5.9 6.3 1.6 3.6 0.4 0.4

Total oak

27

23.8

78

30.8

Hickory Ash Black ash Black gum Cypress Elm Sweet gum Hackberry Honey locust Ironwood Maple Mulberry Tupelo Black hickory Red elm Sassafras White ash

7 9 3 11 6 16 23

6.2 8.0 2.7 9.7 5.3 14.2 20.4

15 12 7 39 2 16 47

5.9 4 .7 2.8 15.4 0.8 6.3 18.6

1 2 1 4 2 1 – – – –

0.8 1 .8 0.8 3.5 1 .8 0.8

1 –

0.4 –

5 15 –

2 .0 5 .9 –

3

1.2

2 7 3 1

0.8 2.8 1.2 0.8

113

99.8

253

100.4

Total

– – – –

Table 3.6. Frequency and Percentage of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes That Occurred on Calhoun Soil in the Little Black River and Cane Creek Lowlands Taxon

Little Black River

Cane Creek

Frequency

Percentage

White oak Black oak Cow oak Water oak Willow oak Overcup oak Red oak

13 3 5 1 – – –

13.7 3.2 5.3 1.1 – – –

23 11 11 4 6 – –

11.9 5.7 5 .7 2 .1 3.1 – –

Total oak

22

23.3

55

28.5

Hickory Ash Black ash Black gum Cypress Elm Sweet gum Hackberry Honey locust Ironwood Maple Mulberry Tupelo Black hickory Red elm Sassafras White ash

4 9 1 11 6 13 19 1 2 1 4 1 1 – – – –

4.2 9.5 1.1 1 1.6 6.3 13.7 20 .0 1.1 2 .1 1.1 4.2 1.1 1.1 –

14 9 4 33 2 12 34 1 –

7.3 4 .7 2.1 17.1 1.0 6.2 17.6 0.5 –

5 12 –

2.6 6.2 –

3 2 4 2 1

1.6 1.0 2 .1 1.0 0.5

Total

95

100.4

– – –


193

100.0


73

The sand ridges, which are dominated by well-drained Bosket soil, also include interior basins and lower slopes. Table 3.8 compares the well-drained Bosket soil of the sand ridges to poorly drained Tuckerman, the most common soil between sand ridges. A similar total number of trees is identified in both. Bosket is distinguished from Tuckerman by higher total oak—45.1 percent compared to 24.7 percent. For Tuckerman soil the decrease in oaks is mirrored by a relative increase in sweet gum—25.5 percent compared to 15.5 percent for Bosket. Tuckerman soil has more black gum, 10.6 percent, compared to 3.9 percent for Bosket. Tupelo is not present at all on Bosket soils. The percentage for both soils of elm, ash, and maple combined is very similar—29.1 percent for Bosket and 26.7 percent for Tuckerman. Hickory occurs on both soils, although in low percentages. Three interesting features emerge from a comparison of forest composition in the low areas on the Pleistocene terrace to that in both the Little Black and Cane Creek lowlands. First, total oak in the terrace low areas is 31.2 percent of the trees identified (Table 3.7), compared to 30.8 percent for the Cane Creek lowlands and 23.8 percent for the Little Black River lowlands (Table 3.5). Second, sweet gum accounts for 21.7 percent of the trees in the interridge swales (Table 3.7) and 20.4 and 18.6 percent, respectively, in the Little Black River and Cane Creek lowlands (Table 3.5). Third, elm, ash, and maple account for 23.9 percent of the trees in the interridge swales (Table 3.7) and 28.4 and 23.3 percent, respectively, of trees identified in the Little Black River and Cane Creek lowlands (Table 3.5). Thus, it appears that the sandy Tuckerman soil of the terrace lowland and the silt-loam Calhoun soil common in the lowlands on either side of the terrace are remarkably similar in terms of tree composition.

SUMMARY Generally, tree composition in the study area is diverse, with many trees other than oaks identified by GLO surveyors. Oaks are common, especially on the well-drained ridge tops of the Pleistocene terrace in the immediate vicinity of Powers phase sites, but they do not dominate to the extent seen in the Ozark Highland forests where trees other than oaks and hickory are common only in stream bottoms or along the escarpment (Harris, 1981:79). Analysis of a larger area in the Western Lowlands would better define the association between tree taxon and soil type and show local variation in forest composition. Although limited in extent, two previous studies are available. In Randolph County, Arkansas, although specific soil types are different from those around the Powers phase settlements, a diverse forest composition is evident, similar to that in the

Table 3.7. Frequency and Percentage of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes by Topographic Location Taxon

White oak Black oak Cow oak Willow oak Water oak Overcup oak Red oak Pin oak Bur oak

Sand Ridge Frequency

Percentage

62 17 14 2 7 6 1 – –

24.3 6.7 5.5 0.8 2.7 2 .4 0..4 – –

Between Sand Ridges Frequency Percentage 45 17 5 11 11 6 –

14 .4 5.4 1.6 3.5 3.5 1.9 –

1 2

0.3 0.6

Total oak

109

42.8

98

31.2

Hickory Ash Black ash

7 12 11

2.7 4.7 4.3

Basswood

1

0.4

9 16 2 –

2. 9 5.1 0.6 –

Black gum Catalpa Cypress Elm Sweet gum Maple

18 1 1 15 42 8

7.1 0.4 0.4 5.9 16.5 3.1

Persimmon

2 2 1 1 3 20 1 – – – –

0.8 0.8 0.4 0.4 1.2 7.8 0.4 – – – –

33 3 2 19 68 17 – –

10.5 1.0 0.6 6.1 21.7 5 .4 – –

3 – –

1 .0 – –

21 –

6.7 –

18 2 1 1

5.8 0.6 0.3 0.3

255

100.1

313

99.8

Red elm Sassafras Sugar maple Walnut White elm White hickory Tupelo Hackberry Honey locust Mulberry Total

Table 3.8. Frequency and Percentage of Trees Listed in General Land Office Survey Notes by Soil Type Taxon

Bosket

Tuckerman

Frequency

Percentage

White oak Black oak Cow oak Willow oak Water oak Overcup oak Red oak Pin oak Bur oak

42 13 7 2 4 1 1 – –

27 .1 8.4 4.5 1.3 2.6 0.6 0.6 – –

11 7 2 8 5 4 –

6.8 4.3 1.2 5.0 3.1 2.5 –

1 2

0.6 1.2

Total oak

70

45.1

40

24.7

Hickory Ash Black ash Basswood

5 8 6 1

3.2 5.2 3.9 0.6

4 14 – –

2.5 8.7 – –

Black gum Catalpa Cypress

6 – –

3.9 – –

17 2 –

10.6 1.2 –

Elm Sweet gum Maple Persimmon

10 24 4 –

6.5 15 .5 2.6 –

10 41 9 –

6.2 25 .5 5.6 –

2

1.3

1 1 2 14 1 – – – –

0.6 0.6 1.3 9.0 0.6

1 – –

0.6 – –

10 –

6.2 –

– – – –

11 2 – –

6.8 1.2 – –

155

99.9

161

99.8

Red elm Sassafras Sugar maple Walnut White elm White hickory Tupelo Hackberry Honey locust Mulberry Total


–

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CHAPTER 3

study area (Harris, 1981). In contrast, oaks dominate to a much greater extent in a study area on Dudley Ridge, a remnant of the Pleistocene terrace at the western base of Crowley’s Ridge in Stoddard County, Missouri (Martin and Parks, 1994). Forest composition in the study area is very different from that observed near the Mississippi River in the Eastern Lowlands. In the Little River Lowland in Pemiscot County, Missouri (O’Brien, 1994a), cottonwood was the dominant nineteenth-century taxon, with willow, ash, sweet gum, elm, and maple common. Oaks were extremely rare. A similar situation is evident in Mississippi County (Lewis, 1974), where a cottonwood (Populus)-dominated association existed. In both cases, an elm-ash-sweet gum association probably represents a more advanced successional stage, resembling the forest composition in at least some parts of the Powers phase study area. Cottonwood and willow (Silax sp.) were not identified in the study area, although both are common lowland trees today in Missouri (Settergren and McDermott, 1974). Poplar and willow are early succession-stage trees on riverbanks, sand bars, and levees and are replaced in time by other trees in the Eastern Lowlands (Shelford, 1954). Whereas shifting channels and newly formed sand bars and levees associated with the Mississippi River in the Eastern Lowlands are seen in the forest composition there, areas in earlier successional stages cannot be assumed to have been absent from the study area. Tornadoes or wind gusts could have created openings in the mature forests, and prolonged flooding caused by beaver dams may have killed the trees over an extensive area. No doubt such areas would have quickly been reforested. However, forest tracts dominated by pin oaks and willow oaks seen in some lowland areas today may be the result of modern conditions (Minkler and McDermott, 1960). The GLO data supplement general statements about lowland-forest composition (Dale, 1986; Johnson, 1973; Moore, 1972; Sharitz and Mitsch, 1993), in which general forest associations related to drainage are evident. At the time of the GLO surveys, cypress and tupelo dominated the most hydric association in locations essentially flooded permanently. Cypress and tupelo flourished in standing water, where no other trees could have survived. Overcup oak, green ash, red maple, and water hickory were associated in less-wet locations. Moremesic locales, such as lower ridge slopes and low areas between sand ridges, exhibited the greatest tree diversity, a common occurrence in such locales (Sharitz and Mitsch, 1993). Areas subject to short-duration flooding contained ash, elm, maple, and various oaks. Sweet gum (Liquidambar styraciflua) and black gum (Nyssa sylvatica) entered the association in better-drained locations and on lower ridge slopes. Oaks dominated in some locations more than in others. Finally, well-drained ridge tops were dominated by oaks, especially white oak, along with sweet gum, black gum, elm, and ash.

Chapter 4

Powers Phase Settlement in the Western Lowlands MICHAEL J. O’BRIEN AND JAMES J. KRAKKER

We begin discussion of the Powers phase settlement by considering origins in the sense of possible antecedents. The apparent sudden appearance of the Middle Mississippian–period villages in the Little Black River Lowland has been interpreted as the product of an intrusive population that colonized the sand ridges that cap the Pleistocene terrace east of the Little Black River (Figure 3.1) (Price, 1978; Price and Griffin, 1979). Price (1974:57) discussed the apparent intrusive nature of the group or groups responsible for the Powers phase settlement: “It is not known if the Powers Phase pioneers displaced indigenous peoples, although it is possible since there is evidence of earlier Mississippian occupation of the area which may have prevailed until the Powers Phase intrusion. The Powers Phase is however truly a pioneer effort. There was very little Mississippian occupation of the Little Black River area prior to the influx of the Powers Phase peoples. Indigenous peoples, if any were present, probably did not influence the Powers Phase settlement pattern.” Two questions are of immediate interest. First, was the post-A.D. 1250 occupation of the ridges a “pioneer effort” as Price claimed, or was it an in situ development? Did the groups that resided on the ridges after A.D. 1250 come from somewhere else, or were they simply the descendants of earlier peoples who resided there? Second and related, how much evidence is there of use or occupation of the ridges just prior to A.D. 1250? The ridges might not contain as visible an archaeological signature that predates A.D. 1250 as they do later signatures, but this does not mean that the 77

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ridges were not used by pre-Powers phase peoples. To the contrary, the Powers Phase Project survey recovered extensive evidence of use of the sand ridges dating back as far as ca. 7500 B.C. Dozens of pre-A.D. 1250 projectile points of various types were recovered from almost all excavated sites (Figure 4.1), as were sherds that date to the period ca. A.D. 400–900. Survey work conducted in the Little Black River Lowland after the Powers Phase Project was completed also identified scattered pottery and projectile points that now appear to date to some time between A.D. 900 and A.D. 1250, although the dating is tentative. It is this period that is critical to Price’s argument that there was an intrusion into the area by Powers phase peoples—the “pioneer effort”—because if it can be determined that the post-A.D. 1250 material culture had its roots in what came immediately before it, then Price’s argument is weakened. Unfortunately, there are few chronological controls for that critical period in the Western Lowlands, and some of those that do exist have been interpreted in different ways (Lafferty and Price, 1996). Changes in vessel temper and vessel form are used in other parts of the Mississippi River valley as chronological indicators for this early part of the Mississippian period, and in most cases either long series of radiocarbon dates or seriational studies have served to anchor the markers. Things are much less secure in the Western Lowlands. Shell-tempered pottery is one hallmark that almost all archaeologists use to assign an artifact assemblage to the Mississippian tradition, although it is clear that such pottery initially showed up prior to the beginning of what most archaeologists would define as the Mississippian period (ca. A.D. 900). In southeastern Missouri, the earliest dates for shell-tempered pottery are not from sites in the Mississippi River valley proper but rather from sites along several streams (Fourche Creek and the Eleven Point, Jacks Fork, and Current Rivers) in the eastern Ozark Highland (Lynott, 1982, 1986; Lynott and Price, 1989; Lynott et al., 1984, 1985; Price, 1986). The earliest dates for shell-tempered pottery in that area come from the Gooseneck site in Carter County, which produced a thermoluminescence date of A.D. 645 ± 120 (three other such dates were A.D. 755 ± 115, A.D. 830 ± 120, and A.D. 865 ± 105) and a radiocarbon date of A.D. 809 ± 95 (calibrated using Damon et al., 1974) (Lynott, 1982; see Lafferty and Price, 1996 for a slightly later calibrated age). The North Fork site, located in the Fourche Creek watershed in Ripley County, produced a radiocarbon date of A.D. 673 ± 87 (calibrated using Damon et al., 1974) (Price and Price, 1981), and site 23OR49 in the Eleven Point watershed in Oregon County produced a calibrated (Damon et al., 1974) radiocarbon date of A.D. 659 ± 200 (C. R. Price, 1978). Some archaeologists (e.g., Lynott and Price, 1989) view the eastern Ozark Highland as a possible heartland of shell-tempered pottery, with adjacent regions receiving the requisite technological knowledge at later dates through

Figure 4.1. Archaic- and Woodland-period projectile points from Powers phase sites.

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diffusion. Although other investigators (e.g., D. F. Morse and P. [A.] Morse, 1990) believe these dates to be invalid markers for the beginning of shell-tempered pottery in the greater central Mississippi River valley, there is at present no reason not to believe that shell-tempered pottery could have been produced in the Ozark Highland by late in the seventh century A.D. and then spread down into the Western Lowlands after that date (Lynott et al., 2000). Early shell-tempered pottery in the Ozark Highland and on the Malden Plain occurs in several vessel forms, the two most prominent being restricted-neck jars that have recurved rims and low, large-orifice bowls typically referred to as pans (Dunnell and Feathers, 1991; Lafferty and Price, 1996; Lynott, 1982, 1986; Lynott and Price, 1989; Lynott et al., 1984, 1985, 2000; P. [A.] Morse and D. F. Morse, 1990; Price, 1986). Many of the vessels contain a red slip on the interior, the exterior, or both. The generic name given to this early shell-tempered pottery is Varney, named after the Old Varney River site in Dunklin County (Williams, 1954). The development of shell-tempered pottery out of earlier clay-tempered or sand-tempered pottery has long been of interest to archaeologists working in the central Mississippi River valley (e.g., Holmes 1903), some of whom (e.g., Morse and Morse, 1983; P. [A.] Morse and D. F. Morse, 1990; Phillips et al., 1951) have turned to mechanisms such as group intrusion to account for the presence of a new kind of pottery after ca. A.D. 800. At first glance there appears to be some validity to the claim that a new group of people arrived, carrying with them a new technology. On the Malden Plain, for example, there are dramatic differences between earlier sand-tempered vessels and later shell-tempered vessels: [The] earliest shell-tempered pottery is quite distinctive from the sandtempered pottery it replaced. The shell temper is abundant (up to 40%) and coarse (ranging up to 2 mm in diameter). A red slip was often applied to one or both surfaces which were first smoothed by scraping. The pottery is quite porous (about 45% apparent porosity) and soft (between 2.0 and 2.5 on the Mohs’ scale). In contrast, the sand-tempered ware is rarely slipped, the exteriors are roughened with a cord-wrapped paddle, and the pottery is less porous (about 23%) and harder (2.5 to 3.0 on the Mohs’ scale). The sand is rounded quartz, ranging from 20% to 40% of the body with only occasional grains larger than 1 mm in diameter. (Feathers and Scott, 1989:554)

In addition, vessel forms are different. Late Woodland jars are conical (perhaps to compensate for the heaviness of the sand-tempered clay used to construct the pots) whereas Early Mississippian jars are globular. But looks can be deceiving, and hence some investigators (e.g., Dunnell and Feathers, 1991,1994; Feathers and Scott, 1989) have examined the sand–

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shell issue from the standpoint of an in situ technological development of shelltempered vessels out of the local sand-temper technology. Dunnell and Feathers (1991; see also Feathers, 1988, 1989a, 1989b, 1990a), for example, note considerable similarities in vessel diameter and vertical radius between sandtempered and shell-tempered vessels from the Malden Plain, arguing that instead of technological replacement resulting from group intrusion, selection for certain technological and functional properties drove the change in tempering. There appears to be considerable temporal overlap in the use of shell and sand as tempers on the Malden Plain (shell-tempered sherds often contain significant amounts of sand in the paste), as there does in the use of clay and shell at sites to the east of the Malden Plain (Cogswell and O’Brien, 1997, 1998; Marshall, 1965, 1966; Marshall and Hopgood, 1964; O’Brien and Marshall, 1994; Williams, 1967), although as Dunnell and Feathers (1994) point out, chronological assignment of materials in the Eastern Lowlands is extremely complicated. If we assume for the moment that pre-A.D. 1250 shell-tempered pottery in the Western Lowlands was similar in appearance to that in the Ozark Highland to the west or on the Malden Plain to the east, then it appears that the sand ridges east of the Little Black River subsequently occupied by Powers phase peoples were not used as heavily between A.D. 900 and A.D. 1250 as they were after that period. In other words, if we use Early Mississippian–period pottery from those two areas as a proxy for what should occur in the Little Black River Lowland, then we end up assigning the vast majority of shell-tempered pottery to the post-A.D. 1250 period. The underrepresentation of what we by proxy are identifying as Early Mississippian–period pottery in the Little Black River Lowland could be attributable in part to the obscuring nature of the sedimentary environment (Price, 1978), but despite such possible biases it seems clear that major use of the sand ridges postdated A.D. 1250. Still, there is scattered evidence of use of the sand ridges by earlier Mississippian peoples. Perttula (1998) reports the presence of a few simple-stamped sherds and an occasional red-slipped body sherd in surface collections from Powers Fort. The simple-stamped sherds have a shell–sand paste and may be debris from a Late Woodland–Early Mississippian–period Buckskull or Scatters phase occupation (Price and Price, 1981). Price and Price (1984) include this type of ceramic treatment within the Owls Bend tradition, which Lynott (1989, 1991) dates ca. A.D. 700–1000. Shell-tempered sherds from red-slipped vessels that we would place in the Varney tradition were not uncommon at Turner and Snodgrass, usually being recovered from beneath structure-basin floors, but their frequency is swamped by sherds that are known to date to the Powers phase. Just to the west—between the westernmost line of sand ridges and the

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Ozark Highland—the situation is similar. Earlier materials, especially those that date to the Archaic period (ca. 7550–600 B.C.), are ubiquitous. Small, sandyclay prairie mounds along the base of the Ozark Highland that formed during perhaps the Middle Archaic period (5000–3000 B.C.) (O’Brien et al., 1989) contain substantial evidence that they were used during the Late Archaic period (3000–600 B.C.). Impressive evidence of use of the flood plain occurs along the current and former channels of the Little Black River from the point at which it exits the Ozark Highland (Figure 1.1) to its confluence with the Current River. Dense midden deposits, sometimes a meter deep, drape the natural levees on both sides of the river and extend in length up to a 100 meters or more. Similar middens also occur directly at the base of the escarpment on the north side of the river (Price and Krakker, 1975) and along Cane Creek (Price, 1981). In all cases the middens, which may be rich not only in animal bone, charcoal, and other organic remains but also in projectile points and other lithic items, are difficult to miss because of their size and dark color. The question becomes, why are there such nonoverlapping patterns in human use of the Little Black flood plain? Granted, there is good evidence in the form of projectile points and pottery that the sand ridges on the Pleistocene terrace were used throughout the pre-A.D. 1250 period, but it is clear that use was more extensive than intensive. The amount of pre-A.D. 1 material on the ridges in no way comes close to matching the amount that occurs along the Little Black River to the west. The answer seems fairly straightforward: The resource-exploitation pattern of pre-Mississippian-period peoples, especially that of Archaic-period peoples, was aimed primarily at the river and its immediate area, and the exploitation pattern of Mississippian-period peoples was aimed at the high, sandy ridges on the Pleistocene braided-stream surface. There currently are no data fine enough to do much more than speculate what the Archaic pattern was, although the Lepold midden contained an abundance of mussel shell and animal bone, especially that of white-tailed deer (Price and Krakker, 1975). The assumption, untested at the moment, is that the middens resulted from extended occupations of the locales instead of from simple use of the localities on an as-needed basis (O’Brien and Wood, 1998). Use of those same localities by Woodland-period peoples is indicated by frequent occurrences of Barnes Plain and Barnes Cordmarked pottery and of projectile points that date pre-A.D. 900. Given this summary of the archaeological record of the Little Black River flood plain—sketchy though the data are—it is clear that there were significant differences in how prehistoric groups used the landscape. To Price (1974,1978; see also Price and Griffin, 1979), the expansion of permanent settlement onto the Pleistocene surface sometime after A.D. 1250 represented a colonizing effort by Mississippian pioneers. He stated unequivocally that the Powers phase “was


83

not indigenous to the area, but represents a major population influx, probably derived from the Malden Plain” (Price, 1978:201). Later, Price and Griffin (1979:3) stated that the Powers phase came to the Little Black River area “fully developed, bringing with it a cultural pattern which emerged earlier further east and south in the Mississippi River Delta.” They also noted that the “Powers phase is like most other Middle Mississippian phases. Its material remains, i.e., ceramics, lithics, and architecture, do not depart drastically from those recovered from other sites of the Middle Mississippian complexes in the Central Mississippi River Valley” (Price and Griffin, 1979:3). Ignoring the fact that phases are archaeological constructs and thus cannot come into an area, we are left to ponder the origin of the group or groups responsible for that spatiotemporal portion of the archaeological record known as the Powers phase. Did local residential groups using and perhaps occupying the sand ridges suddenly begin building permanent villages? Is the high visibility of the Powers phase portion of the archaeological record attributable in large part to changes in such things as group mobility, or as Price and Griffin believed, did a new group or groups move into the region? Price and Griffin based their conclusion in part on the fact that they saw no local antecedents for the Powers phase and in part on the fact that that phase appears quite similar to contemporary phases that have been proposed for the central Mississippi River valley. With no local antecedent, the obvious alternative is that a group that had already been “Mississippianized” moved in from elsewhere in the central Mississippi River valley. We suspect that Price (1978) identified the Malden Plain as the source of the population because he viewed it as the one area east of Crowley’s Ridge that did not have numerous mound centers dating into the post-A.D. 1250 era. Subsequent work on the Malden Plain (e.g., Dunnell, 1998), however, has demonstrated not only that mound centers were present— Langdon, for example, located in southern Dunklin County, contained both mounds and a fortification system (Chapter 2)—but that there was considerable settlement reorganization that occurred during the thirteenth century A.D. Thus, it is speculative to view the Malden Plain as the source of Powers phase immigrants. At one level it is difficult to criticize Price and Griffin when they note that the Powers phase is like most contemporary Mississippian phases, especially those in the Eastern Lowlands of southeastern Missouri (e.g., Chapman, 1980). Broadly speaking, much of the pottery from the Western and Eastern Lowlands is similar, as are such traits as forms of projectile points and residential architecture. Additionally, both areas contain large, fortified sites with mounds as well as smaller sites containing no mounds. But at that point, things begin to get murky. One of the longstanding problems in central Mississippi River valley archaeology has been a willingness on the part of archaeologists to propose

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new phase names in an effort to divide the record into spatiotemporal chunks. The important issue is whether phases contain traits that are sufficiently characteristic to distinguish them from all other units similarly constructed. If so, then phases can be one of two things. They can be classes, in which case the members of a phase must share a unique set of traits, none of which is shared with members of any other phase. Alternatively, they can be groups, in which case the members of a phase must be more similar to one another than any one is to a member of another phase. As Fox (1992, 1998) and O’Brien (1995; O’Brien and Fox, 1994b) point out, most phases that have been proposed for the central Mississippi River valley actually are neither. Rather, they are, for the most part, historical accidents, with boundaries set more or less on an ad hoc, geographic basis. That is, although there are few or no distinguishing traits to separate one set of components from another, one starts to wonder if the geographic distance over which similar components are spread is becoming too great, and hence a purely geographic separation is made. Based on the analysis of artifacts from Powers phase sites, especially Turner and Snodgrass (Chapters 8 and 9), any one of several scenarios could be proposed relative to the origin of the group or groups responsible for creating the sites. For example, ceramic vessels share numerous commonalities with vessels from sites in the Eastern Lowlands. Is the similarity the result of population movement or simply the movement of ideas or products? In which direction(s) did groups or ideas/products move? When did they move? The answer to all these questions is, we really do not know. Compounding the problem is the fact that most observations regarding artifact similarity are cursory assessments, since with few exceptions contemporary vessel assemblages from the Eastern Lowlands have never been analyzed in anything other than preliminary fashion. Extensive collections from sites such as Lilbourn and Beckwith’s Fort exist, but the analyses conducted to date (e.g., Chapman et al., 1977) do not even begin to address the considerable variation evident in such things as vessel form. One major goal of this book is to establish such baseline data for one small portion of the central Mississippi River valley during a very short time period. At this point, even granting that there is considerable similarity in vessel assemblages from the Western and Eastern Lowlands, are we in a position to talk about the origin of the Powers phase people? Not really, since we have no legitimate grounds for selecting among alternative reasons for the similarity. But perhaps the outlook is not as bleak as it seems. Very recently, Lynott et al. (2000) presented the results of a ceramic compositional analysis involving raw clays and ceramic items from various localities in southeastern Missouri, including the Little Black River Lowland and the Ozark Highland. They found that prior to about A.D. 1325 (their beginning date for the Powers phase), espe-


85

cially between A.D. 700 and A.D. 1000, vessels made from clays in the Western Lowlands were moving up into the Ozark valleys of the Little Black, Current, , Jack s Fork, and Eleven Point rivers, in some cases over distances up to 135 kilometers from the Ozark Escarpment. They also point out that The advent of the Powers phase, ca. A.D. 1325, seems to coincide with a dramatic depopulation of the Upper Current River valley Evidence of prehistoric occupation and utilization of the Upper Current River drainage after A.D. 1325 is extremely limited. It seems more than coincidence that the sudden appearance of the Powers phase in the Western Lowlands coincides with the abandonment of the Upper Current River valley. The ceramic compositional study reported here suggests that people living in the Eastern Ozarks were in contact with the people in the Western Lowlands in the centuries preceding the Powers phase, thus supporting this interpretation of the archaeological record. (Lynott et al., 2000:123)

The interpretation to which they make reference is that the source populations for the Powers phase communities were those of communities along the major rivers draining the eastern Ozark Highland. The fact that people in adjacent areas maintained contact in the centuries leading up to the advent of settlement connected with the Powers phase does not prove that the Ozark Highland contributed its population to the Little Black River Lowland, and Lynott and colleagues are appropriately cautious in their remarks. However, the scenario they suggest is, in our opinion, more plausible than others proposed previously. Answering the question conclusively hinges on a rigorous dating program coupled with a fine-grained analysis of other aspects of the archaeological record.

THE PATTERN OF POWERS PHASE SETTLEMENT Regardless of our current inability to address the origin of the groups that inhabited the Pleistocene terrace east of the Little Black River after A.D. 1250, it is clear that by roughly that date human settlement was becoming well established across it. The well-drained sand ridges that mantle the surface of the Pleistocene terrace between the Little Black River and Cane Creek—even those a few meters above the terrace surface—were the prime locations for Powers phase settlement because they afforded both relief from frequent flooding and quickly draining soils that made corn agriculture possible in an otherwise swampy environment. Figure 3.2 shows the distribution of the ridges as demarcated by Bosket soil. The base of the ridges conforms generally to the 300foot (AMSL) contour line. Although several of the larger ridges carry formal names, Figure 3.2 makes it clear that of more importance is the fact that there

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are numerous outliers that add substantially to the total amount of elevated land that was available for settlement. Price (1978) identified a four-tier hierarchy of Powers phase settlements, with Powers Fort at the apex, villages in the second tier, hamlets in the third tier, and limited-activity sites, including farmsteads, in the bottom tier. Figure 4.2 shows the locations of Powers Fort and what have been identified as villages, hamlets, and farmsteads. Figure 4.3 shows the locations of all known sites on Barfield Ridge, the second largest and most intensively surveyed of the ridges. Price estimated that in terms of size, Powers Fort covered approximately 4.6 hectares, with villages ranging from 0.6 to 1.2 hectares, hamlets averaging about 0.1 hectare, and farmsteads smaller still. His estimates were based in part on excavation and in part on field inspection of site surfaces during periods when house stains could be detected. Limited surface examination in the two decades following publication of those estimates indicates that they are reasonable (Chapter 5), although as Price made clear, the nature of the sediments on the Pleistocene terrace plays a biasing role of unknown magnitude not only in assessing site size but also in finding sites in the first place: Perhaps the most frustrating factor for site detection in the lowland zones of the Little Black River area involves a surface-obscuring phenomenon we do not fully understand. Sites on the sandy loam ridges in the area are sometimes obvious and at other times are completely obscured. Large village sites, the Steinberg site being an example, were discovered in areas that had been repeatedly surveyed several times by at least three individuals. If surface conditions are not exactly right, no evidence of prehistoric occupation is visible. Two weeks later the surface may be littered with cultural materials. A slight shifting of surface sand by wind is probably responsible for this phenomenon. We have observed the Turner site when only about five sherds could be collected from the surface even after it had been plowed and rains had fallen on it. There is a possibility that some sites are buried beneath duned sand. The Flurry site was first discovered in a road cut, and subsequent subsurface reconnaissance revealed that most of the western side of the site was buried under several feet of drifted sand. (Price, 1978:212)

With regard to the size of sites, Price (1978:213–214) noted that Site size appears not to be random or a continuum, but tends to cluster at certain size intervals. Powers Fort is approximately 7.0 times larger than the Turner site, 4.8 times larger than the [Neil] Flurry site, and 4.0 times larger than the Snodgrass and Wilborn sites. Small villages are approximately four times larger than hamlets, large villages are approximately twice as large as small villages, and Powers Fort is approximately four times larger than large villages. Such ratios must in some way reflect the


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Figure 4.2. Map of the study area showing locations of Powers Fort, villages, hamlets, and farmsteads. Ridges are named in Figure 3.2.

uniform size of organized population segments on each site type, but the exact sociopolitical composition of the sites is not yet fully understood.

There is, arguably, merit to Price’s conclusions, since site size is not a continuum but rather a series of grouped points, but the sample is too small to place much emphasis on anything but gross differences in size. The groupings that do exist exhibit little cohesion, which calls into question the notion of uniformity in site size. One might expect such uniformity if, as Price speculates, there was a uniform size of organized population segments, but the fact is that such population segments, if they existed, have never been identified. In commenting on the spatial distribution of Powers phase sites, Price (1978:214) stated that “the primary factor influencing the distribution . . . is the distribution of sand ridges. Sites are restricted in location to these sand ridges. Ridge size and elevation obviously dictated the most feasible loci for site placement, since all surrounding areas were covered by swamps or subject to seasonal flooding.” The veracity of these statements is beyond doubt. Taking

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Figure 4.3. Map of the northern end of Barfield Ridge showing locations of known Powers phase sites.

the argument one step further, Price (1978:214) concluded that “sufficient land was available, however, to permit a far different site distribution than that actually observed for the Powers phase. Second-order (villages) could have been placed closer together or farther apart than they were. From locational evidence it appears that the settlement pattern is much too regular to have been accidental.” Price is correct: Enough elevated land occurs across the Pleistocene


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terrace that an almost infinite number of site distributions was possible. There is nothing remarkable about that observation; there has to be some pattern, and the fact that there is one tells us nothing. Further, villages could also be spaced closer or farther apart; again, such an observation is unremarkable. Regardless, is the pattern created by the distribution regular? Price (1978:214) stated that it is: “A very regular settlement pattern is evident, especially along the north and east side of the settlement system. Secondary sites occur in an arc 3.5–6.0 km . . . distant from Powers Fort in the northern and eastern portion of the settlement pattern. With the exception of the McCarty– Moore site, village sites are either immediately adjacent to each other or are located 2.5–3.0 km . . . apart.” Given that there are only 10 villages recorded (Figure 4.2), the sample is small, but even with so few locations, the distribution of villages is anything but regular. The distances from villages to Powers Fort range, as Price pointed out, from 3.5 to 6.0 kilometers in the eastern half of the project area, but the distance from McCarty–Moore, the most southern of the villages, to Powers Fort is approximately 8.5 kilometers. We see no regularity to the pattern, and if anything the village locations are clustered. From the earliest days of the Powers Phase Project survey, the close proximity of some villages was noted—a phenomenon that led to creation of the term paired villages. Three such pairs of villages exist—Turner and Snodgrass on the southern end of Sharecropper Ridge, Steinberg and Wilborn on the northern end of Sharecropper Ridge, and Taft and Hunt on Mackintosh Ridge (Figure 4.2). Price added Neil Flurry and Malcolm Turner to the list of paired villages, although the 1.5 kilometers that separates them far exceeds the distances between the other pairs. It may eventually turn out that, as Price speculated, McCarty–Moore and Smith have twin villages, though there currently is no evidence that they do. The reason for this speculation is found in Price’s (1978:214) interpretation of the paired villages: “I . . . feel that the Powers phase was of such short duration that the paired village phenomenon does not represent reoccupation of a locale by a second village after the first was abandoned, but rather represents contemporaneous occupations.” This may have been the case, but as discussed in subsequent chapters, there are other ways in which to interpret the form and sequence of settlement.

Site Location and Soils In general terms, there was a strong preference on the part of Mississippian groups residing in the Little Black River Lowland after A.D. 1250 to use the wide Pleistocene-age terrace and to ignore both the levees along the Little Black River and Cane Creek and the low areas between the levees and the terrace. In specific terms, there was a strong preference for the well-drained sand ridges

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that trend northeast–southwest across the terrace, with all known Powers phase sites, regardless of size and presumed function, being located on the ridges. With perhaps the exception of Powers Fort and the smallest extractive sites, access to soil suitable for hoe cultivation of corn is assumed to have been a primary factor in the selection of site location, although certainly not the only consideration. Excavations at sites throughout the central Mississippi River valley have consistently demonstrated that whereas Mississippian peoples were corn agriculturists—although both the timing of corn adoption and the percentage contribution to the diet varied considerably (e.g., Greenlee, 1998)— they also exploited a wide variety of food resources (Smith, 1974a, 1975, 1976). The Powers phase groups apparently were no different. They may not have been as oriented toward riverine resources as Archaic and perhaps Woodland peoples had been, at least as it appears from the deep middens on the natural levees along the Little Black River and Cane Creek, but based on the analysis of faunal remains from Snodgrass (Zeder, 1991; Zeder and Arter, 1993, 1995,1996) and Gypsy Joint (Smith, 1978b), there is every reason to suspect that they heavily exploited the terrestrial–aquatic interface zone in which they resided. Price (1978:208) summed up the advantages afforded by the immediate environment: This interface contains a wide variety of plant communities with a large number of species represented. These include stages of submerged, floating leaf, reed swamp, wet meadow, shrub, and tree vegetation. This complex array of plant species, associated narrow- and broad-niche animal species, in combination with the highly productive soils of the natural levee or sand ridge interior zone would have presented an environment with a high carrying capacity per unit of land. By locating major settlements on the terrestrial–aquatic interface zone, Powers phase peoples would have had easy access to a wide variety of energy resources. Not only would wild plant and animal foodstuffs have been available in variety and quantity, but other maintenance and construction resources would have been at hand. The most obvious natural resource would have been water. Clay for daub and ceramics, cane for wattle, and grass for thatch would have been other important natural resources readily available from this zone.

Soils in general across the Pleistocene terrace have a fine sandy-loam texture, a legacy of the early braided-stream deposits from the ancestral Mississippi River. We assume, however, that there was differential use of the soils, based on their topographic position. The major constraint for cultivation likely was standing water or water saturation during the growing season. Backswamp areas between ridges—for example, the former channel to the east of Barfield and Sylvan Ridges (Figure 3.2)—are subject to seasonal flooding, and the length


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of the growing season can be reduced because of late spring wetness. This must have been a more severe problem prehistorically than it is today. Tuckerman soil, the most common lowland soil on the Pleistocene terrace, is subject to flooding or a seasonally high water table and has moderately slow water permeability and low inherent organic content and fertility (Graves, 1983:45). Generally during the nineteenth century in the southeastern Missouri lowlands, better-drained locations were selected earlier for cultivation than were low-lying areas. Poorer-drained locations came under extensive cultivation in the twentieth century only after general drainage improvement and with the use of mechanized equipment for forest clearing (Bratton, 1926:2–4). Of much greater importance would have been expanses of Bosket soil (ridge areas) and to a lesser extent undifferentiated Bosket–Tuckerman soil. Figure 4.4 shows the extent of Bosket soil within a 1-kilometer radius of each of the 10 villages, and Table 4.1 lists the amount of Bosket soil contained within each of the 3.14-square-kilometer circles. There is nothing particularly significant about a 1-kilometer radius; we chose it simply as a standard of measurement. The easily cultivated Bosket soil comprises anywhere from 30 percent to slightly over 50 percent of the soils within each 1-kilometer-radius circle. In terms of

Figure 4.4. Map of the study area showing circles of one-kilometer radius around ten villages. Ridge areas shown within each circle are overlain almost entirely by Bosket soil.

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Table 4.1. Area of Bosket Soil within One Kilometer of Selected Powers Phase Sites Site

Area (km2)

Center Powers Fort

1.3

Villages Snodgrass Turner Wilborn Neil Flurry Hunt Taft Smith Malcolm Turner Steinberg McCarty–Moore

1.1 1.0 1.0 1.3 1.2 1.1 1.0 0 .9 0.9 1.7

Hamlets Stick Chimney Harris Ridge Newkirk Dabrico

1.2 1.4 1.2 1.4

Bliss Farmsteads Old Helgoth Farm Big Beaver Widow Green Gypsy Joint

0.9

1.7 1.5 1.7 1.1

area, 9 of the 10 circles contain between 0.9 and 1.3 square kilometers (90–130 hectares) of Bosket soil; the tenth, that around McCarty–Moore, located on the southern end of Sylvan Ridge, contains 1.7 square kilometers (170 hectares). Table 4.1 also lists the amount of Bosket soil in a 1-kilometer radius of five proposed hamlets, four farmsteads, and Powers Fort. The latter, clearly much


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larger and occupied longer than any other site (Chapter 5), is located on the second largest sand ridge, Barfield Ridge (Figure 3.2), which borders the Little Black River flood plain (Figure 4.3). Although the site itself is not immediately next to the flood plain, it is adjacent to an overflow channel from the Little Black River, which probably contained standing, if not flowing, water throughout the year. Powers Fort does not have an inordinately large amount of Bosket soil within a kilometer of it (Figure 4.5)—McCarty–Moore has a larger amount, and Hunt and Neil Flurry have essentially the same amount as Powers Fort— despite the fact that Barfield Ridge provides more potentially available arable soil than do Sharecropper, Harris, or Mackintosh Ridges (Figure 3.2).

Figure 4.5. Map of the northern portion of the study area showing soil types and a circle of onekilometer radius around Powers Fort. B = Bosket fine sandy loam (hatched area within the circle); T = Tuckerman fine sandy loam; BT = undifferentiated Bosket–Tuckerman fine sandy loam; C = Calhoun silt-loam; D = Dubbs silt-loam; K = Kobel clay.

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The five hamlets—one on each of the six named ridges except Buncomb Ridge—contain between 0.9 and 1.4 square kilometers (90–140 hectares) of Bosket soil within a 1-kilometer radius, and the average of the five—1.22 square kilometers (122 hectares)—is slightly higher than the 1.12 square kilometers (112 hectares) for the 10 villages. The four farmsteads in the sample, all located on Barfield Ridge (Figure 4.3), on a whole have the most Bosket soil within a 1-kilometer radius—between 1.1 and 1.7 square kilometers (110–170 hectares). The average of the five—1.50 square kilometers (150 hectares)—is correspondingly higher than that for the villages and hamlets. One interesting feature of the village distribution is the bias toward smaller ridge systems, which correspondingly have smaller areas of Bosket soil. Table 4.2 rank orders the ridges by amount of Bosket soil on each, with Buncomb (9.2 square kilometers) and Barfield (8.5 square kilometers) outdistancing the other four ridges by considerable margins. In fact, the amount of Bosket soil on those two ridges together, 17.7 square kilometers, outdistances the amount of Bosket soil on the other four ridges combined, which is only 14.7 square kilometers. Yet only one village—Smith—and one hamlet—Bliss—occur on either Buncomb or Barfield ridges. In contrast, all four known farmsteads occur on Barfield Ridge, as does Powers Fort (Figure 4.3). Although we have no ready explanation for the biased distribution, we do not think it is a result of inadequate survey. If anything, Barfield Ridge was surveyed more intensively than the other ridge systems during the Powers Phase Project survey—hence the large number of smaller sites known on Barfield Ridge (Figure 4.3). Thus, smaller sites on other ridges might have been missed, but if villages or hamlets were present, they probably had a greater likelihood of being found. Agricultural fields perhaps were initially prepared by cutting through the bark to kill the larger trees (Swanton, 1946:304–305). Although this procedure entails much less effort than actually felling the trees, the effort would be related to the size and density of trees. The sand ridges may have had a less-dense forest cover, fewer trees per area, and smaller trees than were present in the swales. On the other hand, trees on the ridges, given the well-draining nature of Bosket and Bosket–Tuckerman soils, may have been more subject to droughty conditions than trees in the lower areas. Our guess is that corn yields would have declined rather rapidly in newly cleared fields and that long-cycle shifting cultivation was practiced by Powers phase agriculturists—meaning that fields were cultivated for a few years then abandoned and only reused after an interval of many years, if ever. Probably under aboriginal cultivation methods, forest cover was rapidly reestablished. An actual estimate of village or ridge populations supportable following long-cycle shifting agricultural methods is difficult without an estimate of the corn yield realized by Powers phase farmers, but whatever they were, the yields


95

Table 4.2. Area of Bosket Soil on Each of the Six Sand Ridges in the Study Area Area (km2)

Ridge Buncomb Barfield Sylvan Harris Mackintosh Sharecropper

9.2 8.5 5.0 4.9 2.7 2.1

evidently were able to sustain a fairly sizable population for perhaps several decades. For Turner and Snodgrass, an estimated population can be compared to available well-drained soil. As can be seen in Figure 4.6, the two sites were so close together that the areas of well-drained soil available to each largely overlapped. Simultaneous occupation of the two sites perhaps is plausible (Price, 1978:214), although as discussed in Chapter 7, not necessarily the case, but for the sake of argument we will assume they were occupied simultaneously. Turner and Snodgrass had a combined total of 138 houses, and again for the sake of argument we assume all the houses were occupied simultaneously, which we know was not the case (Chapter 7). Demographic considerations suggest five individuals per structure (Black, 1979:95), which yields an estimated population for Turner and Snodgrass of 690. If all the well-drained soil within 1 kilometer (about 111 hectares) of the combined villages was under cultivation, each hectare of corn field would have supported close to 6 people. Each household of 5 persons would have had about 0.8 hectare of arable soil available within 1 kilometer of its village. Of course, there is no way of knowing if all the well-drained soil within 1 kilometer of Turner and Snodgrass actually was cultivated, but calculations below suggest that if even half the area was cultivated, then Sharecropper Ridge would not have been able to support such a population for more than a few years. The areas of Bosket soil for the major ridge complexes are listed in Table 4.2. For communities on those ridges, additional well-drained soil would have been available only at an increased distance or as small dispersed tracts of a hectare or two. For shifting agriculture, quantitative relationships can be expressed following Carneiro (1956): T = A (F±Y)/Y

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Figure 4.6. Map of the southern end of Sharecropper Ridge showing the amount of Bosket siltloam (cross hatched) within circles of one-kilometer radius around Turner and Snodgrass.

where T is total land requirement, Y is years a plot is cropped, A is community plot size, and F is years fallow. To illustrate, if a community cultivated 20 hectares of fields, cropping for 5 years at a time with a fallow period of 30 years, then 140 hectares would be needed to support the community indefinitely. The 210 hectares of well-drained soil on Sharecropper Ridge would allow a community to crop about 30 hectares of fields at a time, again assuming 5 years of cultivation and 30 years of fallow. Not knowing the number of people 1 hectare of corn field could support precludes extrapolation to actual population numbers, but these simple calculations suggest that without high field productivity or short fallow periods, or both, a population anywhere near that represented by Turner and Snodgrass would have quickly exhausted the well-drained soil available on Sharecropper Ridge.


97

Even with a much lower population size—for example, if Turner and Snodgrass were not occupied simultaneously—the productivity of Bosket soil on Sharecropper Ridge might have declined drastically over, say, a 30-year period. The same must have been true for Mackintosh Ridge as well, which contains Taft and Hunt (Figure 4.4). With roughly 270 hectares of Bosket soil, it is only marginally larger than Sharecropper Ridge.

SUMMARY The history of post-A.D. 1250 settlement and use of the sand ridges on the large Pleistocene terrace between the Little Black River and Cane Creek is at once straightforward and exceedingly complicated. Sites are restricted exclusively to the sand ridges as opposed to the interridge areas—a logical placement in what prehistorically was at least seasonally a swampy environment. The terrestrial—aquatic interface offered a mix of subsistence-related resources, the most important of which were white-tailed deer and corn. If we were interested only in a general picture of Mississippian-period settlement in the region, we could stop here, but our interests lie much deeper. Specifically, we are interested in understanding why particular kinds of settlements were located where they were and even more importantly, the sequence of settlement. In other words, were all the settlements contemporaneous, or were all or some of them occupied sequentially? Intuitively, there must have been temporal overlap among several settlements, certainly including Powers Fort, but complicating matters greatly is the apparent short span of time that the settlements were occupied. As discussed in Chapter 5, radiocarbon dates from Powers Fort, Turner, Snodgrass, Gypsy Joint, and Neil Flurry allow us to accurately gauge the aggregate length of the use of the sand ridges by Powers phase peoples but not the sequence of use.


Chapter 5

Community Organization and Dates of Occupation MICHAEL J. O’BRIEN AND TIMOTHY K. PERTTULA

Several of the Powers phase communities have previously been described in varying degrees of detail (e.g., Price, 1978; Price and Griffin, 1979; Smith, 1978b), and our goal here is not to reiterate those descriptions. Although we borrow from them in order to present an overview of the various communities in terms of their size and layout, our emphasis is on pointing out instances where reanalysis has called into question earlier interpretations of the internal organization and dating of the communities. This point is especially relevant to two of the villages, Turner and Snodgrass, the excavations of which laid the groundwork for many of the published statements about prehistoric occupation of the Little Black River Lowland after A.D. 1250. Given the evidence in favor of some kind of hierarchical structure to the Powers phase settlement system, at least in terms of differential site size and numbers of houses present, we organize the discussion around the four-part division of civic–ceremonial center, villages, hamlets, and farmsteads described in previous reports.

POWERS FORT: THE CIVIC–CEREMONIAL CENTER Powers Fort is the westernmost of the large Mississippian-period sites in southeastern Missouri that contain mounds and palisades. At 4.4 hectares in size, Powers Fort also is the smallest of such mounded and palisaded sites, with only Peter Bess (4.8 hectares) and Lakeville (6.4 hectares), both in the 99

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Advance Lowland (Figure 2.3), being of similar size. Perhaps because of its location—well away from sizable population centers and far from the Mississippi River—the site did not attract the attention of nineteenth–century amateur prehistorians the way sites in the Cairo Lowland did (Chapter 2). The first recorded excavation of the site was by Col. P. W. Norris of Cyrus Thomas’s Division of Mound Exploration. Norris arrived at Powers Fort on November 24, 1882, after working in other localities in Butler and Ripley counties, Missouri. He left a rather detailed journal of his work at the site (Norris, 1883), which can be used for comparison with Thomas’s (1894) published account of work at the site (Perttula, 1998; Perttula and Price, 1984). What first attracted Norris’s attention were the easily recognizable linear earthen embankments on the north, south, and west sides of the site. A cypress swamp bordered the east side, negating the need for an embankment. Norris’s site plan (Figure 5.1) shows a roughly square enclosure that is oriented approximately north–south, with four mounds oriented northeast–southwest in the northern and western quadrants of the enclosed area. As we point out below, the published orientation of the embankment may be erroneous. The embankment measured 750 feet along the west side, 763 feet along the north side, and 744 feet along the south side. Importantly, by the time of Norris’s work at Powers Fort, the embankments on the north and south had eroded or been plowed down to the point that they were untraceable. The western embankment, being in a timbered area at the time of Norris’s visit (Thomas, 1894:195), escaped destruction. On the final map (Figure 5.1), Thomas, following Norris’s field drawing, interpolated between visible remnants of the enclosure. The map also shows a ditch along the outside of the western embankment, which was described as being “3 to 5 feet deep and about twice as wide” (Thomas, 1894: 195). On the published map, Thomas continued the ditch along the north and south, as he did for the embankments, noting that it “can be traced throughout” (Thomas, 1894:195). The map, however, does not show the ditch on the outside of the two small preserved pieces of the embankment at the northeast and southeast corners. Two large depressions (labeled “a” and “b” in Figure 5.1), assumed to have been borrow pits, were visible at the northwest and southwest corners of the ditch and embankment. Both were over 5 feet deep and contained standing water. Two smaller depressions, one each at the northeast and southeast corners, connected the ends of the embankment and the edge of the cypress swamp. Ten small circles were drawn on the finished map just inside the embankment at the southeast corner. Although Thomas (1894) did not mention them in the text of his report, they are identical to those shown on other maps of sites visited by his field parties, corresponding to what typically were referred to as hut rings— doughnut-shaped embankments with depressed centers. The

COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION AND DATES OF OCCUPATION

101

Figure 5.1. Plan map of Powers Fort, made by Col. P. W. Norris for the Bureau of (American) Ethnology, Division of Mound Exploration. Norris excavated in all four mounds, uncovering burials and artifacts. Although Thomas showed the embankments oriented to the cardinal directions, there is reason to believe the orientation is incorrect (from Thomas, 1894).

number of circles on the map probably is nothing more than an impressionistic rendering of potentially dozens or hundreds of such rings that may have at one time existed across the site. Within the enclosure, particularly in the southeast corner where the hut rings were drawn, Norris (1883) noted that pottery, lithic tools, and lithic debris were common. Norris avoided excavating the hut rings and concentrated instead on the four mounds, partially excavating each using a team-drawn blade. Much of his effort was directed to Mound 1, which measured 150 feet by 200 feet at the base and stood 20 feet high. More than half the fill was removed from the structure. When Thomas (1884:113) later discussed the site, he paraphrased from Norris’s notes on the Mound 1 excavations:

102

CHAPTER 5 The construction [of the mound] was found to be somewhat peculiar. . . . The bottom layer, 1 [Figure 5.2], is a circular platform about one hundred feet in diameter and two feet high, formed of yellow sand, similar to the original surface beneath and around it. The next layer, marked 2, is only six inches thick and consists of dark blue adhesive clay or muck from the swamp, which by long use has become very hard. It was strewn over with burnt clay, charcoal, ashes, fragments of split bones, stone chips, fragments of pottery and mussel shells. The next layer, 3, is eight feet thick at the central point of what appears to have been the original mound of which it was the top stratum. But it is not uniform, and although showing no distinct layers was not all formed at one time, as in it were found at least three distinct fire-beds of burnt earth and heavy accumulations of ashes, charcoal and charred animal bones. In this layer, somewhat south of the center, at M, were found the charred fragments of long poles and small logs all lying horizontally, and also a post [A], probably of locust wood, six inches thick and five feet long, still erect, but the upper end shortened by fire and the lower end haggled off by some rude implement. Layer number 4 is an addition to the original plan, but here the original platform is continued with the same sandy material and same height: then the layer number 4 was built of blue muck similar to that of number 2 in the original mound. Having obtained the desired form, layer 5, which is 6 feet thick and of blue clay mixed with sand, was thrown over the whole. But this was evidently formed after an interval of usage of the original double mound, as northwest of the center and in the lower part of this layer (at N) were found charred timbers lying horizontally, and one post [B] standing erect, resembling the timber post found in number 3.

Based on these descriptions, Mound 1 must have been a pyramidal, flat-topped mound that served as the foundation for several different structures. The mound was constructed in a number of stages, each apparently capping the remnants of burned structures marked by the different “fire-beds.” At least three burials were excavated, one each in association with three of the burned structures: one or more burials near the base of the mound in Stratum 2, another from midway in the mound in Stratum 3, and a third in Stratum 5. According to Norris (1883), the burials were of adults placed in extended position under “fire-beds,” with heads to the south and west. The burials were not clearly accompanied by any specific grave goods other than “ordinary stone spalls, mussel-shells, fragments of pottery, one very rude lance head, and some small smooth yellow stones (apparently natural) . . . found near them.” Norris (1883) noted that human bone was common in mounds 2 and 4, whereas Mound 3 contained “fire-beds, patches of bone, charcoal ashes, fragments, etc.,” but no human bone. Both Mounds 3 and 4 were called burial mounds by Norris, but Mound 2 can also be included within this class. Regardless, functional

Figure 5.2. Cross section of Mound 1 at Powers Fort as depicted by Col. P. W. Norris (after Thomas, 1894).

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differences in mound use appear likely at those secondary mounds. Thomas (1894: 194) described the other mounds in the following manner: Mound No. 2 is much smaller than No. 1, not exceeding 100 feet in diameter and 6 feet in height, and is flat on top. It consisted of four layers, the first or upper stratum of sandy soil, 2 feet thick, mixed with fragments of pottery: the second, about the same thickness, chiefly yellow sand, with patches of blue clay, charcoal, ashes, fragments of pottery, and human bone mostly unbroken but soft as pulp; the third, 6 inches thick, was made up of blue clay and fragments of pottery; and the fourth, 18 inches thick, of yellow sand, well filled with decayed human bones, though some of them were plump and soft. Scattered among them were charcoal and ashes. Mound No. 3, also flat on top, 80 feet in diameter and 4 feet high, was without regular layers; but the base was found to be composed chiefly of yellow sand, containing fire-beds, patches of bones, charcoal, ashes, fragments of pottery, etc. Mound No. 4 resembled No. 3 in form, size, composition, and contents.

There is no evidence of any archaeological activity at Powers Fort in the several decades immediately following Norris’s excavations. The next period of interest began in 1908, when Walter A. Koehler purchased the property and farmed it continuously until the late 1960s. After that time, the property was only shallowly disked until the property was purchased by the Archaeological Conservancy in 1978. During the period he owned Powers Fort, Koehler surface collected over 1500 projectile points and stone tools and, while excavating for fence posts and constructing farm buildings, discovered several human burials and whole vessels south of Mound 4. Interviews with Koehler by James E. Price indicated that the site embankments and ditches noted by Norris were still visible in 1908 (Perttula, 1998). The western embankment was noticeable as a band of white swamp clay containing iron concretions that extended in a southwest–northeast direction across his field. This contradicts Thomas’s (1894) map, which illustrates the embankments and ditches running in the cardinal directions. Koehler’s observations may be correct, since all mapped villages of the Powers phase have an orientation of 25–30 degrees east of magnetic north. Further, the three subsidiary mounds at Powers Fort (Mounds 2–4) form a line with an orientation similar to those of the villages. The southern embankment was oriented northwest– southeast and cut across the southern half of the farm yard to continue onto the property to the south. Koehler’s description of the embankment and ditch indicates that the embankment was on the outside of the ditch, rather than on the inside, and that it was composed of white clay and yellow sand. Koehler


105

also remembered when Mound 1 was much higher. It has subsequently been reduced to 3.6 meters in height as a result of twentieth–century farming practices. The large borrow pits at the western corners of Powers Fort contained water until Koehler had them filled (Perttula, 1998).

Modern Excavations Price conducted excavations in two localities (Figure 5.3) in the mid-1960s. Excavations in 1964 were located approximately 75 meters southeast of Mound 4, where Price recorded an extended adult burial (Burial 1) and half of a walltrench structure and a small refuse pit. A 30-centimeter-thick midden with animal bones, sherds, and decayed human bone was present in part of the excavation. Surface evidence suggested the midden covered about a hectare south and southeast of Mound 4 and was in the middle of a large residential area. Burial 1, consisting of the rearticulated remains of a roughly 30-year-old male who had a chert projectile point lodged in one femur (Black, 1979:44), had been placed in the midden, just south of the structure. In 1965 Price excavated a 10-foot-square area about 45 meters southeast of Mound 4 (Figure 5.3). This unit was in the same midden deposit exposed in the 1964 excavations, and it overlaid the corner of a house structure that contained sherds, stone artifacts, and animal bone. Evidence suggested the structure was rebuilt at least once. Several human burials also were excavated after they were disturbed by cultivation. Burial 2, containing the remains of an older adult male, was found near the cypress swamp. A large number of artifacts were associated with the burial, principally corner-notched arrow points around the head, chert flakes and tools by the shoulders, worked quartz crystals by the left arm, and a plain-surface, shell-tempered water bottle touching the left side of the cranium (Perttula, 1998). Burials 3 and 4 were in the same grave. Burial 3 (Black [1979:45] labeled it 3A) was of a 62-year-old male extended with the head to the west, and Burial 4 (Black [ 1979:45] labeled it 3B) was a bundle burial of an older adult male. The skeleton had been placed between the legs of Burial 3, with the head upside down at the west side of the bundle. The mandible was under the main part of the bundle of long bones, the ribs lay to the north of the head, and some of the ankle and foot bones of Burial 4 were placed at the right shoulder of Burial 3. A turtle carapace, perhaps a rattle, was placed at the distal end of the femur of Burial 3, and two Woodland-period projectile points were placed near the feet. Analysis of stable-carbon and nitrogen isotopes from Burial 3 indicates that corn comprised approximately 50 percent of the diet and that terrestrial herbivores (probably in large part deer) were important food items (Wilson, 1993). Burial 5 was found in an apparent residential area about midway between Burial 2 and Burials 3 and 4. The burial was

Excavation unit Surface-collectionunit Surface-collection area

Figure 5.3. Topographic map (in feet) of Powers Fort showing locations of mounds, surfacecollected areas, and excavations (after Perttula, 1998).


107

that of a female probably over 21 years of age. The base of a large shell-tempered vessel had been placed near the left shoulder. Price conducted further excavations in three areas of the site in 1969: (1) a trench of unspecified size was excavated just off the southwest corner of Mound 4 in what was thought to be the approximate location of the palisade and ditch; (2) three 5-foot-square units were excavated southeast of Mound 1 (located just off the map shown in Figure 5.3); and (3) a unit was opened adjacent to the 1965 unit. The test trench placed to locate the ditch exposed a white-clay area about 2.1 meters wide, which might represent the base of the embankment associated with the ditch. In the area southeast of Mound 1, an 85- to 90-centimeter-thick dark soil stain was exposed in one of the test units, but it was unclear whether the stain was from a structure or a midden. Burial 6 (an adult female) was uncovered in the area, and, according to Black (1979:45– 46), a large piece of bone was missing from the cranium, which may be indicative of osteitis that resulted from scalping. Stable-carbon-isotope and nitrogen-isotope values obtained by Wilson (1993:126) from the skeleton suggest the individual did not consume much, if any, corn. Perhaps Burial 6 relates to an earlier occupation at the site, before corn contributed to the diet (Perttula, 1998). The unit adjacent to the 1965 unit came down on a dark, organic stain below the sandy plow zone—the result of ash and charcoal produced when a structure burned, as well as of midden soil dumped and/or washed into the structure basin. The structure, designated Structure 1, had been built in a 30centimeter-deep basin, the fill from which probably was piled against the outside of the structure walls. Unlike most structures excavated at Snodgrass and Turner, Structure 1 at Powers Fort showed extensive evidence that it had been rebuilt. Based on the number of wall trenches on the north and south sides, there were at least four rebuilding episodes. Wall trenches crosscut wall trenches, and apparently on rebuilding the structure, some wall trenches were abandoned while others were reused. The structure is discussed in more detail in Chapter 6.

Surface Collections Twenty-two 20-foot-square units were surface collected in 1969 on the east side of the site, just west of the cypress swamp (Figure 5.3). The ground had not been plowed specifically for the surface collection, but field notes imply that surface visibility was relatively high. Another six collection units were laid out in an area outside the embankment/ditch (an area labeled as site 23BU248 [Figure 5.3]), but most of the cultural material recovered there appears to date primarily to the Woodland period (Perttula, 1998). The distribution of artifacts was highly patterned on the east side of the site and appeared to correlate closely with topography. Shell-tempered sherds were concentrated on

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the crest of the high, sandy knoll southeast of what might have served as a plaza (Figure 5.3). Another small surface concentration of shell-tempered pottery was located just south of Mound 1, perhaps marking the location of a structure. Because the surface collections were from widely spaced units (slightly less than 20 meters apart), more-specific intrasite spatial patterns of structures and other features cannot be identified using the 1969 surface-collection data. After the 1969 work, Price subdivided the site into eight areas (A–H) for further surface collection (Figure 5.3), which was carried out periodically from 1970 to the early 1990s. The collections are best characterized as “grab samples” in that only selected items—for example, rim and/or decorated sherds, projectile points, and other complete stone tools—were collected. In 1979 and 1980, however, total surface collection was carried out in Areas A and B after they had been plowed (Perttula, 1998). Although a variety of Mississippian-period lithic and ceramic artifacts has been collected from all areas since 1970, the overall density of cultural material is quite low compared with other Mississippian-period civic–ceremonial centers in southeastern Missouri (e.g., Chapman et al., 1977; Leeds, 1979; Teltser, 1992, 1998). Additional information on site structure has been generated from inspection of the ground surface. Cultivation of the site prior to its purchase by the Archaeological Conservancy continually yielded soil stains that appeared to be evidence of house structures (Price and Griffin, 1979). The stains were darker than the surrounding soil, and Mississippian-period artifacts were concentrated in them. Unfortunately, information about the intrasite settlement of Powers Fort is principally anecdotal in nature, as no maps exist that provide house locations or note the number of house rows that were observed over the years. With these caveats in mind, current settlement data available from Powers Fort based on surface exposures include the following (Perttula, 1998): 1. An uncertain number of rows of structure stains are present in Areas A, B, D, G, and H. 2. There are thought to be six rows of structures running 25 degrees east of north between Area A and Mound 1. Each row may have about 40 structures, and the structures are spaced evenly along the rows. The rows also appear to be evenly spaced, but the distance between rows is unknown. Possible internal walls (based on white-clay stains) are present in Area A and perhaps are analogous to that recorded at Snodgrass (discussed later). 3. A large midden area is visible on the surface in Area D. 4. The large area bounded by the mounds is void of Mississippian-period artifacts, suggesting the location of a plaza. 5. Polished, painted, and engraved sherds are present northwest of Mound


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1 in Area E. These are associated with a large soil stain that may mark a possible specialized residence or community structure.

The Dating of Powers Fort Five radiocarbon dates were derived from wood charcoal from Structure 1 (Figure 5.4 and Table 5.1). Dates were produced by the University of Michigan Radiocarbon Laboratory in the 1970s and are here calibrated against the dendrochronological scale using Stuiver and Reimer’s (1993) CALIB 3.0.3c program. The small horizontal bars in Figure 5.4 are the intercepts, that is, the

Figure 5.4. Radiocarbon dates from Structure 1 and thermoluminescence dates from Structure 2 at Powers Fort arranged in chronological order (M = University of Michigan Radiocarbon Laboratory; WU = Washington University [St. Louis] Thermoluminescence Laboratory; A = Alpha Analytic).Radiocarbon dates were calibrated to the dendrochronological scale using Stuiver and Reimer’s (1993) CALIB 3.0.3c program. Vertical bars represent one-standard-deviation ranges; for thermoluminescence dates the small horizontal bars are midpoints, and for radiocarbon dates they are intercepts—the actual points (dates) at which the radiocarbon and dendrochronological scales merge.

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actual points (dates) at which the radiocarbon scale and the dendrochronological scale merge. The date for sample 2280 has three intercepts, meaning there are three points where the radiocarbon scale intercepts the dendrochronology curve. The mean of the five calibrated dates is A.D. 1350,¹ with a onesigma (one standard deviation) range of A.D. 1305–1395. Despite the 90-year range, a two-tailed t -test on the two extreme dates produced a value of 0.567, which is well below the value of 1.96 at p = 0.05. Thus, at that level of probability the difference in the extremes is not considered significant, and hence the sample dates could all be measuring the same target event. The radiocarbon dates for Structure 1 are so tightly grouped, in fact, that the two calibrated estimates that fall outside the one-sigma range (45 years) do so by only 3 and 15 years. The longevity of the structure is suggested by the evidence for considerable rebuilding. Nineteen thermoluminescence dates were derived from shell-tempered sherds and cone fragments from Structure 2, located midway between Mound 4 and Structure 1 (Figure 5.4). The dates (Figure 5.4), which range in age from A.D. 1225 ± 115 to A.D. 1540 ± 70 (Lynott, 1987), were produced by two laboratories using different methods. Although the dates produced by Alpha Analytic tend to be later than those produced by the Washington University (St. Louis) Thermoluminescence Laboratory (Figure 5.5), the difference between the means of the two sets of samples is not significant at the p = .05 level. As an aggregate, only four of the mean thermoluminescence dates for Structure 2 predate the earliest of the radiocarbon intercept dates for Structure 1 (Figure 5.4), although nine postdate the latest radiocarbon intercept dates. The mean of the thermoluminescence dates is A.D. 1405 ± 90, which is 55 years later than the mean of the radiocarbon intercepts. Intuitively, some of the thermoluminescence dates appear to be too late, and certainly the range in mean dates—from A.D. 1225 ± 115 to A.D. 1540 ± 70—appears to be much too long a period for a structure to have been occupied. Calculating a one-sigma range for the dates yields a 200year span (A.D. 1305–1505), which impressionistically is still too long. But as Mark Lynott, who obtained the dates, made clear (personal communication, 1998), the pottery and cones from which the samples were derived were from general basin fill as opposed to the house floor. Thus, the materials probably postdate the abandonment of the structure, some of them perhaps by a considerable length of time.

THE VILLAGES Ten villages were identified during the Powers Phase Project survey, the locations of which are shown in Figure 4.2. One concern that dates back to the

S04 S10 S10

S15 S24 S17 S17 S25 S25

M2183 M2184 M2185

M2274 M2275 M2430 M243 1 M2432 M2433

S14 S 14 S07 S07 P10 S03 S03 S04

b c

Sample Locale

M2 180 M2181 M2182

M2133 M2134 M2135 M2136 M2137

Snodgrass

Sample Number

Unknown Unknown

Red oak Unknown Unknown Unknown

Ash Hickory Red oak

White oak Red oak Red oak

Red oak Hickory White oak Hickory Ash

Material

660 + 100 BP 590 + 100 BP

560 + 100 BP 620 + 100 BP 790 + 100 BP 3800 + 160 BP

560 + 100 BP 410 + 100 BP 810 + 110 BP

400 + 100 BP 620 + 100 BP 730 + 100 BP

470+ 100BP 560 + 100 BP 630 + 100 BP 430 + 100 BP 520 + 100 BP

Uncorrected Date

AD 1302 AD 1398

AD 1405 AD 1315, 1347, 1390 AD 1263 2200 BC

AD 1405 AD 1462 AD 1245

AD 1473 AD 1315, 1347, 1390 AD 1286

AD 1438 AD 1405 AD 1310, 1353, 1385 AD 1449 AD 1421

Calibrated Date Intercepts

Table 5.1. Radiocarbon Dates for Powers Phase Sites

AD 1403 – 1488 AD 1302 – 1441 AD 1286 – 1416 AD 1415 – 1525 AD 1315 – 1347 AD 1390 – 1454 AD 1430 – 1641 AD 1288 – 1421 AD 1225 – 1310 AD 1353 – 1385 AD 1302 – 1441 AD 1425 – 1638 AD 1064 – 1075 AD 1126 – 1134 AD 1159 – 1293 AD 1302– 1441 AD 1288 – 1421 AD 1168 – 1295 2464 – 201 1 BC 2009 – 1976 BC AD 1279 – 1405 AD 1295 – 1433

Calibrated One-SigmaRange a

Hickory Cane Unknown Sumpweed

S02 S02 S04 S04 S06 S06 S08 S08 P32 S01 S04

Turner M1957 M1958 M1959 M1960 M1961 M1962 M1963 M1964 Q4460 Q4459 Q4661

Acorn

Acorn

Bark Unknown

Corn Unknown

Unknown

Hickory nut

S22

Q4522

Hickory nut

S22

Q4523

608+11BP

600 + 15 BP

630 + 15 BP

560 + 100 BP 560 + 100 BP 730 + 100 BP

590 + 100 BP 810+ 110BP

570 + 100 BP 720 + 100 BP

500 + 100 BP

616 + 14 BP

620 + 12 BP

AD 1323, 1338,1393

AD 1328,1333,1395

AD 1310, 1353,1385

AD 1405 AD 1405 AD 1286

AD 1398 AD 1245

AD 1403 AD 1288

AD 1431

AD 1318,1344,1391

AD 1315, 1347,1390

Table 5.1 (cont.)

AD 1327 – 1333 AD 1395 – 1473 AD 1300 – 1439 AD 1229 – 1316 AD 1346 – 1391 AD 1295 – 1433 AD 1064 – 1075 AD 1126-1134 AD 1159 – 1293 AD 1302 – 1441 AD 1302 – 1441 AD 1225 – 1310 AD 1353 – 1385 AD 1305 – 1320 AD 1341 – 1366 AD 1374 – 1392 AD 1317 – 1345 AD 1391 – 1400 AD 1314 – 1349 AD 1389 – 1397

AD 1309 – 1325 AD 1336 – 1358 AD 1381 – 1394 AD 1309 – 1328 AD 1332 – 1356 AD 1383 – 1396

Deer bone Tupelo

S38

S01 S01 S01 S01 S01

S08

P09 S01

Q4664 Powers Fort M2276 M2277 M2278 M2279 M2280

Neil Flurry M2434 Gypsy Joint G1078 R????

620 + 55 BP

1170 + 115 BP

380 + 100 BP

660 + 100 BP 590 + 100 BP 660 +200 BP 650 + 100 BP

540 + 100 BP

615 + 14 BP

579 + 14 BP

598 + 16 BP

AD 1315, 1347, 1390

AD 886

AD 1483

AD 1302 AD 1398 AD 1302 AD 1305, 1367,1373

AD 1410

AD 1318,1343,1392

AD 1400

AD 1329, 1331,1396

AD 715 - 743 AD 760 - 1001 AD 1299 - 1404

AD 1436 – 1647

AD 1307 – 1361 AD 1378 – 1446 AD 1279 – 1405 AD 1295 – 1433 AD 1214 – 1441 AD 1281 – 1408

AD 1318 – 1345 AD 1391 – 1401 AD 1330 – 1330 AD 1396 – 1405 AD 1309 – 1329 AD 1331 – 1355 AD 1384 – 1396

c

Isotope Laboratory; G = University of Georgia Geochron Laboratory; R = Radioisotopes Laboratory. S = structure; P = pit.

aAge ranges obtained from intercepts using Stuiver and Reimer’s (1993) Method A. bLaboratory abbreviations: M = University of Michigan Radiocarbon Laboratory; Q = University of Washington Quaternary

Note: Dates calibrated using CALIB 3.0.3c (Stuiver and Reimer 1993).

Unknown

Unknown Unknown Unknown Unknown

Unknown

Acorn

Hickory nut

S37

Q4663

Acorn

S32

Q4662

Table 5.1 (cont.)

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beginning of the project is the chronological relation among the villages. Were the settlements so ephemeral that a single group, perhaps moving 10 or more times over a century, could have been responsible for constructing all of them? Were some villages occupied contemporaneously, and if so, which ones? Based on the nature of the village distribution, Price (1973, 1978) and Price and Griffin (1979) suggested that communities were paired, with each village in a pair serving various functions not served by the other. Figure 4.2 shows that indeed the eight northernmost villages could be considered as four sets of pairs;

Figure 5.5. Thermoluminescence dates from Structure 2 at Powers Fort arranged in chronological order by laboratory (WU = Washington University [St. Louis] Thermoluminescence Laboratory; A = Alpha Analytic). Symbols as in Figure 5.4.

COMMUNITY ORGANlZATlON AND DATES OF OCCUPATION

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Price (1978) suggested that the partners to the two southernmost villages— Smith and McCarty–Moore—exist but have not yet been located. Two of the ten known villages, Turner and Snodgrass, located on adjacent high spots on the southern end of Sharecropper Ridge (Figure 5.6), were almost totally excavated during the Powers Phase Project—Turner in 1966,1972, and 1973, and Snodgrass each year between 1967 and 1973 (Figure 5.7). House stains at Neil Flurry, located on the northern end of Harris Ridge, and Wilborn, located on the northern end of Sharecropper Ridge (Figure 4.2), were mapped, and one house at each site was excavated. Price (1978) used Turner and Snodgrass as proxies for the other Powers phase villages in terms of site structure and function: [T]here are apparently two village sizes in the Powers phase. The larger villages were not only occupied by more people, they also apparently had a slightly different range of activities performed in them than what was taking place in the small villages. Both large and small village sites contained evidence of maintenance activities and activities related to the processing of both faunal and floral foodstuffs. Although there are courtyards, fortifications, and specialized structures on both large and small villages, they were apparently different in the way they served the population. The Turner site, for example, apparently served the community as the location of mortuary services, since it contained a cemetery with large numbers of individuals. It apparently served as the burial place for the dead generated by a larger community than the Turner site itself. The largest Powers phase structure excavated to date occurred on the Turner site (Structure 11), rather than on the Snodgrass site. The Turner site also contained a burned corn crib (Structure 2) which probably represents central storage of seed or surplus maize. All in all, the smaller Turner site appears to have been a more sociopolitically integrating settlement than was the larger Snodgrass site only 160 m[eters] distant. The Turner and Snodgrass sites are similar in that each has core and peripheral areas. . . . The core area of each village site occurs toward the west side of the settlement, and is bordered by the largest and deepest structures containing the most material remains present on the site. The core area on the Snodgrass site, containing 38 structures, was surrounded by a white clay wall. Some evidence also exists for the presence of a similar wall on the Turner site. Structures inside the core areas appear to have been more sturdily constructed than those outside, and often exhibit wall trench construction, which seldom occurs outside the core. Peripheral structures are smaller, shallower, more flimsily constructed, and did not burn with nearly the intensity as did those in the core area. This observed pattern holds true for the Turner, Snodgrass, Wilborn, and Flurry sites, and I suspect from surface indications on other sites, it is universal for the Powers phase. (Price, 1978:227–228)

Figure 5.6. Topographic map (in feet) of the Turner and Snodgrass sites showing locations of structures. The intermittent rectangular feature around Snodgrass is the fortification ditch.

Figure 5.7. Map of Snodgrass showing in cumulative fashion the progression of field work between 1967 and 1973. Excavated structures shown in black.

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Price is correct that Snodgrass, with its 93 structures spread over roughly a hectare (Figure 5.8), is considerably larger than Turner, which contains only 45 structures² spread over approximately 0.6 hectare (Figure 5.9). Conversely, Turner contained 118 burials, whereas Snodgrass contained only 19. Another difference between the two sites is the presence of a fortification ditch at Snodgrass but not at Turner. Price noted in the above-cited quote that both large and small villages contain “fortifications”; similarly, Christine King, in an honors thesis on Turner that she wrote while an undergraduate student at the University of Michigan, stated that “the entire village was surrounded by a palisade placed about thirty-three feet away from the structures” (King, 1973:5). However, there is no evidence in any field drawings or photographs to suggest that Turner was ever fortified (Zeder and Arter, 1995). The ditch at Snodgrass was approximately 2 feet deep and ranged in width from 4 to 8 feet. Portions of the ditch were traced by hand shoveling, and other sections were located through the excavation of backhoe trenches (Figure 5.8). Ditch fill was dark in color, which made it stand out against the surrounding matrix of yellow sand and clay. Price and Griffin (1979:37–38) stated that the “south end of the western ditch increases considerably in width and forms a large bulbous area. At this point there is a large gap between the west and south ditch, which formed a gate to provide access to the village. . . . How the gateway was protected is unknown. There was probably a series of palisades set in the ground that gave only a narrow and perhaps a winding passage into the village.” However, no evidence of posts was found in the area. In fact, no evidence of a palisade inside or outside the ditch was ever found, leading us to suspect that the village never was actually fortified. Still, Price and Griffin (1979:39– 40) identified three bastions along the eastern expanse of ditch. In one, a “semicircle of [six] logs had been set erect on the bottom and walls of the ditch with the open side facing inward toward the village. This half circle was then filled with yellow subsoil clay and packed down to form a foundation for the bastions.” If this feature was indeed a bastion, it was a strange-looking one (Figure 5.10) of perhaps questionable utility. The other two bastions identified by Price and Griffin are shown in the field drawings as small patches of clay with no associated post molds. Price and Griffin (1979:40) claimed that bastions “were spaced approximately 75 feet apart along the ditch. This distance was probably determined by the range at which arrows could be launched with a high degree of accuracy.” We have a difficult time with calling these two hard-packed clay areas bastions, unless they represent platforms for structures that were never built. Despite differences between them, Turner and Snodgrass exhibit striking similarities in terms of community layout. Structures at both sites were placed in rows as opposed to randomly, although those at Snodgrass are much more


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Figure 5.8. Map of Snodgrass showing locations of structures, pits, portions of the outer fortification ditch, and what was identified during excavation as the “white-clay wall.”

orderly than those at Turner. Also, houses at both sites are oriented roughly 25–30 degrees east of north—a bearing repeated at other Powers phase sites, including Powers Fort (Price and Griffin, 1979:Table II). Price (1978) stated that each village had a core area on the west side of the settlement and that houses in the core areas were the largest and deepest and contained the most

Figure 5.9. Map of Turner showing locations of structures and pits.


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material remains. At Snodgrass, the core area supposedly was inside the whiteclay wall that surrounded part of the settlement (Figure 5.8). This wall feature is enigmatic in that it did not show up clearly in all areas that were excavated; Figure 5.8 illustrates those areas where it was traceable. Further, the size and shape of the wall are impossible to determine. Price and Griffin (1979:37) state that “the evidence for the existence of the wall is white swamp clay that must have been plastered on it.” They further speculate that “since only a few postmolds have been found where the wall once stood, posts must have been spaced rather far apart. . . . The wall was probably no more than a flimsy screen made of posts with interwoven cane or branches that were covered with a white swamp clay plaster. After the village burned the wall eroded, and clay spread on the ground, washing into adjacent pits and structures” (Price and Griffin, 1979:37).

Post mold

Sandy brown clay

Humus

Yellow gray clay

Sterile yellow clay

Unexcavated

Figure 5.10. Plan view (north at top) of a portion of the ditch surrounding Snodgrass, showing arrangement of post molds and hard-packed clay. Price and Griffin (1979) refer to this as a bastion (measurements in feet).

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Price and Griffin argued that access to the area within the white-clay wall was through its southwest corner—a gap that corresponds to the proposed main entrance to the village through or across the ditch. Access was attained “by going through a system of embankments protected by a bastion . . . [that] must have stood at the south end of the western white wall. Here a large circular stain of clay and bits of charcoal present evidence of a superstructure of poles plastered with white clay which was probably a tower or guard house for protection of the gate” (Price and Griffin, 1979:43). During excavation, traces of clay were found over an area extending several meters out from the southwest corner (Figure 5.8), but there was no evidence to suggest there was either a bastion or earthen embankments at the corner. In fact, fragments of white clay were more sparse in that area than in areas to the north. Price and Griffin (1979:37) stated that the white-clay wall was probably no more than 6 feet high near its southwest corner—a measurement they based on the amount of clay that had fallen or eroded into structures in the area. This measurement is difficult to accept given what in actuality was a very small amount of clay recovered from Structures 15 and 55 (Figure 5.8)—barely enough to make a couple of serviceable vessels, and certainly not enough to have plastered a wall. The fact of the matter is that it is impossible to determine the height or width of the wall. Price and Griffin illustrate three courtyards at Snodgrass, one each in the three segments into which they divided the site. The function of courtyards is unknown, though the authors speculate they may have been used “as a gathering area for meetings or for rituals,” or they may have been “vacant areas left within the village as planned spaces for expansion” (Price and Griffin, 1979:40). Segment 1 includes the entire area within the white-clay wall. The 38 structures are arranged in three rows of 10 structures each and one row of 7 structures. The one exception to this arrangement is Structure 90, which lies between the two westernmost rows. The gap between Structures 21 and 51 (Figure 5.8) is what Price and Griffin identify as the Segment 1 courtyard. The setback of structures 17 and 18 in the westernmost row certainly appears to have been done purposely to create more space. Further, pits to the east of Structures 16 and 17 are up against the structures as opposed to out away from them. Deviations from the row alignment also are seen in the eastward swing of Structures 41, 42, and 43 in the easternmost row, a similar swing in Structures 46 and 47 in the adjacent row, and the odd placement of tiny Structure 90 in the southern quarter of the segment. Some of the smallest structure basins within the whiteclay wall occur in the southern quarter of the segment. Segment 2 lies on the north end of the village, between the white-clay wall and the ditch and extending to the northeast of the wall and down the western side (Figure 5.8). Price and Griffin (1979:44) noted that “a large space sepa-


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rates this segment from the fortification ditch everywhere except on the west side. A portion of this space was probably occupied by an earthen embankment surrounded by wooden palisades.” Field records document the presence of a few scattered post molds in the small portion of the vacant area north of Structures 1 and 2 that was stripped to the base of the plow zone, but there appears to be no reason to conclude they were from one or more palisades. No evidence of an earthen embankment was noted in the records. As defined by Price and Griffin, Segment 2 contains 28 structures arranged roughly in seven rows of from 3 to either 5 or 6 structures, depending on whether Structure 87 is counted as 1 or 2 structures (here it is counted as 2 partially overlapping structures). Their proposed courtyard is centrally located, bounded by Structures 68 on the north, 10 on the east, 88 on the south, and 89 on the west. Price and Griffin, however, failed to mention the existence of Structures 91, 92, and 93, which were located in 1973 (Figure 5.7). The probable explanation for this error is that by the time Price completed his dissertation in the spring of 1973, the three structures had not been found. Thus, in his dissertation (Price, 1973) he proposed the existence of a courtyard in Segment 2. Then, when Price and Griffin prepared their monograph several years later, they overlooked the fact that structures had been located in the previously vacant area. When those structures are added to the site plan (Figure 5.8), the courtyard disappears. Segment 3 lies along the east side of the village south of Segment 2 and continues around to the south side (Figure 5.8). Price and Griffin (1979:44) noted that “admittedly, the criteria used for separating Segments 2 and 3 are rather arbitrary. The affiliation of Structures 9, 13, 86, and 88 is open to question. Two of these structures (13 and 86) were assigned to Segment 3 because they are offset to the west at least half a structure width from structures in rows to the north in Segment 2. Also there are no corresponding structures on the west side of Segment 2 to complete a row across the site.” The segment as defined is only two rows wide on the east side, with an additional four structures located around the corner on the south side. There is a fairly large vacant area—the proposed courtyard—in the approximate middle of the rows on the east. It is possible that the excavators missed one or more small structures in the vacant area, since only a few slit trenches were excavated between Structures 35 and 73 and Structures 29 and 79 (Figure 5.8). However, we find this unlikely and therefore accept the area as being void of structures. In contrast to Snodgrass’s two vacant areas, Turner has but one, located in the north-central part of the site (Figure 5.9). Even it, however, is not completely void of structures. Notice in Figure 5.9 the presence of Structures 2 and 44 in the northern half of the area. Field notes indicate that Structure 44 was a shallow depression that contained no artifacts or architectural remains such as burned construction elements. In fact, the depression was filled with clean clay

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brought in presumably from one of the low-lying swales adjacent to the ridge. Our impression is that the pit was excavated to contain a structure but that the inhabitants changed their mind soon after it was excavated. Structure 2, referred to in the field records as a “corn bin,” contained stacks of ears of corn laid on a prepared-clay floor. This was the only such structure found at either Turner or Snodgrass. The location of the bin in the otherwise vacant area emphasizes the importance placed on it. The southern half of the vacant area contained the cemetery (Figure 5.11), with the bodies placed in rows spaced out in an L-shape that extended from Structures 33 and 36 up to Structure 43 and then over toward Structure 30 (Figures 5.9 and 5.12). It appears that either the cemetery was planned from the beginning of village construction or the courtyard later assumed the role of cemetery. We base these inferences on the fact that none of the burials was disturbed by construction activity (two burials were made after structures were removed).

Dating the Villages Given the close spatial proximity (160 meters) of Turner and Snodgrass, a longstanding question has been how they relate to each other chronologically Were they occupied sequentially, or, as their proximity might suggest, were they perhaps occupied simultaneously? If the latter, was one built before the other, and similarly, did one outlast the other? If Turner and Snodgrass were not occupied contemporaneously, perhaps radiocarbon dates from the two sites might sort themselves into two neat groups, although perhaps with some overlap in the error ranges associated with the dates. This, as we demonstrate below, is not the case. On the other hand, if the two villages were occupied simultaneously, perhaps the combined dates might group together rather closely. This is not the case either. Rather, there exists a fairly long, unbroken sequence of dates that span the fourteenth century. Our guess is that the sequence of dates from Turner and Snodgrass fairly well bracket the time–space unit known as the Powers phase. There are 14 radiocarbon dates from Turner and 19 from Snodgrass (Table 5.1). One date from Snodgrass (sample M2431 from Structure 17) is more than 3000 years earlier than any of the other dates from either site and is excluded from further discussion. The calibrated dates from Turner and Snodgrass are shown in Figure 5.13. There are two kinds of dates: older, standard-count dates produced by the University of Michigan Radiocarbon Laboratory in the 1970s and long-count dates produced by the Quaternary Isotope Laboratory at the University of Washington in the 1990s. Figure 5.13 illustrates the range of each calibrated date at the one-sigma level. As in Figure 5.4, the small horizon-

Figure 5.11. Photographs of the cemetery at Turner: top, looking west, with Burials 22–27 in foreground (see Figure 5.12 for map of burials by number); bottom, looking north, with Burial 13 in foreground.

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Figure 5.12. Map showing the locations of burials in the cemetery at Turner and of surrounding structures.

tal bars are the intercepts, that is, the actual points (dates) at which the radiocarbon and dendrochronological scales merge. Notice that the long-count dates have smaller ranges compared to those associated with the standard-count dates. One important caveat has to do with the wide divergence in dates that come from the same structure or pit. Pairs of dates come from seven structures at Snodgrass—Structures 3, 4, 7, 10, 14, 22, and 25. With the exception of the long-count dates from Structure 22-both A.D. 1345 (using the middle intercept values for each and rounding to the nearest year ending in zero or five)and the standard-count dates from Structure 14—A.D. 1405 and A.D. 1440-the difference in means of the dates in each pair ranges from 95 years (Structure 7) to 215 years (Structure 10). Multiple dates come from four structures at Turner—


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two each from Structures 2, 6, and 8 and three from Structure 4. The smallest difference in range is between the dates from Structure 2—A.D. 1405 and A.D. 1430 (25 years)-and the largest is between those from Structure 6—A.D. 1245 and A.D. 1405 (160 years). At Snodgrass there is no overlap in the one-sigma ranges of pairs of dates from Structures 3 and 10, and the one-sigma ranges of dates from Structure 7 barely overlap. At Turner, the one-sigma ranges for the dates from Structure 6 barely overlap. There are several possible reasons for the extreme ranges in multiple dates from the same structure. First, each date could be measuring different target events. As discussed in Chapters 6 and 7, the depositional histories of Turner and Snodgrass are not so clear-cut as previous reports have suggested. If later refuse were added to an earlier house basin after the structure in that basin burned, it is highly likely that we are dating two events (Lynott [1987] makes this point relative to thermoluminescence dates from Structure 2 at Powers Fort). Although reasonable caution was exercised in selecting carbonized-wood samples for dating, it is conceivable that architectural elements from two different structures actually were collected. Second, radiocarbon dating measures only the date of death of the tree producing the wood, not the date when the wood was used or carbonized. Radiocarbon samples from Powers phase sites that were dated in the 1970s comprised large chunks of carbonized wood from the floors of structures; to attempt to counteract the “old wood” problem-we are interested in when structures were used, not when the trees used in their construction died-the longcount dates produced in the 1990s were based on smaller construction elements that also came from basin floors. The rationale here was that smaller pieces of wood were less likely to have been either stockpiled for later use or taken from one structure and used in another. Third, there is no reason to expect that one-sigma ranges on two radiocarbon dates, even if they are measuring the same target event, should overlap. All a one-sigma range tells us is that there is a slightly greater than 68 percent probability that the true date of the death of the tree producing the sample falls within that range. Statistically, a one-sigma range is not particularly reliable, but for the purpose of exploring patterning in a suite of radiocarbon dates that span as short a time as that represented at Turner and Snodgrass, the use of anything greater than a one-sigma range introduces so much noise as to render the exercise meaningless. Importantly, if we do a t-test on the difference between the two dates from Structure 10 at Snodgrass, which produced the largest range between mean dates of any structure with multiple dates (A.D. 1245 ± 110 and A.D. 1460 ±100), the result (t = 1.46) is not close to being significant at the p = .05 level. Thus, we cannot reject the possibility that the dates are measuring the same target event.

Figure 5.13. Radiocarbon dates from Turner and Snodgrass arranged in chronological order (M = University of Michigan Radiocarbon Laboratory; Q = University of Washington Quaternary Isotope Laboratory). Dates were calibrated to the dendrochronological scale using Stuiver and Reimer’s (1993) CALIB 3.0.3c program. Symbols as in Figure 5.4.


129

Regardless of the reasons for the disparity in dates from the same structure, any or all of which could apply in the case of Turner and Snodgrass, the suite of dates as it stands now is not particularly helpful in trying to understand either the chronological relation between the two villages or the sequence of building events within each village. Still, there are several noticeable trends in the dates that might give us an entry point to a more detailed examination. For example, Snodgrass has four dates that are significantly later than the latest date from Turner. Perhaps, then, Turner was abandoned while Snodgrass continued to exist as a village. But Snodgrass has four more dates than Turner has. Is the seeming lateness of Snodgrass relative to Turner attributable to sample error, meaning that had the sample from Turner been larger, would later dates have been included? Similarly, the average of all calibrated dates from Snodgrass is A.D. 1365 ± 90, and the average from Turner is A.D. 1355 ± 65. To obtain those averages we used all intercepts, including all intercepts where there were more than one for a date. Previous reports (e.g., Price, 1973, 1978; Price and Griffin, 1979) have emphasized a dichotomy between structures inside and outside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass, both in terms of such things as structure size and in terms of status of the inhabitants of the structures. The question then becomes, are there chronological differences between the two sets of structures? The average date for structures inside the wall is A.D. 1370 ± 100, and that for structures outside the wall is A.D. 1360 ± 85-both slightly younger than A.D. 1355 ± 65, the average date for structures at Turner. Of interest are the standard deviations for the sample means from the three locations. It turns out that they are fairly large: 55 years for structures inside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass, 65 years for structures outside the wall, and 50 years for Turner. The size of the deviations-a result of the wide spread in dates from each site-is no reason to reject dates outright, but they give us a clue that in its present form the suite of dates isn’t telling us anything very informative. To circumvent this problem, we need to get rid of some of the noise in the suite, which translates into deleting some of the dates by some means other than intuition. Here we have to exercise considerable caution because there is no one correct way of doing this. In fact, there are no grounds for rejecting any of the dates. Although the date ranges are wide, the dates themselves are remarkably tight from a statistical standpoint. This can be demonstrated by rankordering the dates for each village from oldest to youngest and then conducting sequential t-tests starting with the two extremes and moving in one date at a time. We do not have to go very far before the value of t becomes insignificant at the p = .05 level, meaning that we could be measuring the same target event, that is, the occupation of Turner or Snodgrass. For example, the only t value that is significant for the 14 Turner samples is that obtained when the earliest

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and latest dates are compared (t = 2.01, which is greater than the critical value of t [1.96] at p = .05). When either of those is compared to the next oldest or youngest date-whichever is at the opposite end of the rank-order from the extreme date being used-the value of t falls well below the critical value. When all 18 dates from Snodgrass are rank-ordered from oldest to youngest, one need move only to the comparison between the youngest and fourth-oldest dates to fall below the critical t value. In short, there is nothing “wrong” with the sets of dates from Turner and Snodgrass; rather, they’re simply not telling us as much as we want to know. One way of reducing some of the noise in the suite of dates is by reducing their overall range. To do this we divided the dates into three sets-two from Snodgrass (inside and outside the white-clay wall) and the one from Turnerand then deleted dates for which the mean was more than one standard deviation either side of the average of all radiocarbon dates from that set. This left 6 samples and 14 intercepts for structures inside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass, 4 samples and 6 intercepts for structures/pits outside the white wall, and 10 samples and 21 intercepts for structures/pits at Turner (Figure 5.14). We then recalculated an average date for each of the three sets using all intercepts that remained: A.D. 1360 ± 70 for structures inside the wall at Snodgrass, A.D. 1380 ± 100 for structures/pits outside the wall, and A.D. 1365 ± 50 for structures/pits at Turner. Importantly, the standard deviations declined dramatically-down from 55 to 35 for structures inside the wall at Snodgrass, from 65 to 40 for structures/pits outside the wall, and from 50 to 35 for structures/pits at Turner. Adding these new standard deviations to the recalculated mean dates listed above, and ignoring the associated errors, yields new ranges in mean calibrated age—A.D. 1325-1395 for structures inside the wall at Snodgrass, A.D. 1340– 1420 for structures/pits outside the wall, and A.D. 1330-1400 for structures/ pits at Turner. The new ranges are shorter than those derived using all dates, but they still span roughly 70-80 years. The considerable overlap in ranges between Turner and Snodgrass means that we cannot sort out which if either village is older or younger or how long their occupations might have overlapped, if indeed they did. Interestingly, the means of seven long-count dates, which are more precise than the standard-count dates, fall within about an 80-year period, from about A.D. 1320 to A.D. 1400. The five long-count dates from Turner and the two from Snodgrass exhibit consistent overlap in terms of intercepts. Even though we have no way of knowing where in the one-sigma ranges the actual target dates fall, if indeed they do, it seems highly likely that some of the target dates from Turner and Snodgrass overlap within that 80-year window. This does not mean, however, that the occupations of Turner and Snodgrass overlapped. Any number of factors could contribute to the overlap in dates,


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Figure 5.14. Radiocarbon dates from Turner and from inside and outside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass arranged in chronological order, using only dates for which the mean falls within one standard deviation either side of the average of all radiocarbon dates from that set (M = University of Michigan Radiocarbon Laboratory; Q = University of Washington Quaternary Isotope Laboratory). Symbols as in Figure 5.4.

including the fact that we might have sampled old wood at one site and not at the other. It may be a bit much to hope that any suite of radiocarbon dates can separate the occupation spans of villages that existed for perhaps as little as 5 or 10 years, especially if portions of each site were occupied sequentially. It is tempting to look at the various plots of dates and say that Turner was abandoned slightly before Snodgrass, but there are no good grounds at present on which to make that claim. Similarly, it is tempting to look at the recalculated mean dates

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and say that Turner and Snodgrass were contemporary but that the early occupation at Snodgrass was restricted to the area within the white wall. Then, sometime later, settlement occurred outside the white wall. Finally, Turner was abandoned, as was the settlement within the white wall at Snodgrass, while occupation was still ongoing outside the white wall at Snodgrass. When the ranges are stacked up this way—A.D. 1325-1395 for structures inside the wall at Snodgrass, A.D. 1340-1420 for structures/pits outside the wall, and A.D. 1330– 1400 for structures/pits at Turner, such a scenario is feasible, but not particularly justifiable. However, as discussed in Chapter 7, analysis of structure-basin fill sequences lends support to this proposition. This scenario is at odds with what has previously been proposed relative to the termination of occupation at Snodgrass. Price (1973) and Price and Griffin (1979) stated unequivocally that all structures at Snodgrass burned on the same day. This means that the archaeological record at Snodgrass, at least the part that pertains to the structures, is a moment frozen in time-a Pompeii-like snapshot of the final hours of a Mississippian-period village, probably sometime early in the fifteenth century. All prior statements concerning social organization at Snodgrass—which segment of the population had access to what kinds of tools, which segment lived where in the village, and so on-have been based on the assumption that a single fire destroyed the village and that collapsed structures effectively sealed the material remains of the structures’ inhabitants. That conclusion, however, is incorrect (Chapters 6 and 7). In addition to the suite of dates from Turner and Snodgrass, there is a single date from Neil Flurry, derived from a large piece of charcoal from the floor of Structure 8. It is the latest of all village dates, having a calibrated range of A.D. 1435-1645 and an intercept of A.D. 1485. Neil Flurry could have been founded after the abandonment of Turner and Snodgrass, hence the lateness of the date, or alternatively the one-sigma range is simply later than the actual date of the abandonment of Neil Flurry.

THE HAMLETS The locations of the five sites identified as hamlets are shown in Figure 4.2, none of which was excavated during the Powers Phase Project. In fact, the only information on hamlets comes from small surface collections and from casual observations of the number of surface stains that become visible from time to time. Based on the distribution of surface stains and artifacts, Price (1978) proposed that hamlets were approximately 0.1 hectare in size and contained from 9 to 12 structures. This estimate was slightly lower than an earlier one (Price, 1974) of 12-15 structures and a population of less than 50 people.


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Alternatively, Smith (1978b) proposed that perhaps there was no such site class as hamlets, noting that Wilborn, one of the villages, was identified as a hamlet prior to 1970. As he pointed out, “Estimating the size of sites on the basis of the number of surface stains observed is not. . . a totally accurate procedure” (Smith, 1978b:9). Price (1978) noted this problem as well (Chapter 4). Still, repeated observations of surface stains at several hamlets over the years have shown that there are settlements with considerably fewer structures than are evident at the sites that have been designated as villages. Stick Chimney (Figure 4.2), for example, appears to have 12 structures arranged in a three-by-four pattern over an area of about 0.1 hectare. But it is entirely possible that Smiths main point is valid: Perhaps the hamlets represent early stages of villages that were abandoned before they grew in size.

THE FARMSTEADS Three farmsteads-Old Helgoth Farm, Big Beaver, and Gypsy Joint (Figures 4.2 and 4.3)—were excavated during the course of the Powers Phase Project (Price, 1978), although work at the first two was minimal. All three sites were located on the north end of Barfield Ridge, with Old Helgoth Farm and Big Beaver just southwest of Powers Fort and Gypsy Joint about 3 kilometers southwest of the center. Old Helgoth Farm contained two structures and a burial located about 25 meters south of one of them. Price (1978:224) reported that the site “yielded very little cultural material. That present was primarily ceramic body sherds, a small jar rim sherd, a projectile point, and limited lithic debris. Structure 1 . . . however, yielded a round fluorite bead, the only such artifact yet recovered from a Powers phase site. No decorated ceramics were discovered at the site.” The Big Beaver site contained three structures spaced 30–40 meters apart and aligned along the crest of a high sandy area (Figure 5.15) between Powers Fort and Old Helgoth Farm. Price’s (1978) sketch map of the site shows a “burial area” located between Structures 2 and 3, on the highest point of the sandy ridge. Land-leveling operations destroyed the site in the early 1970s, but the field crew was able to recover a large quantity of angular chert, quartzite, and sandstone fragments from Structure 1 as materials were exposed by heavy equipment. Approximately half of Structure 3 was excavated before it was destroyed and yielded a few sherds and pieces of lithic debris. The majority of information on the Powers phase farmsteads comes from Bruce Smith’s (1978b) almost total excavation of the Gypsy Joint site, which was located on a small sandy knoll on the eastern edge of Barfield Ridge. The site contained two closely spaced structures ringed on three sides by 11 vari-

Figure 5.15. Topographic map (in feet) of the area containing the Big Beaver site on the northern end of Barfield Ridge (after Price, 1978).


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ous-sized pits and a burial (Figure 5.16). The burial and two of the pits predated the Powers phase occupation (see below). Smith’s careful excavation of the area outside the structures revealed that three of the pits adjacent to Structure 1 were encircled by concentrations of artifacts that apparently related to the use of the pits. Based on the amount of material recovered, plus a detailed analysis of animal bones and carbonized food-plant remains, Smith reasoned that the farmstead had been occupied by a single nuclear family over no more than a 3-year period and that the structures were used sequentially. Two radiocarbon dates were obtained for the site (Table 5.1), one from the University of Georgia Geochron Laboratory (UGA-1078) and one from Radioisotopes Laboratory (sample number unknown). Sample UGA-1078, which was burned deer bone from Pit 9, dates to A.D. 885 ± 115 (calibrated) and documents the use of the knoll by pre–Powers phase people. The other sample, which spans the period A.D. 1300-1405 (calibrated), fits well within the range of dates from Powers Fort, Turner, and Snodgrass. Price (1978) points out differences among the farmsteads. For example, Gypsy Joint contained large quantities of burned seeds and hickory-nut shell, whereas Old Helgoth Farm did not. Similarly, Gypsy Joint contained numerous pits located outside the structures, whereas none were observed at Old Helgoth Farm. Given the difference in how information was collected at the two sitesrapidly at Old Helgoth Farm versus painstakingly at Gypsy Joint-the contrasts may be more apparent than real, although there is no particular reason to believe that all farmsteads were identical in terms of how they were organized, which seasons they were occupied, or how long they were occupied.

SUMMARY Although excavations carried out at Powers phase sites varied considerably in scope throughout the 1960s and early 1970s, taken in the aggregate they yield considerable insight into post-A.D. 1250 occupation of the large Pleistocene terrace in the Little Black River Lowland. The limited excavations undertaken at Powers Fort document several points. First, a substantial population resided at the center-a conclusion based on the several hundred house stains that have been noted informally in Areas A, D, G, and H (Figure 5.3). Second, the presence of a large midden area in Area D suggests that the center was occupied over a considerable span of time. As a rule, midden deposits are virtually nonexistent in Powers phase villages and smaller settlements presumably because of their short occupations. Certainly this absence was the case at Turner, Snodgrass, and Gypsy Joint, all of which were excavated almost in their

Figure 5.16. Topographic map (in feet) of the area containing the Gypsy Joint site on the northern end of Barfield Ridge (after Smith, 1978b).

COMMUNITY ORGANlZATlON AND DATES OF OCCUPATlON

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entirety. Third, structures at Powers Fort were rebuilt over time, which is a phenomenon rarely seen at the other excavated sites. Although only portions of three structures were excavated at Powers Fort, two of them yielded evidence for two to four rebuilding episodes, suggesting that certain structures at the site had occupation spans upwards of perhaps 40–80 years (see Pauketat, 1989). Based on the placement of mounds, the surface evidence for houses and middens, limited excavations of houses and burials, and the character of lithic and ceramic artifacts from various areas of the site, the internal structure of the Powers Fort site appears clear. First, residential and domestic use of the site was apparently concentrated in several bands from the embankment to near the mounds, primarily in Areas A, D, G, and H. The structures are believed to have been in rows that visually were aligned with Mounds 2–4 and the embankment. Price (1978) estimated conservatively that some 400 domestic structures might have been erected on the site—not necessarily all at the same time— and these structures were surrounded by refuse pits, areas of midden, and burials. The large midden area in Area D, adjacent to Mound 4, might represent refuse from activities conducted during the latter end of the Powers phase occupation, or it might indicate that the residential occupation of Area D was principally early in the phase (Perttula, 1998). The large platform mound and three subsidiary mounds flank an apparent plaza covering about 100 by 60 meters. Even though surface collections from the suspected plaza were made unsystematically, it is clear that the area produced few Mississippian-period artifacts. In addition to the specialized structures apparently present on several platform stages within Mound 1, another large specialized structure may have been present on a narrow sand ridge between Mounds l and 2 (Price, 1978). It is possible that there also were structures in Mounds 2–4, given that the human remains and burials described by Norris (1883) within those mounds suggest that the skeletons were disarticulated. Extended and bundle burials of adults are known from the residential sectors, and infant burials have been recovered from Structure 1 in Area D. The five calibrated radiocarbon dates from Structure 1 indicate that it was built sometime between A.D. 1305 and A.D. 1395—a range that is in excellent agreement with most calibrated dates from Turner and Snodgrass (Figure 5.17). A small series of dates from a single structure cannot be used reliably as a proxy for the life span of a center as large as Powers Fort, but it is clear that at least part of the occupation of the center overlapped in time with that of Turner and Snodgrass. The almost total excavation of Turner and Snodgrass indicates that villages were planned in terms of spatial layout, with most structures in rows aligned 25–30 degrees east of north. Use of space within villages differed sig-

Figure 5.17. Summary graph of all radiocarbon dates from Powers phase sites (M = University of Michigan Radiocarbon Laboratory; Q = University of Washington Quaternary Isotope; R = Radiosotopes Laboratory). Symbols as in Figure 5.4.


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nificantly, at least as can be discerned from these two excavated villages. Both contained areas void of structures, but the vacant area at Turner contained a cemetery. Although a few burials were found at Snodgrass, they were not concentrated in a cemetery. No readily identifiable special-purpose structures were identified at Snodgrass, but Turner contained what appears to have been a cornstorage structure. Conversely, Snodgrass was encircled by a ditch, though our reanalysis showed no evidence of a palisade either inside or outside the ditch. Perhaps the village was abandoned before a wall was erected. Turner contained neither a ditch nor a palisade. Both villages were burned, although it is clear that structural burning occurred over a considerable length of time (Chapter 6). Substantial evidence in the form of artifact quantity and stratigraphic positioning indicates that structures at both sites were occupied for a while, then burned, but at neither site was a majority of structures destroyed at the same time. Importantly, the site plans shown in Figures 5.8 (Snodgrass) and 5.9 (Turner) are composites of the two villages; at any given time only some of the structures shown in the plans would have been occupied. The large suite of dates for Turner and Snodgrass, although relatively homogeneous from a statistical standpoint, do not allow us to pinpoint how the communities changed internally through time, nor do they allow us to conclude whether the two communities were occupied simultaneously. Most of the dates fall within the fourteenth century A.D. or the first decades of the fifteenth century. Six intercepts from the villages—three each from Turner and Snodgrass— are earlier than the earliest intercept from Powers Fort, although the ranges overlap to varying degrees. Thus, one might argue that at least several villages were founded before Powers Fort. Unfortunately, all five radiocarbon dates from Powers Fort apply to a single structure; thus, those dates cannot be applied to the center as a whole. Conversely, several thermoluminescence dates from Powers Fort predate A.D. 1300 (Figure 5.4), mirroring the early radiocarbon dates from Turner and Snodgrass. In fact, two midpoints of thermoluminescence dates from Powers Fort predate the earliest radiocarbon intercept from either village. If, based strictly on available dates, one were going to argue whether Powers Fort was earlier or later than Turner or Snodgrass, one would be forced to take the former position. Given our analysis of the dates, we wouldn’t take either position. Rather, we would note simply that Powers Fort as a mounded, fortified entity came into existence at least by A.D. 1300, and probably a little earlier, and that during its occupation Turner and Snodgrass played out their existences. Hamlets and farmsteads must have also come and gone throughout the fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries A.D., although there is but a single relevant date for these small sites—a radiocarbon assay from Gypsy Joint that spans much of the fourteenth century. Farmsteads appear to have been occu-

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pied for very short periods of time, possibly under 3 years, and by a small number of people. Activities carried out at the one excavated farmstead mirrored those carried out in the villages and presumably in the hamlets: Smith (1978b) suggested that the farmsteads might not have been occupied year-round; rather, the families that spent much of the year living in farmsteads also maintained houses within the villages, to which they would return periodically. This suggestion stemmed from Smith’s (1978b:199) speculation that each of the major ridges on the Pleistocene terrace contained a “human population that was economically independent and to a certain extent socially and politically distinct from the Powers Phase populations occupying adjacent ridges. Each ridge would then represent the support area of the resident Powers Phase population in terms of horticultural energy sources.” Part of the evidence that Smith marshaled in support of this proposition is based on how one interprets the structural remains at Turner and Snodgrass. At the time he was writing, the standard interpretation was that differences in house-basin size and artifact distributions at Snodgrass were a result of such things as personal status, and thus it was reasonable to propose the existence of a permanent versus nonpermanent population. But the matter is much more complicated than originally proposed, and the new evidence presented in Chapter 7, while not negating Smith’s intriguing proposal, does not provide necessary support. One point, however, is as undeniable today as when Smith (1978b:201) made it over two decades ago: “the degree of contemporaneity of fortified villages and homesteads within a very short time span continues to be both a very elusive problem to solve and the key to gaining any satisfactory level of understanding of the settlement system of the Powers Phase.”

NOTES ¹Dates are rounded to the nearest year ending in zero or five. 2

These figures are slightly higher than earlier published figures (e.g, Price, 1973, 1978; Price and Griffin, 1979).

Chapter 6

The Construction and Abandonment of Powers Phase Structures MICHAEL J. O’BRIEN AND JAMES W. C OGSWELL

The abundance of carbonized structural elements in the Powers phase sites, together with the fact that in some cases those remains were remarkably intact, gives us considerable insight into the domestic architecture of prehistoric residents of the sandy ridges in the Little Black River Lowland. Many of the structures burned, presumably at the end of their use-lives, thus providing the carbonization of architectural members necessary for them to be present hundreds of years later (Figure 6.1). Because the structures usually were built in basins, their remains were afforded some degree of protection from twentieth–century agricultural activity. The sandy environment of the lowland, although a bane to locating sites (Chapter 1), afforded a further degree of protection in instances where structures were located on lower slopes of ridges and over the years were covered with blowing sand. Because of the almost total excavation of Turner and Snodgrass, most of what is known about Powers phase architecture comes from those two sites, especially from Snodgrass, although structures at Powers Fort, Neil Flurry, and Gypsy Joint also were excavated. Thus, we have a data base that crosscuts sites of widely different size and complexity. From the beginning of the Powers Phase Project, analytical interest was focused on the nature of that complexity, especially as it related to such issues as site function and the status of the residents of different-sized communities. Was Powers Fort mainly a civic–ceremonial center inhabited by persons of relatively high status, or did it have a residential population of no particularly higher status than that afforded to village inhab141

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Figure 6.1. Photograph (looking northwest) of Structure 10 at Snodgrass showing the remarkable preservation of burned architectural elements resting on the floor of the structure basin.

itants? Were there status differences between segments of the population within a single village? If so, were status differences expressed through such things as where in a village one lived, the size of one’s residence, or one’s material possessions? The spatial distribution of particular kinds of artifacts made, used, and discarded by Powers phase peoples is one line of evidence that can be followed in attempting to answer such questions, and another is the architectural remains themselves. Both lines of evidence have been followed in previous examinations of Powers phase settlements, and both have contributed heavily to conclusions about status differences and village segmentation. Reanalysis of artifact distributions is the focus of Chapter 7; here we examine structures from the viewpoint of their life cycle, which we subdivide into four phases: (1) construction, (2) use, (3) abandonment and burning, and (4) postburning history.

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CONSTRUCTION After a location was selected, the first step in construction of a Powers phase structure was the excavation of a shallow basin in which to place the building. Price and Griffin (1979:31) provide a succinct summary of structural basins at Snodgrass, and their description applies equally to structures at Turner, Neil Flurry, Powers Fort, and Gypsy Joint: “The structures are of a lowered floor type with structure foundation basins excavated into the ground from less than 8 inches to as much as 2 feet deep¹. . . . How the waste soil was disposed of by the builders is open to question. It may have been banked back against the walls of the finished structure or used as fill material to level the slopes of the ridge on which the site is situated.” After the basin “for the structures had been dug slightly larger than the intended finished structure, opencornered wall trenches were often dug into the floor. Most structures bear little or no evidence for this, perhaps because of the sandy nature of the soil and the tendency for stains to ‘bleed’ away” (Price and Griffin, 1979:31). Price and Griffin were correct that “most” structure basins at Snodgrass (the same applies to Turner) do not contain wall trenches, but the key word is “most.” Rather than being as scarce as their statement makes it seem, wall trenches occur in 22 of the 85 excavated or partially excavated structure basins at Snodgrass (Figure 6.2) and in 21 of the 45 basins at Turner (Figure 6.2). Trenches in other basins may have “bled away,” but our impression is that in general structure basins without wall trenches are reflecting an original absence of such trenches. We base this impression on the fact that basins identical in terms of depth and topographic situation might or might not exhibit wall trenches. At Turner there is no significant difference between large and small structures (those above and below the mean of 26.4 square meters) in terms of whether they exhibit wall trenches (χ 2 = 0.33; p = .56), whereas at Snodgrass there is a significant difference (mean area = 24.1 square meters) (χ2 = 11.008; p < .001). The difference at Snodgrass is driven by the location of wall-trench structures. Notice that 18 of the 22 wall-trench structures occur inside the white-clay wall (Figure 6.2); given that the largest structures also occur inside the wall, the overall tendency is for larger structures to contain wall trenches. However, within the subset of structures located inside the wall, there is no significant correlation between size and the presence of a wall trench. This is illustrated by the fact that of the 13 largest structures, 7 have wall trenches and 6 do not. The largest of all the structures, Structure 84, does not contain a wall trench. Double sets of trenches in the Structure 34 basin at Turner (Figure 5.9) and in the Structure 49 basin at Snodgrass (Figure 5.8) suggest those structures may have been rebuilt. One of the two structures at Gypsy Joint, Structure 2,

Figure 6.2. Maps showing locations of wall-trench structures at Snodgrass (top) and Turner (bottom),


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Figure 6.3. Plan of Structure 2 at Gypsy Joint showing the position of wall trenches, Pit 1, and the hearth in the structure basin (after Smith, 1978b).

was of the wall-trench variety (Figure 6.3), but the other, Structure 1, contained no trenches, nor did the single excavated structure at Neil Flurry (Figure 6.4). All structures excavated at Powers Fort contained wall trenches, including those resulting from the rebuilding of Structure 1 (Figure 6.5). Except for the presence of wall trenches in some structures and not in others, excavated structural remains at Powers phase sites indicate that the buildings were all of fairly similar design. First, vertical wall posts were set down in the basin. Then, a “horizontal pole was lashed along the lower portions of the wall posts apparently at the height of the edge of the structure basin. This wedge presumably was to firmly secure the lower ends of the wall posts. Cross members were likewise lashed to the upper ends of the wall posts and members probably connected the walls with the large internal support posts” (Price and Griffin, 1979:31). There is considerable evidence that hori-

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Figure 6.4. Plan of Structure 8 at Neil Flurry showing the positioning of burned construction elements and burned floor in the basin.

zontal stringers were used (Figures 6.6 and 6.7), but these were not always at what would have been ground level. Wall posts were seldom placed at regular intervals, varying in spacing from a few centimeters to over 2 meters. Post diameters vary greatly as well, from perhaps 5 Centimeters to approximately 10 centimeters. Wall posts are, as Price and Griffin (1979) pointed out, considerably smaller in diameter than interior support posts, which range up to 40 centimeters in diameter. Price and Griffin (1979:34) stated that the usual number of interior support posts is nine and that they were placed in three rows of three posts each, but the field drawings fail to verify this. In a few cases support posts appear evenly spaced, but in the great majority of cases the posts appear


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Figure 6.5. Plan of Structure 1 at Powers Fort showing the positioning of wall trenches, pits, and areas of burned clay in the structure basin. Note the overlapping wall trenches, indicating that the structure had been rebuilt or at least remodeled several times (after Perttula, 1998).

to have been placed randomly, with the usual number of posts ranging from three to six. In one example, Structure 21 at Snodgrass, a 35-centimeter-diameter post was the main support for the roof (Figure 6.8). Once the wall posts were set, timbers were then lashed to the tops of the wall posts, and as Price and Griffin (1979:31) suggest, additional stringers were used to secure wall posts to interior posts. These horizontal pieces show up clearly in the map of Structure 19 at Snodgrass (Figure 6.9). Rafters were run from the plates upward to the top of the roof where they were lashed to a horizontal member at the ridge. Mats made from cane (Figure 6.10) were then hung on the interiors of the wall posts from floor to ceiling and in some cases

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Figure 6.6. Plan of Structure 3 at Snodgrass showing the positioning of pits, posts and/or post molds, and burned wall elements in the structure basin. Horizontal stringers are evident in several areas, particularly in the north-central part of the basin (see detail in Figure 6.7).

perhaps covered the ceiling (see below). At that point, dirt that resulted from the basin excavation might have been mounded around the outside of the structure. There is no evidence of such mounding at Turner and Snodgrass, but it could have been obliterated through plowing and disking. Presumably the circles on P. W. Norris’s map of Powers Fort (Figure 5.1)—what Cyrus Thomas (1894) usually referred to in his report as “hut rings”—represent the remains of house embankments. The finished semisubterranean structure might have looked similar to Price and Griffin’s (1979) rendition shown in Figure 6.11, although the roof line is speculative. Notice that the structure walls shown in Figure 6.11 are undaubed. Price and Griffin (1979:32) point out that the only evidence of daub


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is in the form of clay-encircled smoke holes in the roofs of structures. White swamp clay was plastered on the underside of the thatch and in the edges of the hole in the roof above the hearth area. Remains of smoke holes are found in the southeast quarter of structures where they fell when the structures were destroyed by fire. . . . Often there are impressions of whole cane mats which must have covered the roofs under the thatch at least in the area of the smoke holes, if not the entire roof.

Field drawings support Price and Griffin’s claim that smoke holes were clay lined. Piles of thick pieces of daub were found in the middle of several structure basins, and in some instances the shape of the opening could be ascertained. The holes were squarish to irregular in shape and measured roughly 30–40 centimeters on a side. There is no evidence to indicate where doors might have been placed, although Price and Griffin (1979:32) speculate that they might have been located on the west side of structures at Snodgrass. They based this assessment on the large number of pits that occur on the east side of structures at both Snodgrass and Turner (Figures 5.8 and 5.9), which would have limited struc-

Figure 6.7. Photograph (looking south) of a burned wall section in the north-central part of the Structure 3 basin at Snodgrass.

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Figure 6.8. Plan of Structure 21 at Snodgrass showing the locations of wall trenches, the main roof-support post, post molds, and burned construction elements in the structure basin.

tural access from that side. Without question, external pits are more numerous on the east side of structures at Turner and Snodgrass than they are on the west, though this statement needs qualification. Pits located between any two structures could be associated with either structure or with neither. We presume that pits were related somehow to common household functions and thus would have been placed near the residential unit carrying out functions involving the particular pits. Even if that were the case, it is difficult if not impossible in some cases to determine which pits belong to which structures. At Snodgrass, however, we have the white-clay wall, which gives us a starting point. Notice the cluster of 14 pits in the northeast corner of the segment outlined by the clay wall (Figure 5.8). The pits are located between the wall and Structures 8,


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7, 6, and 84; we assume they are related to those structures. Some structures have multiple pits in apparent association, whereas other structures have one or no pits near them. At Turner, by far the greatest number of pits is in the passageways between the last two rows of structures on the east and just east of the easternmost row (Figure 5.9).

Construction Material A wide variety of wood was used to manufacture the structures, with 22 taxa (see below) represented among 3288 samples of charcoal analyzed from 26 structures at Snodgrass (Table 6.1).2 The charcoal originally was analyzed by Suzanne Harris of the University of Michigan as part of the Powers Phase Project in the 1970s, and her identifications were later checked by Lee Newsom

Figure 6.9. Plan of Structure 19 at Snodgrass showing the positioning of burned construction elements and post molds in the structure basin. Stringers similar to those shown in Figures 6.6 and 6.7 are evident along the north wall.

Figure 6.10. Photographs of split cane and woven matting made from split cane in Structures 44 (top) and 17 (bottom) at Snodgrass.

Figure 6.11. Two views of what a typical Powers phase structure might have looked like, based on evidence from Turner, Snodgrass, Neil Flurry, and Powers Fort. The roof line and berm are speculative (after Price, 1969).

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of the University of Southern Illinois at Carbondale in the 1990s. Here we follow Newsom’s conservative approach to taxonomic classification, preferring in many cases to limit identifications either to broad groups or to the generic level. For example, oak (Quercus sp.) is separable to three anatomical groups— live oaks, red/black oaks, and white oaks—but it is impossible to resolve further the many species based exclusively on wood anatomy. Similarly, elm (Ulmus sp.) is separable to three anatomical groups—American elm, red elm, and hard elm—but to avoid any chance of inconsistency in original identifications we use the general taxon “elm” for all three. We similarly lump hard and soft maple (Acer sp.) into “maple,” pecan and true hickory into “hickory” (Carya sp.), various taxa of locust (Gleditsia sp. and Robinia sp.) into “locust,” and various species of ash ( Fraxinus sp.) into “ash.” Because of the difficulty in separating them anatomically, we also combine poplar (Populus sp.), cottonwood (Populus sp.), and willow (Salix sp.) into “cottonwood/poplar/willow” and black walnut (Juglans nigra) and butternut (Juglans cinera) into “walnut/ butternut.” Thus, the 22 analytical taxa used in the study comprise up to 30 or more species. By far the most common taxon represented in the Snodgrass structures is the red/black oak group (referred to hereafter as red oak), which comprises 41.0 percent of the sample (Figure 6.12). Its nearest competitor is hickory, at 19.2 percent, followed by white oak (12.3 percent), ash (8.8 percent), bald cypress (Taxodium distichum) (7.3 percent), and persimmon (Diospyros virginiana) (4.5 percent). The next most frequently represented taxa, all with percentages in the 1–2 percent range, are walnut/butternut (1.7 percent), elm (1.3 percent), and locust (1.3 percent). Taxa with representation below 1 percent (in descending order) are cottonwood/poplar/willow, maple, pine (Pinus sp.) , sweet gum (Liquidambarstyraciflua ), tupelo ( Nyssa sp.), hackberry (Celtis sp.), sassafras (Sassafras albidum) and holly (Ilex sp.) (tied), buckeye (Aesculus sp.) and catalpa (Catalpa sp.) (tied), and basswood (Tilia sp.), hornbeam (Carpinus caroliniana), and birch (Betula sp.) (tied). The last three taxa are represented by single specimens, the preceding two taxa by two specimens each. Red oak dominates not only the overall assemblage but also individual structure assemblages. That taxon ranks first in 20 of the 26 assemblages, being replaced by ash in Structures 4, 5, and 72; by hickory in Structures l l and 18; and by white oak in Structure 33. Red oak ranks second in abundance in those six structure-specific assemblages. Several other trends are noticeable. First, every structure in addition to containing red oak also contains hickory. Second, white oak, which is less than one-third as abundant as red oak, is absent in only one assemblage (Structure 65); ash, which is only about onefifth as abundant as red oak, is absent in only two assemblages (Structures 14 and 20); and bald cypress, at only 7.3 percent of the total sample, is absent in

Hornbeam Holly C'wood/poplar/ willow Buckeye Birch Tupelo Hackberry Sweetgum Catalpa Total

Ash Red oak White oak Bald Cypress Persimmon Walnut/ butternut Elm Locust Hickory Basswood Sassafras Maple Pine

3

4

5

6

— 7 8

Structure Number Total — 10 11 13 14 15 16 18 19 20 21 22 24 25 26 33 44 47 65 66 72

Table 6.1. Taxa Represented by Analyzed Burned Construction Elements from Structures at Snodgrass

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Figure 6.12. Percentage occurrence of the 12 most abundant tree taxa used in the construction of structures at Snodgrass.

only four assemblages (Structures 6, 7, 66, and 72). With one exception, we found no correspondence between taxon and construction element. The single exception is bald cypress, which although used for a variety of elements, was the preferred wood for large support posts such as that shown in Figure 6.8 for Structure 21. The data make it clear that the inhabitants of the Powers phase communities were biased toward certain trees relative to the local abundance of those taxa. Although the red oaks comprise 41.0 percent of the analyzed charcoal, they occur much less frequently in the 934 trees listed in the General Land Office survey notes for T22N R5E, the lowland portions of T22N R4E and T23N R5E, and the southeast corners of T23N R4E and T22N R3E (Table 3.4). In that sample the red oaks comprise less than 10 percent of the total. Similarly, the hickories, which comprise 19.2 percent of the charcoal, comprise less than 5 percent of the GLO trees; bald cypress, which comprises 7.3 percent of the charcoal, comprises only 1.2 percent of the GLO trees; and persimmon, which comprises 4.5 percent of the charcoal, comprises only 0.2 percent of the GLO


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trees. Conversely, white oak (Quercus alba) is the second highest-ranked taxon in the GLO sample, at 16.6 percent, yet it accounts for only 12.3 percent of the charcoal. Similarly, sweet gum, the highest-ranked taxon among GLO trees, at 19.3 percent, comprises only 0.2 percent of the charcoal sample. Clearly there was a bias toward red oak, hickory, cypress, and persimmon and against sweet gum. Sweet gum burns with approximately the same intensity as ash and elm, both of which are well represented in the aggregate charcoal sample; hence it appears that destruction through burning is not the cause of the low representation. The most likely explanation is that Powers phase builders knew that sweet gum, despite its strength when green, makes a poor building material. Not only does it warp and twist after drying, it is highly susceptible to water rot and insect infestation (Lincoln, 1986), so much so that it is doubtful a structure would have remained standing a year after it had been built. All local habitats were exploited for building materials. The Little Black River and Cane Creek Lowlands were exploited for oak, ash, tupelo, hickory, cottonwood/poplar/willow, and bald cypress, and the sand ridges and interridge areas for oak, ash, walnut, and persimmon. The few architectural elements made of pine, which is nonnative to the Little Black River Lowland, probably were derived from the Ozark Highland to the west.

Structure Size It was clear from the beginning of the Powers Phase Project that there was considerable variation in the size of structures at Turner and Snodgrass. As excavation progressed, it appeared that the spatial distribution of structures at both sites was nonrandom with respect to structure size. For example, structures inside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass (Figure 5.8) are on average considerably larger than those outside the wall. Likewise, structures in the westernmost four rows at Turner are on average larger than those in the easternmost two rows. The question is, are these differences statistically significant, and if so, what do they mean? Given the statements that have been made about such things as within-village status differences (Price, 1973; Price and Griffin, 1979), this would appear to be an important question to answer. Because not all structures at Snodgrass were excavated, we, like Price (1973) and Price and Griffin (1979), used the area of structure basins as a proxy for actual structure size.3 Based on comparisons between basin areas and actual walled areas using a random sample of 20 structures from Snodgrass, the former figure inflates structure floor size by only about 4–7 percent. The first question that might be posed is whether there are significant differences in structure size between villages. Snodgrass has over twice as many structures as Turner, and thus it would not be unexpected that Snodgrass con-

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tains at least a few more large structures, but are the differences significant? The range in size of the 44 presumed residential structures at Turner (Structure 2 is a corncrib) is 12.1–55.7 square meters (Table 6.2), with a mean of 26.4 square meters and a standard deviation of 10.7 square meters; the range in size of the 93 structures at Snodgrass, all presumed to be residential, is 6.5–52.0 square meters (Table 6.2), with a mean of 24.1 square meters and a standard deviation of 9.7 square meters. The difference between the means from the two sets of structures is not significant at the p = .05 level. Price is correct that Turner has the largest structure—Structure 11, at 55.7 square meters—but it is not substantially larger than the largest structure at Snodgrass—Structure 84, at 52.0 square meters. Significant differences in structure size do show up, however, when Snodgrass is divided into the area inside the white-clay wall and the area outside it. The 38 structures inside the wall average 32.2 square meters in area, compared to an average size of only 17.2 square meters for the 55 structures outside the wall—a significant difference at the p < .0001 level (t = 10.49). In fact, 27 of the 28 largest structures at Snodgrass occur inside the white-clay wall, and the only outside structure in that group ties with four inside structures for 24th place in the rank order (Figure 6.13). Although the structures outside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass are significantly smaller than those inside, analysis of field drawings and photographs, which show the size and location of architectural elements mapped in place, showed no evidence that they were structurally flimsier. The same kinds of architectural elements were found in both sets of structures. Structure basins outside the white-clay wall are on average shallower than those inside the wall—30 centimeters versus 40 centimeters—and thus plowing and disking may have removed more burned architectural elements from the shallower basins, making it appear that the structures outside the wall were not as substantial as those inside the wall. With respect to similar divisions within Turner, Christine King (1973) proposed in her University of Michigan honors thesis that the village could be divided into segments based on the growth of the village. She first divided the village into three segments, then collapsed two of the three into a single segment. Figure 6.14 illustrates these divisions. Later we examine her reasoning for making the division; here the important point is that she proposed that the easternmost two rows of structures at Turner constituted the older segment and the westernmost four rows the newer segment. With respect to structure size she demonstrated there was a tendency for structures in the older segment to be smaller than those in the newer section—an average size of 22.6 square meters in the former versus 28.0 square meters in the latter—but it was unclear whether this difference was significant. It turns out that the t -value, 1.35, is significant only at the p = .18 level. Figure 6.15 illustrates the distribution of

Table 6.2. Sizes of Structures at Turner and Snodgrass Turner la 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

a

21.4 b 7.4 24.2 21.4 24.2 30.7 17.7 33.4 33.4 26.0 55.7 21.4 25.1 13.0 24.2 14.9 18.8 26.0 26.0 26.9 45.5 18.6 34.4 16.7 18.6 13.9 27.9 23.2 48.3 40.9 36.2 32.5 34.4 43.7 13.9 26.9

Turner(cont.) 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

Snodgrass 1 16.7 2 28.8 3 28.8 4 44.6 5 37.2 6 33.4 7 34.4 8 29.7 9 7.4 10 16.7 11 26.0 12 20.4 13 15.8 14 16.7 15 28.8 16 40.9 17 33.4 18 39.0 19 32.5 20 23.2 21 43.7 22 37.2 23 13.4 24 20.4 25 23.2

Structure number. Area in square meters.

b

22.3 36.2 17.7 21.4 42.7 17.7 36.7 13.9 12.1

Snodgrass (cont.) 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

11.1 13.0 18.6 22.9 13.0 13.9 18.6 6.5 17.7 18.2 20.9 21.4 26.0 40.9 30.1 20.4 23.2 33.4 43.7 33.4 25.1 28.8 24.2 23.2 26.0 28.8 37.2 26.0 20.2 39.9 44.6 22.3 20.4 19.5 22.2 13.9

Snodgrass(cont.) 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93

31.6 17.7 16.7 13.9 13.0 11.1 26.9 18.6 17.7 28.8 16.8 10.2 17.7 14.9 13.9 18.6 19.5 14.5 18.6 14.9 29.7 30.7 52.0 11.1 24.2 16.7 10.2 14.9 17.7 26.9 26.9 16.7

Inside white-clay wall Outside white-clay wall

Size (m2) Figure 6.13. Histogram showing number of structures at Snodgrass by size class (measured in square meters at the lip of the structure basin when first evident) for the areas inside and outside the white-clay wall. Structure numbers are shown in the blocks; structures in each column are arranged with the largest at the top and the smallest at the bottom. As can be seen, the largest structures occur within the white-clay wall (see Figure 5.8 for locations of structures).


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Figure 6.14. Map of Turner showing Christine King’s (1973) subdivision of the village into three segments. The two easternmost rows of structures represent the initial period of construction (Stage 1). During Stage II those structures were abandoned and new structures were erected to the west. Subsequently, structures in the southern part of the site were abandoned (Stage III). King later collapsed Stages II and III into a single stage.

houses at Turner by size class for each of the segments King defined. We find no evidence of differences in average size of structures between areas.

Comparison with Other Mississippian Structures With respect to Mississippian structures from sites in adjacent parts of the Mississippi River valley, those at Powers phase sites fit comfortably within the range of variation evident at other sites. Figures 6.16–6.18 illustrate structures from several sites in the Cairo Lowland—Lilbourn, Beckwith’s Fort, and Callahan–Thompson. The occupation of Lilbourn and Beckwith’s Fort chronologically overlapped the occupation of the Powers phase sites (Chapter 2), whereas that of Callahan–Thompson may have postdated the abandonment of

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Size (m2) Figure 6.15. Histogram showing number of structures at Turner by size class (measured in square meters at the lip of the structure basin when first evident) for each of the two segments defined by Christine King (1973). Structure numbers are shown in the blocks (see Figure 5.9 for locations of structures).

the Powers phase settlements (Lewis, 1982). The size range of structures at Turner and Snodgrass overlaps that at the other sites, but this is not surprising given the large samples of structures at Turner and Snodgrass. One difference is the consistent use of structural basins at Powers phase sites and the inconsistency in their use at the Cairo Lowland sites. At the latter, one is just as apt to find structures not in basins as structures in basins. Another area in which Powers phase structures diverge dramatically from many of those at other sites is in the relative lack of rebuilding. Figures 6.16– 6.18 attest to the considerable amount of rebuilding that took place not only at the large Cairo Lowland centers such as Lilbourn and Beckwith’s Fort but also at smaller settlements such as Callahan–Thompson. As best we can tell from photographs and field maps, Structure 49 (and perhaps Structure 87) at Snodgrass and Structure 34 (and perhaps Structure 4) at Turner are the only rebuilt structures on Powers phase sites other than Powers Fort. Undoubtedly, minor repairs must have been made to structures, but in only those instances were the walls of a structure removed and then either repositioned or replaced


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with new walls. This argues heavily for a short span of occupation of the villages and farmsteads.

THE USE OF STRUCTURES With the exception of a single specialized structure at Turner—Structure 2, the 7.4-square-meter corncrib—there is no evidence that any other Powers phase structures served as anything but houses. There are considerable differ-

Figure 6.16. Plan of some of the structures excavated at Libourn, in New Madrid County, Missouri, showing the overlapping nature of the structures (after Chapman et al., 1977).

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Figure 6.17. Plan of some of the structures excavated at Beckwith’s Fort, in Mississippi County, Missouri, showing the overlapping nature of the structures (after Chapman et al., 1977).

ences in the number of artifacts left on the floors of structure basins (Chapter 7), but the artifacts themselves are redundant and reflective of basic household activities such as cooking, food preparation and storage, and tool manufacture and maintenance. How long individual structures were occupied is speculative, although the evidence—lack of rebuilding, almost no midden buildup, and the like—suggests it was a short period. Pits located inside and outside structures also contained the same kinds of artifacts found on house floors, although in some instances it was difficult to discern if the artifacts were related to primary activities centered around the pits or had been deposited later as refuse. We return to this point in a subsequent section.

STRUCTURE ABANDONMENT AND BURNING Price (1973) and Price and Griffin (1979) present the following scenario for the destruction of Snodgrass:


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Figure 6.18. Plan of Structure 1 at the base of Zone 3b at Callahan–Thompson, in Mississippi County, Missouri, showing the overlapping nature of wall trenches related to various rebuilding episodes (after Lewis, 1982).

All structures on the site with the exception of Structures 23 and 87a in the western row were consumed by a raging fire. All evidence suggests that the entire village was destroyed by a single fire on a single day. Since pole, cane, and thatch are all extremely flammable materials when dry, the village was probably consumed in minutes. . . . Charred architectural remains that fell on the floors of the structure basins demonstrate a common destructive pattern throughout the village

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CHAPTER 6 both inside and outside the internal compound. Fire attacked the southeast corners of the structures and weakened them first. The north and west walls fell toward this weakening point and lay smoldering in the structure basins, to be covered by blowing sand until they were uncovered by the excavators. The north and west walls were the ones most often preserved, and this pattern remains consistent throughout the village; therefore, it is concluded that all structures were consumed at the same time. Other evidence demonstrates complete destruction on the same day. The white clay wall which surrounded the internal compound, Segment 1, was baked hard on both the inside and outside before it collapsed into Structure 24 near the northwest corner of the internal compound. This demonstrates that Structure 24 was burning outside the wall while Structures 19 and 20 were being consumed on the inside. Throughout the village, structures that were adjacent to the white wall contain white clay deposited in them as the remains of the wall eroded after the fire. Therefore, it would seem that structures both inside and outside the wall burned at the same time. All structures, with the exception of two, appear to have been in use until the fire destroyed them. The other two, Structures 23 and 87a, had been abandoned and used as refuse dumps.4 Since the village was probably quickly destroyed, inhabitants would have had very little time to save goods and foodstuffs once it started, yet the structures had almost all easily portable goods removed prior to the fire. Other than refuse and lost artifacts, most small articles such as axes, hoes, and vessels were either removed prior to the fire or were salvaged after it. Articles left behind include large jars, bowls, water bottles, ceramic cones, grinding slabs, and hammerstones, and predictably, artifacts that had been buried in the floor remain. Thus, it would appear that the inhabitants expected the fire and may actually have set it intentionally, since they had removed small vessels that would have been broken in the collapsing structures. Broken examples of such vessels are common in the refuse pits, and the paucity of whole specimens found in the burned structures indicates that most were removed prior to the fire. (Price and Griffin, 1979:50–53)

Beyond question, most if not all structures at Snodgrass were consumed by fire; house basins were redundant in terms of the evidence for such a manner of destruction. The evidence is not so clear cut at Turner, where 20 of the 45 basins had no burned structural remains. As is the case with wall trenches and basin depth, there is no significant correlation between basin depth and whether a Turner structure had charcoal (χ2 = 0.619; p > .05). There also is considerable evidence that many of the structures at Snodgrass did indeed start burning in the southeast corner and that they collapsed in that direction, bringing the west and north walls down into the house basins. Given the available


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fire load—primarily small-diameter, dry timber and cane—the structures must have been destroyed within a matter of minutes. It also is true that whereas few small ceramic vessels and hoes remained in the houses, many other implements of similar size—ceramic cones, hammerstones, grinding slabs, deer mandibles, and the like—remained. It is obvious from field drawings and photographs that numerous large vessels and other tools were left inside the houses, where they were sealed in place by falling architectural elements.

POSTBURNING USE OF STRUCTURE BASINS As important as the above-cited evidence is for addressing such issues as household structure and organization, it does not indicate that Snodgrass was destroyed by a single fire, nor does it negate that possibility. What does negate it is stratigraphic evidence from numerous house basins, where field photographs and drawings show unmistakable signs of considerable refuse overlaying burned architectural elements such as logs, cane, and thatch. For example, Figure 6.19 shows two views of the ongoing excavation of the Structure 18 basin, which contained large numbers of artifacts as well as burned architectural elements. Note that the burned elements are at depths considerably below many of the pedestaled artifacts. Large sherds, bones, and pieces of stone occur at all levels, from the lip of the structure basin almost to the floor, but all of the burned remains are at the bottom of the basin, on what we assume is the floor of the structure. This clearly demonstrates that much of the basin fill was added after the structure burned. The exact number of structures that were burned prior to the final abandonment of Snodgrass is unknown, but at least 22 of them contain clear evidence of the kind shown in Figure 6.19. That is, field notes, drawings, and photographs document that a substantial portion of the artifacts recovered from a basin were present above burned architectural elements. In several cases individual dumping episodes could be identified because of discrete clusters of sherds, bones, and other artifacts. Locations of the 22 structures are shown in Figure 6.20. Note that 18 of the 22 structures occur inside the white-clay wall. These include all structures in the westernmost row, with the exception of Structure 54, which was only partially excavated, and 5 structures in the easternmost row. This total includes 12 of the 18 largest structures at Snodgrass, 2 of which, Structures 56 and 84, are the largest and second largest at the site (Figure 6.13). One might argue that the vertical distribution of artifacts at Snodgrass is attributable to plowing and disking, which brought up artifacts from the house floors and redeposited them stratigraphically above the architectural elements,


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but the field records make it clear on two counts that the positioning of artifacts above burned elements was not a result of agricultural activities. First, Snodgrass contained a well-defined plow zone, which was mechanically removed prior to excavation (Figure 1.2). In very few cases were house basins shallow enough for plowing to have seriously disturbed the burned construction elements. Second, for plowing to have brought up artifacts from a basin floor, it would have destroyed the overlying structural remains and scattered charcoal in with the artifacts that were being displaced. There was no evidence that this occurred. It could also be argued that after the villages were burned, cultural material washed into the basins, but there is no evidence of midden buildup around the structures that would have acted as the source of the materials. This is one of the key reasons it has long been assumed that Turner, Snodgrass, and the other Powers phase communities were so short-lived: There was no time for refuse middens to accumulate. Turner has never received the analytical treatment afforded Snodgrass, though it has been assumed, or at least implied, that the structures at Turner also burned simultaneously. But from at least as early as 1973 some Powers Phase Project personnel thought this perhaps was not the case. King stated that In speaking with Jim Price . . . he put forward a proposition concerning the abandonment of portions of the Turner site, and they are as follows: Stage I:

Building and occupation of the two eastern rows of structures, and the excavation of the adjacent pits [Figure 6.14]. Stage II: The abandonment of structures built previously and the construction and occupation of the remaining structures. Stage III: The abandonment of the structures on the southern edge of the newly constructed portion of the village. Stage IV: Destruction of the village by fire, and final abandonment. The portion of the site occupied in Stage I has been labeled the Old Village; the portion built in Stage II, known as the New Village, has been divided into the New Village Permanent (occupied until the entire site was deserted), and the New Village Abandoned, referring to Stage III [Figure 6.14]. The various stages were proposed on the basis of the following observations: the structures on the eastern portion of the site contained a tremendous amount of refuse, the structures on the south moderate amounts, and the remaining structures virtually none. (King, 1973:5–6) Figure 6.19. (previous page) Photographs taken during the excavation of Structure 18 at Snodgrass showing artifacts and architectural elements that were mapped in place. Clearly evident is the vertical disparity between artifacts and architectural elements. In the top photograph (looking east), animal bones, sherds, and stone artifacts are pedestaled up to 20 centimeters above the basin floor. This includes the remains of a broken vessel at the top of the photograph. In the bottom photograph (looking south), note the occurrence of artifacts at or just below the lip of the basin.

Figure 6.20. Map of Snodgrass showing locations of structures for which clear evidence exists of postburning deposition of artifacts.


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In other words, as the community shifted westward, older structures were abandoned and filled with refuse. King believed her analysis did not support the distinction between the “abandoned and “permanent” portions of the “New Village” but that it did support the proposition that the two easternmost rows of houses had been abandoned before those in rows to the west. She based her conclusion primarily on the apparent disproportionate quantity of artifacts recovered from the two easternmost rows of structures compared to the other structures. Our analysis did not support King’s conclusion. Unquestionably several structures in the easternmost two rows have large quantities of material, especially sherds—Structure 22, for example, has the third highest number of sherds of all 44 house basins—but on average, structures in the easternmost two rows have a lower number of sherds (mean = 656) than do structures in the other rows (mean = 1010). Percentagewise, far fewer structures at Turner contain clear-cut evidence of postburning deposition than is the case at Snodgrass—6 out of 44 at Turner compared to 22 out of 85 (not counting the 8 unexcavated structures) at Snodgrass—although we place little faith in the Turner numbers because 20 of the 44 presumed residential structures contained no charcoal.

Postburning Deposition and Artifact Distributions If our assessment of postburning deposition at Turner and Snodgrass is correct, then we have to exercise extreme caution in using artifact distributions to talk about such things as inequality of access to certain material goods and which segments of Snodgrass and Turner society lived in which segments of the villages. Price and Griffin (1979:140) admitted that the validity of the conclusions reached during their artifact-distribution study at Snodgrass rested on “a demonstration of contemporaneity of all structures within the village and throughout all segments,” but this need not be the case. Rather, as long as no new refuse was added to the abandoned structure basins, or if the structures were analyzed with an eye toward separating primary refuse (ceramic vessels, stone tools, food remains, and the like that were left on the house floors) from later fill, absolute contemporaneity among structures would not present an analytical problem. However, the compound problem of assuming the village burned at one time and the subsequent lumping of material from different levels in a house basin does present a sizable interpretive dilemma. When the structure basins were excavated, there was an attempt to separate artifacts, foodstuffs, and architectural elements lying directly on the floor from what was above, but in some cases the basins, especially the shallower ones, appear to have been excavated as a single unit with little or no vertical control imposed. Field records and photographs indicate that excavators care-

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fully pedestaled artifacts when possible, and in most cases a vertical measurement was taken off the site datum to the top of an artifact. However, it also is apparent that when the artifacts were plotted on the final large-scale drawings of the basins, artifacts were compressed vertically, regardless of depth within the basin. This creates the effect of everything having been found on the basin floors, when in actuality the artifacts might have been as much as 25 or 30 centimeters above the floors. Assuming that all structures at Snodgrass, perhaps with the exception of Structures 23 and 87a (Price and Griffin, 1979:50), were occupied simultaneously, Price and Griffin plotted the distribution of select artifact groups by structure to determine if there were nonrandom patterns that could be interpreted as a reflection of either differential function of various structures or differential status of inhabitants of various structures. The groups included arrow points, ceramic “arrow-shaft abraders,” pottery trowels, pottery disks, ceramic ear ornaments, and numerous functional and decorative modes on vessels. In looking through their many figures, one quickly sees why Price and Griffin came to some of the conclusions they did based on the distributions (see below). Artifact groups for the most part are highly patterned across the village, and in the vast majority of cases artifacts within each group cluster in what they termed Segment 1, the area within the white-clay wall. Note, for example, the distribution of arrow points shown in Figure 6.21 (left). Of the 216 points shown, 176 (81.48 percent) occur within the white-clay wall. Further, there is a strong tendency for structures surrounding the courtyard to have the highest frequencies of points. With only two exceptions, structures outside the wall have only one or two arrow points if they have any at all. Likewise, pottery disks have a clustered distribution (Figure 6.21 [right]) similar to that exhibited by arrow points. Of the 94 disks, 84 (80.36 percent) were recovered from inside the white-clay wall. Adjacent Structures 16 and 17 on the west side of the courtyard contained 18 between them; Structure 17 contained the most disks of any structure in the village, despite the fact that it was only partially excavated. No structure outside the wall contained more than 1 disk. Ear spools and ear plugs do not show so sharp a distribution (Figure 6.22 [left]) as arrow points and pottery disks, possibly because there are fewer of them. Of the 38 specimens, 33 (86.84 percent) came from within the walled area, with structures containing anywhere from none to 4 specimens. Interestingly, 3 of the 5 specimens that came from outside the white-clay wall came from Structure 66. As a final example, Figure 6.22 (right) illustrates the distribution of notched bowl and jar rims. Of the 53 specimens, 45 (84.9 percent) came from the area inside the white-clay wall. The distribution of specimens from within the walled

Figure 6.21. Distributions of arrow points (left) and pottery disks (right) across structures at Snodgrass (after Price and Griffin, 1979).

Figure 6.22. Distributions of ear spools and ear plugs (left) and notched bowl and jar rims (right) across structures at Snodgrass (after Price and Griffin, 1979).


1 75

area is weighted heavily toward certain structures, one of which contained 5 specimens and another of which contained 4. Analysis of other artifact classes (Gilliland and O’Brien, 1998; Strode and O’Brien, 1998) showed the same distributional patterns: Structures inside the white-clay wall contain on average 70 percent or higher of class members. That distribution is also reflected in overall pottery counts from Snodgrass using all sherds recovered from structures: 81 percent of the almost 61,000 sherds came from inside the wall. One could argue that structure size is driving this biased distribution, and in one manner of speaking this is true, but recall that the 24 largest structures are located inside the white-clay wall and that there are fewer structures inside the wall (38) than there are outside (55). Those 38 structures inside the white-clay wall comprise 59 percent of the total area of structural floor space at Snodgrass, but they contain 80 percent or more of the artifacts in various classes. Thus, structure location is the critical variable, with structure size tagging along. Given the large quantities of artifacts recovered from structures inside the wall, it seems reasonable to assume that those structures should also have more categories of items represented. To examine this question of richness we used a subset of all ceramic items recovered from Snodgrass structures: (1) sherds or vessels with scalloped rims, (2) sherds with incised designs, (3) sherds with punctations, (4) rim sherds containing nodes, (5) notched rims, (6) painted sherds, (7) ear plugs and ear spools, (8) effigies, (9) beads, and (10) pipes. We used these categories, which contain 516 specimens, because they parallel those used by Price and Griffin (1979) in their distribution study. The average surface area of structures with no categories represented is 14.13 square meters, and it rises steadily as the number of decorative categories rises, to an average of 36.79 square meters for structures with seven decorative categories (Figure 6.23). The curve that results from plotting average surface area against number of categories is almost a straight line, which suggests a simple and positive correlation between structure size and richness, although as we pointed out above, structure location is the important factor. Price and Griffin (1979:140) drew several conclusions from their exhaustive survey of the select artifact groups: “Since all these attributes and items occur predominantly within Segment 1, it may be inferred that they demonstrate that the people who occupied the most favorable location on the site and lived in the largest structures made and used decorated items. This seems to indicate differential social status stemming from political power, but it would seem a bit premature to reach such a conclusion on the basis of the Snodgrass data alone.” Despite such a caveat, Price and Griffin (1979:142) did indeed reach such a conclusion: “inhabitants of Segment 1 had decorated utilitarian items and possessed more material goods than those in Segments 2 and 3. Oc-

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Structure Size (m²) Figure 6.23. Plot of average structure size versus the number of artifact categories present at Snodgrass. Ten artifact categories were used in the analysis, as were all totally excavated structures.

cupants of Segment 3 owned only the basic domestic necessities and nothing more. It is suggested that this is good evidence of social differentiation between two groups living side by side in a single village.” It might be good evidence of social differentiation if the depositional history of Snodgrass were such that we could not explain artifact distribution in any other way. If the artifacts used in the analysis were only those that were found lying directly on structure floors, or if we knew that refuse in a structure basin went only with that structure—an impossibility, for all practical purposes—then perhaps we would be justified in invoking social differentiation as the cause of the patterning, but it is clear that in the case of Snodgrass we cannot discard other causes. Rather, we are left with the inescapable conclusion that not only were structures at Snodgrass intermittently burned through-

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out the occupation of the village but also that the abandoned structure basins were filled with large quantities of refuse. Very few artifacts were recovered either from the ditch that encircled the village or from interhouse areas, so unless residents disposed of refuse off site, abandoned structure basins were the prime trash receptacles. If one compares the locations of structures for which there is clear evidence of postburning deposition (Figure 6.20) to the various artifact-distribution maps (Figures 6.21 and 6.22), it becomes obvious that redeposition is driving the much higher proportion of artifacts in structures located inside the white-clay wall. There may indeed have been status differences that dictated where within a Powers phase village one lived or what kinds of objects one could possess, but the aggregate data set does not allow us to address such issues. Further evidence of postburning use of the house basins as trash receptacles is provided by Melinda Zeder and Susan Arter’s (1993, 1995, 1996; Zeder, 1991) spatial analysis of animal bone from Snodgrass. Several trends in bone distribution were apparent on completion of analysis (Zeder and Arter, 1996). First, as with other artifact categories the density of animal bone was much higher in structures located inside the white-clay wall than in structures outside it. The number of bones per square meter of structure basin was 11.8 for structures inside the wall and 2.1 for structures outside the wall; similarly, bone weight was 38.8 and 12.0 grams per square meter, respectively. Second, individual specimens recovered from structures outside the wall were much larger than fragments recovered from structures inside the wall. Third, structures outside the wall contained higher densities of white-tailed deer astragali, mandibles, antlers, and scapulas in relation to animal remains in general. Fourth, with only two exceptions, bone matches between right and left elements from the same animal were exclusively between structure basins and pits located inside the white-clay wall (Figure 6.24). The two exceptions both involved matches with Structure 25, located just west of the enclosure. Compare that distribution with Figure 6.20, which shows the locations of structures for which there exists indisputable evidence of postburning deposition. Note that six of the eight structure-to-structure matches involve structures that received postburning refuse. Zeder and Arter suggest that many of the astragali, mandibles, antlers, and scapulas functioned as tools, and we agree. The fact that structures outside the wall contained higher densities of those bones relative to the total number of bones suggests that at least some of those structures were occupied later than those inside the wall. And, as we suggest in the following chapter, at least some of the trash generated by households outside the wall was thrown into abandoned structures inside the wall, thereby lowering the frequency of animal bone in the outside structures. Bone tools, however, were curated, thereby rais-

Figure 6.24. Map of Snodgrass showing locations of right/left matches of white-tailed-deer elements from structures and pits (after Zeder and Arter, 1996).

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ing the ratio of those tools to the overall amount of animal bone in the outside structures.

SUMMARY Despite the confusing archaeological picture presented by the structural basins at Turner and Snodgrass, they offer unparalleled insights into the nature of late prehistoric houses in the Little Black River Lowland, and indeed, in all of the lowlands of southeastern Missouri and northeastern Arkansas. The fact that many of the houses burned and the remains were then sealed by the deposition of refuse has resulted in considerable information on how the structures were built and maintained—information rarely encountered in the archaeological record in such detail. A wide range of specific building techniques were used in constructing Powers phase houses, although the basic plan was redundant both within and between communities. Houses varied widely in terms of floor area, although at Snodgrass most of the large structures occur inside the white-clay wall, as do almost all of the structures with wall trenches. Based on the amount of postburning refuse added to structures inside the wall—an issue that we address further in Chapter 7—structures in that section of Snodgrass may be earlier than those outside the wall. Despite the advantage accrued through the preservation of burned structural elements, there is an obvious drawback that runs parallel to that advantage. From the beginning of the Powers Phase Project, one of its major objectives was to examine various activities that were carried out within houses, using artifacts recovered from the floors as proxies of those activities. Pertinent research questions included the following: (1) What, if any, differences exist in the house-floor artifact assemblages between Turner and Snodgrass? ( 2 ) What activity areas can be resolved from the patterning of artifacts on Turner and Snodgrass house floors? (3) Are these activities different between the sites? (4) Do the house-floor assemblages suggest season of occupation of Turner and Snodgrass? To answer these questions requires that we have a logical strategy for separating artifacts that date to the occupation of the houses from those that postdate their occupation. Michael Schiffer’s (1975) waste-stream model is helpful in this regard. Schiffer subdivided refuse into three kinds based on the avenue that produced the archaeological signature. Primary refuse consists of materials discarded at their locations of use; secondary refuse consists of materials transported away from their locations of use and discarded elsewhere; and de facto refuse consists of items that are not discarded during the normal operation of a cultural system but rather are left behind when the occupants abandon a site, or in this

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case a residential structure. Applying Schiffer’s terminology to the structural basins at Turner and Snodgrass, de facto refuse includes all whole and/or usable items that were present on house floors or cached under floors when the structures were abandoned; primary refuse encompasses all broken or exhausted material that was discarded on the house floors prior to abandonment; and secondary refuse comprises all material that accumulated after the abandonment of a structure. No one would suggest that this model solves the archaeologist’s dilemma of sorting one kind of refuse from another or of identifying specific depositional events. It does not, for example, address the problem of identifying secondary refuse that was picked up and reused at a later date or of secondary refuse that was removed from one locality to another, but it was not intended to. We seriously doubt that we would be able to see this in the Turner–Snodgrass record anyway, except in rare instances. Rather, Schiffer’s model provides a logical means of focusing research on kinds of refusal disposal and the kinds of signatures left by each in the archaeological record. In the following chapter we discuss how we identified the three kinds of refuse and then used primary and de facto refuse to examine the use of house floors by residents of Turner and Snodgrass.

NOTES ¹The basins at one time undoubtedly were deeper, but modern plowing has destroyed the original ground surface. Basin depths were measured from the base of the plow zone, the point at which they were first encountered archaeologically. ²Structures were selected solely on the basis of amount of charcoal represented. ³Structure areas used here were measured using a planimeter and original large-scale excavation plans. Measurements reflect the outline of house basins at the base of the plow zone. Areas are more precise than those in Price and Griffin (1979), which are based on rough length–width measurements. 4

Given that only a small portion of Structure 23 was excavated, there is no evidence to suggest it had been abandoned before or after any other structure at Snodgrass. Structure 87 is one of only two houses at Snodgrass that show clear evidence that they were rebuilt; there is no evidence that Structure 87 was abandoned earlier than many other structures.

Chapter 7

The Artifactual Content of Selected House Floors at Turner and Snodgrass JAMES W. COGSWELL, MICHAEL J. O’BRIEN, AND D ANIEL S. GLOVER

The first step in our analysis of the house floors at Turner and Snodgrass was to define the actual floors in the sample of structures selected for detailed examination (see below). This sounds simple in principle, but in practice it was a difficult and time-consuming process. Four major lines of evidence were used to trace floors across the structural basins, although not all four necessarily were applicable in each case. These were (1) patches of burned earth, (2) large, complete artifacts or ceramic vessels that we judged to have been broken in place, (3) outlines of prehistoric pits and post molds, and (4) burned construction elements (Figure 7.1). In a few instances notations in field records provided additional information, particularly with respect to a change in color or texture of the sediment being excavated, indicating the line of contact between basin fill and subsoil. Complicating matters was the fact that field crews often excavated well below the original basin floor to search for burials and cached artifacts. Thus, we could not use the floor of an excavation unit as a proxy for the original house floor. With respect to burned earth, we included only those patches that as best we could tell predated house destruction. This eliminated daub from consideration.¹ Of considerable value were the recorded datum depths of artifacts and burned construction elements—depths that recorded the point at which an object was first encountered during excavation. For pieces of structural charcoal and artifacts that we assumed were residing on house floors (see below)—ceramic vessels and cones, large stone objects, and piles of artifacts such as deer antler—we added to the datum depth an amount equal to the 181

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Figure 7.1. Plan of Structure 4 at Turner showing the locations of wall trenches, post molds, fired-clay areas, burned construction elements, and pits in the structure basin. All of these features were used to identify the original structure floor.

height or width of the object or objects, depending on their angles of repose. For example, a 20-centimeter-tall jar sitting upright would have 20 centimeters added to the datum depth in order to reach the suspected floor. With respect to pits, we assumed that the point at which the lip of a pit was first encountered during excavation was the floor level. Once all of these depths were calculated, a three-dimensional picture of a floor was created. Our precision rests not only on the number of points entered

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but also on several assumptions, the primary one being that the lips of pits, areas of burned earth, and structural charcoal are reliable indicators of floor levels. There does not seem to be much argument with the first two, but it could be argued that the structural charcoal was deposited in a basin as secondary refuse, perhaps from another burned structure. However, the evidence weighs heavily against this interpretation. For one thing, in many of the structure basins at Snodgrass, the arrangement of the charcoal is highly patterned, in some instances allowing reconstruction of wall and roof detail (Chapter 6). For another thing, large pieces of charcoal often were present alongside large artifacts, and all of those materials, including the charcoal, are in the lower levels of the structure basins. We thus have little doubt that the vast amount of carbonized wood we used to help determine floor levels actually came to rest on the structure floor as a result of the burning of the structure that originally stood in that basin (Figure 7.2). One could also argue that it is tautological to use stone and ceramic artifacts to help define a floor and then to use those artifacts in an analysis of human behaviors that took place across the floors, and although we agree, we also point out that artifactual data were simply one of four kinds of data used and that in most cases the artifactual data were used only as a check on the

Figure 7.2. Photograph (looking south) of a portion of Structure 55 at Snodgrass showing burned construction elements resting on the floor of the basin.

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others. However, in a few cases, especially in structures at Turner, artifacts constituted primary evidence because of an absence of carbonized wood and pits. We cannot assume that the occupants of Turner and Snodgrass enjoyed perfectly flat living surfaces or that the sandy-clay floors were as impermeable to mixing as would be, say, a hard-packed clay floor. Three factors affected our determination of which items were left on Turner and Snodgrass floors as opposed to items added later as secondary refuse: cultural mixing of artifacts into the sandy-clay floor, pedoturbation of artifacts after deposition, and error in measuring vertical position of artifacts within and among excavation units of houses. We had no way of assessing the effects of the first two factors, but we did take steps to correct for the effects of measurement error. Two kinds of error were possible: measurement error made by the excavators and errors made in our judgment of whether an object belonged on a house floor. During excavation, measurements of depths below datum within a structure generally were conducted over several days, necessitating the resetting of transit substations and thus the possible introduction of measurement errors. In order to correct for these possible effects, we inspected each artifact that was given a field-specimen number on the original level sheet and compared its datum depth to that of nearby structural charcoal, the datum depth of burned clay, and the east–west and north–south depth of house-floor excavation limits that were produced for many of the house excavations. Artifacts that were more than approximately 5 centimeters above nearby carbonized wood, or in the absence of such were 5 centimeters above burned clay or pit surfaces, were considered to have been deposited after abandonment of the living surface and were omitted from analysis. Likewise, artifacts more than 5 centimeters below the base of structural charcoal or burned clay were considered to have preceded structure use and were omitted. Thus, what we define as “floors” are actually bands of sediment that range in thickness from approximately 10 centimeters (in the absence of burned structural members) to approximately 15 centimeters (depending on the thickness of the burned members). This is shown graphically in Figure 7.3. Secondary refuse in the structure basins could take one of two forms: After a structure was abandoned, materials could have been deposited in its basin either before or after the structure burned, if indeed it burned. Postburning deposition is relatively easy to recognize because of the superposition of artifacts above structural charcoal. Preburning deposition, however, is much more difficult to recognize and in fact was unrecognized during our analysis. For preburning deposition of secondary refuse to be recognizable as such, a layer of sediment would had to have been introduced into a basin after the structure was abandoned, and that layer would have had to seal the primary and secondary refuse. If cultural items were introduced before the layer was thick enough


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Figure 7.3. Schematic showing the vertical relation between floor and nonfloor artifacts in a structure basin. Burned construction elements and pit orifices were among the features used to determine floor levels, which for analytical purposes are bands of sediment 10–15 centimeters thick. Floor artifacts occur within that band, and nonfloor artifacts occur above or below that band.

to seal the primary and de facto refuse—and thick enough to be recognizable— they would be indistinguishable from the primary and de facto refuse. If such a sedimentary layer formed and then the structure burned, the charcoal would rest on that newly formed surface. Any cultural items deposited from that point on would be clearly separated from primary and de facto refuse. We found no evidence of vertical separation between structural charcoal and patches of burned earth or between charcoal and pit outlines, and thus no evidence of preburning deposition of secondary refuse. We hasten to add that the matter is less clear cut at Turner, where many of the structures contained no charcoal. As a result of the complicated analytical winnowing process, approximately 75 percent of the piece-plotted artifacts at Turner and 70 percent at Snodgrass are posited to have been on the house floors at the time of their abandonment. Approximately 98 percent of nonfloor material at each site was physically above the floor, and the remaining 2 percent was from subfloor contexts. We believe a good portion of this latter group of materials predates the use of the sand ridges by Powers phase peoples. Many of the sherds are identifiable as Wood-

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land-period Barnes Plain and Barnes Cordmarked, and the projectile points date to that period or earlier. We reiterate that we examined only those artifacts that were piece plotted in the field. This is an extremely important point because the piece-plotted artifacts are only subsets of total assemblages removed from within the structure basins. It is clear from the field records that the number of artifacts that were piece plotted increased with depth—that is, the deeper excavators progressed in a basin, the more likely they were to plot the locations of individual artifacts. If this fact is overlooked, one might argue that Price and Griffin’s (1979) assessments of artifact-class distributions at Snodgrass are at least in the ballpark. Given that roughly 70 percent of the piece-plotted artifacts from Snodgrass are de facto and primary refuse, then at least the general trends identified by Price and Griffin should hold up. This, however, is clearly not the case. It is obvious that they used all artifacts from the structure basins in their analysis, regardless of whether they were piece plotted. We determined this by matching our artifact frequencies for different categories against theirs, consistently coming up with smaller frequencies—often much smaller frequencies—in the assemblages we used. For example, Price and Griffin reported 15 projectile points from Structure 84 (Figure 6.21), whereas only 5 were piece plotted, 4 of which we determined to be de facto refuse. Likewise, they reported two ear plugs/spools from Structure 55 (Figure 6.22), whereas none was piece plotted. Similar patterns hold for almost every artifact category and for every basin, although there is no consistency to the patterning. By this we mean that there is no consistent difference between Price and Griffin’s reported frequency of a particular category and the frequency we calculated using only piece-plotted artifacts. Thus, it is clear that our sample of secondary refuse—materials added to the basins after the houses burned—is only a small subset of the total amount of secondary refuse that was deposited in the basins. Undoubtedly the same can be said of our sample of primary and de facto refuse as well, given that we assume not every piece of that refuse was piece plotted. In summary, we are not arguing that we have produced a perfect reconstruction of the Turner and Snodgrass house-floor artifact assemblages at the times of abandonment. Instead, we have tried to peel away layers of secondary deposition in order to create a more accurate representation of the original house floors at the time the structures were abandoned and presumably destroyed than if all recovered artifacts are lumped together. Further, our conclusions are perhaps skewed because we did not analyze all of the house floors. Because of the sheer volume of material recovered from the two sites and the detailed nature of our analysis—literally building three-dimensional models of house-basin fill that showed the placement of every artifact in relation to carbonized structural elements, burned earth, and pit outlines—we instigated a


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two-tier sampling procedure. We first selected a simple unstratified 15 percent random sample of all structures that were fully excavated at each site (7 from Turner and 12 from Snodgrass). Additionally, 2 structures from Turner and 7 structures from Snodgrass—none of which was in the random sample—also were selected for analysis because of their abundance or diversity of artifacts, their potential for being pottery- or tool-production areas, or the presence of anomalously high concentrations of specific artifacts such as antlers and deer scapulas. The locations of the structures that were analyzed are shown in Figures 7.4 and 7.5. Tables 7.1 and 7.2 present the tabulations of total numbers of primary and de facto artifacts recorded on the original level sheets by artifact category.

TURNER STRUCTURES Seven structures—7, 14, 24, 29, 36, 39, and 42—were in the random sample from Turner, and two additional structures—10 and 41—were selected because

Figure 7.4. Locations of randomly drawn structures and additional, specially selected structures at Turner that were subjected to floor-artifact analysis.

Figure 7.5. Locations of randomly drawn structures and additional, specially selected structures at Snodgrass that were subjected to floor-artifact analysis.

Table 7.1. Primary and De Facto Refuse on StructureFloors atTurner Refuse Type 7

10

14

29

107

7

Structure Number 24 29 36 39

41

42

18

42

73

Primary Antler Bone Cone fragments Cores Debitage Hoe flakes Rock Shell Sherds

De Facto Adzes Bone needles Cones Ear plugs Ear spools Hammerstones Hoes Metates/anvils Pottery disks Projectile points Quartzite chunks Vessels Total

49

24

3

Note: Structure numbers in bold are specially selected structures; numbers in plain text are randomly selected structures.

of their unusual complement of refuse compared to the other structures.² Although the random sample was unstratified, selected structures occur in all areas of Turner; the two additional structures selected occur in the extreme northwestern corner of the community. In terms of floor area, the nine struc-

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tures range in size from 13.0 square meters, the third smallest structure at the site, to 48.3 square meters, the second largest structure.

Structure 7 Structure 7 lies in the northwestern portion of the site and at 17.7 square meters is one of the smaller structures at Turner. No burned-clay areas or carbonized wood was found during excavation, and the floor level was defined solely on the basis of artifact size and density. The basin contained 39 recorded artifacts, 29 of which are primary or de facto refuse. De facto refuse consists of one Mill Creek hoe and one bowl/pan.³ Primary refuse was scattered across the floor, with no apparent concentrations. The limited amount of primary refuse indicates that the structure was occupied for only a short time.

Structure 14 Structure 14, located in the far eastern row of structures, is the third smallest house at Turner, measuring only 13.0 square meters. Like Structure 7, it contained no burned-clay areas or carbonized wood. A single pit, considered in the field records to be a small storage pit, extended approximately half a meter below what we judged to be the house floor. One jar constitutes the de facto refuse. No secondary refuse was found; primary refuse comprises four sherds, one cone fragment, and one antler fragment, and it was randomly distributed across the floor. The limited amount of de facto and primary refuse indicates the structure was occupied for only a short period.

Structure 24 Structure 24, the southernmost structure in the second row of houses in from the east, is 16.7 square meters. No patches of burned clay were found, and only a single small pit was present within the structure. Thirty-one artifacts were piece plotted, 18 of which are primary and de facto refuse. These include sherds, a cone fragment, a piece of chert debitage, and a pottery disk. The refuse appeared to be distributed randomly across the floor. Again, the limited amount of primary refuse indicates that the structure was occupied for only a short time.

Structure 29 Structure 29, located more or less in the center of the site, has a floor area of 48.3 square meters, making it the second largest house at Turner. Excavation


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revealed evidence of wall trenches and a center post. A single patch of burned clay, which we interpret as a hearth, was located a little over a meter east of the center post. No pits were found in the structure. Fifty-four artifacts were plotted on the level sheets, 49 of which were posited by us to be primary or de facto refuse. Three chert hammerstones were located in the house center, and nearby were large sherds from an olla that perhaps was broken before the house was abandoned. A small mussel-shell concentration was located in the northeast corner of the house, and fragments of a Wickliffe vessel were located less than a meter west of the hearth. A relatively brief occupation for this structure is indicated by the limited amount of refuse.

Structure 36 Structure 36, located near the southwest corner of the site, measures 26.9 square meters, which places it in the middle of Turner structures in terms of size. What we interpret as a hearth was located near the northeast corner of the house. Three pits ranging in depth from approximately 30 centimeters to 55 centimeters below the structure floor were clustered in the northwestern corner of the house. Each pit contained small amounts of mixed refuse, primarily small sherds and chert flakes. The house fill contained only 24 numbered artifacts, all of which were determined to have been on the house floor. Six of those artifacts were de facto refuse: two bowls (one in and one next to the hearth), one projectile point, and three hammerstones. Two small concentrations of acorn shell occurred in the southwest corner of the structure. Overall, the distribution of primary refuse on the floor is concentrated toward the house margins; de facto refuse is concentrated in the central area. A brief occupation of this structure is indicated by the limited amount of refuse.

Structure 39 Structure 39, the westernmost structure at Turner, measures 17.7 square meters, equal in size to Structure 7. Excavations showed evidence of wall trenches, a small burned area we interpret as a hearth, and two small pits. The structure had only five artifacts identified on the excavation level sheets, three of which were primary refuse—two sherds and a piece of mussel shell. Based on the paucity of artifacts, a short occupational history is indicated for the structure.

Structure 42 Structure 42, located adjacent to Structure 7 in the northwest corner of the site, measures 17.7 square meters, identical in size to both Structures 7 and

De Facto Abraders Bifaces Bone awls Bone needles Celts Chisels

Primary Antler Bone Bone-needle fragments Cone fragments Cores Debitage Metate fragments Projectile-point fragments Rock Shell Sherds

Refuse Type 5

9

11 12 14 18 25 43 47 48 50 55 61 62 69 70 77 80

Structure Number

Table 7.2. Primary and De Facto Refuse on Structure Floors at Snodgrass

Total

Clay balls Clay beads Clay rattles Cones Drills Ear plugs Ear spools Effigy fragments Elbow pipes Hammerstones Metates/anvils Polishing stones Pottery disks Pottery trowels Projectile points Sandstone chunks Scrapers Quartzite chunks Vessels Wood tools 277

11

55

24 89 572 252 109 349 42 32 126 40 75 37 62 17 35

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39. One burned-clay area, interpreted as a hearth, was located just southeast of the house center; no pits were recorded. Eighty-four artifacts were recorded on the original level sheets, 73 of which were determined to have been primary refuse. No de facto refuse was recovered. Primary artifacts—primarily sherds and bone and cone fragments—were concentrated in five mixed-refuse piles, one about a meter west of the hearth and the other four along house walls. No activity areas are indicated; the refuse piles perhaps can be interpreted as examples of debris swept away from traffic areas. A moderately brief occupation of this structure is indicated by the paucity of refuse.

Structure 10 Structure 10 (Figure 7.6) contained three bone needles—more than any other structure—a group of pieces of hematite and ochre, and a concentration of 348 Mill Creek hoe flakes (not listed in Table 7.1), perhaps from a hoe that shattered when the structure burned. The structure, located in the northwest corner of the site and just west of Structures 7 and 42, measures 26.0 square meters, placing it in the middle of Turner structures in terms of size. No hearth was identified. House fill contained 133 numbered artifacts, 107 of which were

Figure 7.6. Floor plan of Structure 10 at Turner showing locations of various artifact categories and a concentration of hoe flakes. Inset show locations of the hearth and carbonized posts.


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considered to have been on the house floor. One small jar, four projectile points, the three bone needles, and one ear spool constitute the de facto refuse. Both the jar and the bone needles were located east of the house center, but there was no indication that this association was anything other than fortuitous. The small lumps of ochre and hematite were located in the southwest corner of the house, next to the hoe-flake concentration. A mixed-refuse concentration of debitage, a core, and sherds were located in the southeast corner of the structure, most likely an example of a swept-debris pile. All remaining refuse was concentrated in the southern two-thirds of the structure and reflects what appears to have been random deposition. A moderately intensive occupation is indicated by the amount of refuse.

Structure 41 Structure 41 is the northwesternmost of the Turner structures and at 42.7 square meters is the fifth largest. Excavation revealed wall trenches and one hearth, located adjacent to the south wall trench. We selected Structure 41 for further analysis because of its relatively diverse artifact assemblage as well as its concentrations of stone tools. Forty-three numbered artifacts were recovered, 42 of which were on the house floor. De facto refuse consisted of a jar in the northwest corner, a noded bowl in the southwest corner, an olla in the house center, five hammerstones, a groundstone adze, an ear plug, a concentration of three metates/anvils located about 1.5 meters from the house center, and three ceramic cones. A concentration of chert debitage and a rock/ochre concentration occurred within a 1-meter-diameter circle near the southwest corner of the house. The adze was found resting on top of the pile of debitage. Although no hammerstones were found nearby, this cluster of lithic materials is strongly indicative of an activity area. No other activity areas could be discerned in the remaining, nonpatterned primary refuse. A short occupation span is indicated by the small amount of primary debris.

SNODGRASS STRUCTURES Twelve structures—5, 9, 11, 12, 48, 50, 55, 61, 62, 69, 77, and 80—were in the random sample from Snodgrass, and seven additional structures—14, 18, 25, 43, 47, 70, and 84—were selected because of their unusual complement of refuse compared to the other structures. Although the random sample was unstratified, selected structures occur in all areas of Snodgrass, including seven from outside the white-clay wall and five from inside the wall. Three structures in the nonrandom sample come from outside the wall and four from inside. In

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terms of floor area, the 19 structures range in size from 7.4 square meters, the second smallest, to 52.0 square meters, the largest. The structures are presented below in numerical order, beginning with those in the random sample.

Structure 5 Structure 5 (Figure 7.7), located toward the northeastern end of the group of houses inside the white-clay wall, measures 37.2 square meters, tying it for tenth largest structure at the site. Two pits, both located near the house center, were recorded on excavation level sheets, but there were no data on their size. A third pit was located close to the northwest wall, but no measurements were listed for it either. We saw no evidence in the field records of a hearth; a small patch of burned earth adjacent to the northwest wall was identified in the field records as a possible hearth, but its proximity to the wall of the basin makes this unlikely. Four hundred fifteen artifacts were given field numbers, 277 of which are posited to have been on the house floor. De facto artifacts consist of two projectile points, two hammerstones, a pottery disk, a sandstone abrader, and a ceramic cone. Two debitage concentrations—one of which consists of an

Figure 7.7. Floor plan of Structure 5 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and concentrations of hoe flakes and hickory nuts. Inset shows location of pits and carbonized posts.


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unknown number of Mill Creek hoe flakes-a bone concentration, and a small hickory-nut concentration are part of the primary refuse. Refuse is heaviest in the northern half of the structure, with a particularly dense mixed-refuse concentration in the northeast corner. With the exception of the debitage and bone concentrations, which are located along the southwest wall, no clear evidence for activity areas could be discerned. A fairly lengthy occupation of the house is indicated, with generalized activities conducted throughout the house.

Structure 9 Structure 9, located just outside the northern part of the white-clay wall, at 7.4 square meters is the second smallest of all Snodgrass structures. It exhibited no evidence of hearths or pits and contained only 17 numbered artifacts, 11 of which are thought to have been on the house floor at abandonment-five sherds, five cone fragments, and one rock. We surmise that the structure was occupied for a relatively short length of time.

Structure 11 Structure 11 (Figure 7.8) is located just north of the white-clay wall and at 26.0 square meters falls roughly in the middle of Snodgrass structures in terms of size. Eight burned posts and four post molds were found across the floor, and a small pit occurred near the southwest wall. The structure had 55 artifacts on the house floor out of a total of 72 numbered artifacts. A ceramic cone, a bowl, a small broken jar, and three hammerstones constitute the de facto refuse. The jar was located a little more than a meter south of the center of the house, and the bowl and cone were located along the southeast margin of the house. The small amount of refuse in the structure suggests it was occupied for only a short period of time.

Structure 12 Structure 12 is located just outside the northeast corner of the white-clay wall and at 20.4 square meters is one of the smaller houses at Snodgrass. The basin contained no evidence of a hearth or pits and yielded 24 artifacts on the floor out of a total of 31 numbered specimens. De facto artifacts consisted of three ceramic cones that were concentrated along the west edge of the house, a bowl just to the west of the cones, and a projectile point located in the northeast corner. No activity areas could be discerned from the limited amount of refuse, which other than the cone concentration was randomly distributed across the house floor. A limited occupation for this structure is indicated.

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Figure 7.8. Floor plan of Structure 11 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories. Inset shows locations of a pit, carbonized posts, and post molds.

Structure 48 Structure 48 is located just inside the southern edge of the white-clay wall and at 24.2 square meters is roughly in the middle of the structures in terms of size. One hearth was found about 60 centimeters southeast of the house center; no pits were recorded on the excavation sheets. Of the 49 numbered artifacts, 42 are posited to have been on the house floor. De facto refuse includes a ceramic ear plug, two projectile points, three ceramic cones, two hammerstones, a small clay object labeled in the field as an “effigy” fragment, and three metates/ anvils. Two of the hammerstones and one metate/anvil were found in association in the southwest corner of the house. Two of the cones were recovered together directly above the hearth; the third cone was located slightly over a meter east of the other two. The remaining de facto refuse is scattered across the house floor. Primary refuse likewise was distributed across the floor in no apparent pattern. A relatively short occupational time span is indicated by the small amount of refuse.


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Structure 50 Structure 50 is located just north of Structure 48, described above. At 26.0 square meters it falls in the upper half of Snodgrass structures in terms of size. Three features—one possible hearth, one pit, and one infant burial—were recorded during excavation. The burial was located in the northeast corner of the house. No artifacts were associated with the burial. The hearth was located directly in the center of the house, and the small, 30-centimeter-deep pit was located immediately west of the hearth. The structure probably had wall trenches, based on linear stains sketched on excavation sheets. Thirty-two of the thirty-three artifacts given field numbers are posited to have been on the floor at the time the house was abandoned. One miniature jar, five hammerstones, and one metate/anvil make up the de facto refuse. Two of the hammerstones were found together in the southeast corner of the house; the other three were dispersed across the floor. The miniature jar was located immediately south of the hearth. A small nut-shell concentration and the metate/ anvil were found immediately north of the hearth. Primary refuse is concentrated around the hearth and the southern half of the structure. No activity areas are discernible other than perhaps nut processing; instead, a generalized pattern of discard is indicated in a house that apparently was occupied for a relatively short duration.

Structure 55 Structure 55 (Figure 7.9) is located in the southwest corner of the area inside the white-clay wall. At 39.9 square meters it is the eighth largest house at Snodgrass. Field records indicate that at least some of the house walls were set in trenches. No hearths or pits were found. Of the 226 numbered artifacts in the basin, 126 are posited to have been on the floor at the time of abandonment. An Archaic-period projectile point, seven chert hammerstones, a greenstone celt, a limestone metate, a clay bead, and a chert biface constitute the de facto refuse. Two hammerstones were associated with the metate in the northeastern corner of the structure. The remaining de facto refuse was distributed across the house floor. Three piles of white clay, a nut-hull concentration, and a small pile of four or five deer scapulas and fragments also were significant components of the primary refuse. The white clay, which was labeled “potter’s clay” on the field diagram, occurred in the northeast corner of the structure. The nut-hull concentration was near the east wall, and the pile of deer scapulas was near the southwest corner of the house. Overall, refuse is notably sparse in the western third of the house. We infer that dispersed, generalized activities occurred over a moderate amount of time in this structure.

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Figure 7.9. Floor plan of Structure 55 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and concentrations of white-tailed-deer scapulas and hickory nuts. Inset shows locations of wall trenches and carbonized posts.

Structure 61 Structure 61 lies just outside the northwest corner of the white-clay wall, and at 13.9 square meters it is one of the smaller houses at Snodgrass. It might have had wall trenches, based on a linear stain noted in excavation plan views. Excavation records contain no information on the presence of either hearths or pits. Forty of the forty-seven numbered artifacts are posited to have been on the house floor; one hammerstone, located in the southeastern corner of the structure, is the only de facto refuse. No activity areas can be discerned from the primary refuse, which is heaviest along the southeast house margin. Generalized activities of relatively short duration are indicated by the quantity and type of debris.

Structure 62 Structure 62 (Figure 7.10), located just inside the northwest corner of the white-clay wall, has a house-floor area of 31.6 square meters, which places it among the largest structures at Snodgrass. Field drawings indicate that at least the eastern wall of the structure was set in a trench. One hearth and three small

ARTlFACTUAL CONTENT OF SELECTED HOUSE FLOORS

201

pits were recorded during excavation, all clustered near the center of the house. Seventy-five of the ninety-five numbered artifacts were from the house floor. Eight hammerstones, two projectile points, and one ceramic cone comprise the de facto refuse. A mussel-shell concentration was present in the northwest corner of the house floor, with a smaller concentration just to the south. Little evidence exists for patterning of primary refuse, and a moderately brief occupation is indicated by the amount of debris.

Structure 69 Structure 69 is located well to the north of the white-clay wall and at 18.6 square meters is among the smaller structures at Snodgrass. Of the 39 artifacts given field numbers, 37 are posited to have been on the house floor. Two projectile points and a cluster of four hammerstones and a metate/anvil are the only de facto refuse. The metate/anvil–hammerstone concentration was located against the southeastern margin of the house; two cone fragments and a sherd also were part of this concentration. No other refuse was recovered in association with the concentration, so it is impossible to determine if it represents an activity area or simply a storage area for the tools. The remaining refuse is

Figure 7.10. Floor plan of Structure 62 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories. Inset shows locations of the hearth, pits, a wall trench, and carbonized posts.

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scattered across the house floor in what is interpreted as evidence for isolated, generalized activities. The small amount of debris indicates a short period of occupation.

Structure 77 Structure 77 lies just to the east of Structure 69 and is the same size as that structure (18.6 square meters). No hearths or pits were discovered during excavation. Only 18 artifacts were given field numbers, 17 of which are posited to have been on the house floor. A single projectile point is the only de facto refuse. The primary refuse is distributed randomly across the floor, and based on the limited amount of material, a limited occupation of the structure is indicated.

Structure 80 Structure 80, located in the easternmost row of structures at Snodgrass, is identical in size to Structures 69 and 77 (18.6 square meters). No hearths or pits were found inside the structure. Thirty-five of the thirty-nine numbered artifacts were associated with the floor. Five hammerstones scattered across the floor comprise the de facto refuse. Two rock concentrations along the north wall are the significant components of the primary refuse and may reflect swept debris piles. The refuse is predominantly distributed along the house margins, leaving the central area relatively clear. No activity areas could be discerned in the deposited material. The house was probably occupied for a short amount of time.

Structure 14 Structure 14 (Figure 7.11) was selected because of its potential for being a pottery-production locus, as evidenced by (1) a cache pit against the southwest wall that contained a pottery trowel and burned mussel shell and (2) a concentration of unburned shell near the edge of the pit. The structure is located just outside the northeast corner of the white-clay wall and at 16.7 square meters is among the smallest structures at Snodgrass. No hearth was found inside the structure. Of the 120 numbered artifacts, 89 are posited to have been on the house floor. A crushed jar located near the southwest corner of the house, two hammerstones, and the cached pottery trowel constitute the de facto refuse. Primary refuse is distributed uniformly across the floor; no refuse concentrations or activity areas could be discerned on the floor. A moderate length of occupation is indicated by the amount of primary refuse.


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Figure 7.11. Floor plan of Structure 14 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and a concentration of shell. Inset shows location of a pit against the southwest wall.

Structure 18 Structure 18 (Figure 7.12) is located just inside the western section of the white-clay wall and at 39.0 square meters is the ninth largest structure at Snodgrass. Wall trenches were found on two sides of the structure. A patch of fired clay along the southwest wall may have been a hearth, although it would have been perilously close to the wall. Six small pits were noted on the field forms, three of which intruded into the eastern wall trench. The intrusive pits— shallow features with small amounts of mixed refuse—obviously postdate the removal of that section of the house wall, but it is unclear from the field records whether they postdate the burning of the structure. If they predate the burning, then they probably were related to wall repair. Structure 18 is among the richest structures in terms of diversity and number of artifacts in Price’s (1973) analysis and remains so in this analysis. Of the 927 numbered artifacts, 572 were on the house floor. De facto refuse consisted of three sandstone abraders, five bone awls, two stone drills, two bowls, four jars (one was cached beneath the floor), one cached miniature jar, a concentration of a limestone metate/anvil and six chert hammerstones (seven others occurred throughout the house), and a variety of other de facto refuse (Table 7.2). Two of the jars were near the burned-clay area, and a third jar and the

Figure 7.12. Floor plan of Structure 18 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and concentrations. Inset shows locations of the hearth, wall trenches, pits, carbonized posts, and post molds.


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bowls were near the center of the house. The cached jar was buried near the southeast wall trench. Primary refuse includes two concentrations of deer-antler tines, a pile of deer scapulas, several mixed-refuse concentrations, and several corncobs. The mixed-refuse concentrations appear to be swept-debris piles. The antler-tine concentrations include small pieces of rack as well as tines snapped off the racks. Several of the tines in both concentrations are polished— a polishing stone occurs in one concentration—and our interpretation is that they were being transformed into flakers or punches. Forty-eight tines were found either in the concentrations or scattered across the floor. The entire floor is heavily covered with refuse, suggesting that generalized activities were conducted throughout the structure over a considerable period of time.

Structure 25 Structure 25 (Figure 7.13) was selected because of possible pottery production being conducted in it, as evidenced by several piles of white clay and two shell concentrations. The structure lies just outside the western section of the white-clay wall and at 23.2 square meters lies toward the middle of Snodgrass structures in terms of size. Wall trenches were found along the southeast and

Figure 7.13. Floor plan of Structure 25 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and a concentration of shell. Inset shows locations of wall trenches, the central pit, and carbonized posts.

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northwest margins of the basin. One central pit was found during excavation. No records exist for this feature other than a sketch on a floor map, but it may have been a hearth because of its reddish color and placement. A large jar sherd lay on top of this feature. Seven small carbonized posts were found, three in the southeast corner and three in a line west of the pit. Of the 359 numbered artifacts, 252 are posited to have been associated with the house floor prior to abandonment. Five hammerstones (four of which were in a cluster in the southeast corner of the house), a metate/anvil, an abrader, a chert scraper, a bone needle, an elbow pipe, a small clay rattle, and two cones comprise the de facto refuse. The potter’s-clay deposits and the shell concentrations (one of mussel shell and the other a mix of mussel and snail shell [Figure 7.14]) located in the western and southern corners are main features of the primary refuse, as is an antler concentration north of the pit/hearth and a smaller antler concentration adjacent to the potter’s clay–shell concentration. Pottery manufacture is a highly probable activity in this house, as is antler processing. Primary refuse is relatively sparse in the northwest corner of the house; overall, the distribution of refuse other than in the above-mentioned concentrations reflects generalized activities across the floor.

Figure 7.14. Photograph (looking east) of mussel- and snail-shell concentration in the western corner of Structure 25 at Snodgrass.


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Figure 7.15. Floor plan of Structure 43 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories. Inset shows locations of pits and a wall trench.

Structure 43 Structure 43 (Figure 7.15) was selected because of the relatively high number of stone artifacts on the house floor. It is located in the easternmost row of structures inside the white-clay wall and at 33.4 square meters is one of the larger houses on the site. At least one wall was set in a trench. Three small pits were located in the northern half of the structure. Of the 169 mapped artifacts, 109 are posited to have been on the house floor. De facto refuse includes nine hammerstones in two concentrations. One cluster, in the northeast corner of the house, is associated with a debitage concentration, suggesting that chippedstone-tool production might have occurred in that area. The remaining hammerstones are located near the center of the house. Additional de facto refuse includes a perforated pottery disk, a celt, and what is labeled on the field sheet as a “wood tool” (not found in the collection). Lithic debris is almost entirely in the northern half of the house floor; remaining artifact classes are scattered in a random pattern that indicates generalized activities of an isolated nature. A moderately brief occupational history for this structure is indicated by the amount of refuse.

Figure 7.16. Floor plan of Structure 47 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories. Inset shows locations of the central hearth, carbonized posts, and post molds.


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Structure 47 Structure 47 (Figures 7.16 and 7.17) was selected because of its diverse artifact assemblage and the large amount of antler and bone artifacts. Pottery production is indicated by three potter’s-clay deposits and two pottery trowels (Figure 7.18). The structure lies within the southern third of the area within the white-clay wall and has an area of 28.8 square meters, which makes it one of the larger structures at Snodgrass. Nine post molds and a burned post outline two of the walls, and several other posts occur around a central hearth. The structure has an extension on its west side that the excavators interpreted as a doorway (artifacts in this extension were not included in our calculations). Of the 443 numbered artifacts, 349 occurred on the floor. Three jars (one of which was cached immediately west of the hearth), an ear spool, a bone awl, a concentration of three ceramic cones against the southeast house margin, and an associated hammerstone and metate/anvil complement a diverse assemblage of stone tools (Table 7.2) and together comprise the de facto refuse. The two jars on the house floor are immediately adjacent to the hearth. Four concentrations of sherds, bone, and lithic artifacts are notable components of the primary refuse. One concentration of bone, in the southeast corner, also includes a hammerstone. Bone processing is highly likely to have taken place in that

Figure 7.17. Photograph (looking west) of the excavation of Structure 47 at Snodgrass showing burned construction elements and artifacts on the house floor.

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Figure 7.18. Photograph (looking south) showing broken jar and pottery trowels alongside other refuse and burned construction elements on the floor of Structure 47 at Snodgrass.

area. A spread of antler tines parallels the northwestern house margin; an abrader, a scraper, and a bone awl also are nearby, which suggests that this may have been an area of antler-tool production. Structure 47 also contains more deer mandibles than any other structure. In addition to numerous specimens scattered across the floor, a stack of mandibles occurred in the southern corner of the structure. The ceramic cones are located some distance from the hearth; they might have been used as a support for a (missing?) vessel or were simply stored out of the way. The pottery trowels also are located some distance from the potter’sclay deposits and are instead associated with several large jar sherds and many smaller sherds. This area may have been one of pottery construction, whereas paste preparation was conducted in a separate area of the house. Refuse density tapers off slightly toward the edges of the floor. This house clearly was the focus of several activities, including cooking, pottery manufacture, stone-tool manufacture, and antler processing, as well as limited and generalized activities conducted across the house floor prior to abandonment. A relatively long period of occupation is indicated by the amount of primary refuse.


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Structure 70 Structure 70 (Figure 7.19) was selected because of its relatively high amount of deer antler—at least 19 pieces—which was arranged in three small concentrations, one of which is shown in Figure 20 (top). The structure is located in the easternmost row of houses and at 17.7 square meters is one of the smaller structures at Snodgrass. One pit was located in the northern half of the structure. The pit was slightly less than a meter in diameter and 20 centimeters deep, and its only contents were the burned remains of a large-diameter post. Thus, it may have served to anchor an off-center roof support. Sixty-two of the 64 artifacts assigned field numbers are posited to have been on the house floor. Two pottery cones, an associated metate/anvil and two hammerstones, two projectile points, and three chert drills comprise the de facto refuse. The metate/ anvil and hammerstones (Figure 7.20) were located in the northeast corner of the house. Unlike with most other house floors at Turner and Snodgrass, primary refuse on the floor of Structure 70 was concentrated in piles. An intensive but relatively brief occupation span is indicated by the amount of refuse.

Figure 7.19. Floor plan of Structure 70 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and antler-tine concentrations. Inset shows locations of a large pit and carbonized posts.

Figure 7.20. Photographs showing (top) a concentration of white-tailed-deer antler and (bottom) a limestone metate/anvil and two chert hammerstones on the floor of Structure 70 at Snodgrass.


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Structure 84 Structure 84 (Figure 7.21) was selected for analysis because it had a large number of complete bowls—four—compared to other structures. The structure is located in the easternmost row of structures inside the white-clay wall and at 52.0 square meters is the largest Snodgrass house. A wall trench on the southeast side of the structure was recorded on an excavation level sheet. One small pit also was recorded, but no dimensions were given. Despite the size of the house, only 110 artifacts were given field numbers. Of these, 95 are assigned to the house floor. In addition to the four bowls, a noded jar, two projectile points, one sandstone abrader, one chert drill, one bone awl, and one ceramic cone comprise the de facto refuse. The bowls and jar are localized in an area between the house center and the eastern house margin, as is much of the primary refuse. No faunal or botanical remains are nearby that would provide additional information on the purpose of the bowls, nor is there anything unusual about the complement of debris in the house. Generalized activities throughout the house during a moderately brief occupation are indicated by the amount of debris.

Figure 7.21. Floor plan of Structure 84 at Snodgrass showing locations of various artifact categories and a small refuse concentration. Inset shows locations of a wall trench, a pit, and carbonized posts.

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DISCUSSION Based on our analysis of a random sample of structure floors at Turner and Snodgrass, there are few striking differences between the primary and de facto refuse at one site versus that at the other. Structure floors at Snodgrass on average have more refuse than do those at Turner, but this is not surprising given that the average floor area of the 12 Snodgrass structures in the random sample is 23.5 square meters, whereas it is only 18.2 square meters for the seven Turner structures in the random sample. Using artifact categories that contain at least five specimens per site (Tables 7.1 and 7.2), we find no significant difference between the average number of artifacts on the floors of the randomly drawn structures at Turner versus the average number of artifacts at Snodgrass (t = 0.69, p = .25). Several artifact categories—for example, celts and ceramic cones— occur only at Snodgrass, but this difference could very well be attributable to sample size. When the sample of structures from the two sites is increased through the addition of the seven nonrandomly drawn structures from Snodgrass and the two from Turner, the sample of artifacts increases dramatically. Recall that these additional structures were selected on the basis of visual inspection of field records and structure maps prepared on the basis of those records, which indicated that the assemblages were out of the ordinary relative to other assemblages at the two sites. With the addition of the seven structures from Snodgrass, the number of primary and de facto artifacts rises from 771 to 2299; the addition of the two structures from Turner increases the total from 203 pieces to 352 pieces. Not unexpectedly, the increase in sample size leads to an increase in the number of artifact categories represented at the two sites: seven new categories are added to the total from Turner (Table 7.1), and 15 new categories are added to the total from Snodgrass (Table 7.2). Figure 7.22 shows the overall effect the addition of the selected Snodgrass-structure assemblages has on the number of categories represented in the combined 19-structure assemblage, and Figure 7.23 shows the same effect ranked in terms of floor area. Even with the dramatic increase in the number of artifacts produced through the addition of the seven structures at Snodgrass, there still is no statistically significant difference at the p = .05 level between the number of artifacts on the house floors at Turner versus those on the floors of the Snodgrass structures. Using the same set of data used earlier with respect to structures in the random sample—all artifact categories in Tables 7.1 and 7.2 in which the total category frequency at each site is at least five—we find that the p values are closer to .05 than they were when only the randomly drawn structures were used, but none falls at or below that value. Comparing the 9 Turner structures against all 19 Snodgrass structures yields a p value of .08 t= 1.41); comparing


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Figure 7.22. Histogram of the number of artifact categories versus sample size for structures in the randomly drawn sample and the additional sample from Snodgrass. Note the effect artifact sample size has on the number of artifact classes represented.

the Turner structures against the 10 structures outside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass yields a p value of .14 ( t = 1.14); and comparing the Turner structures against the 9 structures inside the wall yields a p value of .07 (t = 1.55). Thus, we can say only that there is a tendency for Turner floors to have fewer primary and de facto items on them than do the Snodgrass floors. Figure 7.24 illustrates the percentage distribution of selected artifact categories for structures inside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass—two from the random sample (Structures 5 and 48) and two from the additional sample (Structures 18 and 47), and Figure 7.25 illustrates the percentage distribution of the same artifact classes for structures outside the wall—two from the random sample (Structures 11 and 62) and two from the additional sample (Structures 14 and 25). Figure 7.26 illustrates the percentage distribution of these categories for four structures at Turner—two from the random sample (Structures 7 and 36) and the two in the additional sample (Structures 10 and 41). In 11 of the 12 examples, sherds are the most frequently represented category. Bone and shell also are significant components of the refuse on most floors, even after eliminating the inflationary effects at Snodgrass of mandible, antler, and scapula

Figure 7.23. Histograms of the number of artifact categories versus structure area (in square meters) for sampled structures at Snodgrass.


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piles and piles of shell that might have been associated with pottery manufacture. The preponderance of food-related artifacts and faunal remains indicates that food preparation was an important activity in most structures, regardless of any additional activities that may have taken place. The 19 Snodgrass structures have nine times as much bone as the 9 Turner structures do (392 pieces versus 44 pieces), which may be related to differences in length of occupation. Although we lumped all bone together, except for antler and what was labeled on the field drawings as bone awls or needles, it is clear from Zeder and Arter’s (1996) analysis of faunal remains from Snodgrass that some white-taileddeer mandibles were used as tools, as evidenced by “strong polish and wear characteristic of extensive handling” (Zeder and Arter, 1996:329). Mandibles occurred in numerous Snodgrass structures included in the 19-structure sample and in few of the Turner structures. Structure 47 at Snodgrass had a stack of mandibles in one corner of the floor (Figure 7.16). The 19 Snodgrass structures have 42 times as much antler as the 9 Turner structures do (125 pieces versus 3 pieces). Inspection of level sheets and artifact catalogs showed no antler concentrations at any of the 44 presumed residential structures at Turner, whereas several Snodgrass structures had such concentrations. It was on the basis of such concentrations that we selected Structures 18, 25, and 47 for additional analysis. Caches of scapulas from white-tailed deer occurred in structures both inside and outside the white-clay wall, including Structure 18 (Figure 7.12). Zeder and Arter (1996) examined all scapulas from Snodgrass for signs of wear, but the spatulate ends, which if the scapulas were used as digging implements would show the greatest amount of wear, were rarely preserved. The majority of primary refuse on the Turner house floors reflects random distribution of individual specimens; only at Structures 36 and 42 was primary refuse concentrated along house margins. At Snodgrass, however, refuse often was localized, although there was no clear association between concentrations and either artifact density or type of refuse. Swept-debris piles were an uncommon aspect of both Turner and Snodgrass structures regardless of the amount of refuse or whether the random sample or nonrandom sample of special structures were considered. At Snodgrass, a greater number andvariety of activity areas were evidenced. Activity areas were focused along house margins and around hearths when that feature was present. Not surprisingly, artifact concentrations near hearths are overwhelmingly sherds, presumably from cooking-related breakage. There is no preferred locus for a particular activity along house margins at either Turner or Snodgrass: Proposed milling activities (metate/anvil-hammerstone associations), pottery production (clay–shell–trowel associations), lithic production (hammerstone–debitage associations), and antler-tool production were as likely to occur in corners of houses as along walls.

Figure 7.24. Histograms showing the percentage occurrence of 17 artifact categories in samples from Snodgraass structures: top row, structures inside the wall-clay wall in the random sample; bottom row, structures inside the wall-clay wall in the additional sample.

Figure 7.25. Histograms showing the percentage occurrence of 17 artifact categories in samples from Snodgrass structures: top row, structures outside the white-clay wall in the random sample; bottom row, structures outside the white-clay wall in the additional sample.

Figure 7.26. Histograms showing the percentage occurrence of 12 artifact categories in samples from Turner structures: top row, structures in the random sample; bottom row, structures in the additional sample.


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Based on level sheets and field maps, 27 of the 44 presumed residential structures at Turner showed evidence of a possible hearth—that is, a burned area at what we take to be the floor level of a basin; at Snodgrass, only 22 of the 83 fully excavated structures exhibited what we believe to have been hearths. This difference is highly significant (χ² = 13.31, p = .0003), although we are hard-pressed to explain the significance in cultural terms, unless Snodgrass was occupied only seasonally and a substantial amount of cooking was done outdoors, perhaps in pits labeled as hearths on field maps ( 8 of 94 pits at Snodgrass and 5 of 64 pits at Turner). But we do not believe that Snodgrass was occupied only during the warm months. For one thing, numerous floors exhibited evidence of collapsed rectangular clay-lined smoke holes (Chapter 6), and for another, the faunal data directly contradict such an interpretation. Price and Griffin (1979) offered a variation on this theme, namely, that perhaps the area outside the white-clay wall was occupied on a seasonal basis, whereas the area inside the wall was occupied year round. Although they offered this as a possibility, they found no evidence for it. In their analysis of faunal remains from Snodgrass, Zeder and Arter (1996) used mandibular-tooth-eruption schedules and the presence–absence of antlers on frontal bones to examine the proposition for differential season of occupation of areas inside and outside the white-clay wall. Although the data suggest that the fall was a prime time for the exploitation of deer by Snodgrass hunters, they indicate that deer were taken during other seasons as well. Thus, there appears to be no reason to suggest that one area of the site was occupied only on a seasonal basis, although Zeder and Arter point out that it cannot be ruled out conclusively. The amount of hickory-nut remains and the presence of numerous metates/ anvils and hammerstones in Snodgrass houses are further support for at least a fall occupation. Two houses in the sample (5 and 55) contained hickory-nut concentrations, and the field drawings indicate that numerous other structures contained them as well. The only structure in the Turner sample with evidence of nut remains is Structure 36, which contained a small concentration of acorns. Field records indicate that the only other Turner structure that contained nut remains in any quantity is Structure 4. Coincidentally, only three metates/anvils occurred in the Turner sample, and they occurred in a single structure (41), whereas 11 metates/anvils andfragments occurred in the Snodgrass sample. At this point we have no way of knowing if the limestone slabs that we are labeling metates/anvils were actually used in nut processing, although they could have functioned for such a purpose. Several of the specimens from Snodgrass exhibit small, ground depressions in the middle, and others exhibit evidence of having been battered. In summary, the random sample of Turner and Snodgrass structures shows

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that among de facto and primary artifact classes, artifacts associated with food preparation are predominant. In addition to food preparation, many households conducted additional generalized activities such as lithic- and bone-tool production and/or reworking. Our reconstruction of Turner and Snodgrass house floors does not negate Price and Griffin’s (1979) conclusion that particular structures contained artifacts that were unusual in both uniqueness and quantity compared to the rest of the houses at and between the sites, suggesting that there was perhaps some differentiation of activities among houses. For example, all structures contained ceramic vessels or fragments thereof, but not all structures contained evidence of pottery manufacture such as was found in Structure 14 at Snodgrass. Is this, however, unmistakable evidence of pottery specialization, given that numerous structure floors contained mussel shells and small piles of what the excavators interpreted as “potter’s clay”? Whether the shells were eventually going to be processed into temper is unknown. The few instances of stockpiled items—antler tines, mandibles, and scapulas—could be attributed either to the presence of specialized production centers or to the fact that these were normal components of all households but that in some cases the materials were not removed before the houses were destroyed, whereas in others they were. Based on the presence of still-functional items on some of the house floors, our guess is that some of the structures burned accidentally. The almost complete absence of such items on many other floors—those of structures both inside and outside the white-clay wall—suggests that other burnings were planned and items removed prior to the burnings. What do these findings mean for the proposal that there were different sections of Snodgrass, with residence in one or another section depending on such things as social status? It means that there apparently is no basis for such a supposition. Clearly not all structures, regardless of whether they are inside or outside the white-clay wall, are the same. For example, with one exception, only structures inside the wall contain what were identified on the field drawings as artifact concentrations. Structure 5 contains concentrations of both hickory nut and hoe flakes, Structure 18 contains concentrations of both shell and antler, Structure 47 contains a concentration of deer mandibles, and Structure 55 contains a concentration of hickory-nut hulls. The only structure outside the wall with such a concentration is Structure 14, which contains a concentration of shell. Further, structures inside the wall contain 17 artifact categories not represented in structures outside the wall, whereas structures outside the wall contain only three categories not represented in structures inside the wall. But do the categories represented in the structures inside the wall really suggest status differences, that is, that people living in structures inside the wall had access to prestige items that those living outside the wall did not? We don’t think so, unless chert scrapers and bifaces, bone awls, pot-


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tery disks, and chunks of sandstone are high-status items. We prefer an alternative interpretation: The difference is a result of sample-size disparity. That is, category richness increases with sample size (Figure 7.22). Further, we believe that length of house occupation is driving the sample-size disparity. That is, structures inside the white-clay wall were occupied longer than those outside the wall. In Chapter 6 we explored the relation between overall sample size and house-basin volume. Basins inside the white-clay wall on average have more artifacts in them than do the basins outside the wall. This is not unexpected, given that the basins inside the wall are considerably larger. The data presented in Chapter 6 and in the first part of this chapter strongly support the contention that at least some of the basins inside the wall contain substantial amounts of secondary refuse, that is, refuse deposited in them after the structures burned. Further evidence of the difference in amount of fill is provided by the pieces of secondary refuse that were piece plotted in the field—the materials that we separated from primary and de facto refuse by matching their datum elevations against burned-clay areas, pit outlines, and carbonized structural elements. The 9 structures inside the white-clay wall contained 790 piece-plotted artifacts identified as secondary refuse; the 10 structures outside the wall contained only 184—less than a quarter of the amount inside. Our assumption, and it is no more than that, is that much of that refuse came from structures outside the wall. In other words, residents of at least some of the structures outside the wall dumped their refuse in vacant structure basins inside the wall. But what about the amount of primary and de facto refuse on the floors of structures inside the white-clay wall versus the amount on floors of structures outside the wall? There appears to be no reason to suspect that floors of structures inside the wall were any different than those of structures outside the wall in terms of the kinds of material items they contain, although the frequencies of certain categories vary between the samples. But a larger question is, once we remove all the secondary refuse from consideration and concentrate only on primary and de facto refuse, are there significant differences in terms of amount of refuse between samples? There are several ways to examine this question. First, we can use the 12 randomly selected structures, 5 from within the white-clay wall—Structures 5, 48, 50, 55, and 62—and 7 from outside— Structures 9, 11, 12, 61, 69, 77, and 80. Ignoring artifact categories that are represented by less than 10 specimens (Table 7.1), the average number of artifacts per square meter for structures inside the wall is 2.83 ± 2.33, and the average for structures outside the wall is 1.82 ± 0.70. These differences might at first appear striking, but they are not statistically significant at the p = .05 level ( t = 1.016, p = 0.17). Floors in the sample of structures located inside the white-clay wall do not have significantly more artifacts on them than do floors

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in the sample of structures outside the wall. If we include artifacts from all 19 structures, the difference is even less noticeable (t = 0.78, p = 0.22). Figure 7.27 illustrates the relation between floor area and number of artifacts. Figure 7.27 (top), which plots all 19 structures, shows the tremendous variation that exists across the sample of structures inside the white-clay wall, especially with the presence of Structures 5, 18, and 47, which we selected as additional structures for analysis on the basis of the quantity and diversity of material present. Those three structures sit well above the best-fit regression line, whereas all of the others fall well below it. When Structures 5, 18, and 47 are removed from the sample, the r-value rises from 0.19 to 0.67. With respect to structures outside the wall, the structure farthest from the regression line is Structure 25, which was added to the analysis on the basis of the quantity and diversity of material present; the other structures cluster toward the lower left corner, on or adjacent to the regression line. If we remove Structures 5, 18, 25, and 47 from consideration and replot the 15 remaining structures (Figure 7.27 [bottom]), we obtain an r-value of 0.72. In summary, we know that on average there are larger structures inside the white-clay wall than there are outside it and that on average larger structures have more artifacts on the floor than do smaller structures. We also know that the latter difference is not significant at the p = .05 level, but we agree the tendency is strong. In fact, the tendency is strong enough that if all structures were analyzed, we would not be surprised to see that the sample means diverge enough so that the difference is significant at or below the p = .05 level. Price and Griffin (1979) knew there was a difference, and it was one of the main reasons underlying their postulation of status differences between people living inside the wall and those living outside it. But because they did not rely solely on de facto and primary refuse when they analyzed the artifact content of house basins, their counts of categories by structure are inflated. Given the sizable variation evident in the artifact samples from the 19 Snodgrass structures analyzed here, coupled with the fact that there is no apparent correlation between the percentage of secondary versus primary/de facto refuse in the basins, we see no way to correct for the bias created by using all artifacts in the basins. Had Snodgrass been abandoned at a single time, Price and Griffin’s analytical strategy might be acceptable, but we know it was not abandoned all at once. It appears that the developmental history of the village was complex, involving a continuous cycle of building, burning, rebuilding, and deposition of secondary refuse in the house basins of burned structures. As we noted earlier, one interpretation is that the secondary refuse in the basins within the white-clay wall came from the structures outside the wall. At a minimum, the amount of secondary refuse found in many of the structures inside the wall

Figure 7.27. Scatter plots showing the number of artifacts versus floor area (in square meters) for sampled Snodgrass structures: top, structures divided into two groups (inside versus outside the white-clay wall); bottom, all structures together. Simple best-fit regression lines are shown for the three groups along with respective r-values.

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indicates those structures predate those outside the wall. We simply do not know if all of the structures inside the wall were occupied at one time. It does appear likely, given the amount of primary and de facto refuse on the floors of structures inside the wall, that those structures were occupied longer than the structures outside the wall. Recall from Chapter 6 that 19 of the 22 wall-trench structures are located inside the wall. Recall also that within the sample of structures inside the wall, there is no correlation between size and the existence of wall trenches. It thus is conceivable that wall-trench construction was an early phenomenon at Snodgrass, and as the community expanded outside the wall, it was abandoned in favor of simple post-in-the-ground construction. Twenty-one of forty-five Turner structures were of wall-trench construction, and as in the sample of structures inside the wall at Snodgrass, there was no correlation between structure size and the presence of wall trenches. Does this indicate that part of Turner was occupied simultaneously with part of Snodgrass? Unfortunately, the data (Chapter 5) are not fine-grained enough to answer that question.

SUMMARY House floors at Turner and Snodgrass offer considerable insight into the activities of Powers phase households, although that insight is limited both by the size of the sample of floors and by the fact that unless a structure burned accidentally, some of the tools and materials probably were removed prior to structure abandonment. Although there is significant variation in the presence of artifact categories across the sample of house floors, as well as considerable differences in the number of specimens in the categories, several generalizations seem warranted. Cooking and storage, represented by myriad forms of ceramic vessels (Chapter 9), were ubiquitous activities. Hearths were not identified in all structures, but there appear to be no differences in the patterns of primary and de facto refuse in structures with identified hearths versus those without such evidence. No central prepared hearths similar to those in Mississippian-period structures in the Eastern Lowlands (Figure 6.17) were found in any of the structures at Turner and Snodgrass, and in their absence were small patches of burned floor created, we surmise, by open burning. Some households might have used exterior pits as hearths, as evidenced by fire-hardened pit walls and bottoms. A wide range of animals and plants was consumed by Powers phase peoples. Zeder and Arter’s (1996) analysis of faunal remains from Snodgrass and Smith’s


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(1976) analysis of bone from the two structures at Gypsy Joint document that the remains of white-tailed deer dominate Powers phase faunal assemblages. Other remains include those of opossum, rabbit, squirrel, canids, beaver, fox, elk, bison, turkey, and a variety of amphibians. To date, Wilma Wetterstrom’s analysis of floral remains from Gypsy Joint (Smith and Wetterstrom, 1978) and Pamela Mear’s (n.d.) identification of carbonized plant remains from Structure 8 at Neil Flurry are the only quantitative data available on plant foods recovered from house floors. House floors at both sites contained quantities of burned hickory nut and various carbonized seeds, including those of Chenopodium and marsh elder (at Gypsy Joint) and persimmon (at Neil Flurry). Corn also occurred in both structures at Gypsy Joint. Hickory-nut and acorn concentrations were not uncommon occurrences on Turner and Snodgrass floors, and corn was noted on numerous floor plans. In addition, Turner had what was labeled on the field drawings as a “corncrib.” Evidence of tool manufacture and maintenance occurs on numerous floors in the Turner and Snodgrass sample, taking the form of flakes and other small pieces of chert debitage and stacks of white-tailed-deer elements. We surmise, but as yet cannot demonstrate, that deer scapulas and mandibles were used as tools—the scapulas as hoes and the mandibles perhaps as shelling implements. Antler tines probably were used as flaking implements or as punches. All three elements were common occurrences in Powers phase houses, including Structure 8 at Neil Flurry, Structure 1 at Powers Fort, and both houses at Gypsy Joint. If there were status differences among households at Snodgrass, as proposed by Price and Griffin (1979), we see no evidence of it. Neither do we see much difference between the artifact assemblages from houses at Snodgrass, regardless of location, and those from houses at Turner, except for the fact that Snodgrass structures tended to have more artifacts than did those at Turner, perhaps because some of them were occupied longer. Numerous classes of artifacts are missing from the house floors at Turner that occur on Snodgrass floors, but this phenomenon obscures the fact that most of those “missing” classes occur at Snodgrass only within structures inside the white-clay wall. Thus, the Turner house floors resemble house floors of Snodgrass structures located outside the wall more than they do those of structures located inside the wall. But in our opinion the differences are tied not to status but to length of occupation: Most, or perhaps all, of the structures inside the wall were occupied earlier than, and longer than, structures located outside the wall. Although the sample of excavated house floors at Turner and Snodgrass dwarfs those at other Powers phase sites, there is no reason to suspect that the same household activities represented at Turner and Snodgrass are not dupli-

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Figure 7.28. Photograph (looking south) of broken ceramic vessels lying on the floor of Structure 8 at Neil Flurry (from Mears n.d.).

cated elsewhere, including at villages, farmsteads, and the civic–ceremonial center. Structure 8 at Neil Flurry, a village, produced an artifact assemblage that would fit comfortably at Turner or Snodgrass. A range of de facto and primary refuse indicative of domestic activities such as cooking and stone-tool manufacture and maintenance occurred across the floor (Mears n.d.), similar to the artifact distributions on floors at the other villages. Evidence suggests that Structure 8 and numerous other structures at Neil Flurry burned, sealing primary and de facto refuse on the structure floors (Figure 7.28). Smiths (1978b) analysis of artifact distributions across the floors of the two structures at Gypsy Joint demonstrates that at least at that farmstead the artifact assemblage is not significantly different from those from village structures. Although it is more difficult to determine which artifacts from Structure 1 at Powers Fort are from primary as opposed to secondary deposition (Perttula, 1998), the overall assemblage is similar to those from Turner and Snodgrass. Thus, based on all available evidence to date, there are no a priori grounds for making statements about the kinds of status differentiation that might have existed either within a settlement tier or between tiers.


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NOTES ¹Small pieces of “burned floor” less than 30 square centimeters in area were occasionally recorded on the level sheets. Most of these burned areas were above the house floor as determined by our analysis and are most likely to have been from smoke-hole daub that had burned during the house’s destruction. ²Turner Structure 4 also would be a special structure because of numerous acorn concentrations and two debitage concentrations, but the absence of recorded datum depths for many artifacts precluded its inclusion in our analysis. ³For definitions of ceramic vessels, see Chapter 9.


Chapter 8

Stone Artifacts from Turner and Snodgrass J. ERIC GILLILAND AND MICHAEL J. O’BRIEN

Excavations at Powers phase sites conducted in the 1960s and 1970s resulted in the recovery of large numbers of chipped-stone and groundstone artifacts. Given the extent of excavations at Turner and Snodgrass, by far the largest samples of artifacts come from those two sites, and we focus exclusively on them. Samples from the other sites, including Powers Fort and Gypsy Joint, are informative in terms of what they tell us about raw-material procurement and tool production and use at the fortified center (Perttula, 1998) and at a farmstead (Smith, 1978b), but they are dwarfed by the assemblages from Turner and Snodgrass. The assemblages from those two communities are large enough that unless there were special stone implements that were specifically used only at one kind of site—and there is no evidence of this—they should include more or less the full range of items in use within the Powers phase settlement system, even those items that were manufactured and used in low frequency. Similar to the way Price and Griffin (1979) handled the preliminary analysis of stone tools from Snodgrass, we discuss the assemblages in terms of traditional morphological–functional groups such as projectile points, hoes, adzes, celts, and the like. We did not undertake detailed use-wear analysis of any Powers phase stone artifacts; rather, we inferred function strictly on the basis of formal attributes of the tools. Thus, although we assign specimens to the projectile-point group, for example, it is entirely possible, and very likely, that some specimens served dual roles such as cutting as well as piercing.

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CHIPPED-STONE ARTIFACTS Included in the broad group chipped-stone artifacts are projectile points, hoes and flakes removed during hoe-edge rejuvenation, adzes and flakes removed during adze-edge rejuvenation, miscellaneous bifaces, drills, scrapers, gravers, and utilized flakes.

Projectile Points Projectile points have a long history in Americanist archaeology of being used as index markers for chronological purposes—one, and perhaps the major, reason for the development of typological systems. In instances where one is looking only for rough chronological indications, typological schemes and the units they employ work fairly well, but in instances where finer control is warranted, the systems and units often cannot deliver needed precision. Midwestern projectile-point types, like most others in current use, have become catch-all categories, often incorporating a wide range of variation in the type descriptions. Although they serve to facilitate interobserver communication, such constructs mask variation that might be of chronological use. With certain exceptions, many of the specimens in the Turner and Snodgrass samples can easily be placed into existing projectile-point types, given the way the types have been formulated, but this ease of categorization comes with a price: As they currently exist, many of the types span relatively long time periods. Even with respect to arrow points, which were used in the Midwest for only about 1100 years, as compared to the ten millennia or more that dart points were used, types span long periods of time, certainly longer than Powers phase peoples occupied the Little Black River Lowland. Thus, not all recovered projectile points necessarily date to the post-A.D. 1250 period. Based on cross dating, most of the larger points, which we assume were used to tip atlatlpropelled darts, clearly predate the Powers phase communities, but there is evidence that Powers phase people picked up earlier points and reused them. Some of the specimens recovered from excavation of the sand ridges containing Turner and Snodgrass undoubtedly were left by earlier peoples and were not reused, but several Woodland- and Archaic-period points came from pits and from the floors of Powers phase structures. Given the specific contexts in which those specimens were found—for example, intermixed with Mississippian-period pottery on house floors—it is difficult not to conclude that earlier points were recycled, in some cases several millennia after they were manufactured. For example, the point shown in Figure 8.1—which, based on its morphological characteristics, resembles points from the Carolina Piedmont that Joffre Coe (1964) used in formulating the Morrow Mountain Stemmed type—

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Figure 8.1. Morrow Mountain Stemmed point from the floor of Structure 55 at Snodgrass.

came from the floor of Structure 55 at Snodgrass. Published estimates of the date range (e.g., Perino, 1985) of points in that type place them in a portion of the first half of the Middle Archaic period, ca. 5000–4000 B.C.. Our emphasis here is on arrow points as opposed to dart points, and thus we do not provide detailed descriptions of the latter. We do, however, examine dart points from the standpoint of metric variables, especially in terms of differences between arrow points and dart points. There is no reason to suspect that all of the specimens we have labeled as dart points predate the Mississippian period, meaning that we have no reason to believe that the atlatl was completely replaced by the bow as a weapon-delivery system after ca. A.D. 900. Based on radiometrically dated contexts in Missouri and neighboring states (O’Brien and Wood, 1998), the appearance of arrow points in the Midwest postdates ca. A.D. 600, although there are a few indications that the bow and arrow might have a deeper antiquity in the region (Nassaney and Pyle, 1999; Odell, 1996)—a proposition also put forth for the East (Bradbury, 1997). Regardless, our interest here is primarily in the period post-A.D. 1250, centuries after the bow and arrow had replaced the atlatl and dart as the primary, though not necessarily the only, weapon-delivery system in the central Mississippi River valley. Nine categories of arrow points were recognized in the sample from

Figure 8.2. Bivariate scatter plots of arrow points from Turner and Snodgrass: (top) maximum blade width versus specimen length, (bottom) weight versus minimum neck width. Three hundred seven specimens are present in the plot of blade width versus length, but because of the removal of neckless specimens, only 252 are shown in the plot of weight versus minimum neck width.

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Turner and Snodgrass—five traditional types (Scallorn, Madison, Nodena, Morris, and Alba) and four morphological types (small straight-stem, small broad-stem, small side-notched, and small contracting-stem) that were created to house specimens that did not readily fall into an established type. We admit the possibility that some of the larger specimens could have functioned as dart points as opposed to arrow points, but we point out that (1) there is a fairly high degree of consistency among the specimens we categorize as arrow points (Figure 8.2) and (2) there is little overlap in key dimensions between arrow points and what we categorize as dart or spear points (Figure 8.3). Comparison of the two figures reveals little overlap in the plots of maximum blade width versus specimen length, and even less overlap in the plots of weight versus minimum neck width. The points shown in both plots in Figure 8.2 are tightly grouped in the lower left-hand corners, with relatively few outliers. With respect to weight, only four specimens weigh more than 2.5 grams. In contrast, the dart points plotted in Figure 8.3 range in weight from 3.5 grams up to 26.1 grams, with specimens spread more or less continuously in between. Similarly, minimum neck widths on arrow points range as high as 10.8 millimeters (Figure 8.2), but the average is only 6.08 millimeters—well below the minimum neck widths of what we are calling dart points (15.33 millimeters) (Figure 8.3). Figure 8.4 plots the frequency of arrow points and dart points combined relative to the four dimensions discussed above. All four histograms are weighted toward arrow points, which is not surprising given their numerical superiority over dart points. Perhaps surprising, however, is the lack of bimodal distributions in the histograms, especially for weight and minimum neck width. We say “surprising” because we initially suspected our distributions would mirror those of Nassaney and Pyle (1999), who examined a large sample of dart points and arrow points from sites in east-central Arkansas that span the period ca. A.D. 200–1700 and found clear bimodal distributions between dart points and arrow points in terms of minimum neck width, weight, length, maximum blade width (Figure 8.5), and thickness (not shown in Figure 8.5). The bimodal distribution suggested to Nassaney and Pyle that at least in east-central Arkansas the change in weapon-delivery system that occurred around A.D. 400— from the atlatl and dart to the bow and arrow—was not gradual but punctuated. With one exception—length of specimen—the intervals we use in our histograms in Figure 8.4 mirror the ones used by Nassaney and Pyle (Figure 8.5), but our results differ markedly from theirs. In other words, our data do not reflect a clear bimodality. To match their intervals for specimen length, we rescaled our length histogram (Figure 8.6), and it too shows no bimodality. With respect to what might be interpreted as a very weak tendency toward

Figure 8.3. Bivariate scatter plots of dart points from Turner and Snodgrass: (top) maximum blade width versus specimen length (63 specimens), (bottom) weight versus minimum neck width (51 specimens).


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bimodality in two of the histograms—those for maximum blade width and minimum neck width (Figure 8.4)—we cannot rule out sample bias as the contributing cause. Despite the lack of bimodality in the histograms or of a clearly discernible break in distribution along the X axes shown in Figure 8.4, comparison of the scatter plots shown in Figures 8.2 and 8.3 shows clear differences between what we are calling arrow points and dart points. Like Nassaney and Pyle (1999), we used discriminant-function analysis to evaluate our metric discrimination of projectile points from Turner and Snodgrass. Whereas they used a battery of discriminant-function equations (Bradbury, 1997; Shott, 1997; Thomas, 1978), we focused on one provided by Bradbury (1997), which uses minimum neck width and weight. The equation correctly classified 96.7 percent of the specimens we labeled as arrow points (n = 244) and 93.6 percent of those we labeled as dart or spear points (n = 48). Thus, we feel fairly confident that we are dealing with two separate weapon-delivery systems. Beyond that, we have little to contribute to the intriguing questions of when the bow and arrow might have been introduced to or invented in various parts of the Midwest and Midsouth and how rapidly that system replaced the atlatl and dart as the primary delivery system. The manufacture of the two kinds of points followed different pathways. Dart points were produced by using percussion flaking to reduce a flat core into a preform, which was then thinned and shaped through further percussion flaking. Finally, carefully controlled percussion flaking and in some cases pressure flaking were then used to produce the final product. By-products of this manufacturing process are evident in the Turner–Snodgrass assemblage, in some cases from contexts that suggest that the materials date to the Powers phase occupation. In other cases it is difficult to determine whether the materials date to that occupation or to an earlier occupation. In contrast to the way dart points were manufactured, arrow points were often, although not always, created from flakes. Three kinds of flakes were used: primary decortication flakes (rarely), interior flakes with cortical platforms, and bipolar flakes. Nassaney and Pyle (1999) argue that bipolar flaking increased in frequency in east-central Arkansas after ca. A.D. 400, and based on our observations of lithic assemblages from southeastern Missouri we agree with this general assessment, although we tend to place the date at around a.d. 600. However, we also point out that in our experience bipolar and nonbipolar reduction do not leave nonoverlapping signatures. For example, we sometimes could not determine whether a decortication flake was from bipolar or nonbipolar reduction—perhaps more a reflection of our ignorance of subtle differences between the two kinds of flakes than anything else.

Figure 8.4. Histograms showing frequencies of projectile points from Turner and Snodgrass by length, maximum blade width, minimum neck width, and weight. Both dart points and arrow points are included. Three hundred seventy specimens are present in the histograms for length, blade width, and weight, but because of the removal of 67 neckless specimens, only 303 are shown in the histogram for minimum neck width.

Figure 8.5. Histograms showing frequencies of projectile points from east-central Arkansas by length, maximum blade width, minimum neck width, and weight. Both dart points and arrow points are included (after Nassaney and Pyle, 1999).

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Figure 8.6. Histogram showing frequencies of projectile points from Turner and Snodgrass by length, rescaled to intervals shown in Figure 8.5.

Scallorn The Scallorn type (Kelley, 1947; Krieger, 1946; Suhm et al., 1954; Suhm and Jelks, 1962) includes small arrow points that usually exhibit corner notches, although the notches may be exaggerated enough that a specimen appears to be stemmed (Figure 8.7). Even when the latter occurs, the shoulders often will be barbed. Blades often contain tiny serrations, especially on longer and narrower specimens. Scallorn points can attain lengths of 50 millimeters or more, although they tend to be under 35–40 millimeters. Bases are usually straight or convex but can also be slightly concave. Some specimens are flaked on both faces, but others exhibit an unretouched surface. The type was first named on the basis of specimens from Texas, although it is one of the most widespread point types ever described, with specimens occurring from western Texas east into all of the lower Mississippi Valley and northward into Kansas, Missouri, eastern Iowa, and most of Illinois. Depending on location, Scallorn points have been subsumed under a number of other type names (as well as varieties [Jelks, 1962]), including Sequoyah (Perino,


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Figure 8.7. Scallorn points from Turner and Snodgrass (specimen at upper left is 27.5 millimeters long).

1968), Table Rock Corner Notched (Bray, 1956), Schild (Perino, 1971), Klunk Side Notched (Perino, 1971), and Koster Corner Notched (Perino, 1963, 1971, 1973). For our purposes, we lump all of these types under Scallorn. The appearance of Scallorn points in the Midwest probably postdates A.D. 600, but it is difficult to be more precise than that. They are present at sites in the American Bottom of western Illinois that fall in the Patrick phase (A.D. 600–800), and are ubiquitous at sites that fall in the succeeding Early Mississippian–period phases (Kelly et al., 1984). They have been recovered from numerous Late Woodland–and Early Mississippian–period contexts in Missouri, including well-dated contexts in the upper Current River valley west of the Little Black River Lowland (Lynott, 1982, 1989, 1991; Lynott et al., 1984),

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where they occur alongside pottery of different tempers, including limestone, grit, fired clay, and shell. Justice (1987:222) states that “Scallorn points date from about A.D. 700 to A.D. 1100, which places the type in the transitional period from Late Woodland to Mississippian.” This dating is incorrect, at least in terms of the ending date, given the ubiquity of Scallorn points at Turner and Snodgrass. We estimate that Scallorn points lasted until A.D. 1350 or later, when they were replaced over much of Missouri by the triangular Madison point (see below) and the elliptical Nodena point (see below). At least in southeastern Missouri, it appears that Scallorn points underwent a morphological change sometime after ca. A.D. 900 and before ca. A.D. 1300. Lynott (1991) found that a sample of Scallorn points from Turner were on average substantially wider and about 50 percent longer than Scallorn points from Gooseneck and Owls Bend, two earlier, Emergent Mississippian sites in the Current River valley. Our analysis of points from Snodgrass mirrors Lynott’s findings for Turner specimens. Lynott also found that the later specimens had a substantially higher percentage of serrated blades and ovate cross sections. Earlier specimens had proportionately fewer serrations and a higher relative frequency of chipping on only one face. Reasons for the shift toward slightly larger, bifacially flaked arrow points are unknown, but we think Lynott (1991:198) was correct when he stated that “one possibility is, of course, functional.” More such studies should be conducted to ensure that what we are seeing is not idiosyncratic to Turner and Snodgrass, as well as to establish that differences in raw material are not behind the dichotomy (which we doubt). At the moment, our guess is that technological changes relative to such things as bow flex, pull weight, and arrow-shaft dimensions were driving the subtle but important changes in arrow-point dimensions and weight (O’Brien and Wood, 1998). The 221 complete Scallorn points from Turner and Snodgrass range in length from 13.6 millimeters to 48.4 millimeters, with an average of 27.0 millimeters. Maximum blade width ranges from 7.8 millimeters to 19.2 millimeters, with an average of 13.0 millimeters. Minimum neck width ranges from 3.2 millimeters to 10.8 millimeters, with an average of 6.0 millimeters. Weight ranges from 0.2 gram to 4.1 grams, with an average of 1.1 grams. Histograms and scatter plots of the 221 Scallorn points (Figures 8.8 and 8.9) illustrate the lack of variation in the specimens in terms of the four dimensions. Seventy-two percent of the points are biconvex in cross section, and 28 percent are planoconvex. Many of the latter are so shaped because they were made on a flake with minimum modification, leaving much of the ventral surface unmodified. The 329 identifiable Scallorn points from Turner and Snodgrass (including broken specimens) were manufactured from a variety of materials. Ninety-six were manufactured from Roubidoux chert, 5 from Roubidoux quartzite, 76 from

Figure 8.8. Histograms showing frequencies of Scallorn points from Turner and Snodgrass by length, maximum blade width, minimum neck width, and weight. Two hundred twenty-one specimens are represented.

Figure 8.9. Bivariate scatter plots of 221 Scallorn points from Turner and Snodgrass using combinations of maximum blade width, minimum neck width, weight, and length.


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Lafayette chert, 8 from undifferentiated Osagean chert, 1 from Dover chert, and 1 from Penters chert. Of the 118 Scallorn points found in structures at Snodgrass, 96 were recovered from inside the white-clay wall, an average of 2.8 per structure. The 59 structures outside the white-clay wall contained 22 Scallorn points, an average of 0.37 per structure. The 45 structures at Turner contained 119 Scallorn points, an average of 2.64 per structure. Seven points from Snodgrass came from pits and 39 from the surface of the site. Twelve points from Turner came from pits, 5 from burials, and 29 from the surface.

Madison The form of Madison points (Scully, 1951) is basically that of small, unnotched isosceles triangles (Figure 8.10), although the type has become more or less a dumping ground for any point that is roughly triangular and unnotched. Points from the Midwest range in length from less than 20 millimeters up to 50 millimeters and in maximum width from less than 10 millimeters up to 20 millimeters. Chapman (1980:310) stated that Madison points are widely distributed across Missouri but that the heaviest concentrations appeared to be in the greater St. Louis area and in southeastern Missouri. This parallels our observations (O’Brien and Wood, 1998), although we point out that Madison points also occur in significant quantities on Oneota sites in central Missouri (Henning, 1970) and on Steed-Kisker sites in and around Kansas City (Wedel, 1943). They are not uncommon in southwestern Missouri (J. Ray, personal communication, 1995) and occur with some regularity in northeastern Missouri (Curry et al., 1985). Unless present indications are erroneous, Madison points enjoyed a longer period of manufacture than any other arrow-point type—from sometime before A.D. 900 until well into the historical period. For example, they are fairly common on the Hoecake site in Mississippi County, Missouri, in contexts that probably date from around A.D. 800–900. Four “Madison-like points” also came from the contemporary Zebree site in Mississippi County, Arkansas (Morse and Morse, 1980), although they may postdate the major occupation of the site (P. [A.] Morse and D. F. Morse, 1990). Madison points are also fairly numerous on Middle Mississippian-period sites in southeastern Missouri, northeastern Arkansas, and western Tennessee and even more numerous on Late Mississippian-periodsites in the region (e.g., Chapman and Anderson, 1955; O’Brien, 1994b), where they occur alongside Nodena points (see below) and snub-nose scrapers. Morse and Morse (1983:310) illustrate a Madison point with a slightly concave base from Arkansas that they state is from the eighteenth century.

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Figure 8.10. Madison points (top row), Nodena points (middle row), Morris point (lower row, left), and Alba point (lower row, right) from Turner and Snodgrass (specimen at upper left is 30.0 millimeters long).

The length of 19 complete specimens from Turner and Snodgrass ranges from 18.0 millimeters to 37.0 millimeters, with an average of 26.9 millimeters. Maximum blade width ranges from 11.9 millimeters to 20.2 millimeters, with an average of 15.0 millimeters. Weight ranges from 0.6 gram to 4.6 grams, with an average of 1.7 grams. Twenty-one of the 27 identifiable specimens are biconvex in cross section, and 6 are plano-convex. Eleven points were made from Roubidoux chert, three from Lafayette chert, and three from undifferentiated Osagean chert. Fourteen points were recovered from Snodgrass structures—10 from structures inside the white-clay wall and 4 from structures outside the wall—and 4 from the site surface. Six specimens came from structures at Turner, one from a pit at Turner, and two from the surface of the site.


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Nodena Nodena points (Figure 8.10) occur by the thousands across southeastern Missouri, eastern Arkansas, and western Tennessee, and with lower percentages of occurrence across Illinois, eastern Iowa, western Mississippi, and eastern Louisiana. The type apparently was first named by Chapman and Anderson (1955), who based their brief description on examples from the Campbell site in Pemiscot County, Missouri (O’Brien and Holland, 1994). The name Nodena is derived from the Upper and Middle Nodena sites in Mississippi County, Arkansas, which date to the Late Mississippian period. Bell (1958:64) described the Nodena point as a finely chipped, willow-leaf shaped arrow point. The outline is one of a slender pointed ellipse, the base usually being rounded and not set off from the blade. In some examples the base is more pointed, rather than rounded, forming a double-pointed specimen. The points are widest in the mid-section area with the greatest width falling toward the basal end of the specimen. The type is characterized by fine workmanship, the point having been made from a thin flake by careful pressure chipping.

Chapman and Anderson lumped an assortment of different-shaped points into the Nodena type; based on his excavations at the Banks site in Crittenden County, Arkansas, Perino (1966:33–35) distinguished between willow-leafshaped Nodena points and straight-based, excurvate-blade forms, the latter of which he placed in the Banks variety. Interestingly, Perino (1985) later deleted any mention of the Banks variety when he listed four varieties of Nodena. One of his four varieties, which he called Nodena Spike, occurs with moderate frequency in northeastern Arkansas and sporadically in Pemiscot County, Missouri. These points are usually double pointed and are 20–50 millimeters long and rarely wider than about 5 millimeters. We place the beginning date of manufacture of Nodena points at around A.D. 1400, perhaps as early as A.D. 1350, although this is done more out of convention than anything else. Such convention is based on the repeated cooccurrence of Nodena points with specimens of what are from all indications late-occurring pottery types (O’Brien and Holland, 1994; O’Brien and Wood, 1998). Given the ubiquity of the points over a wide section of the central and lower Mississippi River valley, and the amount of excavation that has been carried out at late-period sites, one might be surprised to find that few radiometric dates for Nodena points exist. One date, A.D. 1490 ± 162 (uncalibrated), is from the Banks site (Perino, 1966)—a determination that Morse and Morse (1983:273), based on the types of pottery with which the points were associated, believe is too recent by about 90 years. O’Brien and Wood (1998) suspect

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that the Banks pottery is earlier, probably on the order of A.D. 1350 or so, and that Nodena points might date as early as the mid-fourteenth century. The 13 complete Nodena points from Turner and Snodgrass range in length from 20.4 millimeters to 41.1 millimeters, with an average of 28.7 millimeters. Maximum blade width ranges from 10.3 millimeters to 19.0 millimeters, with an average of 14.3 millimeters. Weight ranges from 0.6 gram to 5.7 grams, with an average of 2.3 grams. Although Nodena points from Turner and Snodgrass exhibit considerable overlap with Madison points in terms of length and maximum blade width (Figure 8.11), they are on average heavier than Madison points (Figure 8.11). Thirteen of the sixteen identifiable specimens have biconvex cross sections, and three have plano-convex cross sections. Nine points were manufactured from Roubidoux chert, and two were made from Lafayette chert. Four Nodena points were recovered from Snodgrass structures—three located inside the white-clay wall and one outside the wall—and three were recovered from the surface. Nine specimens were recovered from Turner structures.

Morris Morris points (Figure 8.10) “exhibit side notches and basal notch sharing similar dimensions and U-shape. The blade edges are basically straight but may be slightly convex and often bear minute serrations” (Justice, 1987:238). Justice (1987:238) lists a date range of A.D. 900–1300 for this type and notes that specimens are rare, although not unknown, outside of eastern Oklahoma. The two complete points from Turner and Snodgrass are 28.0 and 29.4 millimeters long and have maximum blade widths of 13.3 and 13.7 millimeters, minimum neck widths of 7.6 and 7.9 millimeters, and weights of 1.2 and 1.9 grams. All four identifiable specimens have biconvex cross sections. Three of the four points were made from Roubidoux chert, and the fourth was made from Jefferson City chert. One specimen came from a structure inside the whiteclay wall at Snodgrass, one came from a structure outside the wall, and two came from structures at Turner.

Alba Alba points (Figure 8.10) are described by Justice (1987:235) as having “a recurved blade and flaring barbs and somewhat variable haft morphology, The blade edges of these points are sometimes finely serrated. The basal edge varies from straight to slightly convex. The overall stem morphology varies from nearly straight parallel-edged to bulbous and fan-shaped.” Justice (1987:235) suggests a date range for the Alba type of A.D. 900–1200. A single broken Alba point was recovered from a structure inside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass. It exhibits a plano-convex cross section and was made from Roubidoux chert.

Figure 8.11. Bivariate scatter plots of 19 Madison points and 1 3 Nodena points from Turner and Snodgrass: (top) weight versus length, (bottom) maximum blade width versus length.

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Small S traigh t-Stem Points in this type have blades very similar to those on Scallorn points, but the stems are straight and usually very narrow (Figure 8.12). Length of the 21 complete specimens ranges from 19.5 millimeters to 33.3 millimeters, with an average of 24.7 millimeters. Maximum blade width ranges from 10.8 millimeters to 17.1 millimeters, with an average of 13.3 millimeters. Minimum neck width ranges from 3.1 millimeters to 8.8 millimeters, with an average of 5.4 millimeters. Weight ranges from 0.4 gram to 2.0 grams, with an average of 1.0 gram. Twenty-three of the identifiable specimens have biconvex cross sections, and 13 have plano-convex cross sections. Ten specimens were made from

Figure 8.12. Small straight-stem points from Turner and Snodgrass (specimen at upper left is 30.0 millimeters long).


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Lafayette chert, four from Roubidoux chert, three from undifferentiated Osagean chert, and one from Roubidoux quartzite. Fourteen specimens were recovered from structures located inside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass, 5 from structures outside the wall, 11 from the surface of Snodgrass, 3 from structures at Turner, and 6 from the surface of Turner.

Small Broad-Stem Points in this type are short and have very shallow corner notches that create a short, broad stem (Figure 8.13). Length of the four complete specimens ranges from 21.7 millimeters to 23.5 millimeters, with an average of 22.3 millimeters. Maximum blade width ranges from 12.1 millimeters to 16.5 millimeters, with an average of 14.6 millimeters. Minimum neck width ranges from 7.3 millimeters to 11.1 millimeters, with an average of 9.7 millimeters (specimens in the Scallorn type have an average minimum neck width of 6.0 millimeters). Weight ranges from 0.6 gram to 1.4 grams and averages 1.0 gram. Seven of the eight identifiable specimens are biconvex in cross section, and one is plano-convex. Four specimens were manufactured from Roubidoux chert and two from Lafayette chert. Three specimens were found in structures inside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass, one came from a structure outside the wall, and two came from the surface. The other two specimens were recovered from Turner structures.

Small Side-Notched Points in this type (Figure 8.13) contain small, shallow notches located approximately one–third the way up the blade edges. The four identifiable specimens range in length from 21.9 millimeters to 30.9 millimeters, with an average of 26.1 millimeters. Maximum blade width ranges from 8.4 millimeters to 16.8 millimeters, with an average of 12.2 millimeters. Minimum neck width ranges from 5.0 millimeters to 10.7 millimeters, with an average of 7.5 millimeters. Weight ranges from 0.5 gram to 1.9 grams, with an average of 1.2 grams. Three of the four points are biconvex in cross section, and one is plano-convex. None of the chert types could be identified. Two specimens are from structures inside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass, one from a feature at Snodgrass, and two from the surface at Snodgrass.

Small Contracting-Stem Specimens in this type are small points with a contracting stem (Figure 8.13). They range in length from 16.2 millimeters to 34.3 millimeters, with an

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Figure 8.13. Small broad-stem (top row, left three specimens), small side-notched (top row, right specimen), and small contracting-stem (middle and bottom rows) points from Turner and Snodgrass (specimen at upper left is 20.1 millimeters long).

average of 24.3 millimeters. Maximum blade width ranges from 8.3 millimeters to 18.5 millimeters, with an average of 12.5 millimeters. Weight ranges from 0.3 gram to 2.4 grams, with an average of 1.0 gram. Fourteen of the identifiable specimens are biconvex in cross section, and 11 are plano-convex. Five were made from Roubidoux chert, four from Lafayette chert, one from Roubidoux quartzite, and one from undifferentiated Osagean chert. Eleven specimens were recovered from structures located inside the white-clay wall at Snodgrass, five were recovered from structures located outside the wall, and three came from the site surface. Five examples were recovered from inside structures at Turner, and one came from the site surface.


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Types of Raw Material Used in Arrow-Point Manufacture Raw-material types used in the manufacture of arrow points were identified using both macroscopic and low-power microscopic examination of the specimens and comparing the features of the specimens to both chert samples and chert descriptions. Our identification benefited greatly from the assistance of Jack Ray of the Center for Archaeological Research at Southwest Missouri State University, who provided us with samples from his personal collection of chert types and allowed us to use sections of an unpublished manuscript on the cherts of the Ozarks. We quote liberally from Ray’s manuscript below, without attribution of page numbers. Ray also spent several hours with the senior author, explaining how to identify cherts that occur in the Little Black River Lowland. The two main types of material used to manufacture chipped-stone tools at Turner and Snodgrass were Roubidoux chert and quartzite and Lafayette chert and quartzite. Roubidoux chert and quartzite are derived from the Ordovician-age Roubidoux formation, which is composed of alternating beds of dolomite, sandstone, and dolomitic sandstone interstratified with chert and orthoquartzite layers. According to Ray (n.d.), Roubidoux chert occurs in beds of variable thickness (ca. 5–50 cm.), large irregular and small elliptical nodules, discontinuous lenses, and silicareplaced stromatolitic and algal (cryptozoon) masses up to 1 m thick. . . . [C]hert may comprise up to 30–40% of the rock formation, but it typically makes up less than 20%. The cortex of Roubidoux chert is usually thin and chalky white to gray, brown, and reddish in color. . . . The dominant matrix colors are white (10YR8/1), light gray (10YR7/1, 7/2; 5Y7/1; 2.5Y7/2), gray (7.5 YR6/1; 10YR5/1, 6/1), and light brownish gray (10YR5/2; 2.5Y6/2). . . . Rusty-colored iron-oxide stains are common on incipient fracture planes and some brown stains invade the matrix of cobbles. . . . [L]uster . . . is predominantly dull or low.

Roubidoux quartzite is technically orthoquartzite, but “most of it is so well cemented that it appears identical to metamorphosed quartzites from the Appalachian and Rocky Mountain areas; thus for simplicity it is referred to here simply as ‘quartzite’” (Ray, n.d.). It “occurs primarily in thin and thick beds (ca. 5–40 cm) and discontinuous lenses, and rarely in nodular form. It may be locally abundant or absent altogether from Roubidoux strata. The cortex . . . is very thin and white, gray, or light brown in color. The matrix . . . is generally white, light gray, or gray” (Ray n.d.). Roubidoux materials would have been readily available to residents of Turner and Snodgrass, requiring only a journey into the Ozark Highland. As

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Ray (n.d.) points out, “the Roubidoux formation outcrops over much of the Salem Plateau in southern Missouri. It basically borders Gasconade outcrop areas in major river valleys such as the Current, Eleven Point, North Fork, Niangua, Osage, Gasconade, and Meramec as well as along a narrow band on the eastern flank of the St. François Mountains through Ste. Genevieve, Perry, Bollinger, Wayne, Butler, Carter, and Ripley counties.” Chert is available in all areas of this outcrop. Quartzite is rare in the northern parts of the outcrop, but it is as common as chert in the southern areas. Roubidoux chert was used in the manufacture of roughly 29 percent of the recovered arrow points, whereas Roubidoux quartzite was used for less than 2 percent of the specimens. The next most common type of chert identified in the assemblage from Turner and Snodgrass is Lafayette chert, cobbles of which are found in redeposited gravels. As Ray (n.d.) states, “Macro- and microscopic examinations of Lafayette gravels indicate that the majority of these alluvial chert and quartzite cobbles were derived from areas other than the Ozark Highland, probably from sources throughout the Missouri, Mississippi, and Ohio River valleys and their tributaries.” Deposits of these so-called paleogravels up to 18 meters thick exist on parts of Crowley’s Ridge. Unklesbay and Vineyard (1992:130) refer to these deposits as “high-level gravels” and note that “most of the pebbles in the gravel are light brown, rounded, polished chert.” Lafayette chert cobbles are highly patinated, abraded, and are subrounded to rounded in shape. The interiors are extremely variable in color, some of the most common including brownish yellow (10YR6/6), yellowish brown (10YR5/4), light yellowish brown (2.5Y6/3; 10YR6/4), very pale brown (10YR7/2, 7/3; 10YR8/2), light brown (7.5YR6/4), brown (7.5YR5/2), light brownish gray (5YR6/1; 10YR6/2), light gray (10YR7/1), gray (10R6/1), white (10YR8/1), and weak red (10YR4/3, 4/4). . . . Many cobbles exhibit a mottling of colors, some are oolitic or quartzitic, and a few are weakly banded. Luster is typically low, but medium luster is occasionally exhibited. Most Lafayette chert cobbles appear to be nonfossiliferous although some contain crinoids, bryozoa, and other small fossils. The texture . . . varies from coarse to fine with coarse to medium predominating. (Ray, n.d.)

There are two main known sources for Lafayette chert: (1) Crowley’s Ridge, which contains the best known and largest source, and (2) in a narrow band (approximately 5–15 kilometers wide) along the Ozark Escarpment from the mouth of the White River to Cape Girardeau and in localized areas north to the mouth of the Missouri River (Ray, n.d.). Lafayette chert was used in the manufacture of 22 percent of the arrow points recovered from Turner and Snodgrass. Lafayette quartzite was not identified as the material for any arrow points in the assemblage.


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A third common type of chert used in the manufacture of points from Turner and Snodgrass is known as undifferentiated Osagean, hereafter called simply Osagean. Ray (n.d.) divides Osagean into two varieties depending on the physiographic province of the chert’s origin. Springfield Osagean is found on the Springfield Plateau of southwestern Missouri, and Salem Osagean is found in the Salem Plateau region of south-central Missouri. Because of proximity, it is assumed that the Osagean chert represented at Turner and Snodgrass is of the Salem variety. This type of chert has a thin cortex that is often discolored by iron oxide. Colors of the matrix of the chert nodules include “white (10YR8/1), light gray (2.5Y7/1; 10YR7/1,7/2), gray (2.5Y5/1, 6/1), light brownish gray (2.5Y6/2), and rarely light bluish gray (e.g., 10YR5/1 to 10YR7/1). Most of the chert tends to be monotonal or homogeneous in color, but it can be strongly mottled. Luster is always low. The chert may be sparsely or highly fossiliferous. . . . The texture grades from coarse to fine” (Ray, n.d.). Roughly 3.5 percent of Mississippian points from Turner and Snodgrass were manufactured from this material. A fourth chert represented in the sample from Turner and Snodgrass is Penters chert, which occurs naturally in northeastern Arkansas. According to Ray (n.d.), The cortex of Penters chert is usually white, light gray, or brown and thin ( .10), or in their mean diameters—41.2 and 39.5 centimeters, respectively (t = 1.39, p = .17). Presumably these vessels were employed with similar intensity at both sites.

Vessel Types on Turner and Snodgrass Structure Floors After compiling the data for the two assemblages, we deleted all measured rim sherds from the Turner and Snodgrass structure samples (see Chapter 7) that were determined to have been from secondary deposition; rim sherds (in-

POTTERY FROM TURNER AND SNODGRASS

281

Figure 9.13. Histograms of pan-orifice diameters from (top) Turner and (bottom) Snodgrass.

cluding complete vessels) determined to be primary and de facto refuse are listed in Tables 9.2 and 9.3. These tables suggest that cooking—evidenced by the presence of jars—may have been an exclusive feature of pottery-related activities in Turner Structures 10, 14, and 42 and in Snodgrass Structures 43, 48, and 69. Jar sherds are a predominant component of the pottery assemblage from the floors of Snodgrass Structures 18, 47, 50, 55, 70, and 84, suggesting that cooking was an activity in these houses, where additional pottery-related activities also took place. Bowl sherds occurred on the floors of Turner Structures 24, 29, 36, and 41 and in 12 Snodgrass structures. Pan sherds were an exclusive feature of only one sampled structure floor—Snodgrass Structure 5— and are a significant aspect of the assemblages from Turner Structure 7 and Snodgrass Structures 14 and 84. Olla sherds occurred on the floors of only Turner Structures 29 and 41; no plate sherds were primary refuse on any of the sampled floors.

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Table 92. Frequencies of Vessel Types on Sampled Structure Floors at Turner Vessel Type

Structure Number 7

10

14

24

29 a

36

39

41

42

Jar Bowl Pan

2 – 2

4

1

– –

– 1 –

– 2 –

– – –

2

– –

1 2 1

–

2 – –

Olla

–

–

–

–

1

–

–

1

–

4

4

1

4

2

2

0

7

2

4

—

Total

Note: Structure numbers in bold are specially selected structures; numbers in plain text are randomly selected structures. a Also contained sherds of a Wickliffe vessel.

VESSEL TEMPER Although shell was the predominant tempering material in all Turner and Snodgrass vessels, sand also was present in varying amounts.² Mississippianperiod pottery from many parts of the central Mississippi River valley often contains considerable amounts of sand in addition to shell, and the pottery from Turner and Snodgrass is no exception. Based on our experiments with sand and shell tempering in replicate sherds (Cogswell, 1998; Cogswell et al., 1998; Hoard et al., 1995), Mississippian potters could have tolerated a wide range of natural sand in their shell-tempered products. Virtually all sherds have a discernibly silty texture, which suggests that the sand may have been a natural component of the clays employed rather than an addition to a low-silt, high-clay matrix (Cogswell, 1998). Visual inspection showed that there is no dichotomy between coarse-shell and fine-shell tempering at either Turner or Snodgrass. Instead, the size of shell fragments appears to be a continuum that was concentrated in the moderately coarse-size (2–4 millimeter) fraction. Although not quantified, some bowls, plates, and small jars were made with extremely fine-shell paste, whereas all large jars and pans were produced exclusively with coarse-shell paste. Clay tempering was not observed—either alone or in conjunction with shell or other materials—in any of the sherds.

5

9

Structure Number 11 12 14 18 25 43 47 48 50 55 61 62 69 70 77 80 84

Total Note: Structure numbers in bold are specially selected structures; numbers in plain text are randomly selected structures.

—

—

Bowl Pan

Vessel Type

Table 9. 3. Frequencies of Vessel Types on Sampled Structure Floors at Snodgrass

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VESSEL DECORATION Decorated sherds comprise much less than 1 percent of the total ceramic assemblage from Turner and Snodgrass, so it is most surprising that the variety of motifs and application methods are notably limited, consisting of incising (either in straight or curved lines), punctating, noding, and painting. Small jars occasionally were decorated with incised lines, either in a chevron pattern similar to that used to define the type Barton Incised (Phillips et al., 1951) or in a meandering pattern that can include punctations equivalent to those on Manly Punctated (Phillips et al., 1951) (Figure 9.14). Single lines of unequally spaced nodes a few centimeters below the lip decorate a few small bowls from both Turner and Snodgrass and two small jars from Snodgrass. A single plate from Turner has a crudely incised meander on the inside of the vessel that resembles designs found on O’Byam Incised vessels (Williams, 1954). Effigy bowls, pro-

Figure 9.14. Photographs of incised and/or punctated sherds from Turner and Snodgrass.


285

Figure 9.15. Photograph of bowl with effigy rim rider from Structure 44 at Snodgrass (vessel is 8.5 centimeters high).

duced predominantly from a fine-tempered paste, either imitate natural forms such as marine shells or animals (Figure 9.9) or have rim riders that represent birds, mammals, or humans (Figure 9.15). Lip decoration consists of incising, scalloping, and notching,³ in decreasing order of frequency. Our analysis showed that when vessel form can be determined (in approximately half of the sherds), bowls and jars from Turner are incised with equal frequency (6 cases each), whereas 23 Snodgrass jars and 16 bowls were incised. We originally thought that direction of incision—either perpendicular to the rim or at an angle—might have had some significance (as did Price and Griffin, 1979) until we observed both orientations on the same reconstructed vessel. Notching occurs on a few bowls and small jars, again with a variety of orientations (see Price and Griffin, 1979). Rim scalloping occurs on a few dozen bowl sherds from both sites and in a variety of patterns. Ollas exhibit no decoration, either on the body or on the lip. Red slipping occurs on a small number of sherds from both Turner (37) and Snodgrass (96). Interior-slipped sherds are most common (35 from Turner and 72 from Snodgrass), although slipping on the exterior ( 1 from Turner and 14 from Snodgrass) and onbothsurfaces ( 1 from Turner and 10 from Snodgrass) also are present. The slipped sherds are small, and vessel type or rim-form class

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could be determined for only four vessels, all from Snodgrass: three ollas of rim-form 4 and one bowl of rim-form 10 were interior slipped, and one rimform 7 bowl was slipped on both surfaces. These sherds may represent Early Mississippian–period components (Cogswell and O’Brien, 1998; Feathers, 1990b; Morse and Morse, 1983) at Turner and Snodgrass. A few differentially painted motifs such as those found on vessels of the types Nodena Red-andWhite and Carson Red-on-Buff (Phillips et al., 1951) were found, all occurring on bowls. Three body sherds from Structure 4 at Snodgrass, undoubtedly all from the same vessel, have an extremely thick (up to 2 millimeters) application of buff-colored clay on the interior, which is completely unlike the red slip discussed above and indeed is unique in our experience with pottery from southeastern Missouri. Clearly, the application of this clay prior to firing was meant to decrease the vessel’s permeability, but why the clay was applied to only a single vessel and what intended function this vessel may have had are unknown.

HANDLE FORMS Jar handles occur in two forms: lugs and closed loops or straps. Lugs are by far the minority handle type, occurring on only seven sherds from Snodgrass and on none from Turner. Price and Griffin (1979) posit that the difference between lugs and tab tails is that lugs occur only on jars and tab tails occur only on effigy bowls. We add that tab tails are straight, perpendicular to the vessel rim, and are sometimes decorated, whereas jar lugs have a downward curve and are not decorated or otherwise embellished. The two lugged-jar rims that produced orifice-diameter measurements were each 26 centimeters. Handles were applied exclusively as a single pair spaced at opposite sides of the rim, regardless of vessel size or orifice diameter. They almost always were of the strap type, that is, rectangular in cross section (Figure 9.16 [top]). The few loop handles (Figure 9.16 [bottom]), roughly circular in cross section, occurred only on small jars and had small openings compared to the larger openings of strap handles. The presence of loop handles may have been a technological limitation rather than a stylistic variant: If a small handle is to remain functional, at some point the thickness must meet or exceed the width of the handle, thus resulting in a cross section that is more circular than rectangular. Handles were riveted into the vessel shoulder by first creating a hole in the vessel wall, inserting the handle into it, and then smoothing the interior and exterior junctions. Price and Griffin (1979) discussed perforated and bifurcated handles, the former having a hole through the top of the handle and the latter having a

Figure 9.16. Photographs of jars with (top) strap handles (vessel, from Structure 24 at Snodgrass, is 29 centimeters high) and with (bottom) loop handles (vessel, from Turner Structure 10, is 10.5 centimeters high).

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separation of the attachment at the shoulder into two sections. They suggested that the purpose of the perforated handles was for suspension by having a cord running through the hole. We could find no wear around these perforations that would support this supposition; the most parsimonious explanation is that handle perforation is a stylistic (nonfunctional) attribute, as is bifurcation. Handles are either curved or angular in profile, and either style may have two nodes resembling “ears” on the upper portion of the handle. Locational studies of handle forms (Smith, n.d.) failed to find any distributional differences either within or between Turner and Snodgrass.

VESSEL FUNCTION Following the work of Braun (1983), Hally (1983), Skibo (1992), and others, vessel form is best interpreted as reflecting the intended or primary function of that vessel. Thus, cooking vessels are designed for cooking in the same way that a modern screw driver is primarily designed for inserting and removing screws. But tools can serve functions other than those for which they originally were intended. A cooking jar, for example, can also be used as a storage container or as a serving vessel, and on breakage its fragments can be used as additional serving vessels, gaming pieces, or abraders. Alteration of vessel surfaces by charring, abrasion, and other physical and chemical effects is an important aspect of determining uses of vessels from a prehistoric context (e.g., Skibo, 1992), but the depositional environment that produced the Turner and Snodgrass assemblages severely hindered our ability to examine such features. The acidic, sandy soil at both sites caused considerable degradation of vessel surfaces, obliterating considerable evidence of such things as abrasion marks and soot marks. Acids dissolved most of the shell temper and otherwise weakened the vessel, making sherds extremely fragile and subject to breakage. Small remnants of burned material were found on the interior of a few jar body sherds (as indicated by sherd curvature), which supports the fairly trivial conclusion that at least some jars were used for cooking, but identification of the burned material has not yet been made. Thus, physical alteration of (sherd) shape is the salient indicator of secondary pottery use at Turner and Snodgrass. As mentioned in Chapter 7, large pieces of vessels were found in primary context in many structures, some in association with other artifacts in activity areas. These vessel sections might have been used as expedient containers for processing of plant materials or other small objects. Several smaller (roughly 30 centimeters in maximum dimension) ovoid vessel sections had intentionally ground edges and might have functioned as serving platters. Sherds like-


289

Figure 9.17. Photograph of Kersey clay objects from Snodgrass; note impression of olla rim in each object (top specimen is 7.5 centimeters high).

wise were reworked into perforated and unperforated pottery disks for unknown purposes. Additional sherds were employed as abraders as evidenced by linear grooves worn into one or more surfaces. The presence of three clay stoppers, or Kersey clay objects (Marshall, 1965) (Figure 9.17), in the fill of three Snodgrass structures4 suggests that one function of ollas was storage. The impression of the orifices on these stoppers is within the range found for ollas, and there are no other vessels on this site that would have the appropriate orifice size and rim form. The stoppers would have been unfired when in use and have survived only by subsequently being fired.

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COMPOSITIONAL ANALYSIS Over 700 pottery and raw-clay samples from southeastern Missouri have been submitted for neutron-activation analysis at the University of Missouri Research Reactor as part of a long-term project to understand ceramic compositional variation, production, and exchange in this region of the central Mississippi River valley (Cogswell, 1998; Hoard et al., 1995; Lynott et al., 2000; Neff et al., 1991, 1992; O’Brien et al., 1995). Of particular interest here are the results for pottery samples from Turner, Snodgrass, and Powers Fort (Neff et al., 1991; see also Lynott et al., 2000). In keeping with the overall formal and stylistic similarities between the Turner and Snodgrass pottery assemblages discussed here, compositional analysis showed that pottery from these sites could not be differentiated, suggesting that the pottery was produced from the same clay source. However, the combined Turner–Snodgrass ceramic reference group was chemically separable from the Powers Fort ceramic group (Figure 9.18), indicating that Powers Fort potters exploited a different clay source than did the Turner–Snodgrass potters, despite being physically separated by only 6 kilometers. This finding also suggests that little movement of pottery occurred between the palisaded center and its satellite villages.

SUMMARY The undecorated vessel forms recovered from Turner and Snodgrass may in the future be useful temporal markers for identifying Middle Mississippian– period components—those dating roughly in the A.D. 1200–1400 range—at other, multicomponent, sites in the central Mississippi River valley, keeping in mind that increased geographical and/or temporal distance will limit the comparative utility of these observations. Comparison of the Turner and Snodgrass ceramic assemblages to those from other sites is hindered by the lack of similar published data and the fact that the other sites clearly experienced multiple occupations throughout the Mississippian period. Vertical-rim jars, the olla subgroup, and molded bowls and pans with relatively flat bases and steep sides dominate the Turner and Snodgrass ceramic repertoire, but it remains to be determined how widespread their distributions are. It is clear that vessel shapes in the Turner and Snodgrass assemblages differ in several significant respects from shapes in assemblages from sites in the eastern Ozark Highland, but the majority of those assemblages date considerably earlier (Chapter 2). They also differ significantly from Early Mississippian–period assemblages from the Malden Plain and the Little River Lowland of southeastern Missouri and north-


291

Figure 9.18. Plot of principal components showing the chemical differentiation of pottery samples from Powers Fort and from Turner and Snodgrass, based on 29 element concentrations (after Neff et al., 1991).

eastern Arkansas (e.g., Cogswell and O’Brien, 1998; Conner, 1995; Dunnell and Feathers, 1991; Marshall, 1965,1966; Morse and Morse, 1980,1983; O’Brien and Marshall, 1994), in terms of both vessel form and amount of red slip applied to the vessels. The assemblages are more like that from the Moon site, located between the St. Francis River and the Malden Plain in Poinsett County, Arkansas, which dates sometime between A.D. 1200 and A.D. 1400 (Benn, 1992, 1998), although the degree of similarity is difficult to ascertain because of the lack of comparability in classes used to categorize the materials. To begin to discern more than general patterns in ceramic assemblages from the central Mississippi River valley, researchers are going to have to agree on a set of standards that allows interassemblage comparison. Our classifica-

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tion based on rim-form types is one standardized means of analysis, and it can be extended as needed. Especially for the time period A.D. 1250–1400, when the vast majority of pottery from southeastern Missouri was undecorated, it would seem logical that overall vessel shape, especially rim form, might offer the best means of identifying markers that could bring better chronological control to the region.

NOTES ¹We know from comparing field records to the ceramic inventory that some sherds and whole vessels have disappeared from the collection. ²Sherds tempered exclusively with sand—Barnes Cordmarked or Barnes Plain (Williams, 1954)— are present at both Turner and Snodgrass in small amounts and undoubtedly represent earlier, Woodland-period components. ³We define incising as being made with a relatively thin implement drawn across the lip and notching as being made by a wider implement pressed into the lip. Price and Griffin (1979) subsume both applications under notching. 4

Williams (1974:79) posited that these objects may be markers for the Late Woodland Baytown period in southeastern Missouri. Their recovery at Snodgrass demonstrates that these objects were in use during the Mississippian period as well.

Chapter

10

Concluding Remarks MICHAEL J. O’BRIEN

Viewed from any perspective, the Powers Phase Project initiated by the University of Michigan in 1968 was a highly successful endeavor. Born in the days when settlement archaeology was coming into its own, the project grew in scope from investigating the internal structure of a single community in the Little Black River Lowland of southeastern Missouri to analyzing the distribution of settlement across a sizable portion of that physiographic region. Much of the credit for the success of the project goes to James E. Price, whose longterm commitment to investigating and preserving the archaeological record of the Western Lowlands ensured continuity in the scope and direction of the long-term project. In terms of what was learned about human use of the Little Black River Lowland between roughly A.D. 1250 and A.D. 1400, the National Science Foundation—which sponsored much of the work—could not have asked for a better payoff. By the time the project wound down in the mid1970s, two large villages had been excavated almost in their entirety; a farmstead had been excavated completely; smaller excavations had taken place at several other sites; and a large portion of the Pleistocene terrace containing the Powers phase settlements had been surveyed intensively Numerous publications over the succeeding years have reported on the excavations—some in great detail (e.g., Smith, 1978b), others in cursory fashion (e.g., Perttula, 1998; Price and Griffin, 1979)—and summary statements on the nature of the settlement hierarchy appeared (e.g., Price, 1978). Like any scientific program, the Powers Phase Project was a product of its time and the interpretations that grew out of the work were to some degree conditioned by the intellectual proclivities of the investigators. Reanalysis of the materials and 293

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notes from the excavations of Turner and Snodgrass, coupled with a reexamination of the entire settlement system, leads to some conclusions that differ from those offered several decades ago. In the remainder of this chapter, I summarize a few of what I consider to be the more significant conclusions.

LINGERING ISSUES One of the excavation reports, coauthored by Price and James B. Griffin (1979), was the published version of Price’s (1973) earlier analysis of the community configuration of Snodgrass—one of the villages excavated almost in its entirety —and the implications of that configuration for understanding Powers phase social structure. Price and Griffin argued that the uneven distribution of certain artifact categories at Snodgrass indicated that the community was segmented into residential areas based on socioeconomic status. Higher-status families lived in larger structures located inside an enclosure, whereas lower-status families resided in smaller structures located outside the enclosure. The proposition that Powers phase communities—and presumably the larger social group comprising the inhabitants of all of the communities-were segmented is a logical one and has been proposed for Mississippian-period societies not only in the central Mississippi River valley but also throughout much of the southeastern United States (e.g., Pauketat, 1991, 1994; Smith, 1986, 1990b). I say “logical” because at some sites, especially the larger ones, there are discernible differences in such things as burial treatment and the kinds of objects and foodstuffs to which households had access. At an even more visible level, the earthen mounds that are ubiquitous at Mississippian centers were not erected without concerted effort and direction: Someone had to coordinate the effort and ensure that the job was completed, and it is difficult to imagine that that someone was not of a different status than those whose efforts were being coordinated. For an archaeologist, the difficulty is in determining the precise nature of those status differences. Ignoring for the moment the problems involved in using analogies, irrespective of whether they are archaeological or ethnographic, one is hard pressed to apply analogies to the Powers phase record. Given what we know of that record, there is as yet no indisputable evidence for status differentiation. Certainly someone (or several someones) coordinated construction of the mounds and fortification features at Powers Fort, but analysis of artifact distributions and burial treatment fails to highlight any differences that might be reflective of status differentiation. As Cogswell and I discuss in Chapters 6 and 7, the artifact distributions Price and Griffin used to infer status were in large part the result of secondary deposition of refuse. Reanalysis of artifacts

CONCL UDlNG REMARKS

295

that actually occurred on structure floors as opposed to artifacts that were deposited in structure basins after the houses burned showed that there was a tendency for structures located within the white-clay wall at Snodgrass—Price and Griffin’s elite segment of the village—to have disproportionately more artifacts than those located outside the wall, but there was nothing in the distributions to suggest status differences. Significantly, comparisons of artifact assemblages from all excavated Powers phase communities—including Powers Fort—demonstrated no significant differences in composition from one locality to another. This does not mean that if larger samples existed there would be no differences; it means simply that at this point no differences have been noted. Perhaps if more houses at Powers Fort were excavated such differences might be evident, but certainly in the ranks of the settlement hierarchy below Powers Fort there are none. Households at all levels were organized around activities such as cooking, food storage, and tool manufacture and maintenance, as is evidenced in the redundant nature of the artifact inventories. Pottery is ubiquitous in primary refuse from structure floors, as it is in secondary refuse originally discarded in open structure basins. The same applies to chert debitage from the manufacture of arrow points, hoes, and other bifacially chipped implements. Nor are there differences in faunal assemblages that would indicate that foodstuffs were differentially distributed either among communities or among households within a community (Zeder and Arter, 1996). One issue that is central to the analysis of the occupation of the Little Black River Lowland by Mississippian peoples was the timing of the founding of the communities, especially, as Bruce Smith (1978b:201) put it, relative to “the degree of contemporaneity of fortified villages and homesteads.” Based on radiocarbon dates from five sites—Powers Fort, Turner, Snodgrass, Neil Flurry, and Gypsy Joint—the entire Powers phase occupation was short lived, perhaps beginning in the late thirteenth century and lasting into the early decades of the fifteenth century. Beyond that it is difficult if not impossible to time the founding and abandonment of individual communities more precisely. Five dates from a single structure at Powers Fort bracket the period A.D. 1305–1395, which agrees with the majority of dates from the other sites with the exception of the single date from Neil Flurry, which falls toward the end of the fifteenth century. The individual means of thermoluminescence dates from a second structure at Powers Fort both overlap the radiocarbon dates and extend earlier and later. It is for this reason that the date A.D. 1250 is used consistently throughout this volume as the beginning of the Powers phase, even though the actual date of the construction and initial occupation of Powers Fort might be closer to A.D. 1300. Based on several lines of evidence, Powers Fort was occupied longer— perhaps much longer—than any of the other communities. First, at least one

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area of the mound center contains an extensive midden, which indicates an extended occupation relative to that of other communities. Midden deposits are virtually nonexistent at Powers phase villages and smaller settlements, which I take as evidence of short occupations. This absence was documented at Turner, Snodgrass, and Gypsy Joint, all of which were excavated almost in their entirety. Second, structures at Powers Fort were rebuilt—a phenomenon rarely seen at the other excavated sites. We have no way of knowing at what interval houses were rebuilt, but again we can use such evidence as a measure of relative length of occupation. The most vexing chronological problem is the relation between suspected pairs of villages such as Turner and Snodgrass. Price (1978) proposed that instead of villages located on the same sand ridge being occupied sequentially, they were occupied simultaneously. Despite the presence of two sizable suites of radiocarbon dates—several of which are long-count dates, meaning the associated errors are small relative to those of the standard radiocarbon dates (Figure 5.17)—we cannot sort out the sequence of occupation: Turner could predate or postdate Snodgrass, or they could have been occupied simultaneously. How those occupations relate chronologically to other Powers phase communities, with the exception of Powers Fort, is unknown. Based on radiocarbon and thermoluminescence dates, the amount of midden buildup, and the degree of structural rebuilding, Powers Fort appears to have been a contemporary community to Turner and Snodgrass (and presumably to the other communities) throughout their life spans. One interesting aspect of the Powers Phase Project that sheds some light on the issue of community contemporaneity is Thomas Black’s (1979) analysis of the burials from Turner. Black demonstrated a lack of status distinction in terms of how and where individuals were interred at Turner and in terms of what they were interred with, concluding his monograph with the humorous but appropriate remark, “There certainly was no indication that anyone important was buried at Turner” (Black, 1979:118). As significant as this conclusion is, I am more interested here in the life tables that Black constructed. Based on his analysis of the age–sex distribution of individuals buried at Turner and on several reasonable assumptions about the length of occupation of structures and villages, Black demonstrated that the cemetery could not have contained the bodies of only Turner residents. In fact, the only way it could have contained the bodies of residents of only Turner and Snodgrass is if structures at both sites were occupied for about 5 years. Given the wet environment in which the Powers phase groups lived and the nature of the structures they built, I find it highly unlikely that the houses were inhabited anywhere near 5 years. Smith’s (1978b) assessment of the life spans of the two houses at Gypsy Joint is similar. For every year we decrease the average life span of a structure, we need to find more people outside of Turner and Snodgrass to fill the cemetery. Knowing

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now something that Black did not know when he wrote the monograph—that not all structures at Snodgrass were occupied simultaneously (the same probably applies to Turner)—we need an even larger population from which to draw the individuals interred at Turner. Black (1979:97) noted that it cannot be stated conclusively that “the people from Snodgrass were buried at Turner, only that it seems likely. It is possible that individuals from nearby hamlets such as Stick Chimney were also buried at Turner.” Black is correct that we will never know for sure exactly which communities buried at least some of their dead at Turner, but on circumstantial grounds there is reason to suspect that Snodgrass and other communities on Sharecropper Ridge (such as Stick Chimney) contributed to the cemetery. If Price (1978) is correct, other sand ridges had cemeteries as well. The cemetery at Turner was not on the periphery of the community but rather located well within the area containing structures. With two exceptions, the skeletons did not touch any of the structures, but the two that did—Burials 25 and 60—clearly postdated the structures with which they were associated (Figure 5.12). We know this because the bones extended into what at one time were basins containing Structures 32 and 44. Were bodies being placed in the cemetery while Turner was inhabited, or did a part of the site function as a cemetery after Turner was abandoned? The spacing of the bodies and their layout relative to structure basins leads one to speculate that the cemetery was in existence during the time Turner functioned as a village. That is, bodies were placed in rows between structure basins but, with only two exceptions, did not intrude into basins. The latter would have been an impossibility if standing structures were present. There are several ways to read this evidence. If Price and Griffin (1979) are correct, Turner and Snodgrass both contributed bodies simultaneously, but this strains credibility in terms of Black’s (1979) findings relative to life expectancy. As I interpret his calculations, it would have been almost impossible to reach the age–sex structure represented in the cemetery through 10 years of deaths of individuals from only Turner and Snodgrass. If we add a few individuals from Stick Chimney—the farmstead located just to the northeast of Snodgrass (Figure 4.2)—it still seems implausible that enough individuals of the right age and sex could have contributed to match Black’s calculations. Further complicating the situation is the fact that at least at Snodgrass not all structures were occupied simultaneously. This further reduces the resident population that could have contributed to the Turner cemetery. If, however, Turner was the earlier community relative to Snodgrass, and on its eventual abandonment continued to function as a cemetery for surrounding villages and farmsteads that sprang up after the abandonment of Turner, then the numbers start to get close to Black’s figures. This is how Black (1979:118) summarized his findings:

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CHAPTER 10 The vast majority of the individuals buried at the Turner site were born elsewhere and lived most or all of their lives at other locations. . . . Once a person was born, he had about 70 percent chance of surviving the first year of life. A person who survived to age 15 could expect 20 more years of life, which was about the same life expectancy that a neonate had. If a person survived to age 35, he had probably been parent to three or four children, of whom one had died at an early age. By the age of 35, the adult had lived in a half-dozen villages.

If Black is correct, then we are dealing with a continuous process of community formation and abandonment. The communities that we see archaeologically are themselves amalgamations of structures, not all of which were occupied simultaneously. Perhaps that is why the villages simultaneously have a planned look but not quite a “perfect” plan. The community plans for Turner and Snodgrass obviously are structured, but the rows of houses are by no means perfectly aligned. One gets the feeling that although an effort was made to carry out some original plan as far as row orientation went, there was considerable deviation from it. As a structure became infested with vermin and began to rot in the wet, humid environment, it was burned. To compensate for the loss, a new structure basin was excavated adjacent to the older basin. If other structures were nearby, the builders may have had to offset the location a bit to fit the new structure in. Under the scenario of continuous community formation and abandonment, it is conceivable that a single residential group was responsible for all of the archaeological remains on a sand ridge. This was the scenario proposed by Smith (1978b), who further suggested that farmsteads were occupied by village residents during part of the year. Thus, all four villages on Sharecropper Ridge—Turner and Snodgrass on the southwestern end, Steinberg and Wilborn on the northeastern end (Figure 4.2)—could have been sequentially occupied by the same residential group. Where does a smaller community such as Stick Chimney fit in? As pointed out in Chapter 5, Smith (1978b) proposed that perhaps there was no such site class as hamlets. Given what we know of how villages apparently grew in spatial extent through the abandonment of structures and the construction of new ones, are the hamlets—those 12- to 15-structure communities—actually stage-one villages? That is, are sites such as Stick Chimney, Bliss, Harris Ridge, Newkirk, and Dabrico (Figure 4.2) simply villages that, for whatever reason, never had the opportunity to grow to the size of Turner and Snodgrass? If so, then we need to rethink the notion of a four-tier settlement hierarchy. Another question that dates to the early stages of the Powers Phase Project is the place and date of origin of the people who built and occupied Powers Fort and its outlying communities. Were they, as Price (1974, 1978; see also

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Price and Griffin, 1979) claimed, colonizers from other parts of the central Mississippi River valley—perhaps the Malden Plain—or were they the direct descendants of groups who had resided in and around the Little Black River Lowland for untold generations? As Krakker and I point out in Chapter 4, there are few if any clues provided by the archaeological assemblages from the lowlands of southeastern Missouri. When one compares the artifact assemblages from Powers phase sires to what appear to be contemporary assemblages from sites on the Malden Plain or in the Cairo Lowland, there are few immediately discernible differences. Similar vessel forms occur in all three areas, and based on admittedly cursory examination, vessel dimensions do not appear to be all that different. If there is a difference among assemblages, it is in the small percentage of decorated vessels from the Little Black River Lowland. Decorated vessels—painted, incised, or punctated—never dominate assemblages from the Cairo Lowland, but their percentage occurrence is usually higher than is evident in Powers phase assemblages. The best clue to the origin of the Powers phase phenomenon lies, I believe, in the examination by Mark Lynott and his colleagues of the chemical composition of raw clays and pottery from the eastern Ozark Highland and the Little Black River Lowland (Lynott et al., 2000). They demonstrated conclusively that between roughly A.D. 700 and A.D. 1000, vessels made from clays found in the lowland were moving up into the Ozark Highland valleys of the Little Black, Current, Jack’s Fork, and Eleven Point Rivers, in some cases over distances up to 135 kilometers. My guess is that if they had examined samples that dated between A.D. 1000 and A.D. 1200, they would have found the same trend. If this kind of centuries-long connection existed between groups in the Ozark Highland and those in the Little Black River Lowland, it is not much of a stretch to view the highland as contributing part of the population that built Powers Fort and the other Powers phase communities. The reason for the population shift out of the Ozark Highland sometime during the thirteenth century—if in fact that scenario is correct—is unknown. By that time a number of palisaded mound centers had begun to spring up in the Eastern Lowlands (Figure 2.3), two of the largest being Lilbourn and Beckwith’s Fort in the Cairo Lowland. Two other fairly large centers—Lakeville and Peter Bess—stood at the northern entrance to the Western Lowlands, but south of that point and west of Crowley’s Ridge there were no fortified communities. At this point we do not know much about the social and political landscape of southeastern Missouri during the thirteenth century but the settlement reorganization that took place—some degree of nucleation presumably for defensive reasons—attests to the disintegration of the political climate. How one chooses to answer the questions of why the fortified centers arose and what the mound construction tells us in terms of sociopolitical organization is

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open, but it is clear that by at least A.D. 1250—1275 the landscape in southeastern Missouri had changed dramatically in terms of settlement organization. Based on several decades of work in the eastern Ozark Highland (e.g., Lynott, 1982, 1986, 1989, 1991; Lynott and Price, 1989; Lynott et al., 1984, 1985, 2000; Price and Price, 1981, 1984), it is clear that the region encompassing the watersheds of the Little Black, Current, Jack’s Fork, and Eleven Point rivers experienced a depopulation after roughly A.D. 1200, perhaps closer to A.D. 1250. This statement is not meant to imply that the region was completely void of people by the middle of the thirteenth century, only that the ceramic markers we usually associate with later periods are virtually absent. If there was not a decrease in the number of people inhabiting the highland valleys, then groups residing there developed their own ceramic trajectory—which we have yet to identify. But based on the available evidence, the best guess is that groups in the eastern Ozark Highland moved eastward and joined the groups in the Little Black River Lowland with whom they had long had contact. For all we know, the groups were intimately related or, alternatively, were members of the same large social group that spent part of the year in the uplands and part of the year in the lowlands. Regardless, the coalition resulted in the founding of the settlement structure known as the Powers phase.

A FINAL NOTE The major objective of this book has been to set the stage for a long-term study of the variation present in the Mississippian-period archaeological record of the Eastern and Western Lowlands—a study that moves beyond phase designations (although for historical reasons the term Powers phase has been retained) and attempts to identify small-scale regional and temporal differences in pottery, projectile points, and other artifact categories. In terms of such practical matters as length, it has been impossible here to cover more than a few of the high points of the massive data bases that emanated from the almost total excavation of Turner and Snodgrass. I point out, however, that those data bases are available to anyone interested in pursuing the almost limitless avenues of research that are possible, as are the materials themselves. Both are housed at the Museum Support Center, the curation and conservation arm of the Museum of Anthropology at the University of Missouri–Columbia. The artifact assemblages from those two sites, because of the care with which they were excavated and the short time span they represent, are treasures that will continue to provide archaeologists with an unparalleled view into the Mississippian world during part of the fourteenth century.

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Patterns in the New World, edited by G. R. Willey, pp. 52–62. Viking Fund Publications in Anthropology No. 23. Williams, S., 1980, Armorel: A Very Late Phase in the Lower Mississippi Valley. Southeastern Archaeological Conference Bulletin 22: 105–110. Williams, S., 1983, Some Ruminations on the Current Strategy of Research in the Southeast. Southeastern Archaeological Conference Bulletin 2 1 : 72–81. Williams, S., 1990, The Vacant Quarter and Other Late Events in the Lower Valley. In Towns and Temples along the Mississippi, edited by D. H. Dye and C. A. Cox, pp. 170–180. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Williams, S., and Brain, J. P., 1983, Excavations at the Lake George Site, Yazoo County, Mississippi. Harvard University, Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Papers 74. Wilson, D. E., 1993, Diet, Health, and Social Status in the Mississippian Powers Phase Turner Cemetery Population. M.A. thesis, Department of Anthropology, University of Texas at Austin. Winters, H. D., 1967, An Archaeological Survey of the Wabash Valley in Illinois. Illinois State Museum, Reports of Investigations No. 10. Winters, H. D., 1969, The Riverton Culture: A Second Millennium Occupation in the Central Wabash Valley. Illinois State Museum, Reports of Investigations No. 13. Wood, W. R., 1976, Vegetational Reconstruction and Climatic Episodes. American Antiquity 41(2):206–208. Zeder, M. A., 1991, Patterns of Meat Consumption in Middle Mississippi Village Sites. Paper presented at the Southeastern Archaeological Conference, Jackson, Mississippi. Zeder, M. A., and Arter, S. R., 1993, Intra-Site Variation in Meat Consumption and Bone Use at a Middle Mississippi Village in Southeastern Missouri. Paper presented at the 16th Annual Meeting of the Society of Ethnobiology, Boston. Zeder, M. A., and Arter, S. R., 1995, Comparison of Animal Remains from Two Middle Mississippi Sites in Southeastern Missouri. Paper presented at the Southeastern Archaeological Conference, Knoxville, Tennessee. Zeder, M. A., and Arter, S. R., 1996, Meat Consumption and Bone Use in a Mississippian Village. In Case Studies in Environmental Archaeology, edited by E. J. Reitz, L. A. Newsom, and S. J. Scudder, pp. 319–337. Plenum Press, New York.

Index

Academy of Science of St. Louis, 30, 33, 34 Acorns, 191, 221, 229 Activity areas, 6, 194, 195, 197, 200, 201, 210, 217 Adams, Robert M., 34, 41, 43 Adler soil, 59 Advance Lowland, 100 Adzes, 195, 231, 232, 257 Agriculture, 8, 10, 49, 85 corn, 90, 94, 95, 96, 97, 105, 107 Alba points, 235, 248 Amagon soil, 59 American Bottom, 1, 22, 241 Americanist archaeology, vii, 4, 23 Archaeological Conservancy, 105, 108 Architectural elements, vii, 158, 167 burned, 141, 165, 167, 169, 181, 183, 186, 223 Arrow points, 49, 105, 172, 232, 233, 237, 253, 264, 295 Arrow-shaft abraders, 172, 196, 203, 206, 210, 213, 262 Arter, Susan, 177, 221, 226, 266 Artifact categories, 214, 223, 226, 263, 300 classes, 17, 175, 222 concentrations, 222 groups, 172 richness, 175 Ash ( Graxinus spp.), 67, 69, 73, 76, 154, 157 Atlatl, 232, 233 Banks site (Arkansas), 247, 248 Barfield Ridge, 56, 86, 93, 94, 133 Barnes Cordmarked, 82, 186, 292 Barnes Plain, 82, 186, 292

Barton Incised, 284 Baytown period, 292 Beads, 199 Beckwith, Thomas, 30, 34 Beckwith’s Fort site (Mississippi County), 34, 35, 38, 43, 44, 46, 48, 49, 299 radiocarbon dates from, 40, 41 structures, 161 rebuilding of, 162 Beckwith’s Ranch site (Mississippi County), 44 Bell City-Oran Gap, 26, 28, 29 Bifaces, 199, 222, 232, 295 Big Beaver site (Butler County), 133 Big Lake pollen core, 28 Binford, Lewis, 5 Black River, 57, 58 Black River lowlands, 61 Black, Thomas, viii, 296, 297, 298 Bliss site (Ripley County), 94, 298 Bone, 215, 217 artifacts, 209 awls, 203, 209, 210, 213, 217, 222 concentrations, 197 needles, 194, 195, 206, 217 tools, 177 production of, 222 Bosket soil, 59, 61, 73, 91, 92, 94, 95, 97 Bosket-Tuckerman soil, 91 Bottles, 268, 271 hooded, 273 Bowls/pans, 190, 191, 197, 203, 205, 213, 268, 272, 273, 279, 280, 282, 284, 285, 286, 290 Braided streams, 25, 26, 28, 49, 50, 52 Braidwood, Robert, 5 Bryant site (Mississippi County), 43

315

316 Buckskull phase, 81 Buncomb Ridge, 56, 94 Bureau of American Ethnology, 17, 30, 100 Burials, viii, 10, 33, 37, 46, 118, 124, 133, 135, 139, 257, 258, 259, 294, 296, 297 age-sex distribution of, 296, 297 at Powers Fort, 102, 104, 105 at Snodgrass, 199 infant, 41, 43 Cahokia site (Illinois), 1, 22 Cairo Lowland, 30, 31, 33, 34, 35, 43, 44, 46, 48, 52, 53, 65, 100 chiefdom, 50, 51 phase, 34, 41, 49, 50, 53 sites, 161, 162, 299 Calhoun-Amagon association, 59, 61 Calhoun-Crowley-Foley association, 59 Calhoun soil, 59, 61, 69 Callahan-Thompson site (Mississippi County), 44, 52 radiocarbon dates from, 44, 51 structures, 161 rebuilding of, 162 Campbell site (Pemiscot County), 247 Cane Creek, 55, 57, 58, 82 distribution of groups along, 89 Cane Creek lowlands, 55, 58, 59, 61, 63 forest composition of, 69, 73 tree use in, 157 Cane mats, 147, 148, 149 Carolina Piedmont, 232 Carson Red-on-Buff, 286 Celts, 199, 207, 231, 257, 260 production of, 262 Chapman, Carl, 49, 245, 247 Chiefdoms, 21, 49, 50 Chipped-stone-tool production, 207, 222, 227, 228, 231, 253 Civic-ceremonial centers, 48, 49, 108, 141, 227 development of, 49 Clay as temper, 80, 242, 282 sources of, 290 Coe, Joffre, 232 Cole, Fay-Cooper, 21 Commerce Hills, 28, 29 Community organization, 1, 2, 4; see also Paired sites Conant, Alban Jasper, 32, 34

lNDEX Cones, 181, 195, 196, 198, 201, 206, 209, 210, 211,213 fragments of, 190, 197, 201 Cores, 195, 260 Corncobs, 205 Cottonwood (Populus spp.), 76, 154, 157 County Line site (Stoddard County), 35, 44, 45 thermoluminescence dates from, 46 Crosno site (Mississippi County), 34, 35, 37, 41, 43, 49 Croswell, Caleb, 32, 33, 41, 43 Crowley soil, 59 Crowley’s Ridge, 4, 24, 25, 26, 28, 44, 76, 83, 299 as source of chert, 254 Cultural patterns, 6 Culture change, 5, 23 Culture-historical period, 5 Current River, 82, 85, 241, 242, 254, 264, 299, 300 Cypress (Taxodium spp.), 61, 69, 76, 156, 157 Dart points, 232, 233, 237 Daub, 148, 149, 229 Debitage, 190, 195, 196, 197, 207, 217, 227, 229, 260, 295 Deuel, Thorne, 21 Dover chert, 245, 255, 256, 257 Drills, 203, 211, 213, 232, 258 Dubbs soil, 59 Dudley Ridge, 76 Dunnell, Robert, 46, 47, 48 Ear ornaments, 172, 175, 186, 195, 198, 209, 265 East Lake site (New Madrid County), 31, 35, 41 Eastern Lowlands archaeological records of, 51, 81, 300 chiefdoms, in, 49 complex societies in, 52 forest composition of, 76 formation of, 26, 28, 50 location of, 25 phases in, 83 prehistoric groups in, 29 sites in, 9, 30, 53, 299 soils of, 59 Effigy vessels, 44, 175, 198, 268, 273, 284, 286

INDEX Elm (Ulmus spp,), 63, 67, 69, 73, 76, 154, 157 Environment of the historical period, 55 paleo-, 5 Ethnographic analogy, 21 Evans, David, 37 Farmsteads, 1, 2, 4, 49, 86, 139, 140, 228, 231, 293, 298 and Bosket soil, 92, 94 Faunal remains, 90, 217 spatial analysis of, 177 use in determining seasonal occupation, 221, 226 Fisk, Harold, 25 Flakers, 205, 227 Flakes, 105, 191, 227, 256 bipolar, 237 decortication, 237 greenstone, 260, 262 interior, 237 rejuvenation, 232 utilized, 232 Floral remains, 227 Fluorite, 133 Foley-Crowley-Jackport association, 59 Foley soil, 59 Forest composition, 65–73, 76 Fortification features ditches, 17, 38, 40, 46, 50, 104, 107, 118, 123, 139, 177 embankment, 4, 17, 31, 35, 38, 39, 41, 43, 46, 100, 104, 107, 122, 137 walls, 35, 38, 39, 40, 48, 50, 99, 118 Fortified sites, 30, 35, 43, 46, 49, 51, 52, 83, 299 Fossil pollen, 63 Foster, J. W., 34 Galena, 263 General Land Office (GLO) records, 53, 65, 73, 76, 156, 157 Geological Investigation of the Alluvial Valley of the Lower Mississippi River, 25 Gooseneck site (Carter County), 78, 242 Granite, 255 Grave goods, 102 Gravers, 232, 260 Greenbrier phase, 50 Greenstone, 199, 255, 257, 260

317 Griffin, James B., vii, viii, 6, 7, 21 on artifact distribution and status differentiation, 171, 172, 175, 186, 222, 224, 265, 294 on burning of Snodgrass, 132, 164–166 on courtyards at Snodgrass, 122, 123 on house construction, 146, 147, 148, 149 on jar handles, 286 on paired sites, 114 on Powers phase settlement, 83 on seasonal occupation of Snodgrass, 221 on Snodgrass white-clay wall, 121, 122 on structure size, 157 on Turner cemetery, 297 on village fortifications, 118 Grit temper, 242 Groundstone artifacts, 231, 260, 263 Gum ( Nyssa spp.), 63, 67, 73, 76 as building material, 157 Gypsy Joint site (Ripley County), viii, 9, 17, 133, 139, 141, 143, 228, 231, 263, 266, 296 faunal remains from, 90, 227 radiocarbon dates from, 97, 135, 295 Hamlets, 4, 17, 58, 86, 132, 133, 139, 140, 298 and Bosket soil, 92, 94 Hammerstones, 191, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 206, 207, 209, 211, 217, 221, 263 Handles, 265, 268, 286 Hams Ridge, 56, 93, 115 Harris, Suzanne, 151 Hearths, 191, 194, 195, 198, 199, 200, 203, 206, 209, 210, 217, 221, 226 Hematite, 194, 195, 263 Hess site (Mississippi County), 44, 51, 52 Hickory ( Carya spp.), 67, 73, 76, 154, 157 nuts, 197, 221, 222, 227 Hoecake site (Mississippi County), 48, 245 Hoes, 231, 232, 255, 257, 295 flakes, 194, 195, 197, 222, 255, 256, 257 Holmes, William Henry, 21 House basins, 9, 10, 17, 31, 37, 81, 107, 143, 158, 162, 166, 179, 180, 295, 298 artifacts on floors of, 164, 165, 171, 172 as refuse dumps, 177, 179, 186 excavation of, 148, 171 fill sequences in, 132, 167 House floors, 9, 17, 18, 81, 180, 198, 207, 232, 295

318 Housefloors( cont .) analysis of, 181–183, 214 House stains, 9, 17, 107, 108 Households, 4, 164, 167 Hunt site (Butler County), 89, 93, 97 Hut rings, 38, 41, 45, 100, 101, 148 Incising, 284, 285, 292, 299 Index markers, 232 Isotopic studies of bone, 105, 107 Jars, 190, 195, 197, 199, 202, 203, 205, 209, 210, 268, 272, 273, 278, 279, 281, 282, 285, 286, 288 Jefferson City chert, 248 Kaolin chert, 258 Kelly, John, 22 Kent phase, 50 Kersey clay objects, 289 Kersey site (Pemiscot County), 266, 278 Kimmswick Fabric Impressed, 272 King, Christine, 118, 158, 161, 169, 171 Kobel clay, 57, 58, 59, 61 Koehler, Walter A., 104, 105 Krakker, James, 15 Lafayette formation chert, 245, 246, 248, 251, 252, 253, 254, 258 quartzite, 253 Lake George site (Mississippi), 2 Lakeville site (Stoddard County), 35, 99, 299 Langdon site (Dunklin County), 35, 44, 46, 47, 48, 83 Lepold site (Ripley County), 82 Lewis, Barry, 51, 52 Lilbourn site (New Madrid County), 31, 35, 37, 41, 43, 44, 46, 48, 299 Big Mound, 35, 37 structures at, 161, 162 Limestone, 260, 262 Limestone temper, 242 Little Black River, 4, 6, 8 , 15, 16, 19, 25, 56, 58, 77, 81, 241, 299, 300 distribution of groups along, 89 middens along, 82 Little Black River Lowland, viii, 63, 64, 77, 84, 300 distribution of groups in, 89 origin of population of, 85, 299

lNDEX Little Black River Lowland (cont.) prehistoric occupation of, vii, 99, 135, 141, 179, 232, 293, 295 surveys in, 78 Little Black River lowlands, 55, 57, 58, 59 forest composition of, 69, 73 Little River, 51 Little River Lowland, 31, 65, 76, 290 Locust (Gleditsia sp. and Robinia sp.), 154 Lynott, Mark, 23, 110, 242, 299 McCarty-Moore site (Ripley County), 89, 92, 93 as paired community, 115 McKern, W. C., 21 Mackintosh Ridge, 56, 89, 93, 97 Madison points, 235, 242, 245, 248 Malcolm Turner site (Butler County), 89 Malden Plain, 28, 30, 44, 45, 46, 80, 81, 290, 291 as source of Powers phase people, 83, 299 Manly Punctated, 284 Maple (Acer spp.), 63, 67, 69, 73, 76 Matthews site (New Madrid County), 31, 33, 34, 35, 41, 43 Meander-belt streams, 25, 50 Metates/anvils, 195, 198, 199, 201, 203, 206, 217, 221, 262 Middens along Cane Creek, 82, 90 along Little Black River, 82, 90 at Beckwith’s Fort, 38 at Crosno, 41 at Powers Fort, 105, 108, 135, 296 Mill Creek chert, 190, 255, 256, 257 Mississippi Embayment, 20 Mississippi River and braided-stream surfaces, 7, 49, 55, 90 former channels of, 38, 52, 58 former location of, 26, 28, 29 location of, 24, 25 sites along, 1, 41 tree composition along, 76 Mississippi River valley abandonment of, 48, 49, 51 archaeological record of, viii, 15, 20, 44 drainage of, 63 phases, 84 pottery, 78, 80, 282, 291 prehistoric life in, 7, 19, 30 sites in, 2, 4, 43, 90, 161, 290

INDEX Missouri River valley, 254 Moon site (Arkansas), 2, 291 Morehouse Lowland, 31, 63 Morns points, 235, 248 Morrow Mountain points, 232 Morse, Dan, 30, 48, 49, 50, 51, 245, 247; see alsoMorse, Phyllis Morse, Phyllis, 30, 48, 49, 50, 51, 245, 247 Mounds, vii, 1, 4, 17, 20, 21, 31, 33, 34, 38, 40, 41, 45, 48, 83, 294, 296, 299 burial, 35, 43, 46 platform, 41, 46, 137 plazas around, 4, 17, 34, 35, 38, 40, 46, 108, 137 prairie, 82 temple, 35 Moundville site (Alabama), 1 Mussel shell, 191, 215, 222 concentrations, 201, 202, 205, 217, 222 National Science Foundation, 4, 7, 14, 293 Neil Flurry site (Butler County), 86, 89, 93, 115, 132, 141, 143, 145, 266 radiocarbon dates from, 97, 295 Structure 8, 227, 228 Neutron-activation analysis, 290 New archaeology: see Processual archaeology Newsom, Lee, 151, 154 Nodena phase, 50 Nodena points, 235, 242, 245, 247, 248, 264 Nodena Red-and-White, 286 Nodena site (Arkansas), 247 Norris, Col. P.W., 100, 101, 102, 137, 148 North Fork site (Ripley County), 78 Notching, 285, 292 Nut-shell concentrations, 199, 221 Nutting stones: see Metates/anvils Oak (Quercus spp.), 63, 65–66, 69, 73, 76, 154, 156, 157 O’Byam Incised, 284 Ochre, 194, 195 Ohio River, 25, 26, 29, 51, 52 Ohio River valley, 254 Old Field pollen core, 28, 63, 64 Old Helgoth site (Butler County), 133, 135 Old Town phase, 50 Old Varney River site (Dunklin County), 80 Ollas, 191, 195, 272, 273, 286, 289 Oneota sites, 245

319 Osagean chert, 245, 246, 251, 255, 258 Owls Bend site (Shannon County), 242 Owls Bend tradition, 81 Ozark Escarpment, 26, 69, 254 Ozark Highland, vii, 4, 16, 22, 23, 25, 26, 55, 57, 58, 69, 73, 82, 84, 290, 300 and origin of shell-tempered pottery, 78, 80, 81 as source of chert, 253, 254 as source of Powers phase population, 85, 299 tree use in, 157 Paired sites, 9, 89, 114, 115 Parkin phase, 50 Parsons, Jeffrey, 5 Patrick phase, 241 Peabody Museum (Harvard), 35 Pemiscot Bayou, 52 Pemiscot Bayou pollen core, 28 Penters chert, 245, 255 Peter Bess site (Bollinger County), 35, 99, 299 Phases, 9, 53, 83, 84 Phillips, Philip, 9 Pinhook Ridge, 38, 44 Pipes, 175, 206 Pits, 2, 9, 10, 17, 121, 164 borrow, 100, 105 cache, 202 house, 35 location of, 149, 150 outlines of, 181, 183, 185, 186, 223 refuse, 12 Plant remains, 44 Plates, 273, 282, 284 Plow zone, 10, 169 Poplar (Populus spp.), 76, 154, 157 Population movement, 77 Posts, 197, 206, 209, 211 center, 191 support, 146, 147, 156 Potter, W. B., 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 37, 43 Potter’s clay, 199, 205, 206, 209, 210, 217, 222 Pottery compositional analysis of, 84, 85, 299 decoration on, 172, 175, 299; see also Incising; Notching; Punctating; Scalloping; Slipping lip, 285 disks, 172, 190, 196, 223, 265, 289 perforated, 207

320 Pottery (cont.) production of, 202, 205, 217, 222 rim-forms, 266, 268, 280, 292 trowels, 172, 202, 209, 210, 217, 265 vessel form, 80, 265, 268, 273, 285, 291, 299 vessel function, 288 Woodland, 80, 81, 185 Powers Fort site (Butler County), vii, 9, 34, 53, 58, 86, 89, 99, 231, 263, 290, 295, 296, 299 and Bosket soil, 92, 93 borrow pits at, 105 burned structures at, 102, 107 distribution of artifacts at, 107 excavations at, 100, 101, 102, 104, 135, 140, 266 fortifications at, 4, 17, 35, 48, 100, 104, 107, 294 mounds at, 99, 101, 102, 104, 105, 108, 137, 294 orientation of structures at, 119 Price’s excavations at, 105, 107 radiocarbon dates from, 17, 97, 109, 110, 135, 137, 295 Structure 1, 109, 110, 137, 145, 227, 228 2, 110 structures at, 141, 143 rebuilding, 137, 162 surface collection at, 81, 107, 108 thermoluminescence dates from, 17, 110, 127, 139, 295 Powers Fort Swale pollen core, 26, 63 Powers phase, vii, 4, 9, 15, 17, 23, 49, 124, 142, 179, 296, 300 architecture of, 140 chiefdom, 50 communities, 9, 18, 24, 44, 58, 99, 169, 296, 299 faunal assemblages, 227 material culture, 18 origins of, 77, 78, 82, 84, 85, 298 settlement system, viii, 293, 294 similarity to other Mississippian phases, 83 sites, 7, 15, 16, 19, 23, 25, 37, 58, 73, 135, 141, 227, 266 abandonment of, 162 artifacts from, 84, 133, 295, 299 distribution of, 16, 88, 89

INDEX Powers phase (cont.) sites (cont.) excavations at, 231 hierarchy of, 86, 99, 295 location of, 90 orientation of structures at, 119 structural remains from, 145 structures at, 161, 162 social structure, 294 Powers Phase Project, vii, viii, 6, 8, 9, 17, 55, 78, 89, 94, 110, 115, 132, 133, 141, 151, 157, 169, 179, 293, 298 Price, James E., vii, viii, 6, 8, 9, 17, 49, 104, 293 and work at Powers Fort, 105, 107, 108 on artifact distribution and status differentiation, 171, 172, 175, 186, 222, 224, 265, 294 on building and abandonment of Turner, 169 on burning of Snodgrass, 132, 164–166 on courtyards at Snodgrass, 122, 123 on distribution of Powers phase sites, 88 on hamlets, 133 on hierarchy of Powers phase sites, 88 on house construction, 146, 147, 148, 149 on paired sites, 89, 114 on Powers phase settlement, 77, 83 on seasonal occupation of Snodgrass, 221 on site structure and function, 115, 118, 119 on size of Powers phase sites, 86, 87, 132, 137 on structure size, 157, 158 on Turner cemetery, 297 on village fortifications, 118 on white-clay wall, 121, 122 Priestly site (Arkansas), 2 Processual archaeology, 5, 10 Projectile points, 186, 191, 195, 196, 197, 198, 201, 202, 211, 213, 231, 232, 300 Archaic, 199 corner-notched, 105 manufacture of, 237 metric discrimination of, 235, 237 small broad-stem, 235, 251 small contracting-stem, 235, 251 small side-notched, 235, 251 small straight-stem, 235, 250 Woodland, 232 Punches, 205, 227 Punctating, 284, 299

INDEX Quartzite, 133, 258, 263 Radiocarbon dates, 9 , 15, 17, 40, 41, 43, 44, 48, 51, 78, 109, 110, 124, 126, 132, 135, 137, 139, 295, 296 of cored sediments, 28 problems with, 127, 129, 130 Random sampling, 10 Range site (Illinois), 2 Rattles, 105, 206 Raw-material procurement, 231 Ray, Jack, 253, 254, 255 Redeposition, 17 Refuse de facto, 179, 180, 185, 186, 214, 222, 223, 224, 226, 228, 281 at Snodgrass, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 206, 209, 211, 213 at Turner, 190, 191, 195 primary, 171, 179, 180, 185, 186, 214, 222, 223, 224, 226, 228, 281, 295 at Snodgrass, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 205, 206, 209, 210, 211, 213 at Turner, 190, 191, 194, 195, 217 secondary, 179, 180, 183, 184, 186, 223, 224, 228, 280, 294, 295 Regional analysis, 6 Resource-extraction sites, 4, 49 Rich Woods site (Stoddard County), 44, 45 Ridge-and-swale topography, 9 Roof fall, 9 Roubidoux formation chert, 242, 246, 248, 251, 252, 253, 254, 258 quartzite, 242, 251, 252, 253, 254 Rust, Horatio, 32 St. Francis River, 24, 25, 28, 46, 50, 58, 291 Sand ridges, 8 , 16, 61, 64, 76, 92, 141, 296, 297 and site size, 87 complexes on, 57, 58: see also Barfield Ridge; Buncomb Ridge; Harris Ridge; Mackintosh Ridge; Sharecropper Ridge; Sylvan Ridge location of sites on, 90, 97 settlement of, 77, 81, 83 tree density on, 94 use of, 78, 82, 85, 89, 185 Sand temper, 80, 81, 282, 292

321 Sandstone, 133, 196, 203, 213, 233, 262 Sandy Woods site (Scott County), 31, 33, 35 Saucier, Roger, 28 Scalloping, 285 Scallorn points, 235, 240, 241, 242, 245, 250, 251, 264 Scatters phase, 81 Schiffer, Michael, 179, 180 Scrapers, 206, 210, 222, 232, 259 snub-nose, 245 Settlement abandonment, 44, 50, 51 Settlement-pattern analysis, 5, 55 Sharecropper Ridge, 56, 89, 93, 95, 96, 97, 115, 297, 298 Shell temper, 22, 23, 242, 282, 288 as hallmark of Mississippian tradition, 78 coarse, 282 fine, 282, 285 origins of, 80, 81 Sikeston Ridge, 26, 30, 31, 35, 41 Sikeston site (New Madrid County), 31, 34, 3 5 Slipping, 80, 81, 285 Smith, Bruce D., viii, 8 , 15, 23, 140, 226, 228, 266, 295, 298 on the GypsyJoint, 133, 135 Smith site (Butler County), 89, 94 as paired community, 115 Smithsonian institution, 15 Snodgrass site (Butler County), viii, 4, 15, 24, 184, 228, 232, 237, 263, 294 abandonment of, 44, 185, 186, 224 artifacts from, 12, 84, 185, 257, 265 deposition of, 169, 176 distribution of, 171 richness of, 175 as paired community, 9, 89, 296 bastions at, 118, 122 cherts found at, 253, 254, 255 courtyards at, 122, 123 depositional environment of, 288 excavation of, 10–12, 17, 99, 115, 141, 199, 231, 264, 266, 294, 300 faunal remains from, 90 fortifications at, 10, 118, 122, 139 house-floor artifact assemblages from, 186, 226 layout of, 137 occupation of, 124, 130, 131, 132, 139, 227, 297 seasonal, 221

322 Snodgrass site (Butler County) (cont.) pits at, 150, 196, 199, 201, 203, 206, 207, 211, 213, 221, 257, 258, 259, 260, 262, 263, 266 as hearths, 226 postburning deposition at, 171, 177 pottery from, 81, 271, 273, 278, 279, 280, 282, 284, 285, 286, 290 preburning deposition at, 184, 185 projectile points from, 242, 245, 246, 248 radiocarbon dates from, 97, 124, 126, 129, 130, 132, 135, 137, 139, 295 size of, 86, 118 Structure 1, 123 2, 123 3, 126, 127 4, 126, 286 5, 195, 196, 222, 223, 224, 281 6, 151 7, 126, 127, 151 8 , 150 9, 123, 195, 197, 223 10, 123, 126, 127 11, 195, 197, 223 12, 195, 197, 223 13,123 14, 126, 195, 202, 222, 281 15,122 16, 122, 172 17, 122, 124, 172 18, 122, 195, 203, 217, 222, 224, 281 19, 147, 166 20, 166 21, 122, 147 22, 126 23, 165, 166, 172, 180 24, 166 25, 126, 177, 195, 205, 217, 224 29, 123 35, 123 41, 122 42, 122 43, 122, 195, 207, 281 46, 122 47, 122, 195, 209, 217, 222, 224, 281 48, 195, 198, 199, 223, 281 49, 162 50, 195, 199, 223, 281 51, 122, 257

INDEX Snodgrass site (Butler County) (cont.) Structure (cont.) 54, 167 55, 122, 186, 195, 199, 222, 223, 233, 281 56, 167 61, 195, 200, 223 62, 195, 200, 223 66, 172 68, 123 69, 195, 201, 202, 223, 281 70, 195, 211, 281 73, 123 77, 195, 202, 223 79, 123 80, 195, 202, 223 84, 151, 167, 186, 195, 213, 281 85, 123 87, 123, 162, 165, 166, 172, 180 88, 123 89,123 90, 122 91, 123 92, 123 93, 123 structures, viii, 18, 107, 122, 140, 148, 179, 180, 181, 217, 226, 246, 248, 251, 252, 266, 289 burning of, 7, 8 , 14, 132, 165, 166, 167, 176, 183 hearths in, 221 occupation of, 172 random sample of, 195, 214, 215, 221, 223 size differences in, 143, 157, 158, 162 and artifact distribution, 175 and artifact richness, 175 special purpose, 139 wood taxa from, 154 white-clay wall, 10, 115, 121, 150, 166, 172, 217 inside/outside differences, 129, 130, 143, 157, 158, 167, 172, 175, 177, 222, 223, 226, 227 structures inside, 179, 196, 198, 199, 200, 203, 207, 209, 213, 215, 223, 224, 245, 248, 251, 252, 257, 258, 259, 260, 262, 263, 295 structures outside, 195, 197, 200, 201, 202, 205, 215, 224, 245, 251, 252, 257, 258, 259, 260, 262, 263

INDEX Smoke holes, 149, 221, 229 Social organization, 132 Sociopolitical systems, 1 Soil associations, 58, 59; see also CalhounAmagon association; Calhoun-Crowley association; Foley-Crowley-Jackport association; Tuckerman-Bosket association of Pleistocene terrace, 90, 91 signatures, 45, 48 types, 9, 16, 57, 59, 73; see also Adler soil; Amagon soil; Bosket soil; Calhoun soil; Crowley soil; Dubbs soil; Foley soil; Tuckerman soil Southeast Missouri State University, 38 Southern Floodplain Forest, 61 Southwest Missouri State University, 253 Status differences, 17, 37, 129, 140, 141, 142, 157, 172, 176, 222, 224, 227, 228, 294 in Turner burials, 296 versus sample-size disparities, 223, 265 Steed-Kisker sites, 245 Steinberg site (Butler County), 86, 89, 298 Stick Chimney site (Butler County), 133,297,298 Structures, 2, 4, 9, 10, 12, 17 abandonment and burning of, vii, 4, 8, 41, 139, 141, 142, 167, 298 accidental versus planned, 222 construction of, 142, 143, 179, 226 wood used, 151, 154, 156 door placement in, 149 function of, 172 length of occupation of, 164 life cycles of, 142 Mississippian, 161 postburning history of, 142 rebuilding of, 105, 137, 162 use of, 142 Struever, Stuart, 5, 6 Surface collections, 6, 9, 81, 107, 132 Swallow, George C., 30, 35, 37 Swept debris, 194, 195, 202, 205, 217 Sylvan Ridge, 56, 92 Taft site (Butler County), 89, 97 Taylor, Walter, 5 Teltser, Patrice, 45, 46 Temper; see Clay; Grit temper; Limestone temper; Sand temper; Shell temper Terrestrial-aquatic interface zone, 90, 97

323 Thebes Gap, 28, 29 Thermoluminescence dates, 9, 17, 46, 47, 78, 110, 127, 295, 296 Thomas, Cyrus, 30, 34, 100, 104, 148 Tuckerman-Bosket association, 59, 61, 91 Tuckerman soil, 59, 61, 73, 91 Turner site (Butler County), 4, 15, 24, 228, 232, 237, 263 abandonment of, 44, 171, 185, 186 artifacts from, 12, 84, 185, 257, 265 as paired community, 9, 89, 296 cemetery, viii, 10, 17, 115, 124, 139, 296, 297, 298 cherts found at, 253, 254, 255 courtyard, 123 depositional environment of, 288 excavation of, 10–12, 17, 99, 115, 141, 231, 264, 266, 294, 300 fortifications at, 118 house-floor artifact assemblages from, 186, 226 layout of, 137 occupation of, 124, 130, 131, 132, 139 pits at, 150, 151, 190, 191, 246, 257, 258, 259, 260, 262, 263, 266 as hearths, 226 postburning deposition at, 171, 184 pottery from, 81, 271, 273, 278, 279, 280, 282, 284, 285, 286, 290 preburning deposition at, 184, 185 projectile points from, 242, 245, 246, 248 radiocarbon dates from, 97, 124, 126, 129, 130, 132, 135, 137, 139 size of, 86, 118 Structure 2, 123, 124, 127, 163, 187 4, 127, 162, 221, 229 6, 127 7, 187, 190, 191, 194, 257, 281 8, 127 10, 187, 194, 256, 257, 281 14, 187, 190, 281 22, 171 24, 187, 190, 281 29, 187, 190, 281 30, 124 32, 297 34, 162 36, 124, 187, 191, 217, 281 39, 187, 191, 194

324 Turnersite [Butler County) (cont.) Structure(cont.) 41, 187, 281 42, 187, 191, 194, 195, 217, 281 43, 124 44, 123, 124, 297 structures at, 18, 107, 137, 139, 140, 143, 148, 179, 180, 181, 215, 217, 226, 246, 248, 251, 252, 257, 258, 259, 260, 262, 263, 266, 297 burning of, 7, 14, 169 hearths in, 221 random sample of, 187, 189, 214, 221 size differences of, 143, 157, 158, 161, 162 special purpose, 139, 163 23OR49 site (Oregon County), 78 University of Michigan, vii, 4, 6, 7, 118, 151, 158, 293 Radiocarbon Laboratory, 109, 124 University of Missouri, 6, 34, 35, 37, 38, 41, 43 Museum of Anthropology, 300 Research Reactor, 290 University of Washington, 124 Use-wear analysis, 231, 263 Vacant-quarter hypothesis, 51, 52 Varneytradition, 81 Villages, 1, 2, 4, 10, 14, 17, 49, 86, 88, 110, 115, 139, 228, 293, 298 activities at, 115 and Bosket soil, 91 chronological relations among, 114 differences in structure size at, 157 distribution of, 94 Walker, Winslow, 34, 41, 43; see also Adam, Robert M. Wall posts, 145, 146, 147 Wall trenches, 37, 38, 41, 43, 44, 105, 143, 145, 166, 179, 191, 195, 199, 203, 205, 207, 213, 226

INDEX Walls phase, 50 Walnut (Juglans spp.), 154 Waste-stream model, 179, 180 Wesler, Kit, 51, 52 Western Lowlands abandonment of, 44, 58 archaeological record of, 51, 293, 300 ceramic variation in, 84, 265 chiefdoms in, 49 clays, 85 complex societies in, 52 forest composition of, 76 formation of, 16, 26, 28, 50 location of, 25 phases in, 83 prehistoric groups in, 29 settlement of, 78 shell-tempered pottery from, 80 sites in, 9, 17, 24, 30, 34, 48, 53 soils of, 59, 73 vegetation in, 61 Wetterstrom, Wilma, 227 White-tailed-deer(Odocoileusvirginiana) antlers, 187, 205, 206, 209, 210, 211, 215, 217, 222, 227 as tools, 210, 217 fragments of, 190 mandibles, 210, 215, 222, 227 as tools, 217 scapulas, 187, 199, 205, 215, 217, 222, 227 Wickliffe vessels, 191, 265, 273 Wilborn site (Butler County), 86, 89, 115, 298 Willey, Gordon, 9, 22; see also Phillips, Philip Williams, J. R., 34, 35 Williams, Stephen, 34, 41, 46, 53 Willow ( Salix spp.), 64, 76, 154, 157 Winters, Howard, 5 Wood tools, 207 Woodland period, 241, 242 Zebree site (Arkansas), 245 Zeder, Melinda, 177, 221, 226, 266; see also Arter, Susan

INTERDISCIPLINARY CONTRIBUTIONS TO ARCHAEOLOGY Chronological Listing of Volumes THE PLEISTOCENE OLD WORLD Regional Perspectives Edited by Olga Soffer HOLOCENE HUMAN ECOLOGY IN NORTHEASTERN NORTH AMERICA Edited by George P. Nicholas ECOLOGY AND HUMAN ORGANIZATION ON THE GREAT PLAINS Douglas B. Bamforth THE INTERPRETATION OF ARCHAEOLOGICAL SPATIAL PATTERNING Edited by Ellen M. Kroll and T. Douglas Price HUNTER– G ATHERERS Archaeological and Evolutionary Theory Robert L. Bettinger RESOURCES, POWER, AND INTERREGIONAL INTERACTION Edited by Edward M. Schortman and Patricia A. Urban POTTERY FUNCTION A Use-Alteration Perspective James M. Skibo SPACE,TIME, AND ARCHAEOLOGICAL LANDSCAPES Edited by Jacqueline Rossignol and LuAnn Wandsnider ETHNOHISTORY AND ARCHAEOLOGY Approaches to Postcontact Change in the Americas Edited by J. Daniel Rogers and Samuel M. Wilson THE AMERICAN SOUTHWEST AND MESOAMERICA Systems of Prehistoric Exchange Edited by Jonathon E. Ericson and Timothy G. Baugh FROM KOSTENKI TO CLOVIS Upper Paleolithic–Paleo-Indian Adaptations Edited by Olga Soffer and N. D. Praslov EARLY HUNTER-GATHERERS OF THE CALIFORNIA COAST Jon M. Erlandson HOUSES AND HOUSEHOLDS A Comparative Study Richard E. Blanton THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF GENDER Separating the Spheres in Urban America Diana diZerega Wall ORIGINS OF ANATOMICALLY MODERN HUMANS Edited by Matthew H. Nitecki and Doris V. Nitecki PREHISTORIC EXCHANGE SYSTEMS IN NORTH AMERICA Edited by Timothy G. Baugh and Jonathon E. Ericson

STYLE, SOCIETY,AND PERSON Archaeological and Ethnological Perspectives Edited by Christopher Carr and Jill E. Neitzel REGIONAL APPROACHES TO MORTUARY ANALYSIS Edited by Lane Anderson Beck DIVERSITY AND COMPLEXITY IN PREHISTORIC MARITIME SOCIETIES A Gulf of Maine Perspective Bruce J. Bourque CHESAPEAKE PREHISTORY Old Traditions,New Directions Richard J Dent,Jr. PREHISTORIC CULTURAL ECOLOGY AND EVOLUTION Insights from Southern Jordan Donald O. Henry STONE TOOLS Theoretical Insights into Human Prehistory Edited by George H. Odell THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF WEALTH Consumer Behavior in English America James G. Gibb STATISTICS FOR ARCHAEOLOGISTS A Commonsense Approach Robert D. Drennan CASE STUDIES IN ENVIRONMENTAL ARCHAEOLOGY Edited by Elizabeth J. Reitz,Lee A. Newsom,and Sylvia J. Scudder HUMANS AT THE END OF THE ICE AGE The Archaeology of the Pleistocene–Holocene Transition Edited by Lawrence Guy Straus, Berit Valentin Eriksen,Jon M. Erlandson, and David R. Yesner VILLAGERS OF THE MAROS A Portrait of an Early Bronze Age Society John M. O'Shea HUNTERS BETWEEN EAST AND WEST The Paleolithic of Moravia ∨ ∨ ∨ Jirí Svoboda,Vojen Lozek,and Emanuel Vlcek DARWINIAN ARCHAEOLOGIES Edited by Herbert Donald Graham Maschner MISSISSIPPIAN POLITICAL ECONOMY Jon Muller PROJECTILE TECHNOLOGY Edited by Heidi Knecht A HUNTER–GATHERER LANDSCAPE Southwest Germany in the Late Paleolithic and Mesolithic Michael A. Jochim

FAUNAL EXTINCTION IN AN ISLAND SOCIETY Pygmy Hippopotamus Hunters of Cyprus Alan H. Simmons and Associates THE ARCHAEOLOGIST'S LABORATORY The Analysis of Archaeological Data E. B. Banning AURIGNACIAN LITHIC ECONOMY Ecological Perspectives from Southwestern France Brooke S. Blades MISSISSIPPIAN COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION The Powers Phase in Southeastern Missouri Michael J. O'Brien

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Statistics for Archaeologists, Second Edition: A Common Sense Approach (Interdisciplinary Contributions to Archaeology)

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A Historical Archaeology of the Ottoman Empire: Breaking New Ground (Contributions To Global Historical Archaeology)

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A Historical Archaeology of the Ottoman Empire: Breaking New Ground (Contributions To Global Historical Archaeology)

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Remote Sensing in Archaeology (Interdisciplinary Contributions to Archaeology)

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Industrial Archaeology: Future Directions (Contributions To Global Historical Archaeology)

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The Archaeologist's Laboratory: The Analysis of Archaeological Data (Interdisciplinary Contributions to Archaeology)

A new deal for southeastern archaeology

Earliest Italy: An Overview of the Italian Paleolithic and Mesolithic (Interdisciplinary Contributions to Archaeology)

Earliest Italy: An Overview of the Italian Paleolithic and Mesolithic (Interdisciplinary Contributions to Archaeology)

Gathering Hopewell: Society, Ritual, and Ritual Interaction (Interdisciplinary Contributions to Archaeology)

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Memories from Darkness: Archaeology of Repression and Resistance in Latin America (Contributions To Global Historical Archaeology)

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A Historical Archaeology of the Ottoman Empire: Breaking New Ground (Contributions To Global Historical Archaeology)

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A Historical Archaeology of the Ottoman Empire: Breaking New Ground (Contributions To Global Historical Archaeology)

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