The Archaeology of Human-Environmental Dynamics on the North American Atlantic Coast (Society and Ecology in Island and Coastal Archaeology) [1 ed.] 0813066131, 9780813066134

Citation preview

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

The Archaeology of Human-Environmental Dynamics on the North American Atlantic Coast Society and Ecology in Island and Coastal Archaeology

University Press of Florida Florida A&M University, Tallahassee Florida Atlantic University, Boca Raton Florida Gulf Coast University, Ft. Myers Florida International University, Miami Florida State University, Tallahassee New College of Florida, Sarasota University of Central Florida, Orlando University of Florida, Gainesville University of North Florida, Jacksonville University of South Florida, Tampa University of West Florida, Pensacola

The Archaeology of Human-Environmental Dynamics on the North American Atlantic Coast

edited by

Leslie Reeder-Myers, John A. Turck, and Torben C. Rick Foreword by Victor D. Thompson

University Press of Florida Gainesville · Tallahassee · Tampa · Boca Raton Pensacola · Orlando · Miami · Jacksonville · Ft. Myers · Sarasota

Copyright 2019 by Leslie Reeder-Myers, John A. Turck, and Torben C. Rick All rights reserved Published in the United States of America. This book may be available in an electronic edition. 24 23 22 21 20 19

6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Reeder-Myers, Leslie A., editor. | Turck, John A., editor. | Rick, Torben C., editor. | Thompson, Victor D., author of foreword. Title: The archaeology of human-environmental dynamics on the North American Atlantic coast / edited by Leslie Reeder-Myers, John A. Turck, and Torben C. Rick ; foreword by Victor D. Thompson. Other titles: Society and ecology in island and coastal archaeology. Description: Gainesville, FL : University Press of Florida, [2019] | Series: Society and ecology in island and coastal archaeology | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019002012 | ISBN 9780813066134 (cloth : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Indians of North America—Atlantic States—Antiquities. | Indians of North America—Atlantic States—History. Classification: LCC E78.A88 A73 2019 | DDC 970.004/97—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019002012 The University Press of Florida is the scholarly publishing agency for the State University System of Florida, comprising Florida A&M University, Florida Atlantic University, Florida Gulf Coast University, Florida International University, Florida State University, New College of Florida, University of Central Florida, University of Florida, University of North Florida, University of South Florida, and University of West Florida. University Press of Florida 2046 NE Waldo Road Suite 2100 Gainesville, FL 32609 http://upress.ufl.edu

CONTENTS

List of Figures vii List of Tables ix Foreword xi Acknowledgments xv 1. Conceptualizing the Archaeology of North America’s Atlantic Seacoast and Estuaries 1 Torben C. Rick, John A. Turck, and Leslie Reeder-Myers

2. Sea Ice, Seals, and Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland and Labrador 16 Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

3. Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf 44 Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

4. Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight 81 Daria Merwin

5. Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology 107 Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

6. Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina 137 Carolyn D. Dillian

7. Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast 164 John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

8. Gathering for Nine Millennia along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida 199 Asa R. Randall

9. Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys 232 Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

10. Making the Atlantic Coast a Smaller Place and a Stepping Stone to Larger Issues 260 Thomas J. Pluckhahn

List of Contributors 279 Index 281

FIGURES

1.1. Map of the east coast of North America from Newfoundland to the Florida Keys, including estimated extent of the ice and the shoreline at 10,000 BP 2 1.2. Map showing modern vegetation zones in the eastern United States 6 2.1. Map of Newfoundland and Labrador with locations of historic harp seal herds and important site locations mentioned in the text 17 2.2. Sea level curves from three regions of Newfoundland and Labrador 19 3.1. Map of the Northern Gulf of Maine/Scotian Shelf watershed and surrounding region 45 3.2. Relative sea level (shoreline elevation) along the northern Gulf of Maine since deglaciation 47 3.3. Map of the Northern Gulf of Maine/Scotian Shelf watershed and surrounding region showing archaeological site locations and areas referred to in the text 50 4.1. Map of the New York Bight, including archaeological sites mentioned in the text 82 5.1. Map showing Chesapeake Bay, including archaeological and geological sites mentioned in the text 109 5.2. Model of shoreline evolution in Chesapeake Bay 110 5.3. Late Holocene climate change in Chesapeake Bay 112 5.4. Changes in major vertebrate groups through time at White Oak Point and the Great Neck site complex, Chesapeake Bay 123

viii · Figures

6.1. Physiographic regions of North and South Carolina, with site locations mentioned in the text 138 7.1. Map of the Georgia coast study area 165 7.2. Sea level curves relevant to the Georgia coast 167 7.3. Distribution of Archaic period sites within the Georgia coastal zone 169 7.4. Distribution of Woodland period sites within the Georgia coastal zone 177 7.5. Distribution of Mississippian period sites within the Georgia coastal zone 187 8.1. Distribution of wetlands and waterways in northeast Florida 202 8.2. Distribution of early Middle Archaic, Mount Taylor, and Orange period sites in northeast Florida 206 8.3. Topography of Mount Taylor and Orange shell mounds 209 8.4. Distribution of Woodland and Mississippi period sites in northeast Florida 216 8.5. Topography of post-Archaic mounds in northeast Florida 218 9.1. Map of Florida Keys sites mentioned in the text 234 9.2. Shell midden in southern Florida impacted by coastal sea level rise 239 10.1. Approximate ages for important cultural developments on the North American Atlantic coast 263

TABLES

5.1. New radiocarbon dates from the Fairlee Neck Shell Midden (18KE17) 115 7.1. Chronologies for the Georgia coast 166 7.2. Site counts, percentages, and densities for the Late Archaic through Late Woodland Period 171 7.3. Site counts, percentages, and densities for the Early through Late Mississippian Period 186

FOREWORD

Go to any one spot on the Atlantic coastline of the eastern United States and Canada, and you are likely to take away from that experience a very different landscape depending on your latitude. From the sandy beaches of the southern barrier islands to the rocky shores of Maine and the Subarctic bays of the north, the Atlantic coast hosts a variety of different environments that at one time or another the first peoples of this world took advantage of and called their home. In some respects, the resources exploited by these first inhabitants and the timing of their settlements were as varied as the coastline itself. In other ways there are broad shared traditions that can be tracked from the tip of Florida all the way into Canada. This volume represents the first time in 30 years that archaeologists have come together to discuss the similarities and differences of the various groups that inhabited the expansive coastline prior to the arrival of European settlers. What emerges from these collective chapters is a new view of the peoples of the North American Atlantic coast in its entirety. Each study presents another part of the ecological and cultural mosaic of the region that is woven together via social networks, similar resource bases, and a life governed by the sea. While each of the chapters in the volume consider their place in the larger Native Atlantic world, they also explore the ecological diversity that existed in the respective regions. Two of the key issues explored by each of these chapters are sea level rise and major climatic shifts. In particular, the authors in the volume grapple with how these changes affected resources and how people experienced environmental change on a human scale. The broader sense that one gets from these discussions is that for some areas sea level changes and climate caused major shifts in human settlement and use of resources, while in other regions, traditions that were in place before these large events continued unabated. For example, several of the chapters

xii · Foreword

address the effects that the Medieval Warm Period (MWP) (ca. 1250 to 800 BP) had for their regions. The MWP for the Chesapeake Bay region seems to have had little impact on the types of resources exploited by the inhabitants at the time. In contrast, in Labrador at this same time, a reduction in sea ice dramatically altered the kind of resources available in the region. In addition, several of the chapters note that such large-scale environmental changes did not uniformly affect peoples and resources within a given region, such as the shifts described for deltaic and non-deltaic areas of the Georgia coast. What becomes clear from each of the syntheses is that evidence for coastal adaptions along the Atlantic occurred during the Holocene, with the vast majority of the sites in many areas dating to the Late Holocene or what is now termed the Meghalayan, beginning around 4,200 years ago. However, given the impact of sea level rise since the Late Pleistocene, many of the authors are careful to point out that early human use of coastal regions needs to be carefully considered in light of coastal erosion and sea level rise. The history of use of coastal resources varies from area to area and through time, with some key species fading in and out of the archaeological record. Perhaps the most striking example of this discussed in this volume is the exploitation of large swordfish off the Gulf of Maine by Native peoples during the Archaic period with a subsequent decline in the Woodland. This is not restricted to dramatically hard-to-get species either; even the “lowly” oyster fades in and out of coastal economies along various parts of the Atlantic. While most of the chapters deal with maritime and estuarine faunal resources, we do know that these communities relied extensively on plants as well, and during the latter part of many of these sequences, domesticated crops also entered these economies. Exactly what role these crops played in the economic and social lives of coastal groups is still nebulous. It is often complicated by the disconnect between ethnohistoric accounts that describe their use and the paucity of archaeological evidence for them in many areas. One of the broader takeaways that readers will find in the book is that even though economies varied, there was a degree of resilience among these communities, as they adapted to new distributions of resources over time, including engaging in food production. Interwoven among the larger narratives detailing the long-term histories of human-environmental interactions, each of the authors discusses how ritual belief systems, social and political systems, exchange partners, and other facets of non-subsistence-oriented lifeways played a role in the functioning of these communities. Far from being marginal to an interior

Foreword · xiii

Native world that has garnered the attention of most archaeologists working in eastern North American, these peoples led sophisticated social lives and, in some cases, were integrated into regional polities spanning hundreds of kilometers with coastal capitals. While most did not engage in monumental architecture at the scale of their interior counterparts, these traditions did exist among many of the Atlantic peoples, and in some cases they emerged earlier than at inland localities. And, while to varying degrees these communities shared in larger ideologies, there are hints in each of the discussions that point toward a uniquely coastal perspective regarding these broader worlds. On a final point, each of the authors considers the importance of their regions in a much broader context. Specifically, almost all of them contemplate the past in the context of present-day issues that coastal communities are facing. This is an important part of the book that sets the collection apart from many others. For most, the pressing concern is sea level rise, with some arguing that the past can be, in part, a way to chart our own course with regard to sea level rise and attendant climate change. For others, the archaeological record is the pressing concern. One thing is certain: by the year 2100, we will have lost a good portion of the archaeological record to the rising seas and coastal erosion. We are now only just beginning to understand complex human-environmental dynamics of these areas of the Atlantic coast. Hopefully, this volume will be a call to action for archaeologists to turn their attention to histories of the Native peoples who once inhabited this area between the land and ocean before it is too late. Victor D. Thompson Series Editor

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This volume grew out of a forum on North American Atlantic coast archaeology at the 2016 Society for American Archaeology Meetings in Orlando, Florida. A number of people who are not involved in this volume attended that session and provided great insight on coastal and eastern North American archaeology. We thank them for their participation in that session and for their commitment to North American archaeology. We are indebted to all of the chapter authors for their respective chapters and dedication to this project. We thank Victor Thompson for encouraging us to submit this to the coastal and island archaeology series at the University Press of Florida. Finally, we thank Meredith Babb at the University Press of Florida for all of her help with this project.

1 Conceptualizing the Archaeology of North America’s Atlantic Seacoast and Estuaries Torben C. Rick, John A. Turck, and Leslie Reeder-Myers

From the icy shores of Labrador to the warm mangroves of the Florida Keys, North America’s Atlantic coast was a magnet for human settlement and subsistence for millennia. North America’s Atlantic coast is a land of diversity united by rich coastal and terrestrial ecosystems that were home to a wide variety of Native American societies and distinct cultural adaptations and systems. The tens of thousands (or more) of small shell middens that occur from the Canadian Maritimes to Florida are punctuated by spectacular sites, such as the shell rings of the Southeast (Turck and Thompson, this volume; Thompson and Worth 2011) and dense middens like Turner Farm in Maine (Betts et al., this volume; Spiess and Lewis 2001). This rich archaeological record of distinct cultural traditions provides archaeological data of global significance. Nonetheless, it has been 30 years since the last synthetic effort at understanding the peoples and ecosystems of North America’s Atlantic coast (see Custer 1988a), leaving a gap in our understanding of this important coastal region. The purpose of this volume, a collection of 10 chapters that span the coast from the Subarctic to Florida, is to review current knowledge about how people lived and interacted with marine ecosystems along the North American Atlantic coast for thousands of years, and to provide a platform for future research (Figure 1.1). Native Americans have lived within eastern North America for over 13,000 years and, although this is hotly contested, perhaps much earlier (see Meltzer 2009; Stanford and Bradley 2012). Evidence of coastally adapted populations does not appear in the archaeological record until after about 8,000 years ago in Florida (Saunders and Russo 2011) and Labrador (Wolff and Holly, this volume), and perhaps not until 5,000–6,000 years ago throughout most of the rest of North America’s Atlantic coast (Bourque

Figure 1.1. Map of the east coast of North America from Newfoundland to the Florida Keys, including estimated extent of the Laurentide Ice Sheet and shoreline at 10,000 BP based on the ICE-6G_C (VM5A) glacio-isostatic model (Argus et al. 2014; Peltier et al. 2015) and the ETOP01 bedrock digital elevation model (Amante and Eakins 2009).

Conceptualizing the Archaeology of North America’s Atlantic Seacoast & Estuaries · 3

2001; Claassen 1995; Custer 1988b; Lowery et al. 2012; Rick and Waselkov 2015). This pattern stands in contrast to the Pacific coast of the Americas, where several coastal sites from Canada, California, and Peru now date to 12,000–14,000 years ago (deFrance et al. 2001; Dillehay et al. 2017; Erlandson et al. 2011; Fedje and Mathewes 2005). A key reason for this dearth of early coastal sites is likely environmental, related to the relatively shallow slope of the Atlantic coast, and the dramatic sea level changes since the Last Glacial Maximum. Relative sea level (RSL) histories are highly variable on the Atlantic coast, driven by proximity to the Laurentide Ice Sheet (Engelhart and Horton 2012). To the north, in Canada and northern New England, isostatic rebound has brought Late Pleistocene coastlines upward, landward of modern coastlines. In the Middle Atlantic, isostatic subsidence has caused extremely rapid Holocene RSL rise. South of the Middle Atlantic, RSL histories more closely follow those of global eustatic sea level change (Argus et al. 2014; Engelhart and Horton 2012; Peltier et al. 2015). By the beginning of the Paleoindian period (~13,000 BP), sea level was still around 100 m below present (mbp) from the Middle Atlantic to Florida. Current coastlines were tens or hundreds of kilometers or more away from the ocean during the Paleoindian and Early Archaic periods, relegating them to interior mainland areas. Thus, Paleoindian and Early Archaic sites found in these mainland areas (which is today the Atlantic coastal zone) reveal limited or no information on coastal adaptations. Any evidence that these peoples utilized coastal resources (e.g., isotopes, cultural materials) suggests migration to the coast and back (e.g., Anderson and Hanson 1988), or trade with other populations living in the distant coastal zone. People may have occupied the coastal zones of the Atlantic seaboard, but most traces of these early coastal adaptations have been buried under sediment, submerged under water, or destroyed by coastal processes as sea levels rose to their current positions. Despite this dynamic environment, human occupation of the Atlantic coast and its many estuaries and bays was relatively intense since at least the Middle Holocene. Some of these lifeways persisted through several millennia—in Labrador, a focus on seal and other unique Arctic and Subarctic resources flourished through the Maritime Archaic, later Inuit occupations, and into historic times (Fitzhugh 1975, 1997; McGhee 2001; Wolff et al., this volume). Other Atlantic coastal adaptations seemingly appeared and disappeared quickly. For instance, the Maritime Archaic people of the Gulf of Maine hunted swordfish for a ~1500-year period only to cease doing so around 3,500 years ago (Betts et al., this volume; Bourque 2012). Similarly,

4 · Torben C. Rick, John A. Turck, and Leslie Reeder-Myers

shell rings in the Southeast were constructed and occupied only during portions of the Archaic and Woodland periods (Thompson and Worth 2011). The thousands of shell middens ranging from small scatters to massive, multicomponent sites found along the Atlantic coastline are a testament to the many cultures and people who called this area home. How do these examples relate to one another? What are the similarities and differences between Native American coastal adaptations throughout the North American Atlantic coast, and what do these tell us about the nature of human coastal adaptations elsewhere around the world? Finally, what can an understanding of past human lifeways tell us about North America’s Atlantic coast today and into the future? This book investigates these and other questions by focusing on the archaeology and historical ecology of North America’s Atlantic coast from initial colonization to historic times, and from Labrador to Florida. Bringing together leading scholars working throughout the North American Atlantic coast, we seek to define the current state of coastal archaeology in eastern North America and chart a course for future research over the coming decades. In this chapter we provide background and context for the chapters that follow. This includes a brief overview of Atlantic coast ecosystems and geography, and a summary of past approaches to synthesizing coastal archaeology in eastern North America. Finally, we outline the goals, structure, and organization of the volume. A Land of Ecological Diversity

With a coastline that stretches some 6,300 km from 60 to 24 °N latitude, North America’s Atlantic coast is ecologically diverse. A vast, low-lying coastal plain ranges from Florida through most of the eastern United States, with the region becoming more mountainous and rugged to the north. From Labrador to Florida, the coast is united by the presence of numerous sheltered bays, sounds, and estuaries, from massive systems like the Chesapeake Bay that has a watershed well over 160,000 km2 to the smaller inlets characteristic of the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Although bays and estuaries are common in parts of North America’s Pacific coast, the sheer abundance of estuaries and barrier islands along much of North America’s Atlantic coast is a striking feature that sets it apart from other areas. Climate varies significantly along North America’s Atlantic coast and is another factor in the region’s coastal prehistory. Today’s climate ranges from the Subarctic conditions that characterize southern Labrador to the

Conceptualizing the Archaeology of North America’s Atlantic Seacoast & Estuaries · 5

subtropical climate of southern Florida. The region from Newfoundland to New York has a humid, continental climate with increasingly cool temperature extremes to the north. From roughly New Jersey/Long Island to central Florida, the climate shifts from humid temperate to humid subtropical, with characteristic cold winters and warm, humid summers. Despite this climatic variability, a unifying feature of the North American Atlantic coast is that vast stretches of the region are forested (Figure 1.2), including deciduous and coniferous forests, with the latter much more common in the northern parts of the region. These generalizations about modern climate and geography paint a picture of a diverse land and seascape that helped shape peoples of the past and present. Yet they tell only part of the story, as the North American Atlantic coast is highly dynamic, with key paleoclimatic and paleogeographic shifts. These include a massive submergence of former exposed coastal plain (Figure 1.1) following sea level rise from the Pleistocene to the Holocene. They also include shorter-term responses to major climate patterns like the Medieval Warm Period and the Little Ice Age (Cronin et al. 2003; Graham et al. 2011; Olsen et al. 2012). Understanding these ancient environmental changes is a key to understanding past (and present and future) human lifeways, a theme covered in depth throughout this volume. North American Atlantic Coastal Archaeology in Context

During the past 10–15 years, coastal archaeology around the world has experienced a florescence (Fitzpatrick et al. 2015) fueled by the recognition that human use of coastal resources extends beyond even our earliest modern human ancestors in Africa (Erlandson 2001; Jerardino 2016; Marean et al. 2007) and the Mediterranean (Cortés-Sánchez et al. 2011). There is increasing recognition of the role of the seacoast in human colonization of the Americas, including the “Kelp Highway” hypothesis, which emphasizes a coastal entry along the North American Pacific coast (Braje et al. 2017; Erlandson et al. 2007). Several studies have also demonstrated the importance of coastal archaeology for understanding human-environmental interactions and contributed to the debate about whether or not we have entered a new geological epoch, the Anthropocene, or Age of Humans (Braje 2015; Erlandson 2013; Rick and Erlandson 2008). North America’s Atlantic coast is no exception to this, with academic research and, increasingly, cultural resource management (CRM) projects enhancing North American coastal archaeology. Research in the

Figure 1.2. Map showing modern vegetation zones in the eastern United States, based on the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency’s Ecoregions of North America, https://www. epa.gov/eco-research/ecoregions, accessed November 30, 2018.

Conceptualizing the Archaeology of North America’s Atlantic Seacoast & Estuaries · 7

Southeast is a particularly excellent example of the growth and expansion of coastal archaeology in the region. Thompson and Worth’s (2011) synthesis of coastal archaeology in the Southeast showcased the diversity of coastal adaptations in this part of the broader region. Sassaman’s (2004) focus on complex hunter-gatherers highlighted aspects of southeastern shell mounds and cultural diversity (see also Sassaman et al. 2017). Similarly, Thomas’s (2008) multivolume work on St. Catherines Island is a testament to the power of interdisciplinary archaeology in the coastal realm and to the commitment to exceptional archaeology in coastal Georgia (Thompson and Thomas 2013). On Florida’s Gulf Coast, related research on the Calusa by Marquardt, Walker, and colleagues (see Marquardt 2014; Marquardt and Walker 2013) is a model for the value of long-term programs in coastal archaeology and historical ecology to inform a range of anthropological and environmental issues. At the other end of the spectrum, research in the northern reaches of the continent includes important projects in Newfoundland, Labrador, and the Gulf of Maine. Fitzhugh’s (2015) edited compilation Maine to Greenland, intended for a general audience, spans the northern coastal reaches of North America and integrates climate, ecology, anthropology, and archaeology across a vast area. Rankin and Ramsden’s (2006) edited compilation honoring Jim Tuck also contains a wealth of research in the northern coastal regions of the North American Atlantic coast. Finally, Bourque et al.’s (2008) isotope work stands out as an example of the importance of interdisciplinary collaborations to help propel archaeology forward and increase the relevance of the past for informing contemporary environmental issues. The middle reaches of the continent including southern New England, the Middle Atlantic, and the Carolinas have also seen an increase in research, though many gaps remain. This research includes a series of projects focused on Chesapeake Bay shell middens and the nature of the eastern oyster fishery from Native American to colonial and modern times (Custer 1988b; Gallivan 2016; Miller 2001; Rick et al. 2016). In New York and southern New England, Bernstein (2006) emphasizes continuity in marine and other subsistence strategies throughout this area. Despite this increase in research and several important regional syntheses, we currently lack a comprehensive examination of the entire Atlantic coast of eastern North America that investigates the similarities and differences in coastal archaeology across the region. The most recent investigation of this topic for the entire North American Atlantic coast was a special issue of Archaeology of Eastern North America organized by Jay Custer

8 · Torben C. Rick, John A. Turck, and Leslie Reeder-Myers

(1988a). This volume contains six geographically focused chapters ranging from Maine to the Southeast to the West Indies (Custer 1988b; Davis 1988; Lavin 1988; Reitz 1988; Russo 1988; Sanger 1988). A recently published special issue of the Journal of the North Atlantic focuses on shell midden archaeology from the Middle Atlantic to the Canadian Maritimes (Betts and Hrynick 2017) and forms an important contribution to our broader understanding of coastal archaeology in eastern North America. Although questions remain about how best to integrate eastern North American coastal archaeology and how to guide the future of research, important examples of the power of such synthetic works exist for several other broad coastal areas. In Europe a recent volume focused on Mesolithic shell middens acted as a synthesis and guide for future research (Milner et al. 2007). Similarly, a recent volume focused on California coast archaeology (Gamble 2015) and earlier volumes on the Northwest coast (Moss 2011) and Gulf Coast (White 2005) of North America provide important frameworks for broad regional syntheses of coastal archaeology. The goals of this volume include contributing to this body of synthetic research by investigating human interactions with coastal environments and providing a stronger foundation for management of natural and cultural resources in the twenty-first century. Toward an Integrated Atlantic Coastal Archaeology

Why Investigate Such a Seemingly Disparate Area? The North American Atlantic coast is a region with diverse climate, ecology, and people, with significant variation across space and through time. This volume seeks to bring this diversity together to highlight commonalities and differences in cultural and ecological traditions, to understand human subsistence and ecology, and to provide syntheses that can be compared to other coastal areas around the world. The chapters in this volume seek to understand both the local diversity that characterizes the prehistory and history of various portions of the Atlantic coast, and the common threads that help unite them. To accomplish this, each of this volume’s chapters focuses on a particular geographic region but also examines four specific issues and questions that highlight the diversity and commonalities among the regions. The first topic of each chapter is geography and ecology, and how they change through time in each region. Specifically, the authors target issues

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

Conceptualizing the Archaeology of North America’s Atlantic Seacoast & Estuaries · 9

of sea level fluctuations, geomorphology, and landscape change from the Pleistocene to the Anthropocene. The second focus is placing people within these landscapes, and the bulk of each chapter is devoted to understanding human-environmental dynamics through time. We document the antiquity of human settlement and coastal resource use in each region, followed by core areas of interest to archaeology: changes in the relationship between marine and terrestrial resource use through time, shifts in settlement and subsistence in relation to environmental change, seasonality versus year-round occupation, human impacts on coastal environments, and the complex interplay between environment and culture in the evolution of sociopolitical systems. A common issue in archaeology is variability in the chronological schemes used across regions, including the use of calibrated and uncalibrated dates. The chapters in this volume use “cal BP” to refer specifically to calibrated calendar ages, the more generic “BP” to refer to general time periods for which calibrated and uncalibrated dates may have been used, and “RYBP” for uncalibrated radiocarbon dates. For example, in the age range of the Late Archaic or Early Woodland, we use BP, but if the chronology of a specific site is being discussed, we may use cal BP to refer to more precise age estimates. Moreover, most archaeologists in the Atlantic coast region use chronologies with Archaic, Woodland, and Historic period designations, but the exact timing varies among regions. Each chapter concludes with a discussion of the importance of its region’s contribution to coastal archaeology, the relevance of the research beyond the realm of coastal archaeology, and a look to the future directions for research. We focus on the ways in which we use the archaeological record to address problems in present-day coastal areas and identify the gaps in knowledge that need to be addressed in terms of the archaeology and environmental or geomorphological history. Although this volume focuses on the seacoast, we emphasize that the coast cannot be understood without also recognizing the importance of interior areas, including the fact that the divide between the coast and interior is often blurry at best (see Erlandson 2016). Outline of the Volume This volume contains 10 chapters that span the entire Atlantic coast of North America. Following this introductory chapter, eight regional case studies form the core of the book. Moving from north to south, Wolff and colleagues (Chapter 2) focus on the coastal peoples of Newfoundland and

10 · Torben C. Rick, John A. Turck, and Leslie Reeder-Myers

Labrador. In Chapter 3, Betts and colleagues build on this work by investigating the archaeology of the Gulf of Maine and Canadian Maritime Provinces. Merwin (Chapter 4) then moves us into the New York Bight, ranging from Cape Cod to New Jersey. Reeder-Myers and Rick focus on the Chesapeake Bay and adjacent portions of the Middle Atlantic in Chapter 5. Farther to the south, Dillian (Chapter 6) discusses the archaeology and ecology of the coastal Carolinas. In Chapter 7, Turck and Thompson provide a synthesis of recent research on the Georgia coast. Randall focuses on northern Florida’s Atlantic coast in Chapter 8. Ardren and colleagues close out the case studies by presenting the results of research in the Florida Keys in Chapter 9. Finally, Pluckhahn (Chapter 10) provides a synthesis, conclusion, and look to the future of coastal archaeology along the Atlantic coast of North America. Ultimately, we view this book as more than an academic exercise. We see it as a call to action against the loss of cultural resources, as well as the antiscience sentiment that has gripped a portion of society. The destruction of coastal archaeological sites around the world is due to the effects of global climate change, especially sea level rise and increased frequency of intense storms (Ives et al. 2017; Reeder-Myers and McCoy 2019). As several studies from Newfoundland (Westley et al. 2011), Massachusetts (Bell 2009), Virginia (Reeder-Myers 2015), Georgia (Robinson et al. 2010), and the broader southeastern United States (Anderson et al. 2017) have shown that marine erosion from sea level rise is dramatic and heavily threatening the archaeological record of the Atlantic coast, and indeed around the world. These threats to coastal archaeological resources indicate the need for more scientific research focused on climate change, past, present, and future. Coastal archaeological studies, including underwater archaeology (see Merwin, this volume), produce research involving past climate change, sea level fluctuations, ENSO events, hurricanes, overexploitation of resources, etc. These issues of the past intersect with problems that people are facing today. Archaeological information can be applied to address these current issues (McGuire 2008; Rick and Erlandson 2008; Rockman and Flatman 2011; Sabloff 2008; Stottman 2010), creating a clearer understanding of environmental changes, human interaction with those changes, and ways to move forward.

Conceptualizing the Archaeology of North America’s Atlantic Seacoast & Estuaries · 11

References Amante, C. and B. W. Eakins. 2009. ETOP01 1 Arc-Minute Global Relief Model: Procedures, Data Sources and Analysis. NOAA Technical Memorandum NESDIS NGDC24. National Geophysical Data Center, NOAA. DOI:10.7289/V5C8276M, accessed November 30, 2018. Anderson, David G., Thaddeus G. Bissett, Stephen J. Yerka, Joshua J. Wells, Eric C. Kansa, Sarah W. Kansa, Kelsey Noack Myers, R. Carl DeMuth, and Devin A. White. 2017. SeaLevel Rise and Archaeological Site Destruction: An Example from the Southeastern United States Using DINAA (Digital Index of North American Archaeology). PloS ONE 12:e0188142. Anderson, David G., and Glen T. Hanson. 1988. Early Archaic Settlement in the Southeastern United States: A Case Study from the Savannah River Valley. American Antiquity 53:262–286. Argus, Donald F., W. Richard Peltier, R. Drummond, and Angelyn W. Moore. 2014. The Antarctica Component of Postglacial Rebound Model ICE-6G_C (VM5a) Based on GPS Positioning, Exposure Age Dating of Ice Thicknesses, and Relative Sea Level Histories. Geophysical Journal International 198:537–563. Bell, Edward. 2009. Cultural Resources on the New England Coast and Continental Shelf: Research, Regulatory, and Ethical Considerations from a Massachusetts Perspective. Coastal Management 37:17–53. Bernstein, David J. 2006. Long-Term Continuity in the Archaeological Record from the Coast of New York and Southern New England, USA. Journal of Island & Coastal Archaeology 1:271–284. Betts, Matthew W., and M. Gabriel Hrynick (editors). 2017. North American East Coast Shell Midden Research. Journal of the North Atlantic, Special Volume 10. Eagle Hill Institute, Humboldt, Maine. Bourque, Bruce. 2001. 12,000 Years: American Indians in Maine. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln. Bourque, Bruce. 2012. The Swordfish Hunters: The History and Ecology of an Ancient American Sea People. Bunker Hill Publishing, Piermont, New Hampshire. Bourque, Bruce J., Beverly J. Johnson, and Robert S. Steneck. 2008. Possible Prehistoric Fishing Effects on Coastal Marine Food Webs in the Gulf of Maine. In Human Impacts on Ancient Marine Ecosystems, edited by Torben C. Rick and John M. Erlandson, pp. 165–185. University of California Press, Berkeley. Braje, Todd J. 2015. Earth Systems, Human Agency, and the Anthropocene: Planet Earth in the Human Age. Journal of Archaeological Research 23:369–396. Braje, Todd J., Tom D. Dillehay, Jon M. Erlandson, Richard G. Klein, and Torben C. Rick. 2017. Finding the First Americans. Science 358:592–594. Claassen, Cheryl. 1995. Dogan Point: A Shell Matrix Site in the Lower Hudson Valley. Occasional Publications in Northeastern Anthropology 14. Archaeological Services, Bethlehem, Connecticut. Cortés-Sánchez, Miguel, Arturo Morales-Muñiz, María D. Simón-Vallejo, María C. Lozano-Francisco, José L. Vera-Peláez, Clive Finlayson, Joaquín Rodríguez-Vidal, Antonio Delgado-Huertas, Francisco J. Jiménez-Espejo, Francisca Martínez-Ruiz, M. Aranza-

12 · Torben C. Rick, John A. Turck, and Leslie Reeder-Myers

zu Martínez-Aguirre, Arturo J. Pascual-Granged, M. Merce Bergadá-Zapata, Juan F. Gibaja-Bao, José A. Riquelme-Cantal, J. Antonio López-Sáez, Marta Rodrigo-Gámiz, Saburo Sakai, Saiko Sugisaki, Geraldine Finlayson, Darren A. Fa, and Nuno F. Bicho. 2011. Earliest Known Use of Marine Resources by Neanderthals. PloS ONE 6:e24026. Cronin, Thomas M., Gary S. Dwyer, Toshiro Kamiya, Stefan Schwede, and Debra A. Willard. 2003. Medieval Warm Period, Little Ice Age and 20th Century Temperature Variability from Chesapeake Bay. Global and Planetary Change 36:17–29. Custer, Jay F. 1988a. Coastal Adaptations of the Atlantic Coast of North America: An Introduction. Archaeology of Eastern North America 16:79–80. Custer, Jay F. 1988b. Coastal Adaptations in the Middle Atlantic Region. Archaeology of Eastern North America 16:121–135. Davis, Dave D. 1988. Coastal Biogeography and Human Subsistence: Examples from the West Indies. Archaeology of Eastern North America 16:177–185. DeFrance, Susan D., David Keefer, James Richardson, and Adan U. Almarez. 2001. Late Paleo-Indian Coastal Foragers: Specialized Extractive Behavior at Quebrada Tacahuay, Peru. Latin American Antiquity 12:413–426. Dillehay, Tom D., Steve Goodbred, Mario Pino, Víctor F. Vásquez Sánchez, Teresa Rosales Tham, James Adovasio, Michael B. Collins, Patricia J. Netherly, Christine A. Hastorf, Katherine L. Chiou, Dolores R. Piperno, Isabel Rey, and Nancy Velchoff. 2017. Simple Technologies and Diverse Food Strategies of the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene at Huaca Prieta, Coastal Peru. Science Advances 3(5):e1602778. Engelhart, Simon E., and Benjamin P. Horton. 2012. Holocene Sea Level Database for the Atlantic Coast of the United States. Quaternary Science Reviews 54:12–25. Erlandson, Jon M. 2001. The Archaeology of Aquatic Adaptations: Paradigms for a New Millennium. Journal of Archaeological Research 9:287–350. Erlandson, Jon M. 2013. Shell Middens and Other Anthropogenic Soils as Global Stratigraphic Signatures of the Anthropocene. Anthropocene 4:24–32. Erlandson, Jon M. 2016. Coastal versus Interior: Some Thoughts on the Archaeology of California’s Channel Islands. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 11:443–446. Erlandson, Jon M., Michael H. Graham, Bruce J. Bourque, Debra Corbett, James A. Estes, and Robert S. Steneck. 2007. The Kelp Highway Hypothesis: Marine Ecology, the Coastal Migration Theory, and the Peopling of the Americas. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 2:161–174. Erlandson, Jon M., Torben C. Rick, Todd J. Braje, Molly Casperson, Brendan Culleton, Brian Fulfrost, Tracy Garcia, Daniel A. Guthrie, Nicholas Jew, Douglas J. Kennett, Madonna L. Moss, Leslie A. Reeder, Craig E. Skinner, Jack Watts, and Lauren Willis. 2011. Paleoindian Seafaring, Maritime Technologies, and Coastal Foraging on California’s Channel Islands. Science 331:1181–1185. Fedje, Daryl W., and Rolf W. Mathewes. 2005. Haida Gwaii: Human History and Environment from the Time of Loon to the Time of the Iron People. University of British Columbia Press, Vancouver. Fitzhugh, William. 1975. A Comparative Approach to Northern Maritime Adaptations. In Prehistoric Maritime Adaptations of the Circumpolar Zone, edited by William Fitzhugh, pp. 339–386. Mouton, The Hague.

Conceptualizing the Archaeology of North America’s Atlantic Seacoast & Estuaries · 13

Fitzhugh, William. 1997. Biogeographical Archaeology in the Eastern North American Arctic. Human Ecology 25:385–418. Fitzhugh, William (editor). 2015. Maine to Greenland: Exploring the Maritime Far Northeast. Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington, DC. Fitzpatrick, Scott M., Torben C. Rick, and Jon M. Erlandson. 2015. Recent Progress, Trends, and Developments in Island and Coastal Archaeology. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 10:3–27. Gallivan, Martin D. 2016. The Powhatan Landscape: An Archaeological History of the Algonquian Chesapeake. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Gamble, Lynn H. (editor). 2015. First Coastal Californians. School for Advanced Research Press, Santa Fe. Graham, Nicholas E., C. M. Ammann, Dominik Fleitmann, K. M. Cobb, and Jürg Luterbacher. 2011. Support for Global Climate Reorganization during the “Medieval Climate Anomaly.” Climate Dynamics 37:1217–1245. Ives, Timothy H., Kevin A. McBride, and Joseph N. Waller. 2017. Surveying Coastal Archaeological Sites Damaged by Hurricane Sandy in Rhode Island, USA. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 12:1–23. Jerardino, Antonieta. 2016. On the Origins and Significance of Pleistocene Coastal Resource Use in Southern Africa with Particular Reference to Shellfish Gathering. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 41:213–230. Lavin, Lucianne. 1988. Coastal Adaptations in Southern New England and Southern New York. Archaeology of Eastern North America 16:101–120. Lowery, Darrin, Margaret Jodry, and Dennis Stanford. 2012. Clovis Coastal Zone Width Variation: A Possible Solution for Early Paleoindian Population Disparity along the Mid-Atlantic Coast, USA. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 7:53–63. Marean, Curtis W., Miryam Bar-Matthews, Jocelyn Bernatchez, Erich Fisher, Paul Goldberg, Andy IR Herries, Zenobia Jacobs, Antonieta Jerardino, Panagiotis Karkanas, Tom Minichillo, Peter Nilssen, Erin Thompson, Ian Watts, and Hope M. Williams. 2007. Early Human Use of Marine Resources and Pigment in South Africa during the Middle Pleistocene. Nature 449:905–908. Marquardt, William H. 2014. Tracking the Calusa: A Retrospective. Southeastern Archaeology 33:1–24. Marquardt, William H., and Karen Walker (editors). 2013. The Archaeology of Pineland: A Coastal Southwest Florida Site Complex, AD 50–1710. Institute of Archaeology and Paleoenvironmental Studies, Monograph 4. University of Florida, Gainesville. McGhee, Robert. 2001. Ancient People of the Arctic. 2nd ed. University of British Columbia Press, Vancouver. McGuire, Randall H. 2008. Archaeology as Political Action. University of California Press, Berkeley. Meltzer, David J. 2009. First Peoples in a New World: Colonizing Ice Age America. University of California Press, Berkeley. Miller, Henry M. 2001. Living along the Great Shellfish Bay: The Relationship between Prehistoric Peoples and the Chesapeake. In Discovering the Chesapeake: The History of an Ecosystem, edited by Philip D. Curtin, Grace Somers Brush, and George W. Fisher, pp. 109–126. Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore.

14 · Torben C. Rick, John A. Turck, and Leslie Reeder-Myers

Milner, Nicky, Oliver E. Craig, and Geoff N. Bailey (editors). 2007. Shell Middens in Atlantic Europe. Oxbow Books, Oxford. Moss, Madonna L. 2011. Northwest Coast: Archaeology as Deep History. Society for American Archaeology, Washington, DC. Olsen, Jesper, N. John Anderson, and Mads F. Knudsen. 2012. Variability of the North Atlantic Oscillation over the Past 5,200 Years. Nature Geoscience 5:808–812. Peltier, W. Richard, Donald F. Argus, and Rosemarie Drummond. 2015. Space Geodesy Constrains Ice Age Terminal Deglaciation: The Global ICE-6G_C (VM5a) Model: Global Glacial Isostatic Adjustment. Journal of Geophysical Research: Solid Earth 120:450–487. Rankin, Lisa, and Peter Ramsden (editors). 2006. From the Arctic to Avalon: Papers in Honor of Jim Tuck. BAR International Series 1507. British Archaeological Reports, Oxford. Reeder-Myers, Leslie A. 2015. Cultural Heritage at Risk in the Twenty-First Century: A Vulnerability Assessment of Coastal Archaeological Sites in the United States. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 10:436–445. Reeder-Myers, Leslie A., and Mark D. McCoy. 2019. Preparing for the Future Impacts of Mega Storms on Archaeological Sites: An Evaluation of Flooding from Hurricane Harvey, Houston, Texas. American Antiquity 84:292–301. Reitz, Elizabeth J. 1988. Evidence for Coastal Adaptations in Georgia and South Carolina. Archaeology of Eastern North America 16:137–158. Rick, Torben C., and Jon Erlandson (editors). 2008. Human Impacts on Ancient Marine Ecosystems: A Global Perspective. University of California Press, Berkeley. Rick, Torben C., Leslie A. Reeder-Myers, Courtney A. Hofman, Denise Breitburg, Rowan Lockwood, Gregory Henkes, Lisa Kellogg, Darrin Lowery, Mark W. Luckenbach, Roger Mann, Matthew B. Ogburn, Melissa J. Southworth, John Wah, James Wesson, and Anson H. Hines. 2016. Millennial-Scale Sustainability of the Chesapeake Bay Native American Oyster Fishery. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 113:6568– 6573. Rick, Torben C., and Gregory A. Waselkov. 2015. Shellfish Gathering and Shell Midden Archaeology Revisited: Chronology and Taphonomy at White Oak Point, Potomac River Estuary, Virginia. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 10:339–362. Robinson, Michael H., Clark R. Alexander, Chester W. Jackson, Christopher P. McCabe, and David Crass. 2010. Threatened Archaeological, Historic, and Cultural Resources of the Georgia Coast: Identification, Prioritization and Management Using GIS Technology. Geoarchaeology 25:312–326. Rockman, Marcy, and Joe Flatman (editors). 2011. Archaeology in Society: Its Relevance in the Modern World. Springer, New York. Russo, Michael. 1988. Coastal Adaptations in Eastern Florida: Models and Methods. Archaeology of Eastern North America 16:159–176. Sabloff, Jeremy A. 2008. Archaeology Matters: Action Archaeology in the Modern World. Routledge, New York. Sanger, David. 1988. Maritime Adaptations in the Gulf of Maine. Archaeology of Eastern North America 16:81–99. Sassaman, Kenneth E. 2004. Complex Hunter-Gatherers in Evolution and History: A North American Perspective. Journal of Archaeological Research 12:227–280.

Conceptualizing the Archaeology of North America’s Atlantic Seacoast & Estuaries · 15

Sassaman, Kenneth E., Neill J. Wallis, Paulette S. McFadden, Ginessa J. Mahar, Jessica A. Jenkins, Mark C. Donop, Micah P. Monés, Andrea Palmiotto, Anthony Boucher, Joshua M. Goodwin, and Christina I. Olivera. 2017. Keeping Pace with Rising Sea: The First 6 Years of the Lower Suwannee Archaeological Survey, Gulf Coastal Florida. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 12:173–199. Saunders, Rebecca, and Michael Russo. 2011. Coastal Shell Middens in Florida: A View from the Archaic Period. Quaternary International 239:38–50. Spiess, Arthur E., and Robert A. Lewis. 2001. The Turner Farm Fauna: 5000 Years of Hunting and Fishing in Penobscot Bay, Maine. Occasional Publications in Maine Archaeology 11. Maine Archaeological Society, Augusta. Stanford, Dennis J., and Bruce A. Bradley. 2012. Across Atlantic Ice: The Origin of America’s Clovis Culture. University of California Press, Berkeley. Stottman, M. Jay (editor). 2010. Archaeologists as Activists: Can Archaeologists Change the World? University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Thomas, David Hurst. 2008. Native American Landscapes of St. Catherines Island, Georgia: Volumes I–III. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 88. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thompson, Victor D., and David Hurst Thomas (editors). 2013. Life among the Tides: Recent Archaeology of the Georgia Bight. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History 98. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thompson, Victor, and John Worth. 2011. Dwellers by the Sea: Native American Adaptations along the Southern Coasts of Eastern North America. Journal of Archaeological Research 19:51–101. Westley, Kieran, Trevor Bell, M.A.P. Renouf, and Lev Tarasov. 2011. Impact Assessment of Current and Future Sea-Level Change on Coastal Archaeological Resources—Illustrated Examples from Northern Newfoundland. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 6:351–374. White, Nancy Marie (editor). 2005. Gulf Coast Archaeology: The Southeast and Mexico. University Press of Florida, Gainesville.

2 Sea Ice, Seals, and Settlement On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland and Labrador

Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

When people think of Newfoundland and Labrador (Figure 2.1), they think of the sea. The modern history of the island is inextricably linked to the harvest of the historically abundant Atlantic cod (Gadus morhua), and other marine resources, such as seals, walrus, and whales. From the moment of its “discovery” at the end of the fifteenth century, the economic focus of the Europeans that visited seasonally and later occupied Newfoundland and Labrador was on the sea. The indigenous peoples of the region that preceded them were also dependent on marine resources—particularly harp seals (Pagophilus groenlandica)—for their livelihood. And yet at various times in the region’s history, dynamic environmental and social conditions worked to change subsistence economies, cultures, and the course of its occupation. In this chapter we assess the relative roles that environmental and social processes played in these critical transformations. In the process we document a subsistence focus on marine mammals and an occupation of a harsh climate that stand in contrast to other parts of the North Atlantic coast, except perhaps the Gulf of Maine, (see Betts et al., this volume), making for an interesting comparison to those regions farther to the south. Archaeologists have long emphasized the importance of environmental change in understanding the prehistory of Newfoundland and Labrador (see Holly 2011; Renouf 1999). Tuck and Pastore (1985), for example, suggested that the prehistory of the island of Newfoundland was marked by periodic human extinctions—the result of living in a marginal environment vulnerable to resource shortfalls. A similar argument was made for interior Labrador (Fitzhugh 1973). Today, there remains a broadly shared view that colonization and abandonment by the various cultures that occupied the

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 17

Figure 2.1. Map of Newfoundland and Labrador with locations of historic harp seal herds and important site locations mentioned in the text (LM = L’Anse Amour Mound, PC = Port au Choix, SC = Stock Cove, RP = Russel’s Point).

region were directly related to climate shifts and the associated reorganization of key resources. While not denying the critical role that environmental change played in the island’s history, in this chapter we take a holistic approach that also takes into account changing social conditions on the island and the dynamic interplay between people and their environment. We also offer suggestions about where research efforts should be directed to better understand the nature of human-environmental relationships in the past and present.

18 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

The Environmental Context

Soon after the Pleistocene-Holocene transition around 10,000 years ago, the Laurentide Ice Sheet that blanketed far northeast Canada was receding, leaving a landscape covered with the scars of its expansion and decline—incised bedrock, glacial erratics, and terminal moraines. Rushing meltwaters formed valleys and winding eskers, and remnants of the glacier melted to form kettle ponds that dot and define the landscape of interior northern Quebec and Labrador. These processes created the conditions that the first peoples of the far Northeast encountered when they moved into the region. The environment during initial colonization was a young Arctic-Subarctic ecosystem. In places it was barren and hostile but would slowly be dominated by tundra vegetation, such as dwarf tree species, sedges, grasses, and lichens. The coasts, as today, were largely rocky and dangerous for navigation but provided access to rich marine resources. Between 9000 and 8000 BP, the Newfoundland and Labrador ecosystem began its succession toward modern conditions, including pioneering migrations of terrestrial mammals (e.g., caribou, wolves, bear, and smaller mammals) into the region, and the northwestward expansion of coniferous trees, edible berries, and migratory birds, all of which supported human economies in the region (Tuck 1977). Palynological studies suggest that in the interior of central and southern Labrador there was a gradual expansion of boreal parklands (Fitzhugh 1978; Jordan 1975; Kerwin et al. 2004; Ogden 1977; Webb et al. 1993; Williams et al. 2000); however, the repositioning and strengthening of the cold Arctic-fed Labrador Current, as well as a possible shift in the mean position of the polar front around 6,000 years ago, caused the coastal zone of Labrador and northern Newfoundland to become increasingly cooler over the next few millennia, restricting tree growth and increasing the presence of seasonal sea ice (de Vernal and Hillaire-Marcel 2000; Fitzhugh and Lamb 1984; Kerwin et al. 2004; Solignac et al. 2004). By 7000 BP only small remnants of the Laurentide glacier persisted in interior Labrador (Clark et al. 2003; de Vernal and Hillaire-Marcel 2000; Kerwin et al. 2004; Lamb 1980; Williams et al. 2000). The loss of the massive ice sheets that previously blanketed the region caused isostatic rebound that has continued to outpace sea level rise for all of Labrador and the Northern Peninsula of Newfoundland. For eastern and southern Newfoundland, there is a complicated history of isostatic and eustatic processes due to the postglacial tilting of the island, leading to several models for relative sea level that defines a gradation from lower to higher

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 19

Thousand years BP

Figure 2.2. Sea level curves from three regions of Newfoundland and Labrador based on the ICE-6G_C (VM5A) glacio-isostatic model (Argus et al. 2014; Peltier et al. 2015).

sea level from west to east (Bell and Renouf 2003, 2008; Bell et al. 2005) (Figure 2.2). By 6000 BP pollen data suggest the interior environment resembled modern conditions, with species such as white spruce, pine, fir, alder, and birch dominating southern and central interior regions of Labrador—as well as some sheltered coastal locations—and tundra vegetation dominating northern and coastal zones (Jordan 1975; Kerwin et al. 2004; Ogden 1977; Tuck 1975; Webb et al. 1993; Williams et al. 2000). This was followed by a period between 6000 and 4000 BP that appears to have been the warmest in the region’s prehistory and is referred to as the Holocene Thermal Maximum, with relatively dry and warm terrestrial conditions similar to today’s (Kerwin et al. 2004; Webb et al. 1993; Williams et al. 2000). Environmental proxy data, such as dinocysts from deep sea cores and pollen from lake cores, indicate that the northwest Atlantic region approximated present conditions by 4000 BP (Hillaire-Marcel et al. 2001; Jordan 1975; Kaplan et al. 2002; Kerwin et al. 2004; Ogden 1977; Solignac et al. 2004); however, the climate grew colder and more severe in the centuries that followed, as evidenced by the southward contraction of the tree line (Kerwin et al. 2004). By 3200 BP, temperatures had dropped to their lowest point since the Early Holocene (de Vernal and Hillaire-Marcel 2000; Hillaire-Marcel et al. 2001; Jackson et al. 2000; Jordan 1975; Kaplan et al. 2002; Kerwin et al. 2004; Fitzhugh and Lamb 1984; Ogden 1977; Solignac et al. 2004; Webb et al. 1993; Williams et al. 2000). Lake sediments from Greenland indicate widespread climatic unpredictability in the centuries

20 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

leading up to this time that would continue to affect ecological conditions in the region for millennia (Kaplan et al. 2002). The colder climate persisted for over two thousand years, likely causing higher productivity in marine mammal species that favored extensive sea ice, and reducing interior terrestrial resources. Proxy data suggest the climate warmed again around 1500 to 1100 BP, in response to the Medieval Warm Period. For instance, records of changes in temperature-sensitive midge remains (Chironomidae) recovered in pond cores from western Newfoundland indicate significant regional warming at this time (Rosenberg et al. 2005). Pollen from those same cores suggests that inland parklands were expanding into areas that were previously dominated by boreal forests, perhaps encouraging the proliferation of caribou and other terrestrial species. Such warming led to increased sea temperatures and reduced sea ice distribution. The latter would have been deleterious for ice-dependent species, such as harp seals, and the people who relied on them. Warmer temperatures prevailed until the onset of the Little Ice Age around 700 BP, when colder conditions returned and lasted into the nineteenth century, shaping our historical perspective of sea ice and resource distribution in the region. Human-Environmental Interaction

The Maritime Archaic The earliest well-dated archaeological evidence for human occupation of the region appears early in the Archaic period, around 8000 BP, on the southern coast of Labrador when there were still remnants of the Laurentide Ice Sheet in interior Labrador and northern Quebec (Clark and Fitzhugh 1990; Clark et al. 2003; Dyke et al. 2002; Kerwin et al. 2004; Williams et al. 2000). These early sites are all found at or near the coast and contain the remains of marine species, suggesting that, unlike with many of the Middle Atlantic and southern Atlantic coastal peoples discussed in other chapters in this volume, initial colonization of the region was focused on marine resources. The presence of harpoons, walrus ivory, and woodworking tools consistent with the production of dugout canoes (e.g., adzes, celts, and gouges) also suggests a marine-focused economy. For these reasons these early peoples are often referred to as the “Maritime Archaic.” One of the best known of these early sites, the L’Anse Amour Mound site, dates to almost 8000 BP (Duggan et al. 2017; Tuck and McGhee 1976). It is

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 21

a child’s burial that contained one of the world’s oldest toggling harpoon heads, an ivory line holder, a walrus tusk, and a variety of stone tools. The specialized harpoon technology indicates that marine mammal hunting was an important economic activity, and the placement of the walrus tusk under the child’s face (Tuck and McGhee 1975, 1976) plausibly suggests it also had ideological significance. L’Anse Amour Mound also contained caribou bone and antler, possibly indicating time spent in the near interior. Caribou, however, can also be obtained on the coast, and currently there is little evidence for significant early use of the interior by Archaic peoples of Labrador, although caribou may have increased in importance in the Middle Holocene (Spiess 1993). In contrast, there is good evidence that marine resources were vital during early colonization of the region. Indeed, settlement may have been impossible without them, as the interior likely lacked the biodiversity in the Early Holocene to support significant human occupation (Spiess 1993), due to the slow succession of northern plant and lichen species that would attract large land mammals like caribou (Jordan 1975; Kerwin et al. 2004; Ogden 1977; Tuck 1975; Webb et al. 1993; Williams et al. 2000). In contrast, marine mammals may have been plentiful along the coast. For these reasons we believe only a coastally adapted group could have successfully colonized the region during the Early Holocene. Seals and walrus would have been available along the edge of the fast ice (ice anchored to shore) and in nearshore polynya (open channels of water in the ice), or possibly in pack ice from small watercraft. The toggling harpoon at L’Anse Amour suggests that Maritime Archaic people entered the region equipped with marine mammal hunting technology, the development of which is still unknown but is possibly descended from early Archaic traditions or earlier Paleoindian adaptations along the Champlain Sea coast and Gulf of St. Lawrence. Between 7000 and 6000 BP, Maritime Archaic peoples saw their greatest expansion, colonizing almost the entire coast and near interior of Labrador, and by 6000 BP they had expanded southeast onto the island of Newfoundland. It is possible colonization of the island occurred earlier, but evidence has been lost due to rising sea levels along much of its coast. In northwestern Newfoundland, where isostatic rebound may have lifted sites above active coastal erosion zones, early evidence may remain undiscovered due to difficulties of locating it in the forested interior (Bell and Renouf 2003). For now, earlier colonization can be argued based on negative evidence only. The expansion of Archaic peoples occurred during a period of terrestrial

22 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

warming and marine cooling. In other parts of the Northeast, at around 5000 BP, there was territorial expansion and a shift toward distinct regional patterns (Bourque 2012; Kidder and Sassaman 2009). The causes for these shifts are poorly understood, but environmental changes are often implicated, including the expansion of forests and rising sea levels (Bourque 2012). Rising sea levels may have pushed some coastal groups to move to inland areas, perhaps leading to tighter, more integrated population clusters (Bourque 2012:6). For Archaic groups in Labrador, isostatic rebound may have alleviated the need for significant demographic adjustments. Generally, older sites are found at higher elevations, and it is assumed that through time groups moved downslope to maintain life at the coast as the land uplifted. Thus, instead of forcing people into smaller territories as land became inundated, isostasy created greater land area. The degree to which local ecosystems were affected by these changes and how they impacted human groups in the region are not well understood. Hindered by poor preservation conditions and insufficient sampling strategies in the region, it is difficult to directly relate changing environmental conditions to evolving sociocultural phenomena. Increases in site frequencies and size in the Middle Holocene, as well as architectural elaboration, such as the development of multiroomed houses and longhouses (Fitzhugh 1975, 1981, 1984, 2006; Hood 1993; Wolff 2008) may suggest that Archaic populations gained some benefits from the warmer conditions. Some have suggested (Fitzhugh 2006; Hood 1993) that the development of longhouses was possibly linked to changes in seasonal communal hunting strategies aimed at intercepting harp seals during their fall migration route to their breeding territories in the southern Labrador Sea and the Gulf of St. Lawrence; however, most hypotheses focus on other economic and social processes ranging from lithic procurement to defensive strategies (Fitzhugh 1984, 2006; Hood 1993; Wolff 2008). Conditions again began to change around 3500 BP about the same time the Maritime Archaic cultural range begins to contract. Within 300 years they abandoned Newfoundland and much of the Labrador coast. Reasons for these relatively rapid changes are unknown, but increasing climatic unpredictability associated with more severe, colder conditions was likely a factor. This would have significantly affected the development of sea ice, terrestrial precipitation, and the distribution of colder waters, creating challenges for traditional Archaic adaptations. If severe enough, the cold conditions could have reduced primary productivity in the western Atlantic and led to declining populations of keystone species (e.g., harp

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 23

seals) that were the focus of their economy. Moreover, greater precipitation could reduce the quality and availability of browse, significantly affecting caribou populations and Archaic peoples’ ability to shift to a terrestrially focused economy. These changes likely contributed to the Archaic abandonment of Newfoundland and the Labrador coast, although social factors, such as the arrival of new competitors—Pre-Dorset Paleo-Inuit (see below)—better equipped for the new environmental conditions also likely played a part. Some researchers have suggested that Archaic abandonment of the region was a cultural extinction and possibly a biological one (Tuck and Pastore 1985); others suggest it was a necessary adaptational shift toward resources elsewhere (Renouf 1999). It certainly seems that some sort of population crash and cultural crisis occurred (Holly 2013:60–61). The subsequent Intermediate Indian tradition that emerges in Labrador may have been an incarnation of the defunct Maritime Archaic tradition, and, if so, it represents significant reorganization of their social, cultural, and economic systems. Intermediate Indian groups, despite making seasonal forays to hunt and fish at the coast, more closely resemble historic interior cultures like the northern Cree and Innu than the Maritime Archaic. Paleo-Inuit Paleo-Inuit, including the Pre-Dorset, Groswater Dorset, and Dorset people, partially overlapped with Maritime Archaic peoples but maintained separate cultures and ecological adaptations. Pre-Dorset Paleo-Inuit arrived in Labrador from the High Arctic sometime between 4500 and 4000 BP. For the next 1,200 years, they shared northern Labrador with the Maritime Archaic. Paleo-Inuit peoples and more recent Inuit are ethnically, linguistically, and culturally distinct from Amerindian populations. The Pre-Dorset were Arctic-adapted and pursued a mixed economy that included hunting terrestrial mammals, migratory birds, a variety of seals and walruses, and, perhaps, smaller whales, such as beluga and narwhal (Hood 2000; Maxwell 1984; Meldgaard 1960; Nagy 1994; Ramsden and Murray 1995). Subsistence diversity may have given them cultural advantages over Archaic peoples in northern Labrador between 4500 and 3500 BP, but they abandoned the region—or at least saw population declines to the extent that it resembles abandonment—in the centuries that followed. As with the Maritime Archaic, reasons for declines in Pre-Dorset population is unclear, but possibly the shift to colder conditions between 3500 and 3200 BP made it difficult to continue a mixed terrestrial and marine

24 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

economy, particularly when they had to compete with Archaic groups for those resources. Terrestrial fauna may have been negatively impacted by increased occurrences of freezing rain and snow, but marine mammals such as harp seal (Pagophilus groenlandicus) that depend on ice likely benefited from the cold, in both population size and expanded geographic range. Probably not coincidently, the Eastern Canadian High Arctic witnessed the development of a more specialized marine mammal hunting economy about this time, possibly from the remnants of the earlier Pre-Dorset peoples (Maxwell 1984; McGhee 1996). Around 3000 BP another group of Paleo-Inuit, the Groswater Dorset, began to occupy coastal Labrador. Groswater peoples, first identified in central Labrador at Groswater Bay (Fitzhugh 1976), had a more marinefocused economy than the Pre-Dorset but supplemented their diet with terrestrial resources (Fitzhugh 1972; Lavers and Renouf 2012; LeBlanc 1996; Stiwich 2011; Wells 2005). This economic strategy was successful, allowing them to expand along the entire coast of Labrador and onto the island of Newfoundland (Lavers and Renouf 2012). This expansion may have been driven by growing numbers of harp seals, facilitated by the colder sea conditions. A larger, more predictable harp seal population may have also allowed a subsequent Paleo-Inuit culture, the Dorset, with an even more specialized seal hunting economy, to expand into the region around 2200 BP. Like previous Paleo-Inuit cultures, the Dorset migration into Labrador began in the High Arctic and proceeded southward along the coasts to Newfoundland (McGhee 1996). The previous and relatively smaller Groswater population seems to disappear at roughly the time the Dorset appear, although the historical nature of their relationship remains ambiguous. Dorset sites are found almost exclusively in coastal zones and have yielded an abundance of seal remains, especially harp seal (Bell and Renouf 2008; Hodgetts 2005; Murray 2011; Wolff, Erwin, Nomokonova, and Holly 2010), although bird, beaver, and some caribou bones have also been recovered (Hodgetts et al. 2003; Wolff, Erwin, Nomokonova, and Holly 2010). The high frequency of harpoon endblades at Dorset sites also emphasize the importance of seal hunting to their economy (Hodgetts et al. 2003: LeBlanc 2010; Wells 2012; Wolff, Erwin, and Holly 2010; Wolff et al. 2014). This focus on sealing is particularly striking at sites like Stock Cove in eastern Newfoundland, far from historically documented harp seal aggregation areas or migration routes (Bonner 1994; Sergeant 1991).

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 25

When the large site at Stock Cove was first excavated, researchers (e.g., Robbins 1985) thought that its location at the base of Trinity Bay, along the shore of an isthmus, was chosen to facilitate the communal hunting of caribou; however, only two (MNI = 1) of the hundreds of bones that have been recovered have been identified as caribou, and they appear to postdate the Dorset occupation. Moreover, very few (~4%) of the other faunal remains have been positively identified as terrestrial species (Swinarton 2013), although a small assemblage of Dorset ground slate lances could indicate that some hunting of large terrestrial game occurred (Wolff et al. 2014). Seal, however, constitutes over 90% of the identified faunal remains from Dorset strata at the site (Swinarton 2013; Wolff, Erwin, Nomokonova, and Holly 2010). These faunal data and the substantial harpoon endblade assemblage all suggest that marine resources, particularly seals, were a primary focus of Dorset economic strategies at Stock Cove as they have found to be elsewhere. This is interesting in light of the historic distribution of these resources in the region (Figure 2.1). Seals are known to occupy the waters of Trinity Bay, but they are sparsely distributed and rarely aggregate in significant numbers, making them an unpredictable resource in the area; however, historical records of seal distributions may not accurately reflect ancient conditions, as the environment has undergone significant alterations. It is a very real possibility that the distribution of harp seal herds has changed substantially since the Dorset occupation, and they were once more abundant in Trinity Bay and other locations in eastern Newfoundland. Given the abundance of seal remains at Stock Cove (Swinarton 2013; Wolff, Erwin, Nomokonova, and Holly 2010), this seems to have been the case at the time of the Dorset occupation. It is doubtful that enough Dorset hunters could have traveled the extremely long distances to where historical harp seal colonies are located to provide enough seals for the sizable population thought to have occupied Stock Cove. Moreover, the high frequency of seal remains at Dorset sites along the shores of Trinity Bay and the unusually large assemblage of harpoon endblades recovered from Stock Cove all suggest that it is more likely that harp seals were locally available and abundant for most of the duration of Dorset occupation of the region. Additionally, the presence of bearded seal bones (Erignathus barbatus), another ice-loving species, at Stock Cove (Swinarton 2013) suggests that ice conditions in Trinity Bay were more favorable for ice-dependent species during that time.

26 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

The timely formation and extent of the ice in the waters surrounding Newfoundland and Labrador has direct effects on the health and population of seal herds in the region (Sergeant 1991), and by extension the people who relied on them. If ice forms too late in the season, if it is too thin or sparse, or if it breaks up too early, then mortality rates rise substantially (Johnston et al. 2005). Environmental proxy data suggest that such a reduction in sea ice occurred in the western North Atlantic around 1300 BP, at the beginning of the Medieval Warm Period (de Vernal and Hillaire-Marcel 2000; Rochon et al. 1999; Rosenberg et al. 2005; Solignac et al. 2004). This would likely have been disastrous to the Dorset economy. At the Port au Choix site, it appears that the Dorset tried to adapt to these conditions by diversifying their diet to include fish and birds (Hodgetts et al. 2003); however, poor preservation at most Dorset sites in the region has not allowed for broader comparisons of faunal data to assess whether similar strategies were pursued elsewhere. Moreover, the opportunities for Dorset groups to diversify their economy was likely constrained by their Amerindian neighbors. It is also possible that the Dorset were ideologically constrained, or otherwise unwilling to restructure traditional sociocultural practices (Holly 2011), resulting in the collapse of social and exchange networks in Newfoundland and Labrador (Bell and Renouf 2008). We can assume the challenges to Dorset traditions were widespread, since they ultimately abandoned Newfoundland around 1200 BP, and Labrador shortly thereafter. Labrador Amerindians, Inuit, and Europeans The end of the Archaic period resulted in the transformation of Amerindian culture and society, which had previously been represented by the Maritime Archaic. The island of Newfoundland and much of the Labrador Peninsula were abandoned; exchange networks contracted, and people became more reliant on local raw materials, resulting in regionally distinct toolkits. It appears that an overall settlement shift from outer coastal areas toward inner waters and the interior occurred (Denton 2012; Holly 2013:60–64; Neilsen 2006; Stopp 1997), although the Amerindians of this era (3500 to 2000 BP)—commonly known as Intermediate Indians—persevered and were transformed. Near the end of the Intermediate Indian period, there are indications that Algonquian-speaking Amerindians moved into the region. The spread of Eastern Algonquian languages into the far northeast is thought to have occurred between 2500 and 1500 BP (Denton 2012:127). The timing broadly

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 27

corresponds with the introduction of ceramics and the bow and arrow, the resettlement of abandoned areas, the reinstitution of long-distance exchange networks, and the appearance of new forms of social organization and ceremonial practice (Denny 1994; Fiedel 1990, 1991; Holly 2013), which together suggest the spread of not only a language but probably people too. These developments mark the beginning of the late prehistoric “Recent Indian” period (2000 to 500 BP). The late prehistoric period witnessed a surge of increased activity in the interior, likely related to the development of more open parklands that provided better habitat for caribou and improved hunting conditions (Holly 2013:91–92; McCaffrey 2011:158). Coastal areas also saw more activity at this time. Amerindians returned to Newfoundland after more than a thousand years. On the coast of Labrador, following the northward retreat of the Dorset, Amerindians demonstrated a renewed seasonal emphasis on marine resources and moved into areas formerly occupied by the Dorset (Loring 1988; Odess et al. 2000). This Amerindian coastal florescence was interrupted sometime in the late thirteenth century, at the onset of the Little Ice Age (LIA), by the southward migration of Inuit groups from the High Arctic. By the fifteenth century, much of coastal Labrador was settled by Inuit. The colder, less predictable conditions of the LIA were reflected in Labrador Inuit material culture, subsistence, and settlement patterns (McGhee 1996; Rankin 2009; Woollett 2007). Increased sea ice and marine mammal productivity along coastal Labrador allowed for a marine-focused economy, similar to the Dorset, but with the advantages of ocean-going vessels and hunting technology that could be used on even larger species, such as whales. Indeed, it seems they were successful enough at times to create food surpluses that made it unnecessary to supplement their diet with many terrestrial resources (Woollett 2007). The surpluses provided by a marine-focused economy allowed the Inuit to gather in larger communities (Rankin 2009; Taylor 1974), particularly during more stable environmental periods (Woollett 2007). This may have also given them an advantage over the Amerindian populations of coastal Labrador. The social organization of the Inuit, bolstered by their successful economy, probably made them a formidable foe. It appears that, due to Inuit interaction, Amerindian peoples relinquished some coastal areas and turned inland (Loring 1988). The Innu, well known ethnographically as inland caribou hunters, are in part the historical product of this interaction. In the early Historic period, trading and exchange relationships with Europeans may have drawn Inuit farther south into southern Labrador and

28 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

the Strait of Belle Isle. Despite many recorded violent interactions, they established some beneficial relationships with Basque whalers (Fitzhugh 2015) and western European fishermen (Kaplan 1983; Woollett 2003). As environmental conditions of the LIA were having significant impact on their home countries, Europeans journeyed across the Atlantic to southern Labrador and Newfoundland, lured by its vast seal herds and productive cod-fishing grounds (Rose 2007). Labrador Inuit were affected by growing numbers of Europeans but remained in the region and today have formed a semi-autonomous regional government. The Métis people in southern and central Labrador also have had increasing political importance in the region. Both groups continue some traditional hunting and fishing practices but are commercially disadvantaged by the 1992 cod moratorium and multinational marine mammal protection legislation and activism. On the island of Newfoundland, indigenous peoples suffered a very different outcome. Newfoundland Amerindians and Europeans When the first European fisherman arrived in Newfoundland’s waters at the turn of sixteenth century, the island was home to Amerindian people called the Beothuk. Ancestral Beothuk arrived there around 2,000 years ago to find a land inhabited by Dorset Paleo-Inuit people. As discussed above, the Dorset had a specialized maritime lifeway that focused on harp seals, and therefore, they settled primarily on outer coasts and smaller islands, where seals were more accessible (Rast et al. 2004; Schwarz 1994). Perhaps because of the Dorset’s established presence on the outer coast, contemporaneous Amerindians adopted a more diverse approach that included interior hunting of caribou and beaver, freshwater and marine fishing, and coastal hunting of seals, seabirds, and other marine resources (Holly 2005; Reader 1998). When warming temperatures set in and the Dorset abandoned the island, ancestral Beothuk responded by moving into areas formerly occupied by the Dorset (Renouf 2003; Renouf and Bell 2009). They also adopted a broad marine-based diet centered on the island’s protected bays and inlets (Cridland 1998; Kristensen 2011). The Beothuk’s appropriation of Dorset places underscores the important role of social phenomena in informing human-environmental interactions. It suggests that Beothuk subsistence and settlement choices had been constrained to some extent by the Dorset presence (Holly 2013:100–103). There is no current evidence, for instance, to suggest that Amerindians were at the Stock Cove site when the Dorset

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 29

were there. Indeed, Amerindians seem to have largely avoided the southern Trinity Bay area during the Dorset period, but it would become an important area for ancestral Beothuk after Dorset abandonment (Holly et al. 2010, 2015). Beothuk economic patterns likely also reflect cultural preferences. It cannot be assumed—even in a land devoid of the Dorset—that the Beothuk would have become specialized seal hunters. Rather, the broad, mixed economy that Amerindians practiced should be partly understood as a kind of cultural expression, although the warming temperatures at the time probably also played a significant role. Declining sea ice, and consequent declines in the seal population, likely encouraged the Beothuk to settle in inner coastal areas where a broader array of food resources could be exploited. For the next eight or so centuries following the Dorset abandonment of Newfoundland, the Beothuk were predominantly a coastal people. During the spring and summer months, they frequented inner coastal zones and pursued an array of marine, terrestrial, and avian resources (Cridland 1998; Kristensen 2011). A fourteenth-century Beothuk campsite located in the western end of Stock Cove, Trinity Bay, illustrates this pattern. There, excavations have unearthed a broad assortment of stone tools and a half dozen hearth, pit, and stone features, indicative of a residential camp. The faunal assemblage includes bird, seal, fox, and caribou remains, suggesting both a broad diet and a spring and summer occupation (Holly et al. 2015). In autumn and winter, the Beothuk turned to the interior to hunt caribou and beaver. Ideally, this occurred as close to the coast as possible. Archaeological evidence and historical documents confirm an enduring Beothuk presence at Russell’s Point, which is located just inland from Trinity Bay (Gilbert 2002). Russell’s Point appears to have been an important site for hunting caribou and beaver throughout the fall and winter. The recovery of seal remains at the site, however, suggests its residents also kept an eye on the coast. Indeed, this was probably what made Russell’s Point so attractive. In addition to having plentiful caribou and beaver, the site’s location allowed the Beothuk to monitor a wider range of resources, including coastal species (see Rowley-Conwy 1990). Sites farther inland probably witnessed shorter, albeit intensive, occupations coinciding with the fall caribou migration. By the end of the sixteenth century, tens of thousands of fishermen were operating in Newfoundland waters. They arrived each spring, fished for cod through the summer, and returned to Europe in the fall. They fished

30 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

off of large vessels out at sea and from smaller boats closer to the coast, and they processed their fish directly on the boats or on wooden structures on shore (Pope 2004). Historic whaling fleets also frequented the waters surrounding Newfoundland and Labrador (Barkham 1980). Others came to the region to hunt seal and walrus. Bird rookeries were used by fishermen for bait, food, and feathers (Pope 2009). The impact of all of this activity on Native populations is difficult to assess, in part because of the paltry sixteenth-century historic record, but initial effects were probably spatially and temporally uneven. Intensive harvesting of some bird rookeries by fishermen (Pope 2009) was likely immediate and devastating for the local Beothuk groups that relied on them. We know from the faunal record and historical documents that seabirds were critical to the Beothuk diet (Kristensen 2011). The Beothuk, for instance, made regular expeditions to Funk Island, located 40 km off the northeast coast and home to hundreds of thousands of birds, including the large and flightless great auk (Pinguinus impennis). Funk Island was discovered by European fishermen sometime early in the sixteenth century and regularly visited thereafter for the purpose of collecting birds and eggs. This likely disrupted Beothuk subsistence strategies, as such visits would have occurred when the Beothuk traditionally visited them. Worse, harvesting of birds by fishermen occurred at a scale and intensity that decimated some rookeries entirely (Pope 2009). The great auk colony on Funk Island was extirpated, followed in time by the extinction of the great auk itself. Other aspects of Beothuk subsistence and settlement were likely not affected much at all by Europeans. The Beothuk, for instance, could have hunted harp seals in late winter and early spring without competition or interference from fishermen, who were then back in Europe. They also could continue their tradition of hunting caribou and beaver in the interior of the island in the fall and winter. Even during the spring and summer months, the influence of the fishery on most Beothuk was probably negligible, because fishermen were not present or as active everywhere. In some areas of southeastern Newfoundland, it appears that some Beothuk lived largely free from European interference in places where fishermen seldom traveled. The Beothuk maintained a significant presence in the bottom reaches of Trinity Bay, for instance, until about the mid-seventeenth century, and in more remote and sheltered areas for longer (McLean 1994; Pastore 1984:102). There were also opportunities for the Beothuk to benefit from the Europeans’ presence. In the Strait of Belle Isle, there is evidence that the Beothuk

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 31

(or related Innu neighbors) assisted Basque whalers (Cell 1982:117; Martijn et al. 2003). This may be explained, in part, by the fact that, traditionally, neither likely hunted whales, and if they did, they did not pursue the large ones that the Basque were after; therefore, their participation did not conflict with their own subsistence efforts. There is also some evidence of direct trade with Europeans. The best evidence for this comes from southeastern Newfoundland, where the Beothuk occasionally traded with Cupers Cove colonists (Gilbert 1992). But even there, and certainly elsewhere, trade was sporadic, and when it happened, the Beothuk were cautious. Their behavior suggests that encounters with Europeans were unpredictable, potentially dangerous, and probably best avoided (Holly et al. 2010). This could explain why the Beothuk often preferred to scavenge European goods from “abandoned” seasonal fishing camps. Beothuk scavenging is well documented historically, and there are some indications of it in the archaeological record (Cell 1982:118,193; Gaulton 2001). At best, fishermen saw “scavenging” as a nuisance. More likely, they considered it theft (Marshall 1996); indeed, sometimes they went so far as to station guards to protect their property (Pope 1993). The European fishery grew exponentially in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Fishermen expanded into new areas of the island and pressed deeper into bays in which they were operating. The Beothuk retreated as Europeans advanced. In Trinity Bay, for instance, our excavations have revealed a long history of Beothuk occupation that ends abruptly with a fire, and then the presence of Europeans (Holly et al. 2015). The seventeenth and eighteenth centuries also saw the development and growth of permanent settlement on the island. With this came a necessary economic diversification. Seals, which the Beothuk had freely pursued since the Dorset’s departure, were increasingly hunted by Europeans. Settlers now also trapped for furs, cut lumber, and fished for salmon. These activities increasingly put settlers in the path of Beothuk, particularly in the fall and winter when Europeans would leave coastal fishing settlements for dispersed homesteads in inner bays and adjacent inland areas. Judging from the Beothuk response, this was an undesired development; the Beothuk tore apart fishing weirs and nets, and attacked fishermen with bows and arrows (Marshall 1996:64–67). Settlers responded in kind with firearms. Growing conflict arising from European expansion increasingly forced the Beothuk away from resource-rich coastal zones into more remote bays and the deep interior of the island. The interior had always been seasonally important for the Beothuk, but in the late eighteenth century, it took on

32 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

new significance. Archaeological evidence and historic accounts document the presence of extensive fences erected to channel caribou into river ambushes; pits and wooden structures used for storing caribou meat; and large settlements—some containing the remains of dozens of house pit features (Holly 2008, 2013:141–142; Marshall 1996). This, along with site locations and faunal evidence indicating that interior places were increasingly occupied outside of the fall caribou hunt (Holly 2008; Stewart 1973), suggests the Beothuk were making a concerted effort to sustain and extend their time in the interior. But more than a mere shift in subsistence, such efforts could also be read against the backdrop of encapsulation and hostilities as an attempt to remake society (Holly 2000, 2013:142–146). It failed. Without consistent access to the coast, and under the strain of harassment by settlers and fishermen, Beothuk society collapsed. Survivors are thought by some to have found refuge in Labrador, or among the ranks of the island’s Mi’kmaq people, or even in the homes of settlers, but according to the popular narrative, they simply disappeared. Summary and Conclusions

There is an undeniable relationship between Holocene climate change and the cultural patterns of colonization, settlement, and abandonment of Newfoundland and Labrador. It is difficult to argue otherwise with regard to some of these processes, such as the Archaic peopling and ultimate abandonment of the region, owing to the lack of other plausible causal factors, such as cultural conflict. Others, like the Dorset abandonment of the region, are less directly attributable to climate, because of the greater complexity of the cultural landscape. Yet even those interactions were shaped by environmental change. The regional effects of sea ice formation, persistence, and loss; isostatic and eustatic processes; sea temperature fluctuations; precipitation changes due to atmospheric and oceanic system alterations; and biogeographical transformations associated with all of these processes were extensive. These would have had substantial effects on past human populations, just as similar processes are affecting modern societies around the world. The difficulty is not determining whether the various peoples who inhabited Newfoundland and Labrador were affected significantly by climate change, but rather to what degree and how we might assess those effects in the archaeological record. Current archaeological and ecological data in Newfoundland and

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 33

Labrador make it difficult to directly assess human-environmental interactions at meaningful temporal scales for various reasons, including: 1) the complexity of human colonization and abandonment of the region, 2) the paucity of good chronological data of those processes, and 3) the lack of high-resolution environmental proxy data at appropriate human scales. In the previous sections, we illustrate that most, if not all, settlement and abandonment processes can be broadly linked to centennial- and millennial-scale climatic variations; however, less is known about smaller-scale ecological changes, creating situations where researchers find it necessary to extrapolate environmental data over long distances. Archaeologists interested in human-environmental interactions in the region often find ourselves assuming historical ranges of species like harp seal and caribou are analogous to more ancient conditions and can be reliably used to interpret past human-environmental interactions. We often have little choice, due to poor faunal preservation and a scarcity of multidisciplinary research on such topics. Available data suggest climate played a major role in the colonization, settlement, and abandonment processes of past cultures. The earliest peoples first occupied coastal Labrador by utilizing coastal and marine resources. This was likely the only economic strategy available, as the terrestrial landscape was still recovering from the last ice age, and the slow succession of plants had not yet achieved a distribution that could support large terrestrial mammals in numbers that could provide for a viable human population. This is particularly important in southern Labrador, where much of the postglacial coastal and near interior landscapes developed with people in the system. The effects of humans on the development of those landscapes were likely minimal but warrant further study. Later, Archaic peoples adopted a more mixed economic strategy that included caribou and other, smaller terrestrial mammals as the ecosystem responded to a general warming trend. The warming trend may have encouraged Archaic expansion onto the island of Newfoundland, where they could maintain a focus on coastal and marine resources, supplemented with small game and seasonal caribou hunts in the interior. Sea ice would have become more predictable during the Middle Holocene, and migratory patterns of seals, seabirds, fish, and caribou resembled modern conditions. These species supported a growing human presence, although the island may never have had a large Archaic population; however, in Labrador evidence suggests an increasing

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

34 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

population for much of the Middle Holocene until around 4,000 years ago, when Archaic people began to abandon northern Labrador and ultimately its southern coasts and the island of Newfoundland. There is little doubt that climate played a role in the termination of the Maritime Archaic, either directly or indirectly. Around 4000 BP, cooling conditions likely encouraged Arctic-adapted Pre-Dorset Paleo-Inuit to move into northern Labrador, and a direct competitor may have made it harder for the Maritime Archaic to maintain settlements there, but it would have had little effect on the rest of their cultural range. It is therefore unlikely those encounters were causal in the broader diminishment of Archaic peoples. It makes more sense that the cooling climate reorganized key resources, causing environmental conditions to become less predictable and making it increasingly difficult to maintain economic and cultural traditions. Maritime Archaic people, unlike contemporaneous peoples living along more southern Atlantic shores (discussed in this volume) who had opportunities to diversify their economies owing to very different coastal and marine conditions, had to profoundly change or abandon the region. They appear to have done both. Around 3200 BP they abandoned the island of Newfoundland and much of the Labrador coast. In parts of Labrador, they evidently transformed themselves significantly enough that they appear archaeologically distinct and are referred to as “Intermediate Indians.” The Archaic abandonment of Newfoundland, an island lacking cultural competitors and left unoccupied for several centuries, strengthens the hypothesis that the environment and redistribution of marine resources played an important role in those processes. As Newfoundland and Labrador grew colder in the Middle Holocene, their coasts attracted Arctic-adapted peoples. Paleo-Inuit populations, like the Groswater and later Dorset, migrated down what was essentially an Arctic coast, with little need to change their adaptations. The Dorset, with a seal-focused economy, created substantial settlements along the Labrador coast and on Newfoundland. Harp seals facilitated that success as vast herds came to breed and whelp on the region’s sea ice. When sea temperatures rose leading up to the Medieval Warm Period around 1200–1100 BP, and ice supporting the seal herds diminished, so did the Dorset people’s way of life. Moreover, their ability to adapt to those significant changes was hindered by the presence of Amerindian peoples in interior Newfoundland and Labrador. This provided the Dorset with few economic choices. They abandoned the region, contracting back to the northern Arctic coasts from

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 35

which they originated. Dorset abandonment allowed Amerindian populations, ancestors to the historic Beothuk and Innu, greater access to coastal locations, although in Labrador it was increasingly limited by growing numbers of Inuit. On Newfoundland, the Beothuk—as with so many of the other groups mentioned in this volume—fell victim to other sociocultural impacts caused by the increasing presence of Europeans and their ties to global markets. In the early Historic period, European interest in the abundant fish stocks off Newfoundland coasts made it difficult for the Beothuk to access some key resource locations. The nature of the European fishery also helped set the structure of social relations between the two peoples. The seasonality of the fishery and the various participants involved meant there was no stable European population with which the Beothuk could interact. The Beothuk eventually preferred to avoid these anxious and unpredictable encounters. The seasonal fishery also meant the Beothuk could get desired European goods indirectly by rummaging through camps after fishermen departed for Europe (Pastore 1987). This worked to everyone’s detriment when the fishery expanded and settlers stayed year round, with no established communication channels through which the parties could mediate conflict. Unable to win the small battles that inevitably erupted, the Beothuk retreated inland and to caribou. The Beothuk’s failure to sustain an inland economy is likely the result of the relatively simple ecology of the island, which offers few terrestrial food options. Some have even proposed that a single storm or hard freeze could have decimated caribou herds and sent the Beothuk into a downward spiral (Tuck and Pastore 1985:76). While such a scenario is likely impossible to identify archaeologically, it is worth considering how broader conditions—such as those of the Little Ice Age—may have deleteriously impacted caribou populations on the island. In cold seasons, caribou feeding effectiveness is strongly dependent on snow and ice conditions, and nutritional stress often causes migration into habitats where they may encounter greater nonhuman predation (Hummel and Ray 2008). We also know that Newfoundland herds are susceptible to population crashes. That said, it is clear that the Beothuk’s vulnerability at the turn of the nineteenth century and their subsequent cultural extinction had less to do with environmental change than with their poor state of relations with Europeans.

36 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

Broader Implications

Social relations, as much as anything, set the course of the island’s history and ecology. The interconnectivity among social interaction, cultural traditions, and ecological processes in northern coastal and island ecosystems is clear. For instance, one cannot discuss the extinction of the great auk in the nineteenth century without mentioning the role the Little Ice Age played in the reduction of its range and the effects that global markets had on this seabird that was so important to the Native people of Newfoundland. Similarly, the Cod Moratorium of 1992 was a reaction to a confluence of environmental and sociocultural factors that led to the decline of cod populations in the western Atlantic. Even our understanding of what a healthy cod population looks like requires a deeper chronological understanding of the various cultural and ecological processes of that region. It is possible that our expectations about the distribution and nature of all North Atlantic species are erroneously based on early historic narratives that ignore the longer-term cultural and ecological processes. The potential baselines are many, and without a long-term examination of climatic effects on Subarctic ecosystems and the people who depended on them, we will never have meaningful knowledge of their relationships and how they may impact our understanding of human-environmental dynamics in today’s Newfoundland and Labrador, and the northwestern Atlantic. Acknowledgments

We thank the students that have worked with us over the years. Our work at Stock Cove wouldn’t have been possible without community support from Sunnyside, Newfoundland, especially our excellent boat captain, Warrick Seaward, Vikas and Susan Khaladkar, and Robert Snook. We also thank the Provincial Archaeology Office and the National Science Foundation (Award #s 1011781, 1640962) for support and funding. We also thank the editors for inviting us to submit this manuscript and for their generosity in allowing us time to complete it. Finally, we thank our families for putting up with our extended absences while in the field, or sequestered in our offices writing.

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 37

References Argus, Donald F., W. Richard Peltier, R. Drummond, and Angelyn W. Moore. 2014. The Antarctica Component of Postglacial Rebound Model ICE-6G_C (VM5a) Based on GPS Positioning, Exposure Age Dating of Ice Thicknesses, and Relative Sea Level Histories. Geophysical Journal International 198:537–563. Barkham, Selma. 1980. A Note on the Strait of Belle Isle during the Period of Basque Contact with Indians and Inuit. Études/Inuit/Studies 4(1–2):51–58. Bell, Trevor, and M.A.P. Renouf. 2003. Prehistoric Cultures, Reconstructed Coasts: Maritime Archaic Indian Site Distribution in Newfoundland. World Archaeology 35:350– 370. Bell, Trevor, and M.A.P. Renouf. 2008. The Domino Effect: Culture Change and Environmental Change in Newfoundland, 1500–1100 cal BP. Northern Review 28:72–94. Bell, Trevor, Julia Daly, Martin Batterson, David Liverman, John Shaw, and I. Smith. 2005. Late Quaternary Relative Sea-Level Change on the West Coast of Newfoundland. Géographie Physique et Quaternaire 59(2–3):129–140. Bonner, Nigel. 1994. Seals and Sea Lions of the World. Facts on File, New York. Bourque, Bruce. 2012. The Swordfish Hunters: The History and Ecology of an Ancient American Sea People. 1st ed. Bunker Hill Publishing, Piermont, New Hampshire. Cell, Gillian T. (editor). 1982. Newfoundland Discovered: English Attempts at Colonisation, 1610–1630. Hakluyt Society, London. Clark, Peter U., Edward J. Brook, Grant M. Raisbeck, Francoise Yiou, and Jorie Clark. 2003. Cosmogenic 10Be ages of the Saglek Moraines, Torngat Mountains, Labrador. Geology 31:617–620. Clark, Peter U., and William W. Fitzhugh. 1990. Late Deglaciation of the Central Labrador Coast and Its Implications for the Age of Glacial Lakes Naskaupi and McLean and for Prehistory. Quaternary Research 34:296–305. Cridland, Jennifer. 1998. Late Prehistoric Indian Subsistence in Northern Newfoundland: Faunal Analysis of Little Passage Complex Assemblages from the Beaches and Inspector Island Sites. Master’s thesis, Department of Anthropology, Memorial University of Newfoundland, St. John’s. Denny, Peter J. 1994. Archaeological Correlates of Algonquian Languages in QuebecLabrador. In Actes du Vingt-Cinquième Congrès des Algonquinistes, edited by William Cowan, pp. 83–105. Carleton University, Ottawa. Denton, David. 2012 Les Cris d’Eeyou Istchee avant le XVII siècle. In Histoire du Nord-duQuébec, edited by Réjean Girard, pp. 101–139. Les Régions du Québec, 22. University of Laval Press, Quebec. de Vernal, Anne, and Claude Hillaire-Marcel. 2000. Sea-Ice Cover, Sea-Surface Salinity and Halo-Thermocline Structure of the Northwest North Atlantic: Modern versus Full Glacial Conditions. Quaternary Science Reviews 19(1–5):65–85. Duggan, Ana T., Alison J. T. Harris, Stephanie Marciniak, Ingeborg Marshall, Melanie Kuch, Andrew Kitchen, Gabriel Renaud, John Southon, Ben Fuller, Janet Young, Stuart Fiedel, G. Brian Golding, Vaughan Grimes, and Hendrik Poinar. 2017. Genetic Discontinuity between the Maritime Archaic and Beothuk Populations in Newfoundland, Canada. Current Biology 27:3149–3156.

38 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

Dyke, A. S., J. T. Andrews, Peter U. Clark, J. H. England, G. H. Miller, John Shaw, and J. J. Veillette. 2002. The Laurentide and Innuitian Ice Sheets during the Last Glacial Maximum. Quaternary Science Reviews 21(1–3):9–31. Fiedel, Stuart J. 1990. Middle Woodland Algonquian Expansion: A Refined Model. North American Archaeologist 11:209–230. Fiedel, Stuart J. 1991. Correlating Archaeology and Linguistics: The Algonquian Case. Man in the Northeast 41 (Spring):9–32. Fitzhugh, William W. 1972. Environmental Archaeology and Cultural Systems in Hamilton Inlet, Labrador. Smithsonian Contributions to Anthropology, Vol. 16. Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington, DC. Fitzhugh, William W. 1973 Environmental Approaches to the Prehistory of the North. Journal of the Washington Academy of Sciences 63(2):39–53. Fitzhugh, William W. 1975. A Maritime Archaic Sequence from Hamilton Inlet, Labrador. Arctic Anthropology 12(2):117–138. Fitzhugh, William W. 1976. Preliminary Culture History of Nain, Labrador: Smithsonian Fieldwork, 1975. Journal of Field Archaeology 3:123–142. Fitzhugh, William W. 1978. Maritime Archaic Cultures of the Central and Northern Labrador Coast. Arctic Anthropology 15(2):61–95. Fitzhugh, William W. 1981. Smithsonian Archaeological Surveys, Central and Northern Labrador, 1980.Annual Report No. 1. Archaeology in Newfoundland and Labrador, 1980. Historic Resources Division Department of Tourism and Culture Government of Newfoundland & Labrador, St. John’s. Fitzhugh, William W. 1984. Residence Pattern Development in the Labrador Maritime Archaic: Longhouse Models and 1983 Surveys. Archaeology of Newfoundland and Labrador: 1983 Annual Report No. 4:6–47. Fitzhugh, William W. 2006. Settlement, Social and Ceremonial Change in the Labrador Maritime Archaic. In The Archaic of the Far Northeast, edited by David Sanger and M.A.P. Renouf, pp. 47–82. University of Maine Press, Orono. Fitzhugh, William W. 2015. The Inuit Archaeology of the Quebec Lower North Shore. Études/Inuit/Studies 39(1):37–62 Fitzhugh, William W., and H. F. Lamb. 1984. Vegetation History and Culture Change in Labrador Prehistory. Arctic and Alpine Research 17(4):357–370. Gaulton, Rick. 2001. An Early Historic Beothuk Occupation at Ferryland, Newfoundland. Avalon Chronicles 6:19–55. Gilbert, William. 1992. “ . . . great good Done” Beothuk-European Relations in Trinity Bay, 1612 to 1622. Newfoundland Quarterly 3:2–10. Gilbert, William. 2002. Russell’s Point (CjAj-1): A Little Passage/Beothuk Site at the Bottom of Trinity Bay. Master’s thesis, Department of Anthropology, Memorial University of Newfoundland, St. John’s. Hillaire-Marcel, Claude, Anne de Vernal, Guy Bilodeau, and Andrew J. Weaver. 2001 Absence of Deep-Water Formation in the Labrador Sea during the Last Interglacial Period. Nature 410(6832):1073–1077. Hodgetts, Lisa M. 2005. Dorset Palaeoeskimo Harp Seal Exploitation at Phillip’s Garden (EeBi-1) Northwestern Newfoundland. In The Exploitation and Cultural Importance of Sea Mammals, edited by G. Monks, pp. 62–76. Oxbow Books, Oxford.

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 39

Hodgetts, Lisa M., M. A. Priscilla Renouf, Maribeth S. Murray, Darlene McCuaig-Balkwill, and Lesley Howse. 2003. Changing Subsistence Practices at the Dorset Paleoeskimo Site of Phillip’s Garden, Newfoundland. Arctic Anthropology 40:106–120. Holly, Donald H., Jr. 2000. The Beothuk on the Eve of Their Extinction. Arctic Anthropology 37:79–95. Holly, Donald H., Jr. 2005. The Place of “Others” in Hunter-Gatherer Intensification. American Anthropologist 107:207–220. Holly, Donald H., Jr. 2008. Social Aspects and Implications of “Running to the Hills”: The Case of the Beothuk Indians of Newfoundland. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 3:170–190. Holly, Donald H., Jr. 2011. When Foragers Fail: In the Eastern Subarctic, for Example. In Hunter-Gatherer Archaeology as Historical Process, edited by Kenneth E. Sassaman and Donald H. Holly, Jr., pp. 70–92. University of Arizona Press, Tucson. Holly, Donald H., Jr. 2013. History in the Making: The Archaeology of the Eastern Subarctic. AltaMira Press, Lanham, Maryland. Holly, Donald H., Jr., Christopher B. Wolff, and John C. Erwin. 2010. The Ties That Bind and Divide: Encounters with the Beothuk in Southeastern Newfoundland. Journal of the North Atlantic 3:31–44. Holly, Donald H., Jr., Christopher B. Wolff, and John C. Erwin. 2015. Before and after the Fire: Archaeological Investigations at a Little Passage/Beothuk Encampment in Trinity Bay, Newfoundland. Canadian Journal of Archaeology 39:1–30. Hood, Bryan C. 1993. The Maritime Archaic Indians of Labrador: Investigating Prehistoric Social Organization. Newfoundland Studies 9(2):163–184. Hood, Bryan C. 2000. Pre-Dorset/Maritime Archaic Social Boundaries in Labrador. In Identities and Cultural Contacts in the Arctic: Proceedings from a Conference at the Danish National Museum Copenhagen, November 30 to December 2 1999, edited by Martin Appelt, Joel Berglund, and Hans Christian Gullov, pp. 120–128. Danish National Museum and Danish Polar Center, Copenhagen. Hummel, Monte, and Justina C. Ray. 2008. Caribou and the North: A Shared Future. Dundurn Press, Toronto. Jackson, Stephen T., Robert S. Webb, Katharine H. Anderson, Jonathan T. Overpeck, Thompson Webb III, John W. Williams, and Barbara C. S. Hansen. 2000. Vegetation and Environment in Eastern North America during the Last Glacial Maximum. Quaternary Science Reviews 19:489–508. Johnston, David W., Ari S. Friedlaender, L. G. Torres, and David M. Lavigne. 2005. Variation in Sea Ice Cover on the East Coast of Canada from 1969 to 2002: Climate Variability and Implications for Harp and Hooded Seals. Climate Research 29:209–222. Jordan, Richard. 1975. Pollen Diagrams from Hamilton Inlet, Central Labrador, and Their Environmental Implications for the Northern Maritime Archaic. Arctic Anthropology 12:92–116. Kaplan, Susan A. 1983. Economic and Social Change in Labrador Neo-Eskimo Culture. Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. Kaplan, Michael R., Alexander P. Wolfe, and Gifford H. Miller. 2002. Holocene Environmental Variability in Southern Greenland Inferred from Lake Sediments. Quaternary Research 58: 149–159.

40 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

Kerwin, Michael W., Jonathan T. Overpeck, Robert S. Webb, and Katherine H. Anderson. 2004. Pollen-Based Summer Temperature Reconstructions for the Eastern Canadian Boreal Forest, Subarctic, and Arctic. Quaternary Science Reviews 23:1901–1924. Kidder, Tristram R., and Kenneth E. Sassaman. 2009. The View from the Southeast. In Archaic Societies: Diversity and Complexity across the Midcontinent, edited by Thomas Emerson, Dale McElrath, and Andrew Fortier, pp. 667–694. State University of New York Press, Albany. Kristensen, Todd J. 2011. Seasonal Bird Exploitation by Recent Indian and Beothuk Hunter-Gatherers of Newfoundland. Canadian Journal of Archaeology 35(2):292–322. Lamb, H. F. 1980. Late Quaternary Vegetational History of South-Eastern Labrador. Arctic and Alpine Research 12:117–135. Lavers, Dominique, and M.A.P. Renouf. 2012. A Groswater Palaeoeskimo Component at the Dorset Palaeoeskimo Phillip’s Garden Site, Port au Choix, Northwestern Newfoundland. Canadian Journal of Archaeology 36:311–336. LeBlanc, Sylvie. 1996. A Place with a View: Groswater Subsistence-Settlement Patterns in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Master’s thesis, Memorial University of Newfoundland, St. John’s. LeBlanc, Sylvie. 2010. Middle Dorset Variability and Regional Cultural Traditions: A Case Study from Newfoundland and Saint-Pierre and Miquelon. BAR International Series 2158. British Archaeological Reports, Archaeopress, Oxford. Loring, Stephen. 1988. Keeping Things Whole: Nearly Two Thousand Years of Indian (Innu) Occupation in Northern Labrador. In Boreal Forest and Sub-Arctic Archaeology, edited by C. S. “Paddy” Reid, pp. 157–182. Occasional Publications of the London Chapter of the Ontario Archaeological Society, 6. London Chapter, Ontario Archaeological Society, London. Marshall, Ingeborg. 1996. A History and Ethnography of the Beothuk. McGill-Queen’s University Press, Montreal. Martijn, Charles A., Selma Barkham, and Michael M. Barkham. 2003. Basques? Beothuk? Innu Inuit? Or St. Lawrence Iroquoians? The Whalers on the 1546 Desceliers Map, Seen through the Eyes of Different Beholders. Newfoundland Studies 19:187–206. Maxwell, Moreau S. 1984. Pre-Dorset and Dorset Prehistory of Canada. In Arctic, edited by David Damas, pp. 359–368. Handbook of North American Indians, Vol. 5, William C. Sturtevant, general editor. , Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. McCaffrey, Moira. 2011. Ancient Social Landscapes in the Eastern Subarctic. In HunterGatherer Archaeology as Historical Process, edited by Kenneth E. Sassaman and Donald H. Holly, Jr., pp. 143–166. University of Arizona Press, Tucson. McGhee, Robert. 1996. Ancient People of the Arctic. University of British Columbia Press, Vancouver. McLean, Laurie A. 1994. Back to the Beaches: New Data Pertaining to the Early Beothuk in Newfoundland. Northeast Anthropology 47(Spring):71–86. Meldgaard, Jørgen. 1960. Origin and Evolution of Eskimo Cultures in the Eastern Arctic. Canadian Geographical Journal 1960:64–75. Murray, Maribeth S. 2011. Whitecoats, Beaters and Turners: Dorset Palaeoeskimo Harp Seal Hunting from Phillip’s Garden, Port au Choix. In The Cultural Landscapes of Port au Choix, edited by M.A.P. Renouf, pp. 209–226. Springer, New York.

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 41

Nagy, Murielle. 1994. A Critical Review of the Pre-Dorset/Dorset Transition. In Threads of the Arctic Prehistory: Papers in Honour of William E. Taylor, Jr., edited by David Morrison and Jean-Luc Pilon, pp. 1–14. University of Ottowa Press, Ottawa. Neilsen, Scott W. 2006. Intermediate Indians: The View from Ushpitun 2 and Pmiusiku 1. Master’s thesis, Department of Anthropology, Memorial University of Newfoundland, St. John’s. Odess, Daniel, Stephen Loring, and William W. Fitzhugh. 2000. Skraeling: First Peoples of Helluland, Markland, and Vinland. In Vikings: The North Atlantic Saga, edited by William W. Fitzhugh and Elisabeth I. Ward, pp. 193–205. Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington, DC. Ogden, J. Gordon. 1977. The Late Quaternary Paleoenvironmental Record of Northeastern North America. Amerinds and Their Paleoenvironments in Northeastern North America, edited by Walter S. Newman and Bert Salwen, pp. 16–34. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 288. New York Academy of Sciences, New York. Pastore, Ralph T. 1984. Excavations at Boyd’s Cove, Notre Dame Day—1983. In Archaeology in Newfoundland and Labrador 1983, edited by Jane Sproull Thomson and Callum Thomson, pp. 98–125. Historic Resources Division, Government of Newfoundland and Labrador, St. John’s. Pastore, Ralph T. 1987. Fishermen, Furriers, and the Beothuks: The Economy of Extinction. Man in the Northeast 33:47–62. Peltier, W. Richard, Donald F. Argus, and Rosemarie Drummond. 2015. Space Geodesy Constrains Ice Age Terminal Deglaciation: The Global ICE-6G_C (VM5a) Model: Global Glacial Isostatic Adjustment. Journal of Geophysical Research: Solid Earth 120:450–487. Pope, Peter. 1993. Scavengers and Caretakers: Beothuk/European Settlement Dynamics in Seventeenth-Century Newfoundland. Newfoundland Studies 9(2):279–293. Pope, Peter. 2004. Fish into Wine: The Newfoundland Plantation in the Seventeenth Century. University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill. Pope, Peter. 2009. Early Migratory Fishermen and Newfoundland’s Seabird Colonies. Journal of the North Atlantic 2 (special vol. 1):57–74. Ramsden, Peter, and Maribeth Murray. 1995. Identifying Seasonality in Pre-Dorset Structures in Back Bay, Prince of Wales Island, NWT. Arctic Anthropology 32(2):106–117. Rankin, Lisa K. 2009. An Archaeological View of the Thule/Inuit Occupation of Labrador. Memorial University Press, St. John’s. Rast, Tim, M.A.P. Renouf, and Trevor Bell. 2004. Patterns in Precontact Site Location on the Southwest Coast of Newfoundland. Northeast Anthropology 68 (Fall):41–55. Reader, David. 1998. Early Recent Indian Interior Occupation at Deer Lake Beach: Implications for Theories of Recent Indian and Beothuk Resource Use, Settlement, and Social Organization in Newfoundland. Northeast Anthropology 55 (Spring):47–50. Renouf, M.A.P. 1999. Prehistory of Newfoundland Hunter-Gatherers: Extinctions or Adaptations? World Archaeology 30(3):403–420. Renouf, M.A.P. 2003. Hunter-Gatherer Interactions: Mutualism and Resource Partitioning on the Island of Newfoundland. Before Farming 1(4):1–16. Renouf, M.A.P., and Trevor Bell. 2009. Contraction and Expansion in Newfoundland Prehistory, AD 900–1500. In The Northern World AD 900–1400, edited by Herbert

42 · Christopher B. Wolff and Donald H. Holly Jr.

Maschner, Owen Mason, and Robert McGhee, pp. 263–278. University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City. Robbins, Douglas T. 1985. Stock Cove, Trinity Bay: The Dorset Eskimo Occupation of Newfoundland from a Southeastern Perspective. Unpublished master’s thesis, Memorial University of Newfoundland, St. John’s. Rochon, A., A. de Vernal, J.-L. Turon, Jens Matthießen, and M. J. Head. 1999. Distribution of Recent Dinoflagellate Cysts in Surface Sediments from the North Atlantic Ocean and Adjacent Seas in Relation to Sea-Surface Parameters. American Association of Stratigraphic Palynologists Contribution Series 35:1–146. Rose, George A. 2007. Cod: The Ecological History of the North Atlantic Fisheries. Breakwater Books, St. John’s, Newfoundland. Rosenberg, Sandra M., Ian R. Walker, and Joyce B. Macpherson. 2005. Environmental Changes at Port au Choix as Reconstructed from Fossil Midges. Newfoundland and Labrador Studies 20(1):57–74. Rowley-Conwy, Peter. 1990. Settlement Patterns of the Beothuk Indians of Newfoundland: A View from Away. Canadian Journal of Archaeology 14:13–32. Schwarz, Frederick. 1994. Paleo-Eskimo and Recent Indian Subsistence and Settlement Patterns on the Island of Newfoundland. Northeast Anthropology 47(Spring):55–70. Sergeant, David E. 1991. Harp Seals, Man and Ice. Canadian Special Publication of Fisheries and Aquatic Sciences No. 114. Department of Fisheries and Oceans, Ottawa. Solignac, Sandrine, Anne de Vernal, and Claude Hillaire-Marcel. 2004. Holocene SeaSurface Conditions in the North Atlantic—Contrasted Trends and Regimes in the Western and Eastern Sectors (Labrador Sea vs. Iceland Basin). Quaternary Science Reviews 23(3–4): 319–334. Spiess, Arthur E. 1993. Caribou, Walrus, and Seals: Maritime Archaic Subsistence in Labrador and Newfoundland. Archaeology of Eastern North America: Papers in Honor of Stephen Williams 25:73–100. Stewart, Frances L. 1973. Faunal Remains from the Wigwam Brook Site (DfAw-1) of Newfoundland. Bulletin of the Canadian Archaeological Association 5:91–112. Stiwich, Kendra D. 2011. A Sheltered Life: Inner Cove Groswater Palaeoeskimo Occupation at Port au Choix. In The Cultural Landscapes of Port au Choix, edited by M.A.P. Renouf, pp. 117–129. Springer, New York. Stopp, Marianne P. 1997. Long-Term Coastal Occupancy between Cape Charles and Trunmore Bay, Labrador. Arctic 50(2):119–137. Swinarton, Lindsay. 2013. Report on the Faunal Materials from the Site of Stock Cove (CkAl-3), Newfoundland. Unpublished faunal analysis on file, State University of New York, Plattsburgh. Taylor, J. Garth. 1974. Labrador Eskimo Settlements of the Early Contact Period. National Museums of Canada, Ottawa. Tuck, James A. 1975. Maritime Adaptation on the Northwestern Atlantic Coast. In Prehistoric Maritime Adaptations of the Circumpolar Zone, edited by William W. Fitzhugh. World Anthropology. Mouton, The Hague. Tuck, James A. 1977. Early Cultures on the Strait of Belle Isle, Labrador. In Amerinds and Their Paleoenvironments in Northeastern North America, edited by Walter S. Newman

Sea Ice, Seals & Settlement: On Climate and Culture in Newfoundland & Labrador · 43

and Bert Salwen, pp. 472–480. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 288. The Academy, New York. Tuck, James A., and Robert McGhee. 1975. Archaic Cultures in the Strait of Belle Isle Region, Labrador. Arctic Anthropology 12(2):76–91. Tuck, James A., and Robert McGhee. 1976. An Archaic Indian Burial Mound in Labrador. Scientific American 235(5):122–129. Tuck, James A., and Ralph T. Pastore. 1985. A Nice Place to Visit, but . . . Prehistoric Human Extinctions on the Island of Newfoundland. Canadian Journal of Archaeology 9(1):69–80. Webb, Thompson III, Patrick J. Bartlein, Sandy P. Harrison, and Katherine H. Anderson. 1993. Vegetation, Lake Levels, and Climate in Eastern North America for the Past 18,000 Years. In Global Climates since the Last Glacial Maximum, edited by H. E. Wright, Jr., John E. Kutzbach, Thompson Webb III, William F. Ruddiman, StreetPerrott F. Alayne, and Patrick J. Bartlein, pp. 415–467. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis. Wells, Patricia J. 2005. Animal Exploitation and Season of Occupation at the Groswater Palaeoeskimo Site of Phillip’s Garden West. Newfoundland and Labrador Studies 20(1):75–90. Wells, Patricia J. 2012. Social Life and Technical Practice: An Analysis of the Osseous Tool Assemblage at the Dorset Palaeoeskimo Site of Phillip’s Garden, Newfoundland. Memorial University of Newfoundland, St. John’s. Williams, John W., Thompson Webb III, Pierre H. Richard, and Paige Newby. 2000. Late Quaternary Biomes of Canada and the Eastern United States. Journal of Biogeography 27:585–607. Wolff, Christopher B. 2008. A Study of the Evolution of Maritime Archaic Households in Northern Labrador. Unpublished PhD dissertation, Southern Methodist University, Dallas, Texas. Wolff, Christopher B., John C. Erwin, and Donald H. Holly, Jr. 2010. Settlement and Subsistence in Southeastern Newfoundland: Stock Cove Revisited. PAO Archaeological Review 8:172–175. Wolff, Christopher B., John C. Erwin, Tatiana Nomokonova, and Donald H. Holly, Jr. 2010. Preliminary Analyses of Dorset Paleoeskimo Subsistence at the Stock Cove Site (CkAl3), Trinity Bay, Newfoundland. North Atlantic Archaeology 2:125–134. Wolff, Christopher B., Donald H. Holly Jr., Frédéric Dussault, Andréanne Couture, and Taylor Testa. 2014. Caught Somewhere in Time: Continuing Investigation of the Stock Cove Site (CkAl-3). PAO Archaeological Review 12:184–190. Woollett, James M. 2003. An Historical Ecology of Labrador Inuit Culture Change. Ph.D. dissertation, City University of New York. Woollett, James M. 2007. Labrador Inuit Subsistence in the Context of Environmental Change: An Initial Landscape History Perspective. American Anthropologist 109(1):69– 84.

3 Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

Three decades ago, David Sanger (1988) summarized evidence for coastal adaptations to the northern Gulf of Maine (NGOM), from about 6,000 years ago to European contact. We revisit that discussion and summarize recent insights into the development of regional economies around the NGOM and its watershed. We extend the discussion by considering the entire prehistoric sequence from Paleoindians to the eve of European contact, and by considering related riverine/interior evidence and artifacts that inform on the nature of coastal economies. Biologists and ecologists often consider the Gulf of Maine and Scotian Shelf as one system (e.g., Worcester and Parker 2010), sharing similar biodiversity, climate, weather patterns, and geography; and we do the same here. We define the NGOM (Figure 3.1) as an area enclosed by the central Maine coast; the Bay of Fundy shore, including the Quoddy Region (Passamaquoddy Bay); the South Shore of Nova Scotia; and their related interior watersheds. This area includes major portions of New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Maine, an area archaeologically and ethnographically known to have close cultural ties. We exclude evidence from areas adjacent to the Gulf of St. Lawrence due to issues with reconciling disparate geophysical and climatic records (while noting that economic and cultural trends in these locations may generally match the developments we discuss below). We use a standardized chronological-cultural schema for presenting information on the development of economies in the NGOM. Amalgamating previously developed chronologies specific to the Maritime Peninsula (Black 2002; Blair 2004; Bourque 1994; Petersen and Sanger 1991), and acknowledging overlap with other regional chronologies in the Northeast,

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 45

Figure 3.1. Map of the Northern Gulf of Maine/Scotian Shelf watershed and surrounding region showing geographical place-names (the dark gray area indicates the Maritime Peninsula).

we designate these periods: Paleoindian (12,900–9700 BP); Early Archaic (10,000–7500 BP); Middle Archaic (7500–5000 BP); Late Archaic 5500– 3600 BP); terminal Late Archaic (2400–3100 BP); Early Maritime Woodland (3200–2200 BP); Middle Maritime Woodland (2200–1300 BP); Late Maritime Woodland (1300–550 BP); and Protohistoric (500–300 BP). Our schema incorporates some temporal overlap specifically to allow for the possibility that phenomena from different cultural traditions/complexes occurred simultaneously within the region. Throughout this chapter we often refer to “interior” versus “coastal” sites. We define an interior site to be one typically greater than 2 km from tidal water, too far for site activities to take place on marine waterbodies or intertidal zones. The Geophysical and Climatic Record of the Northern Gulf of Maine

The NGOM is among the most productive marine systems on Earth (Gulf of Maine Aquarium 2005; cf. Sanger 1988:95; Yesner 1984:258). Upwelling

46 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

driven by currents brings up cooler bottom water in places along the coast, causing cool, maritime conditions that vary in intensity from more dramatic in the northeast to less dramatic in the southwest (Apollonio 1979). The uplands of the region, which are characterized by abundant lakes and ponds, rise 1,000–2,000 m in elevation and support conifer-dominated mixed forests, known regionally as the New England/Acadian Forest ecoregion. Modern climate consists of cold, snowy winters and generally cool summers with plentiful rainfall (Boone 1997; Ireland 1997; van Groenewoud 1984). Coastal bedrock around the NGOM is subsiding at various rates and has been since maximum postglacial emergence/regression 12,000–11,000 years ago (Anderson and Borns 1989; Belknap et al. 1989; Grant 1970; Oldale 1985). The combination of eustatic sea level rise and bedrock subsidence has imposed a transgressing shoreline on NGOM culture history, an effect sometimes not carefully considered in interpreting the archaeological record (e.g., Braun 1974). Barnhardt et al. (1995:319) note essentially similar shapes to sea level curves between Nova Scotia’s South Shore and the Gulf of Maine, although the rates of sea level rise (SLR) were more rapid in Maine, likely due the persistence of glacial ice in Nova Scotia (Figure 3.2). Very rapid SLR occurred in the NGOM from 12,000 to 11,000 years ago, followed by a SLR “slowstand” until about 7,500 years ago (Kelley et al. 2013:4). Since then relative sea level rise has been variable but continuous. The Bay of Fundy today is characterized by macrotides ranging from 4.0 m to 16.0 m in height, with Maine coast tides ranging from 3.0 to 6.0 m. The macrotides have developed long estuaries and extensive intertidal zones. In contrast, low mesotidal conditions characterize the Nova Scotia South Shore, where spring tides are typically less than 2.0 m (Nichol and Boyd 1993). These conditions have not been constant through the Holocene. In the Gulf of Maine, tidal amplitude, increasing intertidal zone size, and the cooling effects of tide-driven upwelling cold water have accelerated during the last few millennia (Almquist-Jacobson and Sanger 1999; Geherls et al. 1995; Spiess and Lewis 2001:159–161). The transition from meso- to macro-tidal conditions probably occurred ca. 3500 BP, a result of transgression through a till dam and dramatic increase in the size of the eastern Bay of Fundy (Shaw et al. 2010). As with SLR, the effects of dramatic tidal amplitude increase in recent millennia have generally not been well considered in cultural reconstructions.

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 47

Figure 3.2. Relative sea level (shoreline elevation) along the northern Gulf of Maine since deglaciation (cal BP), adapted from Barnhardt et al. (1995:319).

The details of climatic variation during the Holocene have been developed from research conducted on multiple proxy datasets over the past several decades (e.g., Lennox et al. 2010; Neil et al. 2014; Wanamaker et al. 2011). For example, a nearly 10,000 year high-resolution paleoclimatic record has recently been produced from a lake core near Port Joli on Nova Scotia’s South Shore (Neil et al. 2014). Like many in the NGOM, formation of the lake appears to have occurred after the Younger Dryas cooling event (12,900–11,700 BP), when dry conditions prevailed and shrub and herbaceous tundra dominated the coastline. Temperatures rose after this period, with mixed forest vegetation dominating. A brief, but intense, cooling event occurred ca. 8200 BP, after which temperatures continued to climb. A return to cool, but relatively dry conditions and a pine-hemlock dominated forest occurred approximately 6500–5500 years ago, after which wetter climates supported the return of spruce-fir-birch dominated forests. Pine pollen declined continuously from about 5500 BP to the modern era, as pine was gradually supplanted by a birch-spruce-alder dominated system. From 3000 to 1600 BP there was another regional transition to cool

48 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

and wet conditions, in which wetlands proliferated. The recent paleoclimatic record is dominated by the Medieval Climatic Anomaly (1300–650 BP), during which warm, dry conditions prevailed and mixed pine forest reestablished itself (Cronin et al. 2010; Neil et al. 2014). During the Little Ice Age, 600–200 BP, when colder temperatures prevailed in the NGOM, a spruce-birch-alder dominated forest reestablished itself. How these climatic changes impacted marine productivity is complex. Isotopic analysis of shells has allowed the reconstruction of relative sea water temperatures for the Late Maritime Woodland period in the Gulf of Maine (e.g., Wanamaker et al. 2011). During the early Little Ice Age (600–500 BP) winters were cool but sea water temperatures were relatively warm in summer. This reversed during the Medieval Climatic Anomaly, where winters were warmer and summer sea water temperatures were cooler. Overall, however, the Medieval Climatic Anomaly brought average warmer sea water temperatures, while the Little Ice Age brought dramatically colder average temperatures (Wanamaker et al. 2011:50). The Archaeological Record of the Northern Gulf of Maine

In the NGOM, interpretations of indigenous subsistence, settlement, and seasonality patterns are limited by inundation and coastal erosion. These processes have been more severe in eastern Maine, southern Maine, and the Maritime Provinces than along the central Maine coast, resulting in progressive chronological truncation of the coastal archaeological record from central Maine northward into the Maritime Peninsula (Anderson and Borns 1989; Anderson et al. 1984; Grant 1970). Four-thousand- to five-thousand-year-old Late Archaic coastal components are sometimes preserved on the central Maine coast, but in the Quoddy Region and Nova Scotia, the oldest known preserved coastal components date ca. 2500 BP. At the head of the Bay of Fundy, where coastal inundation has been most extreme, only Late Maritime Woodland and Protohistoric/Historic period coastal sites are preserved above the high-water line. On the NGOM shores, the earliest in situ evidence for marine shoreline habitations is associated with relatively high-gradient, bedrock-cored or bedrock-pinned landforms (e.g., Belcher 1989; Black 1993; Young et al. 1992). Thus, the NGOM coastline is an extreme example of Richardson’s Rule, which states that early evidence for marine resource use will be associated with high-gradient shorelines, while low-gradient shorelines will preserve only relatively recent evidence for marine resource use (Erlandson 2001:322–323).

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 49

Paleoindian Period The earliest inhabitants of the NGOM were fluted-projectile-point-making Paleoindians. Similarities in lithic procurement strategies and settlement pattern preferences, and a common sequence of fluted-point stylistic changes, tie together the “New England–Maritimes Paleoindian Region” (Bradley et al. 2008; Spiess and Wilson 1987) from Debert, Nova Scotia (Davis 1991a; Ellis 2004; MacDonald 1968), to Bull Brook, Massachusetts (Byers 1954, 1955, 1959; Grimes 1979; Grimes et al. 1984), to the lower Hudson River (Funk 2004), to Burlington, Vermont (Loring 1980; Robinson 2012; Robinson et al. 2009), and just across the northern Maine border into southern Quebec (Chapdelaine 2004). Much of the time span of the regional Paleoindian occupation appears to correspond with the Younger Dryas cooling event, 12,900–11,700 BP (Bonnichsen et al. 1991:11; Davis 1991a:44, 51–52; Newby et al. 2004; Rosenmeier et al. 2012:114). The available Paleoindian archaeological record reveals a repetitive pattern suggesting a mobile, interior Subarctic-style, caribou-focused, biggame-hunting adaptation. For example, the Debert site (Figure 3.3) was located in a relatively ecologically diverse area of glacially fed waterbodies at the edge of a receding ice sheet (Rosenmeier et al. 2012:126) that likely permitted access to migrating caribou, furbearers, and other glaciolacustrine resources. Due to acidic soils, the only faunal material preserved from the Paleoindian period is calcined, and such bone is both rare and recovered in small fragments (cf. Bonnichsen et al. 1991:28). A few sites have yielded identifiable bones, mostly those of caribou (Rangifer tarandus) and a few beaver (Castor canadensis) (Spiess et al. 1985; Spiess et al. 1998:210, 224–226). A few fluted-point sites also have yielded fragments of antler, perhaps from tools such as barbed points (Kellogg 2003:114–115; Spiess and Wilson 1987:84). There are no bird and no fish remains from Paleoindian calcined bone samples in the New England–Maritimes region, although calcined bird and fish bones are frequently identified in succeeding Early and Middle Archaic faunal assemblages (e.g., Spiess 1992). A few Paleoindian sites have yielded small numbers of charred seeds from medicinal plants such as sarsaparilla (Aralia hispida), and from edible plants such as bunchberry (Cornus canadensis), brambles (Rubus sp.), and grape (Vitis sp.) (Asch Sidell 1999; Spiess and Wilson 1987:82–83; Spiess et al. 1995). These limited data provide few clues about the seasonal nature of human settlement and subsistence, and it is not known whether this interior

50 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

Figure 3.3. Map of the Northern Gulf of Maine/Scotian Shelf watershed and surrounding region showing archaeological site locations and areas referred to in the text.

adaptation was multiseasonal. Because of the specifics of deglaciation and isostatic rebound, the marine shorelines of Paleoindian times are submerged offshore, perhaps with the exception of the area around the shortlived Champlain Sea (Gadd 1988; Crock and Robinson 2012). As a result, it is not known whether fluted-point Paleoindians regularly exploited littoral or near-shore environments in the NGOM (cf. Bonnichsen et al. 1991; Loring 1980; Tuck 1984:11–12). Archaic Period The Pleistocene-Holocene transition and the nature of cultural changes from the fluted-point Paleoindian occupation to the Late Paleoindian and Early Archaic periods are poorly understood in the NGOM. The available evidence is all from interior locations, and there is little direct evidence for subsistence and few settlement pattern data pertaining to this time (Bonnichsen et al. 1991:31; Bourque 2001:38; Deal and Rutherford 2001; Newby et al. 2004; Tuck 1984:13). The subsistence data all are derived from calcined

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 51

bone assemblages in highly acidic soils from interior sites (Petersen 1991; Spiess 1992; Spiess and Mosher 2006). Early and Middle Archaic Periods By 9000–8500 BP, in the interior around the NGOM, indigenous people appear to have practiced generalized fishing and hunting adaptations based at habitation sites located immediately on lake margins and the banks of rivers or streams (Murphy 1998; Spiess and Trautman 2003), suggesting that watercraft (presumably dugout canoes) were routinely used. Moose (Alces alces), white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus), bear (Ursus americanus), and seasonally migratory fish—shad (Alosa sapidissima), alewife (Alosa pseudoharengus), and eel (Anguilla rostrata)—formed the subsistence foci at most sites (Spiess and Mosher 2006). A few sites indicate a wetland-oriented subsistence pattern, focused on exploiting turtle, snake, and wetland mammals such as muskrat (Ondatra zibethecus). Season of occupation is difficult to determine from the calcined bone assemblages, except for seasonally migratory fish taken during late spring, summer, and autumn (Spiess 1992). Although the majority of Archaic sites with calcined faunal remains come from Maine (Spiess and Mosher 2006), similar settlement and subsistence patterns are indicated by discoveries in New Brunswick, dating 6000–5000 BP (Suttie 2005). A calcined bone assemblage from the Mill Lake Island site includes cervid (caribou or deer), beaver, porcupine (Erethizon dorsatum), and fish (Cypriniformes and Salmoniformes) remains (Stewart 2006). Thus, on the interior rivers and lakes, fishing and hunting diverse forest and freshwater species was the common pattern, without any obvious specialization. There may have been an interior economic focus on fish-weir and fishtrap locations that did not change over time, as shown by the unusual preservation of the remains of wooden-stake fish weirs at Sebasticook Lake in central Maine (Petersen et al. 1994). The interior adaptation may have been multiseasonal, possibly focused on locations such as fish-weir sites where several species were caught, rather than being an economic focus on a single fish species. Marine adaptations on the northern Gulf of St. Lawrence appear to have been in place by about 8500 BP, with evidence of harpooning technology and walrus exploitation appearing in coastal burial sites such as L’Anse Amour (McGhee and Tuck 1975; Wolff and Holly, this volume). SLR has

52 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

complicated the detection of comparable adaptations in the NGOM, but limited offshore evidence indicates coastally adapted Early and Middle Archaic occupations. Objects recovered from the seafloor (some as far as ca. 14 km offshore) indicate exploitation of marine resources during these occupations, and perhaps earlier (Crock et al. 1993; Kelley et al. 2013; Price and Spiess 2007, 2013). For example, plummets found in multiple locations by scallop draggers indicate near-shore fishing (Crock et al. 1993), and four large ground slate, ridged semilunar knives (Davis 1991b; Turnbull and Black 1988) suggest the processing of marine mammals or fish along ancient coastlines. Reconstructed Early Archaic coastal site locations include intertidal shellfish (Kelley et al. 2013). Submerged deposits of oysters (Crassostrea virginica) dating about 6000 BP have been found in the Damariscotta estuary (Shipp 1989) and off Deer Isle in eastern Penobscot Bay (Belknap 1995). The latter was associated with a nearby submerged and eroded habitation site yielding stone tools (Bourque and Cox 1985). There is some hard evidence of Archaic coastal subsistence practices at the end of the Middle Archaic, 6500–5000 BP, from near-coastal sites in the NGOM. A harpoon made of swordfish (Xiphias gladius) rostrum, and other calcined swordfish rostrum fragments, have been recovered from several occupations at two lakeside sites in easternmost Maine, 95.20 (Cox 1991) and N’tolonapemk (Brigham et al. 2001, 2005; Spiess and Mosher 2003), about 40 km from the coast. These rostrum specimens show that swordfish hunting was part of the coastal lifeway before 5000 BP. They also suggest that coastal inhabitants were moving inland to near-coastal large lakes on a seasonal basis, where harvesting the alewife run was a subsistence focus (Spiess and Mosher 2003). Late Archaic Period Despite coastal submergence and erosion, there are a few coastal components of Late Archaic age that preserve faunal remains (e.g., Bourque 1995; Byers 1979; Robinson 2005), beginning ca. 5000 BP. In the Late Archaic occupation at the Turner Farm site, soft-shelled clam (Mya arenaria) harvesting was an important subsistence activity (Spiess and Lewis 2001:94–97). Oysters are the dominant shellfish species in the lower (Late Archaic, ca. 4000 BP and later) layers of some sites in Casco Bay (Yesner 1980a:66). Thus, collecting shellfish was a significant subsistence activity during the Late Archaic, with particular emphasis on clams and oysters. In fact, at the Turner Farm site, the percentage of dietary contribution of invertebrates (i.e., shellfish) versus vertebrates (i.e., fish and mammals), reconstructed

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 53

from midden remains, was higher during the Late Archaic than during the Maritime Woodland period (Spiess 2017; Spiess and Lewis 2001:96–98). At the Seabrook Marsh in New Hampshire (Robinson 1985), and at several sites on the central Maine coast dating about 5000 to 4000 BP—Goddard (Bourque 2001:54–55; Spiess 1993) and Turner Farm occupations I and II (Spiess and Lewis 2001)—faunal evidence points to a generalized subsistence economy including deer hunting, fishing for diverse fish species such as striped bass (Morone saxitilis) and sturgeon (Acipenser sp.), hunting ducks and geese (Anatidae) and great auk (Pinguinus impennis), trapping small furbearers, and collecting shellfish (Spiess and Lewis 2001:93–98). Bones of large codfish, fish hooks, plummets (used for line weights), and heavy ground stone tools (used in the manufacture of dugout canoes) (Bourque 2001:57–64) suggest a dynamic inshore fishery in the NGOM (Bourque 1995; Spiess and Lewis 2001:149–150). Swordfish bone, bone harpoons, slate bayonets (some considered to be swordfish rostrum effigies), and great white shark teeth (e.g., Betts et al. 2012) at sites such as Seabrook Marsh, Nevin, Cow Point, and Turner Farm provide evidence of surprisingly specialized, warm-season swordfish hunting after 5000 BP (Bourque 1995:88, 2012). Carbon and nitrogen stable isotope analyses (e.g., DeNiro 1987; Schwarcz 1991) of human bones from coastal Late Archaic mortuary contexts at the Nevin site fall within the “marine fish consumers” range (Bourque 1995:140; Bourque and Kruger 1994). Marine mammals are relatively minor contributors to diet in Late Archaic faunal assemblages in the NGOM. For example, seal bones are rare at Seabrook Marsh (Robinson 1985) and never account for more than 4% of bones in the Archaic occupations at Turner Farm. This is in stark contrast to Archaic assemblages from the Gulf of St. Lawrence area, Newfoundland, and further northward (Fitzhugh 2006; Pintal 2003, 2006; Plourde 2006; Renouf and Bell 2006; Spiess 1993, 2003; Spiess and Mosher 2006). Similar ceremonial and mortuary traditions, as well as exotic lithic material distributions, indicate cultural connections among Archaic cultures from Labrador through northern New England prior to 3800 BP (Fitzhugh 2006; Bourque 2001:55–61; Loring 2002; Robinson 2006; Sanger 2006). Although there were differences in some subsistence practices (i.e., heavy use of marine mammals along the Gulf of St. Lawrence area, Newfoundland, and farther northward, but not in the NGOM), these data reinforce the impression that Archaic people living in the coastal zone of the NGOM had strong commitments to marine hunting, fishing, and collecting lifeways.

54 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

Terminal Late Archaic Period In the Northeast, the time from ca. 4000 to ca. 3000 BP has been referred to, variously, as the Transitional period (Ritchie 1951), the Transitional Archaic (Hoffman 2006), the Terminal Archaic (Snow 1980), and the terminal Late Archaic (Braun 1974). We adopt the latter terminology here. Throughout the Northeast, terminal Late Archaic assemblages exhibit evidence of the development or adoption of a novel cultural system, often designated by variations on the term “Broadpoint” (e.g., Cook 1976). In the NGOM, the regional manifestation of the Broadpoint phenomenon, the Susquehanna tradition, is often interpreted as representing an immigrant population that expanded northeastward from the Middle Atlantic region, although there is considerable debate on this issue (Betts et al. 2012; Bourque 1995, 2001:62–64; Dincauze 1968, 1972; Sanger 1975). At least some Late Archaic populations and traditions may have persisted (Betts et al. 2012), and the Broadpoint manifestation may represent the first of the macroregional interaction phenomena that characterize the succeeding Woodland period in the greater Northeast (see below). Regardless of the processes involved, it is now evident that terminal Late Archaic assemblages occur all around marine shorelines of the NGOM (e.g., Black 2000, 2018; MacKinnon 2003; Sanger 2008; Sanger and Davis 1991). Susquehanna tradition interior sites also are common in Maine (MESITES database; Spiess and Trautman 2003), although they may be rarer in northernmost interior Maine, and comparable interior sites occur in the southern Maritime Provinces (e.g., Campbell 2016; Suttie et al. 2013). Regardless of the broad distribution, the Susquehanna tradition appeared to Sanger (2006) to be significantly better developed and apparently more pervasively integrated on the central Maine coast than in down east Maine (eastern coastal region) and the Maritime Provinces (e.g., Sanger 2006), although this may be a subtle effect of differential site preservation with greater coastal erosion down east. The terminal Late Archaic adaptations to the central Maine coast reflect localized GOM environmental changes (cooler water, greater tidal amplitude) that occurred rapidly around 3,500 years ago (Spiess and Lewis 2001). Susquehanna tradition people could not engage in the specialized summer swordfish hunting of their predecessors, which requires warm surface waters. Rather, they practiced a more diversified economy, including substantial shellfish collecting on expanded tidal flats, fishing for inshore species such as sturgeon, flounder (Pleuronectidae), cod (Gadus sp.), and

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 55

sculpin (Myoxocephalus sp.), hunting birds, and hunting large terrestrial mammals such as deer and bear (Spiess and Lewis 2001). Seal bones are more common in the Susquehanna component at Turner Farm than in the earlier Archaic occupations (Spiess and Lewis 2001:70–71, 78). Stable isotope analysis of an island mortuary population from Turner Farm suggests that Susquehanna tradition people were consuming a diet both less focused on marine resources and at a lower trophic level than that of their Late Archaic predecessors at the Nevin site (Bourque 1995:140; Bourque and Kruger 1994). Interior Susquehanna tradition sites contain small calcined bone assemblages that are not demonstrably different from later Maritime Woodland interior assemblages, although sample sizes are inadequate for reliable comparisons (e.g., Deal 1986; Petersen, ed. 1991). In terms of plant subsistence remains, charred acorn (Quercus sp.) and other nut fragments appear commonly in Susquehanna tradition components, as they do in other Archaic sites (Asch Sidell 1999). At the Jemseg site, terminal Late Archaic features contained substantial amounts of charred butternut (Juglans cinerea) (Blair 2003), and a hearth containing charred acorn nutshell and nutmeat was encountered at the Waterville–Winslow Bridge site (Spiess and Hedden 2000). Along the coast of Maine, terminal Late Archaic components tend to be associated with later Woodland period components, and are frequently stratified within the same sites (MESITES database; Spiess and Trautman 2003). In the Maritime Provinces, comparable components tend to be associated with intertidal peat and salt marsh landforms, separate from Maritime Woodland sites, probably a subtle effect of greater SLR in the Bay of Fundy system (Black 2000, 2018; Deal 1986). Both patterns reflect terminal Late Archaic coastal adaptations and dependence on watercraft. In interior Maine, where survey data are adequate, Susquehanna tradition components frequently are the earliest ones found on smaller streams, where dugout canoe travel would have been impractical (Spiess and Cranmer 1990). These settlement pattern data, and a general decrease in the frequency of heavy woodworking tools during the Susquehanna tradition (Bourque 2001; 2012:151), suggest greater mobility and may reflect a change in canoe technology (Spiess and Black 2004). The timing of the adoption of the birch bark canoe, and the significance of the disappearance of large Archaic woodworking tools, are matters of current debate (e.g., Sanger 2008).

56 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

Maritime Woodland Period Maritime Woodland or Ceramic period are terms often used to describe the time in the Maine–Maritimes sequence that is roughly coeval with the Woodland period in the greater Northeast (e.g., Black 2004; Bourque 1992; Petersen and Sanger 1991). As is the case in other areas on the northern periphery of the Northeast, horticulture-based adaptive patterns did not develop fully in this region, giving rise to a long-standing debate about appropriate culture-history nomenclature (Black 2004:7; Bourque 1995:169–170; Leonard 1995; Sanger 1974, 1987:85–86). We consider the terms Maritime Woodland period and Ceramic period to be interchangeable but note that Maritime Woodland is often preferred by Canadian scholars (e.g., Betts et al. 2017; Betts et al. 2012; Black 2002, 2004; Blair 1999, 2003, 2004; Hrynick et al. 2012; Leonard 1995). A seven-part subdivision based on changes in ceramic technology and stylistic elements has been proposed for this period (Petersen and Sanger 1991), although when considering changes in economic adaptations, we employ a fourfold subdivision (see description above) similar to that proposed by Black (2002:304). This differentiates Early Maritime Woodland, Middle Maritime Woodland, earlier Late Maritime Woodland (roughly equivalent to the Middle–Late Woodland transition; e.g., Hart and Rieth 2002), and later Late Maritime Woodland periods. The importance of shellfish in Maritime Woodland coastal adaptations has been suggested by settlement pattern studies of nearly 1,000 sites on the central Maine coast, indicating that nearness to an intertidal clam flat was an important factor in site location (Betts et al. 2017; Kellogg 1987, 1994). All around the NGOM, shellfish collecting was focused on softshelled clams (e.g., Barber 1982; Betts et al. 2017; Black 2004; Spiess and Lewis 2001:141–147; Yesner 1980a, 1980b), with exploitation of quahogs (Mercenaria mercenaria) and oysters, or both (e.g., Doyle et al. 1985; Hamilton 1991; Sanger and Sanger 1986). On the northern Maine coast and in the Quoddy Region, horse mussels (Modiolus modiolus) and sea urchins (Strongylocentrotus droebachiensis) were exploited in substantial numbers, in addition to soft-shelled clams, at sites located adjacent to extensive hard-substrate intertidal zones (Black 1993, 2004; Sanger and Chase 1983). Common mussels (Mytilus edulis) and other shellfish species generally were exploited in small amounts (e.g., Black 1993, 2004), although Yesner (1984:115) identified a brief focus on common mussel exploitation in Early Maritime Woodland layers in Casco Bay middens. There is also evidence

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 57

for a decline in shellfish exploitation concomitant with the Middle-Late Maritime Woodland transition (e.g., Betts et al. 2017). The dietary importance of shellfish for Maritime Woodland coastal inhabitants was substantial. The relative contributions of shellfish and vertebrate protein to the paleo-diet were calculated by weight and converted to equivalent (wet) meat weights (Spiess 2017; Spiess and Hedden 1983; Spiess et al. 2004) at several sites. Clams contributed 90% of the wet meat weight in the paleo-diet as recorded by shell and bone weights in the shell middens. Analyses of Quoddy Region shell middens have produced similar results (Black 1993, 2004). In eight components on the Bliss Islands, dating from ca. 2500–500 BP, the proportions of total wet meat weight contributed by shellfish ranged from 35% to 95%. Given the current data, archaeologists must consider soft-shelled clams and other shellfish as critical resources, similar to salmon in Northwest Coast riverine adaptations (e.g., Lovell et al. 1986). Most data from the NGOM indicate that shellfish exploitation peaked during the Middle Maritime Woodland period. Large specialized clamprocessing middens dating to the latter part of this period (ca. 1500 BP) have been identified on the South Shore, consisting of little more than ceramics, large coarsely broken clam shells, and vertebrate faunal remains, with limited soil development (Betts et al. 2017). In the Quoddy Region, Black (2002:311) has described substantial shell middens in the Middle Maritime Woodland period, which transition to black soil deposits with shell admixtures (i.e., a reduction in the proportion of shell) by ca. 1300 BP. This transition from shell midden to black soil shell-bearing middens occurs at precisely the same time in Port Joli (e.g., Betts et al. 2017), suggesting either: a) a regional decline in the productivity of clam flats, or b) a substantial subsistence shift which supplanted the need for extensive clam exploitation. Fishing for gadids (e.g., Atlantic cod and tomcod) was an important subsistence activity at most coastal NGOM sites during the Maritime Woodland period (Betts et al. 2017; Speiss and Lewis 2001; Black 2004; Rojo 1987a, 1987b). However, on the South Shore, fishing, especially for cod, declined significantly from the Middle to Late Maritime Woodland periods. There is evidence of a similar decline in the procurement of cod from the terminal Late Archaic through the Maritime Woodland deposits at Turner Farm (Spiess and Lewis 2001:88). Evidence of seal exploitation, particularly grey (Halichoerus grypus) and

58 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

harbor (Phoca vitulina) seals, is present in many Maritime Woodland middens. The bones of walrus (Odobenus rosmarus) and harp seals (Pagophilus groenlandicus), presumably those of animals straying from the Gulf of St. Lawrence herds, are found only occasionally and in trace amounts (less than 1% by NISP) (Black 2003:22; Betts et al. 2017; Bourque 1995:88; Spiess and Lewis 2001:38). In the Quoddy Region, faunal assemblages indicate a striking increase in the exploitation of seals during the Middle and early Late Maritime Woodland periods (Black 2003, 2017) perhaps because increasing tidal amplitude and inshore biological productivity in the Gulf of Maine resulted in larger populations of these animals (Bourque 1995:221; Spiess 2003). Such an increase is not evident on the South Shore, where seal exploitation decreased substantially in the Late Maritime Woodland (Betts at al. 2017), although it should be noted that seals rarely occur in Middle Maritime Woodland contexts at Port Joli. Seasonality evidence suggests that both species were hunted during the seasons in which they are most commonly hauled out on intertidal ledges: midwinter to spring for grey seals; spring to summer for harbor seals (Betts et al. 2017; Black 2004, 2017; Spiess and Lewis 2001). Recent research suggests that differential discard of seal bones, possibly due to cosmological practices, may have been responsible for the dearth of seal elements and/or element distributions in NGOM shell middens throughout the Maritime Woodland period (Ingraham et al. 2015; Robinson and Heller 2017). If one assumes that these cosmological actions were consistent across the NGOM and throughout the Maritime Woodland period, then the frequencies of seal bones could be considered representative and internally comparable, a proposition yet to be tested. Although seal hunting may have increased generally, there is little evidence that indigenous people engaged in open-water hunting of marine animals during the Maritime Woodland period. There are a few large whale bones in NGOM coastal middens (Betts et al. 2017; Bourque 1992:225; Bradley et al. 1998; Erskine 1959; Spiess and Lewis 2001:27–28, 70–71), but most of them probably represent structural components of features, rather than subsistence remains (e.g., Black 2017:79). Rarely, bones of porpoise (Phocoena sp.) are recovered (Erskine 1998:51; Spiess and Lewis 2001:101–102); however, it is not always clear whether these result from Maritime Woodland period exploitation or are intrusive from Historic occupations (Black 2004:108). Sanger (2003:32–34, quoting Soctomah 2002), in a discussion of possible differences in food-bone discard patterns between interior and

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 59

coastal populations, suggests that indigenous people may have intentionally discarded porpoise bones off-midden, away from habitations. Some sites in the NGOM indicate an increased focus on terrestrial mammal procurement over the course of the Maritime Woodland period. At Port Joli a gradual but substantial increase in the exploitation of deer and caribou occurred over the Middle to Late Maritime Woodland periods. A similar increase in deer and moose was noted by Spiess et al. (2004:150) at the Indiantown Island site in Maine, although fish and bird remains were still frequent. This increase in the importance of terrestrial mammals, especially deer and moose along the coast of Maine, is also evident at Turner Farm, where they increase from Late Archaic “Occupation 2” to Maritime Woodland “Occupation 4” (Spiess and Lewis 2001:56). Along the coast there is strong evidence for increased hunting and trapping of furbearing mammals during the Maritime Woodland period, including many species, but with particular emphasis on beaver. In the Quoddy Region and on the South Shore, beaver bone increases in frequency through the Maritime Woodland period, although this partly reflects increasing use of incisor teeth as tools (Betts et al. 2017; Black 2004; Sanger 1987, 1995). At the Turner Farm site, the relative proportion of beaver bone (excluding worked beaver-incisor tools) compared with large mammal bone increases from 4% during the Late Archaic occupation to 12% during the Maritime Woodland period occupations (Spiess and Lewis 2001:76). Nevertheless, the application of techniques such as stable isotope analysis to human bones, domestic dog bones, and pottery encrustations has shown that Maritime Woodland period coastal populations were highly committed to seafood-based diets (Black 2003, 2017; Bourque 1995:140). Moreover, this commitment appears to have increased among Maritime Woodland period populations as compared to their terminal Late Archaic predecessors, approaching the marine focus and high trophic level of the Nevin site Late Archaic population (Black 2003, 2017; Bourque 1995:140). It is important to note that the stable isotope analyses (e.g., Black 2003; Bourque 1995) do not substantiate the extreme reliance on shellfish suggested by some shell midden analyses (e.g., Spiess 2017), instead pointing to a greater reliance on marine fish and mammals. In our opinion, this reflects a quantification bias resulting from variable preservation of faunal remains within and among coastal sites. In particular, layers and sites dominated by black soil middens exhibiting poor or no faunal preservation (cf. Black

60 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

2002) may reflect the exploitation of substantial amounts of now-unquantifiable marine resources, especially fish. The seasonality of coastal occupations during the Maritime Woodland period has been a major topic of study, beginning with work on both sides of the international boundary by David Sanger (1971, 1987, 1988, 1996a), and in Maine by Bruce Bourque (1973, 1992). The debate was about whether there was year-round coastal occupation, or whether indigenous people spent the winter season in the interior during the Maritime Woodland period, as they tended to do during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. As a result, considerable effort has been invested in developing techniques to extract season-of-death information from shell and bone growth increments. Archaeologists on both sides of the international boundary have used the similar techniques and have updated these techniques as new methodologies have been developed (Betts et al. 2017; Black 2004; Burchell et al. 2014; Bourque et al. 1978; Spiess and Lewis 2001). Mammal teeth indicate that grey seals were hunted in mid-winter, harbor seals in the warm seasons, bears in the warm seasons, and cervids (white-tailed deer and moose) throughout the year (Black 2004, 2017; Spiess and Lewis 2001). Growth increments in fish vertebrae and otoliths have proven difficult to analyze (e.g., Black 1991a; Carlson 1988); however, Rojo (1987b) reported evidence for spring or autumn cod fishing at the Gooseberry Point site. Growth increment analyses of shellfish have produced evidence for warm-season, cold-season, and year-round coastal occupation (Belcher 1989; Betts et al. 2017; Black 1991a, 2004; Burchell et al. 2014; McManamon and Bradley 1988; Sanger 1996a; Spiess and Hedden 1983; Spiess and Lewis 2001; Yesner 1980a:70). Some Maritime Woodland period locations, especially those along mainland bay shores and on large, inshore islands, contain evidence of nearly year-round use, or use that is random with respect to season (Betts et al. 2017; Sanger 1996a, 1996b; Spiess and Lewis 2001:152–158). There is also evidence for temporal shifts in season of occupation within specific sites. For example, Belcher (1989:188–189) reported that the Early Maritime Woodland occupation at the Knox site occurred either in spring or autumn, while the Middle Maritime Woodland occupations occurred in summer. At the larger shell middens on the islands of the Quoddy Region, settlement appears to have shifted from warm-season occupations in the Early Maritime Woodland period to cold-season occupations in the Middle Maritime Woodland (with, perhaps, some year-round occupation), and back to warm-season occupations in the Late Maritime Woodland (Bishop

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 61

and Black 1988; Black 1991b, 1993, 2002, 2004). In Port Joli, sites appear to have shifted from very large warm-season occupations in the Middle Maritime Woodland to smaller, cold-season occupations in the Late Maritime Woodland (Betts et al. 2017). Taken together, the evidence suggests that hunter-gatherers adapted to the NGOM shorelines practiced seasonally shifting residential mobility within the coastal zone during most or all of the Maritime Woodland period. Maritime Woodland period interior economic adaptations included focused harvesting of anadromous or catadromous fish species (sturgeon, shad, alewives, and eels) supplemented by multiseasonal hunting of moose, caribou, deer, and bear, as well as trapping of furbearers and hunting of migratory birds (Deal 1986; Nash and Stewart 1990; Nash et al. 1991; Petersen, ed. 1991; Petersen et al. 1994; Sanger 1996a:56; Spiess at al. 2006). Most faunal remains from interior sites provide evidence of warm-season occupations (e.g., anadromous fish) or are those of year-round resident species (e.g., beaver and muskrat). Many interior site locations suggest warm-season occupation (cf. Sanger 1996a:56, 2003:31). More consistent use of flotation recovery in the last two decades has resulted in a record of Maritime Woodland period economic plant use in the NGOM. Exploitation of plant foods is indicated by fragments of carbonized fruit (e.g., Black 1993:54; Deal et al. 1991), and carbonized seeds of brambles (Rubus sp., Ribes sp.), blueberries (Vaccinium sp.), elderberries (Sambucus sp.), and cherries (Prunus sp.) (Asch Sidell 1999; Deal 2002:324–325; Nash et al. 1991:226–227). Carbonized nuts such as butternut, hazelnut (Corylus cornuta), beech nut (Fagus grandifola), and acorns have also been recovered at Maritime Woodland period sites, especially in the interior (Asch Sidell 2002; Blair 2004:270; Deal 2002:324–325; Deal et al. 2011; Monckton 2002:123–125). Evidence of horticulture in the NGOM is extremely limited (Asch Sidell 1999:212, 2008). Use of gourds (Curcurbita pepo) in the Archaic period was discovered at the Sharrow site in central Maine (Petersen and Asch Sidell 1996). Evidence of indigenous horticulture involving maize and beans (Phaseolus sp.) has been discovered in the southern Gulf of Maine, but in the NGOM such evidence is restricted to the Protohistoric era, ca. 570 BP (Asch Sidell 1999:213). Thus, it appears most of the NGOM remained hunter-gatherer territory until European contact. Central Maine, for the centuries immediately before contact, was a frontier between horticulturalists and hunter-gatherers.

62 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

The Protohistoric Period Evidence of early Historic subsistence and settlement is one of the significant remaining lacunae in NGOM archaeology. Traditionally, scholars have surmised that the dearth of Protohistoric sites is related to factors involving both SLR and settlement reorganizations associated with early European trade. The former, somewhat related to the latter, proposes that Protohistoric sites were small, expedient, and located very close to the shoreline, and therefore have been differentially impacted by SLR in contrast to earlier, more substantial sites. The latter especially implies significant economic changes and reorganization of seasonal rounds (Bourque and Whitehead 1985; Prins 1992; Whitehead 1991). However, recent excavations on the South Shore (Betts et al. 2017) and in the Quoddy Region (Blair et al. 2017; Hrynick and Black 2016; Hrynick et al. 2017) indicate that, although sometimes more ephemeral in nature, Protohistoric contexts are located in areas adjacent to, or often on top of, preexisting Late Maritime Woodland deposits. Also in the Quoddy Region, there is some evidence that site locations may have been shifted to nearby but more exposed coastal areas, potentially to survey for passing European vessels (e.g., Blair et al. 2017). Crucially, however, subsistence practices do not appear to have changed substantially and continue to be underpinned by shellfish and a mixture of fishing, birding, and hunting as indicated above (Betts et al. 2017; Blair et al. 2017). At Port Joli, Protohistoric deposits show a subtle decline in shellfish, fish, and birds, while emphasizing terrestrial mammals, continuing a trend beginning at the early Late Maritime Woodland and intensifying over the entire period (Betts et al. 2017). Significant further work is needed to describe Protohistoric and early Historic period economies and settlement practices. Discussion

Paleoindian economic adaptations to the northern Gulf of Maine watershed included interior caribou and small mammal hunting, and long-distance transport of high-quality, quarried lithic materials within the region, presumably reflecting settlement patterns involving high residential mobility. The Paleoindian archaeological record resembles that of an ethnographic interior Subarctic-style adaptation. Postglacial sea level rise has deprived archaeologists of information about Paleoindian use of marine shorelines

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 63

and resources in the NGOM. Thus, our reconstruction may reflect only a seasonal subset of Paleoindian economic activities. Direct evidence of Early and Middle Archaic subsistence comes only from interior locations, where it indicates generalized riverine/lacustrine fishing and terrestrial hunting economies, supplemented, perhaps, by exploitation of wetland starchy tubers and other plant resources. Indirect evidence from submerged artifacts may indicate that marine fishing and marine mammal exploitation occurred during this period and, if so, that these strategies resembled those practiced in the Gulf of Saint Lawrence area pericontemporaneously. However, significantly more research is required to explore this hypothesis. During the Late Archaic, there was a focus on specific fishing locations in the interior of the NGOM, where weirs and nets were located and reconstructed repeatedly. Generalized fishing strategies, rather than a focus on any one species, and terrestrial hunting economies were centered on these locations. On the coast, cod fishing was a significant economic focus, and shellfish collecting was important, at least locally. Abundant faunal and artifactual evidence suggests that marine hunting of swordfish was an important summer economic activity, possibly with cosmological implications (Bourque 2012). Perhaps the greatest contrast between the subsistence adaptations of the Archaic and Maritime Woodland periods is that, while there is compelling evidence for open-water (nearshore) marine hunting in the Late Archaic, there is little such evidence for the Maritime Woodland. Moreover, the Maritime Woodland littoral foraging pattern appears to emerge during the terminal Late Archaic period. By that time, environmental change to colder, macro-tidal waters around 3,500 years ago inhibited the migration of warm-water-adapted species, such as swordfish, into the Gulf of Maine. The near-contemporaneous “incursion” of the Susquehanna tradition and rapid cooling and tidal amplitude increase makes it difficult to prioritize cultural or ecological cause and effect. The Susquehanna tradition of the terminal Late Archaic is the first culture-historical entity that is recognizable along the entire coast of the NGOM and throughout the interior of the watershed, including on small branch streams. This distribution, coupled with evidence from the Turner Farm site indicating that Susquehanna coastal occupations were less oriented toward marine exploitation than previous or subsequent coastal occupations, leads us to raise the possibility that the Susquehanna tradition

64 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

represents, at least in its inception, an interior or estuarine-oriented adaptation. In fact, it may be best characterized as a regional variant of the macro-regional Broadpoint phenomenon. We view the Susquehanna tradition in Maine as representing the beginning of a trend toward more generalized inshore fishing and intertidal shellfish gathering that continued through the Maritime Woodland period. Susquehanna tradition seal hunting was less economically important than in the Maritime Woodland period. Terrestrial mammal hunting was important, even in insular locations. In the interior, Susquehanna tradition groups seem to have been more widely dispersed on the landscape and more mobile than earlier Archaic peoples. Certainly by the Maritime Woodland period, use of light, portable, birch bark canoes opened up all the waterways in the interior of the NGOM watershed to human exploitation and habitation, increased rates of travel, facilitated acquisition and exchange, and probably changed the scheduling and scale of coastal–interior transhumance (e.g., Blair 2010). Maritime Woodland peoples living on the marine shorelines of the NGOM practiced littoral foraging adaptations. These activities involved collecting intertidal shellfish, inshore and intertidal fishing (possibly using intertidal weirs), hunting and trapping shorebirds and migratory birds, hunting inshore marine mammals, and hunting terrestrial animals inhabiting nearshore habitats. The diets of coastal people consisted mainly of littoral and nearshore terrestrial animals, of which shellfish formed a substantial component, supplemented by some plant foods. Stable isotope measurements (Black 2003:30–31; Bourque 1995:140; Bourque and Kruger 1994) suggest that the diets of coastal inhabitants were consistent with those of marine-fish and marine-mammal consumers. Meat contribution analyses indicate much greater commitments to seafood-based diets including intertidal shellfish during the Maritime Woodland period than was previously recognized (Bourque 1995; Spiess 2017). Apparently, Maritime Woodland people invested little effort in open-water marine hunting and fishing (Black 2017; Spiess and Lewis 2001). For much of the Maritime Woodland period, coastal inhabitants probably lived in the coastal zone year round, with short-distance residential and logistical movements necessitated by seasonal variations in productivity, and facilitated by canoe transportation. The evidence for year-round occupation of the coast raises questions of who, then, inhabited the vast interior of the NGOM watershed, of group and/or individual mobility between coastal and interior locations, and the potential for exchange of goods between coastal- and interior-adapted

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 65

populations. Sanger (1982, 1996a, 1996b) has argued for replacing the ethnohistorically based model of summer–coastal/winter–interior seasonal transhumance (e.g., Snow 1980:45) with a model of two populations (one interior, the other coastal) with distinctive subsistence adaptations. Archaeological data hint at ethnocultural boundaries: there are differences in twist of cord impressions on the exteriors of ceramic vessels between the coast and interior (Petersen and Sanger 1991; Petersen 1996). Also, there were variations in access to lithic material sources, in localized distributions of the lower-quality lithic materials between the far interior lakes and the coast (Burke 2000), and in regional distributions of projectile point and other lithic tool styles (Robinson 1996). The two-population model has been supported by both coastal and interior researchers (e.g., Black 2002; Blair 2004; Burke 2000; Deal 2002). At this point the evidence suggests that small groups of relatively mobile hunter-gatherers inhabited the interior of the watershed through the terminal Late Archaic and Maritime Woodland periods, and perhaps earlier. Larger groups of more sedentary hunter-gatherers inhabited the coastal zone from the Late Archaic through the Maritime Woodland period, and probably earlier. During the Maritime Woodland, interior and coastal groups may have been closely tied through exchanges of lithic materials, furs, and, speculatively, stored foodstuffs, facilitated by canoe- and sledbased transportation. More than three decades ago, Nash (1984:225) proposed a “mosaic model” of settlement and subsistence for the NGOM, whereby “adaptation to resource variability . . . yields a mosaic of maritime adaptions—each a local expression of a flexible and generalized economy.” In such a system, highly mobile, closely related groups may have occupied overlapping and intersecting territories, aggregating and dispersing in response to variations in resource productivity. Betts and colleagues (2017) may have found evidence of such a system on the South Shore; there, large summer clamprocessing middens probably represent locations where several family units came together to process and dry clams. However, while contemporary winter sites are located on the coast, these are smaller, suggesting that only a subset of the population remained on the coast. Did the remaining population travel to the interior, and if so, did they make the trek back to the coast in the subsequent season? If so, a resident interior population may have experienced seasons of aggregation and dispersal similar to the coast. Such an idiosyncratic and complex system may have prevailed where families were closely related, game was variable and/or widely dispersed,

66 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

procurement strategies were flexible, and transportation was relatively easy (with birch bark canoes). Early and Middle Maritime Woodland subsistence adaptations can be seen as extensions and amplifications of trends begun in the terminal Late Archaic, with shellfish exploitation peaking in the Middle Maritime Woodland period. However, significant change is evident at the Middle to Late Maritime Woodland transition (ca. 1300 BP), with a decline in marine fishing and bird hunting and an increased reliance on seals and cervids evident in many faunal sequences. Shellfish exploitation appears to decline as well, with the shift from the dense shell middens of the Middle Maritime Woodland to the extensive black soil middens of the Late Maritime Woodland. This transition is simultaneous with the onset of warming temperatures associated with the Medieval Climatic Anomaly in the North Atlantic at ca. 1300 BP (Cronin et al. 2010). It appears that a correlation exists between increased shellfish gathering and fishing and colder, wetter conditions in the Early through Middle Maritime Woodland, and an increase in terrestrial hunting and a decline in shellfish gathering during the warmer, drier conditions of the Middle to Late Maritime Woodland transition. Suggesting a direct causal link between these variables when so little is known about social and technological changes during these transitions is speculative. Understanding such relationships should form the focus of further research into the Middle to Late Maritime Woodland transition. Conclusions

In the NGOM, evidence for indigenous economic adaptations has proliferated as quantitative zooarchaeological studies have been conducted, biochemical analyses have been applied to studies of paleo-diet, and geoarchaeological and paleoclimatological analyses have been employed in the assessment of sites and sequences. In the accumulated data, we have documented a series of large-scale changes in subsistence adaptations. Moreover, there is now evidence for significant, but more subtle shifts in economic adaptations within the Archaic and Maritime Woodland periods. From the perspective of economic adaptations, major cultural transitions took place at the Pleistocene-Holocene boundary (ca. 10,000 BP), at the beginning of the terminal Late Archaic (ca. 4000–3500 BP), and during the transition from the Middle to Late Maritime Woodland period (1300 BP). At least superficially, these salient cultural transitions are linked to climatic

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 67

and biogeographic changes, although the exact causal mechanisms require further investigation. As with many other coastal areas of the world, SLR has affected the Gulf of Maine archaeological record and how it is perceived by archaeologists. In addition, we argue that SLR, and localized marine and climate changes caused by SLR and increasing tidal amplitude, have been the predominant oceanographic and geophysical processes affecting the trajectories of human subsistence and settlement in the NGOM. The maximum extent of postglacial emergence in the region (e.g., Oldale 1985) coincided temporally with the fluted-point Paleoindian occupation of the area. The extant Paleoindian record in the region apparently reflects a low-diversity, interior hunting adaptation, perhaps a geographic remnant of seasonal movements away from the coast. Similarly, the perception of increasing regional population from the Early through the Late Archaic is partially a result of the increasing preservation and visibility of near-coastal and coastal sites, as the cumulative effects of SLR have differentially eroded earlier sites. Finally, because shell midden preservation is a probabilistic function of SLR, the perception (e.g., Braun 1974) of an explosion of shellfish gathering as an economic activity during the Middle Maritime Woodland period may be an illusion (e.g., Spiess and Lewis 2001). Because of SLR, we must be careful in building interpretations predicated on the absence of evidence. As tenuous as these models may be, we are able to document a more detailed regional economic sequence than Sanger (1988) was able to develop 30 years ago. At the same time, we note that region-wide generalizations about subsistence, seasonality, and settlement mask the essentially mosaic nature of these phenomena. Adaptive mosaics can be expected to exist in at least three dimensions: 1) in the spatial dimension (e.g., Nash and Miller 1987); 2) in the temporal dimension within each spatial subdivision (e.g., Black 2002); and 3) in a hierarchal dimension within each particular cultural component (e.g., Blair 2004). Archaeologists have just begun to gather enough faunal and settlement data with comparable techniques, from both sides of the international boundary, to begin to reveal the details of smallerscale variations in the archaeological record, and to explore more detailed hypotheses, such as intraregional subsistence variations, temporal shifts in mobility, and economic and social relationships between coastal and interior populations.

68 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

Acknowledgments

An earlier version of this paper, written by Spiess and Black, was presented to the plenary session of the 69th Annual Meeting of the Society for American Archaeology, Montreal, Quebec, in 2004. We thank the discussants at that session, David Sanger and Dean Snow, for their insightful comments. We thank Susan Blair, Martin (Gabe) Hrynick, David Keenlyside, and David Sanger for commenting on various earlier versions of the manuscript. Authorship for the current manuscript is ordered alphabetically. References Almquist-Jacobson, Heather, and David Sanger. 1999. Paleogeographic Changes in Wetland and Upland Environments in the Milford Drainage Basin of Central Maine in Relation to Holocene Human Settlement History. In Current Northeast Paleoethnobotany, edited by John P. Hart, pp. 177–190. Bulletin 494. New York State Museum, Albany. Anderson, Walter A., and Harold W. Borns, Jr. (editors). 1989. Neotectonics of Maine: Studies in Seismicity, Crustal Warping, and Sea-Level Change. Bulletin 40. Maine Geological Survey, Augusta. Anderson, Walter A., Joseph T. Kelley, Woodrow B. Thompson, Harold W. Borns, Jr., David Sanger, David C. Smith, David A. Tyler, R. Scott Anderson, Anne E. Bridges, Kristine J. Crossen, Jonathan W. Ladd, Bjorn G. Andersen, and Fitzhugh T. Lee. 1984. Crustal Warping in Coastal Maine. Geology 12:677–680. Apollonio, Spencer. 1979. The Gulf of Maine. Courier of Maine, Rockland. Asch Sidell, Nancy. 1999. Prehistoric Plant Use in Maine: Paleoindian to Contact Period. In Current Northeast Paleoethnobotany, edited by John P. Hart, pp. 191–223. Bulletin 494. New York State Museum, Albany. Asch Sidell, Nancy. 2002. Paleoethnobotanical Indicators of Subsistence and Settlement Change in the Northeast. In Northeast Subsistence–Settlement Change: A.D. 700–1300, edited by John P. Hart and Christina B. Rieth, pp. 241–264. Bulletin 496. New York State Museum, Albany. Asch Sidell, Nancy. 2008. The Impact of Maize-Based Agriculture on Prehistoric Plant Communities in the Northeast. In Current Northeast Paleoethnobotany II, edited by John P. Hart, pp. 29–52. Bulletin 512. New York State Museum, Albany. Barber, Russell J. 1982. The Wheeler’s Site: A Specialized Shellfish Processing Station on the Merrimack River. Peabody Museum Monographs 7. Harvard University, Cambridge. Barnhardt, Walter A., W. Roland Gehrels, Daniel F. Belknap, and Joseph T. Kelley. 1995. Late Quaternary Relative Sea-Level Change in the Western Gulf of Maine: Evidence for a Migrating Glacial Forebulge. Geology 23(4):317–320. Belcher, William. 1989. Prehistoric Fish Exploitation in East Penobscot Bay, Maine: The Knox Site and Sea-Level Rise. Archaeology of Eastern North America 17:175–190. Belknap, Daniel F. 1995. Appendix 5: Geoarchaeology in Central Coastal Maine. In Diver-

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 69

sity and Complexity in Prehistoric Maritime Societies, by Bruce J. Bourque, pp. 275–296. Plenum Press, New York. Belknap, Daniel F., R. Craig Shipp, Robert Stuckenrath, Joseph T. Kelley, and Harold W. Borns, Jr. 1989. Holocene Sea-Level Change in Coastal Maine. In Neotectonics of Maine: Studies in Seismicity, Crustal Warping, and Sea-Level Change, edited by Walter A. Anderson and Harold W. Borns, Jr., pp. 85–105. Bulletin 40. Maine Geological Survey, Augusta. Betts, Matthew W., Susan E. Blair, and David W. Black. 2012. Perspectivism, Mortuary Symbolism, and Human–Shark Relationships on the Maritime Peninsula. American Antiquity 77:621–645 Betts, Matthew W., Meghan Burchell, and Bernd R. Schöne. 2017. An Economic History of the Maritime Woodland Period in Port Joli Harbour, Nova Scotia. Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 10:18–41. Bishop, Jennifer C., and David W. Black. 1988. The Lands Edge Also: Culture History and Seasonality at the Partridge Island Shell Midden Site. Canadian Journal of Archaeology 12:17–37. Black, David W. 1991a. Final Report on the Insular Quoddy Region Seasonality Project (1989–90 Grant Period). Manuscript on file, Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, Ottawa. Black, David W. 1991b. Stratigraphic Integrity in Northeastern Shell Middens: An Example from the Insular Quoddy Region. In Prehistoric Archaeology in the Maritime Provinces: Past and Present Research, edited by Michael Deal and Susan E. Blair, pp. 201–215. Committee on Archaeological Cooperation, Reports in Archaeology 8. Council of Maritime Premiers, Fredericton, New Brunswick. Black, David W. 1993. What Images Return: A Study of the Stratigraphy and Seasonality of a Shell Midden in the Insular Quoddy Region of New Brunswick. Manuscript in Archaeology 27. Archaeological Services, New Brunswick Culture and Sport Secretariat, Fredericton. Black, David W. 2000. Rum Beach and the Susquehanna Tradition in the Quoddy Region, Charlotte County, New Brunswick. Canadian Journal of Archaeology 24:89–106. Black, David W. 2002. Out of the Blue and into the Black: The Middle-Late Maritime Woodland Transition in the Quoddy Region, New Brunswick, Canada. In Northeast Subsistence-Settlement Change: A.D. 700–1300, edited by John P. Hart and Christina B. Rieth, pp. 301–320. Bulletin 496. New York State Museum, Albany. Black, David W. 2003. L’importance du phoque dans l’alimentation des populations sylvicoles de la région de Quoddy (Nouveau-Brunswick). Recherches amérindiennes au Québec XXXIII(1):21–34. Black, David W. 2004. Living Close to the Ledge: Prehistoric Human Ecology of the Bliss Islands, Insular Quoddy Region, New Brunswick, Canada. 2nd ed. Occasional Papers in Northeastern Archaeology 6. Copetown Press, St. John’s, Newfoundland. Black, David W. 2017. Archaeological Sea-Mammal Remains from the Maritime Provinces. Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 10:70–89. Black, David W. 2018. “ . . . gathering pebbles on a boundless shore . . .”—The Rum Beach Site and Intertidal Archaeology in the Canadian Quoddy Region. University of New

70 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

Brunswick Libraries, Scholar Research Repository. Electronic document, https://unbscholar.lib.unb.ca/islandora/object/unbscholar%3A9409, accessed October 25, 2018. Blair, Susan E. 1999. The Pre-Ceramic Archaeology of the Grand Manan Archipelago: Cultural History and Regional Integration. Manuscript in Archaeology 29. Archaeological Services, New Brunswick Culture and Sport Secretariat, Fredericton. Blair, Susan E. 2004. Ancient Wolastoq’kew Landscapes: Settlement and Technology in the Lower Saint John River Valley, Canada. Unpublished PhD dissertation, Department of Anthropology, University of Toronto, Toronto. Blair, Susan E. 2010. Missing the Boat in Lithic Procurement: Watercraft and the Bulk Procurement of Tool-Stone on the Maritime Peninsula. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 29:33–46. Blair, Susan E. (editor). 2003. Wolastoqiyik Ajemseg: The People of the Beautiful River at Jemseg. Vol. 2, Archaeological Results. Manuscripts in Archaeology 31. Archaeological Services, New Brunswick Culture and Sport Secretariat, Fredericton. Blair, Susan E., Margaret Horne, A. Katherine Patton, and W. Jessie Webb. 2017. Birch Cove and the Protohistoric Period of the Northern Quoddy Region, New Brunswick, Canada. Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 10:59–69. Boone, Randall B. 1997. Modeling the Climate of Maine for Use in Broad-Scale Ecological Analyses. Northeastern Naturalist 4(4):213–230. Bonnichsen, Robson, David L. Keenlyside, and Karen Turnmire. 1991. Paleoindian Patterns in Maine and the Maritimes. In Prehistoric Archaeology in the Maritime Provinces: Past and Present Research, edited by Michael Deal and Susan E. Blair, pp. 9–36. Maritime Committee for Archaeological Cooperation, Reports in Archaeology 8. Council of Maritime Premiers, Fredericton, New Brunswick. Bourque, Bruce J. 1973. Aboriginal Settlement and Subsistence on the Central Maine Coast. Man in the Northeast 6:3–20. Bourque, Bruce J. 1992. Prehistory of the Central Maine Coast [1971]. Garland, New York. Bourque, Bruce J. 1994. Evidence for Prehistoric Exchange on the Maritime Peninsula. In Prehistoric Exchange Systems in North America, edited by Timothy Baugh and Jonathan E. Ericson, pp. 17–46. Plenum Press, New York. Bourque, Bruce J. 1995. Diversity and Complexity in Prehistoric Maritime Cultures: A Gulf of Maine Perspective. Plenum Press, New York. Bourque, Bruce J. 2001. Twelve Thousand Years: American Indians in Maine. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln. Bourque, Bruce J. 2012. The Swordfish Hunters: The History and Ecology of an Ancient American Sea People. Bunker Hill Publishing, Piermont, New Hampshire. Bourque, Bruce J., and Steven L. Cox. 1985. Report on the 1985 Field Season: Lazygut Archaeological Project. Manuscript on file, Maine Historic Preservation Commission, Augusta. Bourque, Bruce J., and Harold W. Kruger. 1994. Dietary Reconstruction from Human Bone Isotopes for Five Coastal New England Populations. In Paleonutrition: The Diet and Health of Prehistoric Americans, edited by Kristen D. Sobolik, pp. 195–209. Center for Archaeological Investigations, Occasional Paper 22. Southern Illinois University, Carbondale.

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 71

Bourque, Bruce J., and Ruth Holmes Whitehead. 1985. Tarrentines and the Introduction of European Trade Goods in the Gulf of Maine. Ethnohistory 32(4):327–341. Bourque, Bruce J., Kenneth Morris, and Arthur Spiess. 1978. Determining the Season of Death of Mammal Teeth from Archaeological Sites: A New Sectioning Technique. Science 199:530–531. Bradley, James W., Arthur Spiess, and Greg Early. 1998. Mass Strandings of the LongFinned Pilot Whale on Cape Cod: Implications for Native American Subsistence and Settlement. Massachusetts Archaeological Society Bulletin 59(1):4–13. Bradley, James W., Arthur E. Spiess, Richard A. Boisvert, and Jeffery Boudreau. 2008. What’s the Point? Modal Forms and Attributes of Paleoindian Bifaces in the New England–Maritimes Region. Archaeology of Eastern North America 36:119–172. Braun, David. 1974. Explanatory Models for the Evolution of Coastal Adaptation in Prehistoric Eastern New England. American Antiquity 39:582–596. Brigham, Michael, Robert N. Bartone, Jessica A. Reed, and Ellen Cowie. 2001. Introduction to the Archaeological Phase III Excavations at Ntolonapemk, the Eastern Surplus Company Superfund Site, 96.02. Maine Archaeological Society Bulletin 41(2):27–39. Brigham, Michael S., Ellen R. Cowie, Robert N. Bartone, Stephen R. Scharoun, Rosemary A. Cyr, and Jessica A. Reed. 2005. The Archaeology of N’tolonapemk (66.02 ME), “Our Ancestor’s Place”: Phase III Data Recovery at the Eastern Surplus Superfund Site, Meddybemps, Washington County, Maine. Report prepared for Tetra Tech NUS, on file at the Maine Historic Preservation Commission, Augusta. Burchell, Meghan, Matthew W. Betts, A. Katherine Patton, and Bernd R. Schöne. 2014. Preliminary Analysis of Stable Oxygen Isotopes and Shell Growth in the Soft-Shelled Clam Mya Arenaria: Implications for Interpreting Seasonality and Shellfish Harvesting in Port Joli, Nova Scotia. North Atlantic Archaeology 3:93–108. Burke, Adrian L. 2000. Lithic Procurement and Ceramic Period Occupation of the Interior of the Maritime Peninsula. Unpublished PhD dissertation, Department of Anthropology, State University of New York, Albany. Byers, Douglas S. 1954. Bull Brook—A Fluted Point Site in Ipswich, Massachusetts. American Antiquity 19:343–351. Byers, Douglas S. 1955. Additional Information on the Bull Brook Site, Ipswich, Massachusetts. American Antiquity 20:274–276. Byers, Douglas S. 1959. Radiocarbon Dates for the Bull Brook Site, Massachusetts. American Antiquity 24:427–429. Byers, Douglas S. 1979. The Nevin Shellheap: Burials and Observations. R.S. Peabody Foundation, Andover, MA. Campbell, J. A. 2016. Mu Awsami Keji’kewe’k L’nuk Mi’kma’ki: New Perspectives on the Transitional Archaic Period in Southwestern Nova Scotia. Unpublished master’s thesis, Department of Archaeology, Memorial University of Newfoundland, St. Johns. Carlson, Catherine C. 1988. An Evaluation of Fish Growth Annuli for the Determination of Seasonality in Archaeological Sites. In Recent Developments in Environmental Analysis in Old and New World Archaeology, edited by R. Esmée Webb, pp. 67–78. BAR International Series 416. British Archaeological Reports, Oxford. Chapdelaine, Claude. 2004. Des chasseurs de la fin de l’âge glaciaire dans la région du

72 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

lac Mégantic: Découvertes des premières pointes à cannelure au Québec. Recherches Amérindiennes au Québec XXXIV(1):3–20. Cook, Thomas G. 1976. Broadpoint: Culture, Phase, Horizon, Tradition or Knife? Journal of Anthropological Research 32:337–357. Cox, Steven L. 1991. Site 95.20 and the Vergennes Phase in Maine. Archaeology of Eastern North America 19:135–162. Crock, John G., James B. Petersen, and Ross M. Anderson. 1993. Scalloping for Artifacts: A Biface and Plummet from Eastern Blue Hill Bay, Maine. Archaeology of Eastern North America 21:179–192. Crock, John G., and Francis W. Robinson IV. 2012. Maritime Mountaineers: Paleoindian Settlement Patterns on the West Coast of New England. In Late Pleistocene Archaeology and Ecology in the Far Northeast, edited by Claude Chapdelaine, pp. 48–76. Texas A&M University Press, College Station. Cronin, Thomas M., K. Hayo, Robert C. Thunell, Gary S. Dwyer, C. Saenger, and Debra A. Willard. 2010. The Medieval Climate Anomaly and Little Ice Age in Chesapeake Bay and the North Atlantic Ocean. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology 297:299–310. Davis, Stephen A. 1991a. Two Concentrations of Paleoindian Occupation in the Far Northeast. Revista de Archaeologia Americana 3:31–56. Davis, Stephen A. 1991b. Yarmouth County Survey. In Archaeology in Nova Scotia, 1987 and 1988, edited by Stephen A. Davis, Charles Lindsay, Robert Ogilvie, and Brian Preston, pp. 69–88. Curatorial Report 69. Nova Scotia Museum, Halifax. Deal, Michael. 1986. Late Archaic and Ceramic Period Utilization of the Mud Lake Stream Site, Southwestern New Brunswick. Man in the Northeast 32:67–94. Deal, Michael. 2002. Aboriginal Land and Resource Use in New Brunswick during the Late Prehistoric and Early Contact Periods. In Northeast Subsistence–Settlement Change: A.D. 700–1300, edited by John P. Hart and Christina B. Rieth, pp. 321–344. Bulletin 496. New York State Museum, Albany. Deal, Michael, and Douglas Rutherford. 2001. The Distribution and Diversity of Nova Scotia Archaic Sites and Materials: A Re-examination. In Archaeology in Nova Scotia 1992, 1993 and 1994, edited by Stephen Powell, pp. 142–173. Curatorial Report 95. Nova Scotia Museum, Halifax. Deal, Michael, June Morton, and Ellen Foulkes. 1991. The Role of Ceramics among the Prehistoric Hunter-Gatherers of the Maine–Maritimes Region: A View from the New Brunswick Interior. In Prehistoric Archaeology in the Maritime Provinces: Past and Present Research, edited by Michael Deal and Susan E. Blair, pp. 179–203. Committee for Archaeological Cooperation, Reports in Archaeology 8. Council of Maritime Premiers, Fredericton, New Brunswick. Deal, Michael, Sara Halwas, Candace Loder, and Matthew Betts. 2011. Recent Paleoethnobotanical Research at Western Nova Scotia Shell Midden Sites. Archaeology in Nova Scotia 2:30–40. DeNiro, Michael J. 1987. Stable Isotopy and Archaeology. American Scientist 75(2):182–191. Dincauze, Dena F. 1968. Cremation Cemeteries in Eastern Massachusetts. Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology Paper 59. Harvard University, Cambridge.

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 73

Dincauze, Dena F. 1972. The Atlantic Phase: A Late Archaic Culture in Massachusetts. Man in the Northeast 4:40–61. Doyle, Richard A., Jr., James B. Petersen, and Nathan D. Hamilton. 1985. A Late Archaic Shell Midden on Great Mosher Island, Casco Bay, Maine. Maine Archaeological Society Bulletin 21(1):41–50. Ellis, Christopher J. 2004. Understanding “Clovis” Fluted Point Variability in the Northeast: A Perspective from the Debert Site, Nova Scotia. Canadian Journal of Archaeology 28(2):205–253. Erlandson, Jon M. 2001. The Archaeology of Aquatic Adaptations: Paradigms for a New Millennium. Journal of Archaeological Research 9(4):287–350. Erskine, John S. 1959. Micmac Notes 1959. Manuscript on file, Nova Scotia Museum, Halifax. Erskine, John S. 1998. Memoirs of the Prehistory of Nova Scotia, 1957–1967, edited by Michael Deal. Special Report. Nova Scotia Museum, Halifax. Fitzhugh, William W. 2006. Settlement, Social and Ceremonial Change in the Labrador Maritime Archaic. In The Archaic of the Far Northeast, edited by David Sanger and M. A. Priscilla Renouf, pp. 47–81. University of Maine Press, Orono. Funk, Robert E. 2004. An Ice-Age Quarry-Workshop: The West Athens Hill Site Revisited. Bulletin 504. New York State Museum, Albany. Gadd, N. R. (editor). 1988. The Late Quaternary Development of the Champlain Sea Basin. Special Paper 35. Geological Association of Canada, Ottawa. Geherls, W. Roland, Daniel F. Belknap, Bryan R. Pearce, and Bin Gong. 1995. Modeling the Contribution of M2 Tidal Amplification to the Holocene Rise of Mean High Water in the Gulf of Maine and the Bay of Fundy. Marine Geology 124:71–85. Grant, Douglas R. 1970. Recent Coastal Submergence of the Maritime Provinces, Canada. Canadian Journal of Earth Sciences 7:676–689. Grimes, John R. 1979. A New Look at Bull Brook. Anthropology 3(1–2):109–130. Grimes, John R., William Eldridge, Beth L. Grimes, Antonio Vaccaro, Frank Vaccaro, Joseph Vaccaro, N. Vaccaro, and Antonio Orsini. 1984. Bull Brook II. Archaeology of Eastern North America 12:159–183. Gulf of Maine Aquarium. 2005. Comparing Oceans: Temperate versus Tropical Seas. Electronic document, http://www.gma.org/herring/biology/distribution/comparing_ oceans.asp, accessed April 8, 2005. Hamilton, Nathan D. 1991. Final Report for Northeast Casco Bay and Casco Bay Intensive Site Survey, Part I and Part II: 1988 and 1989. Report 2670 on file, Maine Historic Preservation Commission, Augusta. Hart, John R., and Christina B. Rieth (editors). 2002. Northeast Subsistence–Settlement Change: A.D. 700–1300. Bulletin 496. New York State Museum, Albany. Hoffman, Curtiss. 2006. Late to Transitional Archaic Exchange in Eastern Massachusetts. Archaeology of Eastern North America 34:91–103. Hrynick, M. Gabriel, Matthew W. Betts, and David W. Black. 2012. A Late Maritime Woodland Period Dwelling Feature from Nova Scotia’s South Shore: Evidence for Patterned Use of Domestic Space. Archaeology of Eastern North America 40:1–25. Hrynick, M. Gabriel, and David W. Black. 2016. Cultural Continuity in Maritime Wood-

74 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

land Period Domestic Architecture in the Quoddy Region. Canadian Journal of Archaeology 40:23–67. Hrynick, M. Gabriel, W. Jesse Webb, and Christopher E. Shaw. 2017. Late Maritime Woodland to Protohistoric Culture Change and Continuity at Devil’s Head, Calais, Maine. Archaeology of Eastern North America 45:85–108. Ingraham, Robert C., Brian S. Robinson, Kristin D. Sobolik, and A. Sky Heller. 2015. Left for the Tide to Take Back: Specialized Processing of Seals on Machias Bay, Maine. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 10:1–18. Ireland, Lloyd C. 1997. Maine’s Forest Vegetation Regions: Selected Maps 1858–1993. Northeastern Naturalist 4:241–260. Kelley, Joseph T., Daniel F. Belknap, Alice R. Kelley, and Stefan H. Claesson. 2013. A Model for Drowned Terrestrial Habitats with Associated Archeological Remains in the Northwestern Gulf of Maine. Marine Geology 338:1–16. Kellogg, Douglas. 1987. Statistical Relevance and Site Locational Data. American Antiquity 52:143–150. Kellogg, Douglas. 1994. Why Did They Choose to Live Here? Ceramic Period Settlement in the Boothbay Region of Maine. Northeast Anthropology 48:25–60. Kellogg, Douglas. 2003. The Neal Garrison Paleoindian Site, York County, Maine. Archaeology of Eastern North America 31:73–131. Lennox, Brent, Ian Spooner, Timothy Jull, and William P. Patterson. 2010. Post-Glacial Climate Change and Its Effect on a Shallow Dimictic Lake in Nova Scotia, Canada. Journal of Paleolimnology 43:15–27. Leonard, Kevin. 1995. Woodland or Ceramic Period? A Theoretical Problem. Northeast Anthropology 50:19–30. Loring, Stephen. 1980. Paleo-Indian Hunters and the Champlain Sea: A Presumed Association. Man in the Northeast 19:15–42. Loring, Stephen. 2002. “And They Took Away the Stones from Ramah”: Lithic Raw Material Sourcing and Eastern Arctic Archaeology. In Honoring Our Elders: A History of Eastern Arctic Archaeology, edited by William W. Fitzhugh, Stephen Loring, and Daniel Odess, pp. 163–185. National Museum of Natural History, Contributions to Circumpolar Anthropology 2. Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Lovell, Nancy C., Brian S. Chisholm, D. Erle Nelson, and Henry P. Schwarcz. 1986. Prehistoric Salmon Consumption in Interior British Columbia. Canadian Journal of Archaeology 10:99–106. MacDonald, George F. 1968. Debert: A Paleoindian Site in Central Nova Scotia. Anthropology Paper 16. National Museum of Canada, Ottawa. MacKinnon, Colin. 2003. The Susquehanna Tradition. The White Fence 23. Electronic document, http://heritage.tantramar.com/WFNewsletter_23.html, accessed March 1, 2010. McGhee, Robert, and James A. Tuck. 1975. An Archaic Sequence from the Strait of Belle Isle, Labrador. National Museums of Canada, Ottawa. McManamon, Francis P., and James W. Bradley. 1988. The Indian Neck Ossuary. Scientific American 258(2):98–104. Monckton, Steve. 2002. Micuwakonuwa. Food and Subsistence: Plant Remains. In Wolastoqiyik Ajemseg: The People of the Beautiful River at Jemseg: 2. Archaeological Results,

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 75

edited by Susan E. Blair, pp. 123–126. Manuscripts in Archaeology 31. Archaeological Services, New Brunswick Culture and Sport Secretariat, Fredericton. Murphy, Brent M. 1998. Researching the Early Holocene of the Maritime Provinces. Master’s thesis, Department of Anthropology, Memorial University of Newfoundland, St. John’s. Nash, Ronald J. 1984. Mi’kmaq: Economics and Evolution. St. Francis Xavier University, Antigonish, Nova Scotia. Nash, Ronald J., and Virginia P. Miller. 1987. Model Building and the Case of the Micmac Economy. Man in the Northeast 34:41–56. Nash, Ronald J., and Frances L. Stewart. 1990. Melanson: A Large Micmac Village in Kings County, Nova Scotia. Curatorial Report 67. Nova Scotia Museum, Halifax. Nash, Ronald J., Frances L. Stewart, and Michael Deal. 1991. Melanson: A Central Place in Southwestern Nova Scotia. In Prehistoric Archaeology in the Maritime Provinces: Past and Present Research, edited by Michael Deal and Susan E. Blair, pp. 221–228. Committee for Archaeological Cooperation, Reports in Archaeology 8. Council of Maritime Premiers, Fredericton, New Brunswick. Neil, Karen, Konrad Gajewski, and Matthew Betts. 2014. Human–Ecosystem Interactions in Relation to Holocene Climate Change in Port Joli Harbour, Southwestern Nova Scotia, Canada. Quaternary Research 81:203–212. Newby, Paige, James Bradley, Arthur Spiess, Bryan Shuman, and Phillip Leduc. 2004. A Paleoindian Response to the Younger Dryas Climate Change. Quaternary Science Reviews 24(1–2):141–154. Nichol, L., and R. Boyd. 1993. Morphostratigraphy and Facies Architecture of Sandy Barriers along the Eastern Shore of Nova Scotia. Marine Geology 114(1–2):59–80. Oldale, Robert. 1985. Rapid Postglacial Changes in the Western Gulf of Maine and Paleoindian Environment. American Antiquity 50:145–150. Petersen, James B. 1991. Archaeological Testing at the Sharrow Site: A Deeply Stratified Early to Late Holocene Cultural Sequence in Central Maine. Occasional Publications in Maine Archaeology 8. Maine Historic Preservation Commission and Maine Archaeological Society, Augusta. Petersen, James B. (editor). 1991. Archaeological Investigations in the Central Kennebec River Drainage: Phase III Data Recovery at the Smith and Smith’s Landing Sites, Somerset Co., Maine. Manuscript on file, Maine Historic Preservation Commission, Augusta. Petersen, James B. 1996. Fiber Industries from Northern New England: Ethnicity and Technological Traditions during the Woodland Period. In A Most Indispensable Art: Native Fiber Industries from Eastern North America, edited by James B. Petersen, pp. 100–119. University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville. Petersen, James B., and Nancy Asch Sidell. 1996. Mid-Holocene Evidence of Cucurbita sp. from Central Maine. American Antiquity 61(4):685–698. Petersen, James B., and David Sanger. 1991. An Aboriginal Ceramic Sequence for Maine and the Maritimes. In Prehistoric Archaeology in the Maritime Provinces: Past and Present Research, edited by Michael Deal and Susan E. Blair, pp. 121–178. Committee for Archaeological Cooperation, Reports in Archaeology 8. Council of Maritime Premiers, Fredericton, New Brunswick.

76 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

Petersen, James B., Brian Robinson, Daniel F. Belknap, James Stark, and Lawrence K. Kaplan. 1994. An Archaic and Woodland Period Fishweir Complex in Central Maine. Archaeology of Eastern North America 22:197–222. Pintal, Jean-Yves. 2003. Préhistoire de la chasse au phoque dans le détroit de Belle-Isle. Recherches Amérindiennes au Québec XXXIII(1):35–43. Pintal, Jean-Yves. 2006. The Archaic Sequence of the St. Lawrence Lower North Shore. In The Archaic of the Far Northeast, edited by David Sanger and M.A.P. Renouf, pp. 105–138. University of Maine Press, Orono. Plourde, Michel. 2006. The Cap de Bon-Désir Site: A New Regional Variation of the Gulf of Maine Archaic Tradition. In The Archaic of the Far Northeast, edited by David Sanger and M. A. Priscilla Renouf, pp. 139–159. University of Maine Press, Orono. Price, Franklin, and Arthur Spiess. 2007. A New Submerged Prehistoric Site and Other Fishermen’s Reports near Mount Desert Island. Maine Archaeological Society Bulletin 47(2):21–35. Price, Franklin, and Arthur Spiess. 2013. Three Prehistoric Lithic Tools Recovered by Fishermen off the Maine Coast. Maine Archaeological Society Bulletin 47(2):21–35. Prins, Harold. 1992. Cornfields at Meductic: Ethnic and Territorial Reconfigurations in Colonial Acadia. Man in the Northeast 44:55–72. Renouf, M.A.P., and Trevor Bell. 2006. Maritime Archaic Site Locations on the Island of Newfoundland. In The Archaic of the Far Northeast, edited by David Sanger and M.A.P. Renouf, pp. 1–46. University of Maine Press, Orono. Ritchie, William. 1951. A Current Synthesis of New York Prehistory. American Antiquity 17:130–136. Robinson, Brian. 1985. The Nelson Island and Seabrook Marsh Sites. Occasional Publications in Northeastern Anthropology 9. Franklin Pierce College, Rindge, New Hampshire. Robinson, Brian. 1996. Projectile Points, Other Diagnostic Things and Culture Boundaries in the Gulf of Maine Region. Maine Archaeological Society Bulletin 36(2):1–24. Robinson, Brian. 2005. A Tale of Four Archaic Period Shell Middens on the Gulf of Maine. Review of Archaeology 26(1):30–35. Robinson, Brian. 2006. Burial Ritual, Technology, and Cultural Landscape in the Far Northeast, 8600–3700 B.P. In The Archaic of the Far Northeast, edited by David Sanger and M.A.P. Renouf, pp. 341–381. University of Maine Press, Orono. Robinson, Brian. 2012. The Bull Brook Paleoindian Site and Jeffery’s Ledge: A Gathering Place near Caribou Island? In Late Pleistocene Archaeology and Ecology in the Far Northeast, edited by Claude Chapdelaine, pp. 182–190. Texas A&M University Press, College Station. Robinson, Brian, and A. Sky Heller. 2017. Maritime Culture Patterns and Animal Symbolism in Eastern Maine. Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 10:90–104. Robinson, Brian, Jennifer C. Ort, William A. Eldridge, Adrian L. Burke, and Bertrand G. Pelletier. 2009. Paleoindian Aggregation and Social Context at Bull Brook. American Antiquity 74:423–447. Rojo, Alphonso. 1987a. Excavated Fish Vertebrae as Predictors in Archaeological Research. North American Archaeologist 8(3):209–225.

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 77

Rojo, Alphonso. 1987b. Live Length and Weight of Cod (Gadus morhua) Estimated from Various Skeletal Elements. North American Archaeologist 7(4):1–11. Rosenmeier, Leah, Scott Buchanan, Ralph Stea, and Gordon Brewster. 2012. New Sites and Lingering Questions at the Debert and Belmont Sites, Nova Scotia. In Late Pleistocene Archaeology and Ecology in the Far Northeast, edited by Claude Chapdelaine, pp. 113–134. Texas A&M University Press, College Station. Sanger, David. 1971. Prehistory of Passamaquoddy Bay: A Summary. Maine Archaeological Society Bulletin 11:14–19. Sanger, David. 1974. Recent Meetings in Maine/Maritimes Archaeology. Man in the Northeast 7:128–129. Sanger, David. 1975. Culture Change as an Adaptive Process in the Maine–Maritimes Region. Arctic Anthropology 12(2):60–75. Sanger, David. 1982. Changing Views of Aboriginal Settlement and Seasonality in the Gulf of Maine. Canadian Journal of Anthropology 2(2):195–203. Sanger, David. 1987. The Carson Site and the Late Ceramic Period in Passamaquoddy Bay, New Brunswick. Archaeological Survey of Canada, Mercury Series, Paper 135. National Museums of Canada, Ottawa. Sanger, David. 1988. Maritime Adaptations in the Gulf of Maine. Archaeology of Eastern North America 16:81–100. Sanger, David. 1995. Mesolithic Maritime Adaptations: The View from North America. In Man and the Sea in the Mesolithic, edited by Anders Fischer, pp. 335–349. Oxbow Monographs 53. Oxbow Books, Oxford. Sanger, David. 1996a. An Analysis of Seasonal Transhumance Models for Pre-European State of Maine. Review of Archaeology 17(1):54–58. Sanger, David. 1996b. Testing the Models: Hunter-Gatherer Use of Space in the Gulf of Maine, USA. World Archaeology 27(3):512–526. Sanger, David. 2003. Who Lived in Pre-European Maine? A Cosmological Approach to Social Patterning on the Landscape. Northeast Anthropology 66:29–39. Sanger, David. 2006. An Introduction to the Archaic of the Maritime Peninsula: The View from Central Maine. In The Archaic of the Far Northeast, edited by David Sanger and M.A.P. Renouf, pp. 221–252. University of Maine Press, Orono. Sanger, David. 2008. Discerning Regional Variation: The Terminal Archaic Period in the Quoddy Region of the Maritime Peninsula. Canadian Journal of Archaeology 32(1):1– 42. Sanger, David, and Thomas Chase. 1983. Preliminary Statement on the Archaeology of the Roque Islands, Washington County, Maine. Paper presented at the 16th Annual Meeting of the Canadian Archaeological Association, Halifax, Nova Scotia. Sanger, David, and Stephen A. Davis. 1991. Preliminary Report on the Bain Site and the Chegoggin Archaeological Project. In Prehistory of the Maritime Provinces: Past and Present Research, edited by Michael Deal and Susan E. Blair, pp. 59–71. Council of Maritime Premiers, Fredericton, New Brunswick. Sanger, David, and Mary Jo Sanger. 1986. Boom or Bust on the River: The Story of the Damariscotta Oyster Shell Heaps. Archaeology of Eastern North America 14:65–77. Schwarcz, Henry P. 1991. Some Theoretical Aspects of Isotopic Paleodiet Studies. Journal of Archaeological Science 18:261–271.

78 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

Shaw, John, Carl L. Amos, David A. Greenberg, Charles T. O’Reilly, D. Russell Parrott, and Eric Patton. 2010. Catastrophic Tidal Expansion in the Bay of Fundy, Canada. Canadian Journal of Earth Sciences 47(8):1079–1091. Shipp, R. Craig. 1989. Late Quaternary Sea-Level Fluctuations and Geological Evolution of Four Embayments and Adjacent Inner Shelf along the Northwestern Gulf of Maine. Unpublished PhD dissertation, Institute for Quaternary Studies, University of Maine, Orono. Snow, Dean R. 1980. The Archaeology of New England. Academic Press, New York. Soctomah, Donald. 2002. Passamaquoddy at the Turn of the Century. Passamaquoddy Tribe of Indian Township, Princeton, Maine. Spiess, Arthur. 1992. Archaic Period Subsistence in New England and the Atlantic Provinces. In Early Holocene Occupation in Northern New England, edited by Brian Robinson, James B. Petersen, and Ann S. Robinson, pp. 163–185. Occasional Publications in Maine Archaeology 9. Maine Historic Preservation Commission, Augusta. Spiess, Arthur. 1993. Caribou, Walrus and Seals: Maritime Archaic Subsistence in Labrador and Newfoundland. In Archaeology of Eastern North America: Papers in Honor of Stephen Williams, edited by James B. Stoltman, pp. 73–100. Archaeology Report 25. Mississippi Department of Archives and History, Jackson. Spiess, Arthur. 2003. Phoques et morses dans la préhistoire du littoral du golfe du Maine. In Recherches Amérindiennes au Québec XXXIII(1):11–19. Spiess, Arthur. 2017. People of the Clam: Shellfish and Diet in Coastal Maine Late Archaic and Ceramic Period Sites. Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 10:105–112. Spiess, Arthur, and David W. Black. 2004. Prehistoric Economic Adaptations to the Gulf of Maine Region. Paper presented to Plenary Session of the 69th Annual Meeting of the Society for American Archaeology, Montreal, Quebec. Spiess, Arthur, James Bradley, and Deborah Wilson .1998. Paleoindian Occupation in the New England-Maritimes Region: Beyond Cultural Ecology. Archaeology of Eastern North America 26:201–264. Spiess, Arthur, and Leon Cranmer. 1990. Upper Piscataquis Flood Control Structures: Phase IA Archaeological Survey. Report 2574 on file, Maine Historic Preservation Commission, Augusta. Spiess, Arthur, Mary Lou Curran, and John Grimes. 1985. Caribou (Rangifer tarandus L.) Bones from New England Paleoindian Sites. North American Archaeologist 6(2):145– 159. Spiess, Arthur, and Mark Hedden. 1983. Kidder Point and Sears Island in Prehistory. Occasional Publications in Maine Archaeology 3. Maine Historic Preservation Commission, Augusta. Spiess, Arthur, and Mark Hedden. 2000. Susquehanna Tradition Activity Areas at the Waterville–Winslow Bridge. Maine Archaeological Society Bulletin 40(1):23–54. Spiess, Arthur, and Robert Lewis. 2001. The Turner Farm Fauna: 5000 Years of Hunting and Fishing in Penobscot Bay, Maine. Occasional Publications in Maine Archaeology 11. Maine State Museum, Maine Historic Preservation Commission, and Maine Archaeological Society, Augusta. Spiess, Arthur, and John Mosher. 2003. Ntolonapemk or Site 96.2, Eastern Surplus Super-

Coastal Adaptations to the Northern Gulf of Maine and Southern Scotian Shelf · 79

fund Project Faunal Identifications. Report to the University of Maine at Farmington. Manuscript on file, Maine Historic Preservation Commission, Augusta. Spiess, Arthur, and John Mosher. 2006. Archaic Period Hunting and Fishing around the Gulf of Maine. In The Archaic of the Far Northeast, edited by David Sanger and M.A.P. Renouf, pp. 383–408. University of Maine, Orono. Spiess, Arthur, John Mosher, Kathleen Callum, and Nancy Asch Sidell. 1995. Fire on the Plains: Paleo-environmental Data from the Hedden Site. Maine Archaeological Society Bulletin 35(1):13–52. Spiess, Arthur, Kristin Sobolik, Diana Crader, John Mosher, and Deborah Wilson. 2004. Cod, Clams and Deer: The Food Remains from Indiantown Island. Manuscript on file, Maine Historic Preservation Commission, Augusta. Spiess, Arthur, and Elizabeth Trautman. 2003. Prehistoric Archaeology at the Maine Historic Preservation Commission: Records and Computers. Maine Archaeological Society Bulletin 43(1):29–50. Spiess, Arthur, and Deborah Wilson. 1987. Michaud: A Paleoindian Site in the New England–Maritimes Region. Occasional Publications in Maine Archaeology 6. Maine Historic Preservation Commission and Maine Archaeological Society, Augusta. Stewart, Frances L. 2006. Zooarchaeological Remains from the Mill Lake Island Site (BhDq5), New Brunswick. Unpublished manuscript on file, Archaeological Services Unit, Government of New Brunswick, Fredericton. Suttie, Brent D. 2005. Archaic Period Archaeological Research in Southwestern New Brunswick. Unpublished master’s thesis, Department of Anthropology, University of New Brunswick, Fredericton. Suttie, Brent D., Michael A. Nicholas, Jason S. Jeandron, Grant R. Aylesworth, Ashley B. Brzezicki, and Anne C. Hamilton 2013. Recent Research on Four Sites Spanning 13,000 Years from Southwestern New Brunswick, Canada. Canadian Archaeological Association Newsletter 31(1):69–75. Turnbull, Christopher J., and David W. Black. 1988. The Slate Ulu from White Horse Island. In Bliss Revisited: Preliminary Accounts of the Bliss Islands Archaeology Project, Phase II, edited by David W. Black, pp. 73–79. Manuscripts in Archaeology 24E. New Brunswick Department of Tourism, Recreation and Heritage, Fredericton. Tuck, James A. 1984. Maritime Provinces Prehistory. Archaeological Survey of Canada, National Museum of Man, Ottawa. Van Groenewoud, H. 1984. The Climatic Regions of New Brunswick: A Multivariate Analysis of Meteorological Data. Canadian Journal of Forestry Research 14:389–394. Wanamaker, Alan D., Jr., Karl J. Kreutz, Bernd R. Schöne, and Douglas S. Introne. 2011. Gulf of Maine Shells Reveal Changes in Seawater Temperature Seasonality during the Medieval Climate Anomaly and the Little Ice Age. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology 302(1–2):43–51. Whitehead, Ruth Holmes. 1991. The Protohistoric Period in the Maritime Provinces. In Prehistory of the Maritime Provinces: Past and Present Research, edited by Michael Deal and Susan E. Blair, pp. 227–258. Council of Maritime Premiers, Fredericton. Worcester, T., and M. Parker. 2010. Ecosystem Status and Trends Report for the Gulf of Maine and Scotian Shelf. Canadian Science Advisory Secretariat. Research Document 2010/070. Fisheries and Oceans Canada, Bridgetown, Nova Scotia.

80 · Matthew W. Betts, David W. Black, Brian Robinson, and Arthur Spiess

Yesner, David. 1980a. Archaeology of Casco Bay: A Preliminary Report. Maine Archaeological Society Bulletin 20:60–74. Yesner, David. 1980b. Maritime Hunter-Gatherers: Ecology and Prehistory. Current Anthropology 21:60–74. Yesner, David. 1984. Population Pressure in Coastal Environments: An Archaeological Test. World Archaeology 16:108–127. Young, Robert S., Daniel F. Belknap, and David A. Sanger. 1992. Geoarchaeology of Johns Bay, Maine. Geoarchaeology 7(3):209–249.

4 Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight Daria Merwin

The study of indigenous maritime cultural landscapes seeks to explore the relationship between people and the water (Westerdahl 1992, 2011). If we are to reconstruct the nature of this relationship over long periods of time along the Atlantic coast of North America, however, we must account for environmental changes, particularly sea level rise and related shifts in ecological communities and habitats on the shore and at sea. This chapter focuses on the archaeology of the Atlantic coast from southern New Jersey to southeastern Massachusetts, an area largely composed of the New York Bight (Figure 4.1). This region was occupied for more than 12,000 years by the predecessors of modern and historically known Algonquianspeaking Native Americans. The archaeology of the region has a history dating back to the nineteenth century (Cantwell and Wall 2003; Mounier 2003). During the twentieth century, the archaeological record here was explored through numerous studies conducted by avocational excavators, as part of cultural resource management projects, and, to a lesser degree, as traditional academic research. These activities continue today, with most of the work being done in advance of construction and other development projects. Surveys of regional prehistory are provided in Cross (1941, 1956), Kraft (1986), Lavin (2013), Levine and colleagues (1999), Mounier (2003), Ritchie (1969, 1980), and Snow (1980), providing an important framework for the discussion presented here. Paleoenvironment of the Coastal Plain

The last advance of the Wisconsinan glacier extended as far south as present-day New York City, though nearly all of eastern North America was

82 · Daria Merwin

Figure 4.1. Map of the New York Bight, including archaeological sites mentioned in the text.

ice-free by 13,500 BP (Newby et al. 2001). Sea level curves for New York Harbor (summarized in Pirazzoli 1991:192–193) suggest that water levels were approximately 28 m below modern mean sea level (MSL) 10,000 years ago, 22 m lower 8,000 years ago, between 12 and 17 m lower 6,000 years ago, 8 m lower 4,000 years ago, and 3 m lower 2,000 years ago. Although

Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight · 83

sea level curves may help predict the location of paleoshorelines over time, they are best used as general guidelines rather than as static models. There are more recent sea level curves published for the New York Bight (e.g., Donnelly 1998; Stanley et al. 2004) than those provided by Pirazzoli (1991), but like the earlier curves, they are typically derived from core data collected from the inner continental shelf and do not extend earlier than the Middle Holocene. Thus, these curves do not deal directly with sea levels on the outer continental shelf (where isostatic forces may be less important) or with predictions for the location of Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene archaeological sites. As Benjamin (2010:260) notes, “a conservative window of ± several meters may be required in order to evaluate a specific region based on the available sea level curve. This is especially true since coastal landscape morphology can vary greatly by individual location.” Ecological systems were transgressive over time and space as the Pleistocene epoch ended and the Holocene began. Vegetation in the New York Bight region during the Late Pleistocene consisted largely of boreal forest dominated by coniferous species, particularly spruce. Based on arboreal pollen studies in southern New England, spruce accounted for more than 40% of the trees on the landscape 12,000 years ago (Gaudreau 1988:Figure 3). Other trees in a mixed conifer/hardwood forest in northern New Jersey and nearby areas around 12,000 BP included white pine, fir, and larch (McWeeney 1999:7). Pollen cores indicate that spruce had dropped to less than 40% by the start of the Holocene at 10,000 BP, while the percentage of oak trees made up roughly 20% of regional woodlands (Gaudreau 1988; Jacobson et al. 1987). Spruce drops out of the pollen record for the region after 8,000 years ago and is replaced by pines, indicative of a warmer climate (Gaudreau 1988). By 4000 BP, deciduous forests had expanded such that regional pollen data indicate oaks made up 50% of the forest and pines only 20% (Bernabo and Webb 1977), similar to modern conditions. Temporal and spatial shifts in faunal communities likely followed the changing floral patterns, but these shifts are not well documented. The Modern Shore and Its Environments Local sea level curves suggest that the general shape of the modern coastline of the New York Bight was established by 2,000 to 3,000 years ago, though periodic storms and recent human engineering both contribute to its morphology. Climate, ocean circulation patterns, and other natural features influence the availability and abundance of marine species that played a key role in human adaptations here.

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

84 · Daria Merwin

The New York Bight lies entirely within the Eastern Broadleaf Forest (Oceanic) Province as defined by the US Department of Agriculture (Bailey et al. 1994). Climate in this section of the Middle Atlantic coastal plain is characterized by a strong annual temperature cycle, with cold winters and warm summers, and average temperatures ranging between 4 and 15 °C. There is year-round precipitation in the region, with typically greater rainfall amounts in the summer months; the annual average ranges from 89 to 153 cm. There are three major forest associations within the province, mixed mesophytic (deciduous forest with high species diversity), Appalachian oak, and pine-oak (also known as pine barrens, found in areas of sandy soils along the coastal plain). Important terrestrial mammals include white-tailed deer, black bear, bobcat, fox, raccoon, and squirrel, while game birds include turkey, grouse, and quail (Bailey et al. 1994). The tidal salt marshes fringing the coastline contain numerous herbs (including grasses, sedges, and rushes) and shrubs, such as cordgrass, switchgrass, mallow, glasswort, fleabane, sea lavender, salt marsh aster, seaside plantain, cattail, bulrush, marsh elder, groundsel, and bayberry (Collins and Anderson 1994; Warren et al. 2015). Many of these plants have medicinal, dietary, or other economic value, as do numerous marine species native to regional waters. These include edible algae such as sea lettuce, mollusks (scallop, clam [surf, jackknife, soft- and hard-shell], mussel, oyster, whelk, squid), arthropods (lobster; rock, blue, and other crabs), fin fish (notably eel, shad, herring, hake, cod, drum, tautog, scup, jack, striped bass, summer and winter flounder, skates and rays, bluefish, tuna, marlin, and sturgeon), and marine mammals and whales (bottlenose dolphin, harbor porpoise, gray and harbor seals; blue, fin, humpback, minke, and right whales) (Able 1992; Weiss and Bennett 1995). Waterfowl, wading birds, and raptors are also available on the coast, with many species particularly abundant during seasonal migrations along the Atlantic Flyway (Howe et al. 1978). Chronology of Human Occupation

The study of maritime cultural landscapes seeks to understand human activity as integrated within a seascape, where natural resources connected with the water played an important role in daily life. The approach aims to combine both tangible and immaterial aspects of the relationship between people and the water. It includes elements of a “cognitive landscape,” in which aspects of the natural world are mapped in the human mind and often manifest as local tradition. Mapping may include the locations of useful

Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight · 85

plants and animals, the geographic aspect of social networks with communication over water, place-names, seafaring routes, reading changes in the wind and the appearance of the water, or celestial navigation. The archaeological record may include built aspects of a maritime cultural landscape, such as evidence of waterborne trade, fishing technology, shell middens and structures, monuments and maritime infrastructure on the waterfront, and watercraft (Westerdahl 1992, 2011). The maritime cultural landscape concept, though first devised roughly forty years ago by Westerdahl (1980), is now used to examine archaeological settings around the world and recently has been introduced to cultural heritage management (Aberg and Lewis 2000; Caporaso 2017; Ford 2011; Harris 2016). It should be noted that the lack of compelling evidence of early coastal adaptations such as shell midden deposits or indigenous fishing tools does not necessarily mean the maritime landscape was unimportant to past people. The acidic, sandy soils that characterize much of the coastal plain in the Middle Atlantic are generally not conducive to preservation of organic materials like bone, wood, leather, textiles, and basketry. Other evidence is presumably underwater, due to sea level rise. Many terrestrial sites excavated along the modern coast dating from the establishment of the modern shoreline (toward the end of the Late Archaic period onward) lack clear indicators that the maritime environment was exploited (Bernstein and Lenardi 2008). The lithic artifacts, often the only traces that are preserved, form an incomplete record, so researchers turn to circumstantial evidence to infer that marine resources such as fish and shellfish were strong attractors for human occupation. Evidence for the Earliest Human Occupation Direct evidence for early Paleoindian (roughly 12,500 to 10,000 BP) and Archaic (10,000 BP to 2700 BP) coastal or aquatic adaptations in the New York Bight is relatively sparse, though broad patterns of site locations on the coastal plain (both subaerial and submerged) suggest that this portion of the landscape was occupied for millennia. Early sites are now presumably underwater. To date, many underwater archaeological finds in eastern North America have been made by fishermen, while other sites have been accidentally unearthed by dredging and other construction activities (Stright 1990). Interviews with local fishermen to record archaeological finds can be informative, as has been demonstrated by surveys in the Chesapeake Bay (Blanton 1996), Narragansett Bay in Rhode Island (Lynch 2001; Merwin et al. 2003), and the Gulf of Maine (Crock et al. 1993). It is

86 · Daria Merwin

also possible to systematically search the seafloor for ancient archaeological remains with positive results, as has been shown in the northern Gulf of Mexico (Dunbar et al. 1992; Faught 2004) and more recently the Northeast (Lynch 2010; Merwin 2010). Although scattered Paleoindian projectile-point finds suggest a broad Late Pleistocene occupation of the New York Bight, archaeological sites from this period are rare. One of the best-studied Paleoindian sites in the greater New York Bight region is the Shawnee-Minisink site in the Upper Delaware River valley of eastern Pennsylvania. Charcoal from hearths in the Paleoindian component of the Shawnee-Minisink site has been radiocarbon dated to 10,590 ± 300 and 10,750 ± 600 RYBP (McNett 1985:6). Hints of a broad subsistence base include a variety of seeds and fruits at Shawnee-Minisink, while early exploitation of aquatic resources was previously supported by reported fish bones recovered from Paleoindian period contexts (Dent and Kauffman 1985; McNett 1985). As at Shawnee-Minisink, many eastern Paleoindian sites are located adjacent to what would have been freshwater resources at the time of occupation. The role marine resources, including fish, shellfish, and marine mammals, may have played in Paleoindian subsistence in the region is unclear; the previously reported fish bones recovered from the Shawnee-Minisink site have recently been reanalyzed and determined to be a modern contaminant and not fish bone at all (Gingerich et al. 2019). The Archaic period is characterized by the gradual development of more or less modern environmental conditions (Gaudreau 1988; McWeeney 1999). Humans adapted to the abundant resources provided by interior woodlands, ponds, and rivers, as well as coastal estuaries, by exploiting a broad range of food (nuts, large and small game, seedbearing plants, fish) and industrial products (stone for making tools and weapons, plants for baskets and textiles, bark for vessel and house construction). By 6000 BP the region was heavily settled, with populations for the coast along the New York Bight and offshore islands likely numbering in the thousands. Archaeological evidence of this apparent population “explosion” is reflected in the large number of archaeological sites dating to the Late Archaic period, and by the large size of the individual settlements (Mounier 2003; Ritchie 1980). However, the Late Archaic period is roughly coincident with slowing sea level rise rates and the establishment of the modern coastline. Late Archaic period lifeways in the region have a significant coastal component, characterized by the presence of shell middens, especially toward the latter part of the period, when sea levels were closest to current positions

Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight · 87

(Braun 1974). The model of lower population during the Early and Middle Archaic periods, followed by population growth during the Late Archaic, is based on the terrestrial archaeological record, but it is likely that earlier archaeological sites are now submerged on the formerly subaerial portions of the continental shelf. There are a few reported underwater archaeological sites in the New York Bight. More than two hundred Early, Middle, and Late Archaic lithic artifacts, including projectile points, bifacial tools, and flakes, together known as the Corcione collection, were recovered from a submerged context in the Atlantic Ocean during a dredging project in northern New Jersey. Underwater survey yielded two additional lithic artifacts, confirming the original submerged location of the deposit (Merwin 2003, 2010). The artifacts were found in water depths between 10 and 13 m. The Hammonasset Beach, Connecticut, assemblage is among the largest indigenous artifact collections recovered to date from an offshore source. The beach was replenished with dredged sands after a hurricane in 1955. Dredging was undertaken approximately 275 m from the modern shore, in roughly 5 m of water. Artifacts recovered from the replenished beach include one fluted quartz projectile point, along with Middle Archaic, Late Archaic, Transitional, and Woodland type points, drills, knives, scrapers, net sinkers, tool preforms, cores, hammerstones, flakes, fire-cracked rock, steatite pipe and bowl fragments, and a deer antler tool. Shell encountered while dredging may have been from a midden feature (Bourn 1977). The earliest well-dated evidence for shellfish utilization in the region is the Middle Archaic midden at Dogan Point, dominated by very large oyster shells fortuitously preserved on a terrace above the Hudson River (Claassen 1995). A broad diet is suggested by a wide range of invertebrate and vertebrate species, including aquatic (oyster, mussel, clam, whelk, blue crab, eel, cod, perch, bass), marsh or wetland (snapping turtle, diamondback terrapin, duck, beaver), and terrestrial (box turtle, wild turkey, raccoon, squirrel, deer) fauna. Although there is some evidence for oyster size change over time, these data are somewhat ambiguous and could be explained by a variety of issues, such as stratigraphic mixing, environmental variables, and human predation pressure (Claassen and Whyte 1985:73). Moreover, this subsistence pattern based on the exploitation of numerous species from a cross section of ecological zones appears to have persisted for millennia, as reflected in shell middens in the lower Hudson Valley, Long Island, and southern New England, a pattern also noted in other parts of the Atlantic coast (Betts et al., this volume; Reeder-Myers and Rick, this volume; Turck

88 · Daria Merwin

and Thompson, this volume). With an occupation beginning around 6000 BP, or perhaps earlier, Dogan Point is one of the oldest shell middens on the Atlantic coast of the United States. One of the site’s excavators noted that the early shell-bearing levels at Dogan Point suggest “that the use of marine resources occurred prior to the stabilization of sea level ca. 5000 years ago and that inundation of earlier coastal sites, not cultural retardation, accounted for the lack of shell matrix sites before sea level stabilization” (Claassen 1995:3). Underwater archaeological investigations in Massachusetts Bay and Nantucket Sound undertaken by David Robinson (2003; Robinson et al. 2003) provide clues to the coastal environment during the Middle Archaic. Coring in Nantucket Sound encountered evidence of an intact paleosol roughly 2 m beneath the seafloor, which contained birch, grass, and insect parts, and has been dated to approximately 5,500 years ago. Although no cultural materials were found in the cores, the stratigraphy suggests that intact Archaic period sites may be preserved here. The intertidal Atlantic Ledges site near Hull, Massachusetts, roughly dates to this period, with Middle Archaic period Stark and Neville points, and Late Archaic Brewerton, Squibnocket, and small stemmed points in the assemblage (Dincauze 1972). There are also several documented submerged and intertidal Late Archaic sites in the region. The Grassy Island site is an intertidal site with fully submerged loci in the Taunton River of Massachusetts; most of the artifacts appear to date to the Late Archaic period (Delabarre 1928; Johnson and Raup 1947). Artifact finds made by fishermen and beachcombers in Rhode Island have been documented (Lynch 2001; Merwin et al. 2003), including approximately one hundred lithic artifacts (projectile points, bifacial tools, plummets, steatite bowl fragments, and an atlatl weight) from the intertidal zone around Narragansett Bay, along with a gouge found off Prudence Island and a stemmed projectile point from Ninigret Pond. Several submerged sites have been identified in southern Connecticut rivers feeding into Long Island Sound, with most discovered during dredging. The North Cove site, near the mouth of the Connecticut River, consists of Late Archaic, Transitional, and Woodland period artifacts (projectile points, drills, scrapers, hammerstones, cores, net sinkers, fire-cracked rock, a steatite bowl fragment, and one pottery sherd) (Bourn 1972). The Ferry Road assemblage collected from dredge spoil also contains Late Archaic and Transitional period artifacts (Bourn 1977:36). The Pilot’s Point site was

Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight · 89

found during dredging near the mouth of Menumketesuck River and includes Late Archaic artifacts along with a partially fossilized human arm bone (Glynn 1953). The Spruce Swamp site on the Long Island Sound near Norwalk is a partially drowned shell midden encountered while dredging. Artifacts include more than one hundred projectile points (many small stemmed), pottery fragments, numerous lithic tools and flakes, ground stone tools including a fully grooved axe and a celt, and fire-cracked rock dating from the Late Archaic through Early Woodland periods (Powell 1965). A few submerged and intertidal precontact indigenous archaeological sites have been found adjacent to waterways feeding into Long Island Sound from the north shore of central Long Island. These include the Shoreham site, the Stony Brook Harbor site, and a site on Mount Sinai Harbor (Stright 1990). The sites at Shoreham and Stony Brook consist of intertidal deposits of lithic artifacts dating to the Late Archaic period, with fully submerged components. The Mount Sinai site is a shell midden, with the uppermost levels at 0.6 m below MSL. Finds from the south shore of Long Island include the Fish Creek site, consisting of pottery, net sinkers, worked cobbles, and other pieces found in 1.8 m of water (Merwin 2010). The Cedar Creek site (Stright 1990) is located on the southwest coast of Long Island. It consists of three shell middens with sparse undiagnostic lithic artifacts, but probably dating to the Woodland period, extending approximately 3 m below the current marsh surface. By the end of the Archaic period, sea levels had risen to such an extent that later Woodland period sites are generally not expected on the continental shelf, and instead only in nearshore contexts. Significantly, archaeological sites of all ages located on the modern coastline are being submerged today as sea levels continue to rise. Maritime Culture along the Modern Shore The modern coastline in the New York Bight was established by 2,000 years ago, and settlement trends that characterized the preceding millennia appear to continue once sea level rise slowed. Little behavioral change is discernible in the Woodland period archaeological record of the region (Bernstein 2006). Some artifacts such as projectile points changed form, steatite vessels are more common, and pottery seems to be increasingly important over time, but the long-established economic pattern of the exploitation of a broad range of natural resources continued. The role of agriculture at

90 · Daria Merwin

settlements along the coasts of New York, New Jersey, and southern New England is still not fully understood (Mounier 2003) and is a topic much debated by archaeologists (Ceci 1979, 1982; Chilton 2010; Silver 1981). Regardless of the importance of cultivated foods like corn, beans, and squash in the diet, it is clear that Native Americans on the coast continued to hunt, gather, and collect the abundant products of the natural environment (Bernstein 2002; Lavin 1988). Marine resources played an important role, as suggested by numerous shell middens throughout the New York Bight region (Cantwell and Wall 2001; Lavin 1988; Mounier 2003). One example is the Middle to Late Woodland period shell midden found on Liberty Island in New York Harbor. Charcoal from a pit feature predating the midden was radiocarbon dated to around 960 cal BP (Griswold 2002:21). The midden itself was dominated by oyster, with smaller numbers of soft-shell clam, ribbed mussel, slipper, oyster toadfish, white perch, codfamily fish, salamander, turtle, at least three duck species, pelican, bobwhite quail, rodents, dog, deer, and other unidentified mammals. Plant species represented in the Liberty Island midden include oak, hickory, elm, juniper, water lily, and flowering rushes (Griswold 2002:56–57). In general, the faunal and floral remains found in Woodland period middens suggest a broad diet for the inhabitants of the region. The artifact assemblage from Woodland period sites is similarly diverse. Most lithic tools were chipped stone, but ground stone tools are also present. Pottery is present in most reported Woodland period archaeological sites in the region. Early pottery tends to have grit temper, a pointed base, and minimal surface decoration. Later pottery has grit and/or shell temper, a more rounded base, and more elaborate decoration, including collared and castellated rims (Chilton 1999; Lavin 1988). People living near the coast were the first indigenous communities to come into contact with European explorers, starting in the early sixteenth century in what is now New York Harbor, and thus were among the first Native groups to undergo massive cultural change. At the time of contact, the coasts along New Jersey, New York, and southern New England were occupied by subgroups of Eastern Algonquian people (Bragdon 2001; Trigger 1978). These groups included the Delaware or Lenape in New Jersey and parts of southern New York; the Unquachog of eastern Long Island, who shared a language closely related to the Quiripi speakers of western Connecticut; the Pequot/Mohegan in eastern Connecticut, the Narragansett in Rhode Island; and the Pokanoket or their descendants the Wampanoag in southeastern Massachusetts, including Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket

Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight · 91

(Goddard 1978; Salwen 1978). While it is difficult to accurately assess population numbers prior to contact, in general it is believed that the temperate coastal areas of the Northeast were densely settled, with estimates ranging from 200 to 2,400 people per 100 km2 (Bragdon 2001:5). Native American populations in the region were reduced dramatically in the seventeenth century, when European-introduced diseases such as smallpox, yellow fever, and plague, coupled with aggression, resulted in tens of thousands of deaths (Bragdon 2001; Grumet 1995). By the early eighteenth century, many of the survivors had moved westward, though small Indian towns and reservations remained (Conkey et al. 1978; Goddard 1978:220–222). Much of the evidence that might be used to reconstruct maritime cultural landscapes in the region comes from archaeological sites from the past 3,000 years, as well as from written European accounts. Perhaps the most obvious connection between people and the sea is simply the presence of archaeological sites on islands dating well beyond the period when these places (e.g., Long, Shelter, Gardiners, Block, and Fishers Islands, Martha’s Vineyard, and Nantucket) were separated from the mainland by sea level rise, and the apparent cultural continuity in terms of similar material remains found on the islands and mainland coast (cf. Ritchie 1969, 1980). Other evidence includes shell-bearing sites that inform our subsistence and settlement models, fishing technology and maritime work, watercraft and traces of waterborne trade, place-names, and other traditions. Shell Midden Sites The archaeology of shell midden sites in the New York Bight is well developed, with a long history. Shell heaps and middens are among the most visible features on the anthropogenic landscape in marine settings, though they were frequently reworked and mined by later people for a range of agricultural, construction, and commercial purposes (Ceci 1984). Much of the archaeology conducted in coastal New York and the surrounding region has focused on the investigation of shell-bearing sites (Bernstein and Lenardi 2008:101). Shell middens often contain well-preserved vertebrate faunal remains and plant macrofossils. Occasional finds of human and dog burials in shell deposits suggest that, at least in some cases, these sites also reflect ritual or symbolic behavior (Kerber 2002). Several of the best-known shell midden sites in the region were excavated in the mid-twentieth century. The Tuckerton mound is distinct as an elevated feature that rises more than 3 m above the surrounding coastal marsh, which would have been adjacent to a tidal estuary when it was

92 · Daria Merwin

constructed (Cross 1941). It covers approximately 400 m2 above ground but extends laterally below the marsh to an undetermined distance and a depth of more than 4 m; it is composed nearly entirely of hard-shell clam, with smaller quantities of oyster and other species. A radiocarbon date of 1530 ± 55 RYBP was obtained (Stanzeski 1996), but it is unclear whether the Tuckerton mound represents a single deposition event. The Stony Brook site is somewhat earlier in date, with radiocarbon assays run in the 1950s yielding dates of 2900 ± 250 and 2930 ± 250 RYBP (Ritchie 1959). Interpreted as a multicomponent site, its setting is typical for many shell-bearing sites in coastal New York, located on a south-facing slope overlooking a bay fringed with marsh where both marine and terrestrial species would have been close at hand. The upper portion of the midden was particularly dense with shellfish remains (oyster, bay scallop, hard- and soft-shell clam, whelk), vertebrate fauna (deer, turkey, turtle, groundhog, raccoon, mink, gray fox, dog, squirrel, duck), acorns and hickory nuts, what appear to be roasting pits, hearths, and a human burial of an infant. Ritchie (1959) interpreted the site as a repeatedly occupied coastal base camp, where residents utilized a wide range of wild foods. Other notable shell midden sites in the region include the van der Kolk midden not far east of the Stony Brook site on Long Island (730 cal BP; Bernstein 2002), site RI1428 on Block Island, occupied between roughly 3000 and 1500 BP (Tveskov 1997), the Greenwich Cove site (radiocarbon dates on charcoal ranging from 610 ± 110 to 2350 ± 140 RYBP; Bernstein 1993) and Lambert Farm site (midden dates of 810 ± 45 and 870 ± 80 RYBP; Kerber 1997), both on the mainland in Rhode Island, and the actively eroding multicomponent Lucy Vincent Beach site along with others on Martha’s Vineyard (Chilton and Doucette 2002). Data from coastal Connecticut shell-bearing sites are summarized in Lavin (1988). Seasonality studies demonstrate year-round occupation at many of these sites, and faunal and botanical analyses demonstrate a far-ranging reliance on a broad base of both marine and terrestrial resources. To date, the clearest evidence for year-round occupation has been found on Block Island, with deposits dating as early as 3000 BP (Tveskov 1997:355), roughly 1,000 years earlier than the southern New England mainland (Bernstein 1993) and 2,000 years earlier than Long Island and Cape Cod (Bernstein 2002; McManamon 1984). The relatively early evidence of sedentism associated with intensive use of marine resources (particularly large species such as sturgeon and seals) on Block Island may reflect the extraordinary richness of resources here, while Tveskov (1997:356) suggests that demographic pressure may at least in part

Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight · 93

explain the seeming delay elsewhere, with increasing population over the course of the Woodland period leading to intensification and more reliance on maritime resources. A recent synthesis of the published and gray literature for coastal New York and southern New England characterizes settlement patterns from the Late Archaic through Late Woodland periods as “flexible sedentism” and supports Bernstein’s (2006) reconstruction of long-term continuity in Native lifeways along the coast (Duranleau 2009). Fishing Technology and Maritime Work A relatively early focus on marine resources is suggested by the Boylston Street fish weir site (Décima and Dincauze 1998; Johnson 1942), found during subway construction in Boston near the Charles River estuary. The extensive weir structure made of wood stakes and wattle is located approximately 6 to 7 m below present sea level. The structure, which likely represents numerous small tidal weirs rather than one, was preserved by anaerobic estuarine muds. Radiocarbon dates between 5300 and 3700 cal BP place it within the Late Archaic period (Décima and Dincauze 1998:165). Remains of shoreline, estuarine, and riverine traps and weirs designed to catch large quantities of fish are relatively rare around the New York Bight (Lutins 1992), possibly because they are within unsurveyed intertidal areas or even fully submerged, and because they may have been ephemeral structures. Evidence for other fishing technologies such as nets and harpoons (either shore-based or from watercraft) is similarly sparse in the New York Bight. Early indigenous fishing equipment has been found offshore of Massachusetts, including a stone plummet from roughly 21 m of water off Plymouth (Otto 1999), probably reflecting accidental losses. A few bone toggle harpoons have been found at New England archaeological sites; these may have been used for open-water fishing of larger species like sturgeon (Little and Andrews 2010:72). Roger Williams (1997 [1643]:104–106) described several Narragansett fishing techniques he witnessed, including spearing and netting fish from canoes and wading and diving for shellfish and lobsters along the shore. Many traditional maritime economic endeavors were transformed in the wake of contact with European groups. One notable shift was from seemingly small-scale to mass production of wampum, cylindrical beads made from shells, produced by Native Americans in coastal Connecticut, Rhode Island, and Long Island. Prior to contact, shell beads served many roles (e.g., ornaments, payments, mnemonic devices for oral history, and

94 · Daria Merwin

symbols of bonds between groups); but after the European arrival, wampum was used almost exclusively as a medium of exchange, particularly between the coast and interior in the context of the seventeenth-century fur trade (Becker 1980; Otto 2009). Fort Corchaug, a palisaded site located near the northeastern tip of Long Island occupied between roughly 310 and 290 BP (AD 1640 and 1660), contained remains of wampum production, including iron and bone awls and numerous whelk columella (Solecki 1993). Another example of maritime work undertaken by Native peoples before and after contact is whaling. Opportunistic shore whaling when animals could be taken while stranded ashore is suggested in faunal remains from eastern Long Island, Nantucket, and elsewhere (Little and Andrews 2010; Martine 2016). Later, full-scale hunting of whales from boats was spurred by a strong market demand in Europe, and as they were dispossessed of land, some Native men from Long Island and New England turned to the water as a means of earning a livelihood in the new market economy (Strong 1989). As late as AD 1855, 51 of 53 adult males living in the Shinnecock community on the South Fork of Long Island were listed as mariners and fishermen in the New York state census (cited in Strong 1989:39). Many Native whalers from the region participated in long-distance voyages to the South Atlantic, Pacific, and Arctic Oceans during the nineteenth century (Button 2014). Watercraft and Waterborne Trade Regular use of boats and transport over waterways is a hallmark of a maritime culture. Native peoples developed boats that drew upon local natural resources and were well suited to local environmental conditions (Leshikar 1988); in eastern North America, dugout canoes were common. To date, nine complete and partial dugout indigenous canoes have been documented for southern New England, though the examples that have been dated are of relatively recent construction. All were found in ponds and lakes, suggesting that while they are relatively rare finds, their scarcity is likely linked to fortuitous preservation in waterlogged contexts and ensuing discovery, rather than a reflection of the number of watercraft maintained by coastal settlements at any given time during the centuries and even millennia prior to the arrival of Europeans. The southern New England dugout canoe assemblage consists of one found during dredging in Mountain Pond in Bethel, Connecticut; another from Squantz Pond in New Fairfield, Connecticut; one from West Hill Pond

Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight · 95

in Winsted, Connecticut; one from Billings Lake, North Stonington, Connecticut; one dating to roughly 550 years ago found in Great Pond, South Weymouth, Massachusetts; a partial vessel from Gunners Exchange Pond in Plymouth, Massachusetts; and three found by divers in Lake Quinsigamond in Worcester, Massachusetts, dating between 1640 and 1680. With the exception of the Lake Quinsigamond canoes (discovered in 2000–2001, and currently the subject of “Project Mishoon” by members of the Nipmuc Nation and others [Robinson 2011]), most of the canoes were discovered during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (McBride 2000; Orcutt 2014). More than a dozen dugout canoes have been found in New Jersey, mostly along the Delaware Bay and its tributaries in Cumberland County. Mounier (2003:113–114) lists canoes from Seaville, Tuckahoe, Dennisville, Dividing Creek, Gandy’s Beach, West Creek near Little Egg Harbor, Hackensack Meadows, Port Republic, Da Costa, Vineland, Hurffville, and Salt Pond near Vernon. The dates of these canoes are unknown, except for the Salt Pond specimen, radiocarbon dated to circa 450 cal BP. Virtually no archaeological evidence for precontact indigenous boatbuilding has been encountered in the region, though the appearance of large chipped and ground stone tools interpreted as axes, adzes, and gouges as early as the Middle Archaic period is possibly indicative of woodworking technology (Merwin 2003). The Eaton site in North Reading, Massachusetts, excavated in 1961, might represent a dugout canoe construction site. The primary feature is a substantial layer of charcoal, some pieces bearing a smooth surface on one face, which could have been produced by the repeated burning and scraping of a tree trunk to form a dugout canoe (Fowler 1975). The presence of five stone woodworking tools, along with proximity to the Skug River and Martin Pond, further supports the hypothesis that canoes were made here (Orcutt 2014:29–30). Sixteenth- and seventeenth-century European explorers and colonists (e.g., Danckaerts 1913 [1679–1680]; Williams 1997 [1643]; Wood 1865 [1634]) left written accounts describing the geographic ranges of two different Native American watercraft types, the northern bark canoe and the southern dugout canoe. The distribution of these types overlapped in southern New England. Other types of watercraft may have been used, including log rafts and boats made of woven reeds, though there is no record of these types of construction. In general, dugout canoes are stronger and more durable than bark boats and are well suited for navigating larger streams and open water. After his 426 BP (AD 1524) voyage around New York Harbor and

96 · Daria Merwin

surrounding waters, Verrazzano wrote about these vessels, describing them as “little boats with a single log of wood, hollowed out with admirable skill; there is ample room in them for fourteen to fifteen men; they operate a short oar, broad at the end, with only the strength of their arms, and they go to sea without any danger, and as swiftly as they please” (Verrazzano 1841). The extent of waterborne trade around the New York Bight for the long period prior to contact is less well understood, though the movement of raw materials suggests that open-water routes were well established. The presence of apparently “exotic” lithic material has long been noted by archaeologists; for example, jasper and rhyolite artifacts made from mainland materials recovered from Long Island sites, where assemblages are dominated by locally available quartz cobbles (Nadeau 2008). A recent study (Tweedie 2014) employed X-ray fluorescence to trace the material of steatite vessels found on eastern Long Island to their source in southern New England, finding that most of the artifact samples originated from the Oaklawn and Ochee Springs quarries in Rhode Island. The most direct route between the northeastern tip of Long Island and Rhode Island covers roughly 140 km through Block Island Sound, including long stretches of open water. Place-Names and Other Traditions Many of the intangible or cognitive aspects of a maritime cultural landscape are difficult to reconstruct for the New York Bight area, as the traditional knowledge shared within and between Native groups has been filtered through a European lens. In one jarring example, Tooker (1911:299–302) dedicates several pages of his book on Long Island place-names to a “List of Algonkian Names Suitable for Country Homes, Hotels, Clubs, MotorBoats, Etc.” Still, Algonquian place-names attest to the importance of the sea and shore. For example, on Long Island many of the surviving names refer to necks of land and the streams separating them, with other places like Amagansett (“in the neighborhood of the fishing place”); Kioshk, now Ellis Island (“gull island”); and Mashmanock, now Canoe Place (“place where there is moving or dragging of boats” [i.e., a portage point]) (Tooker 1911). A broader view of the relative importance of maritime resources as reflected by the indigenous vocabulary of southern New England may be gleaned from Roger Williams’ “A Key into the Language of America,” originally published in 1643. Williams devotes a full chapter each to the sea and to fish and fishing, and brief notes in other chapters hint that wayfinding

Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight · 97

may have been a shared oral tradition with a deep past. Names for the eight principal winds are given, and regarding knowledge of the night sky and constellations, “their very children can give names to many of them [stars], and observe their motions” (Williams 1997 [1643]:80). Material objects reflecting ancient beliefs or rituals associated with the maritime realm are similarly rare in the region. One unusual find near Wollaston Beach in Quincy, Massachusetts, found during construction in Caddy Park is particularly notable (Mahlstedt and Davis 2002). Here, a feature measuring roughly 1 × 2 m yielded 256 in situ artifacts, some in cache-like groups that suggest deposition in bags or perhaps lashed together. The chipped and ground stone artifacts included large stone blades, several adzes and gouges, a whale-tail atlatl weight, a whale-tail pendant, net sinkers, and an unusual whale effigy gouge. Small stemmed points suggest a Late Archaic or Early Woodland date. The artifacts suggest a toolkit geared to marine resources, and the presence of red ochre in the feature may imply ritual significance, perhaps as a burial, cenotaph, cache, or offering (Mahlstedt and Davis 2002:20–22). Fish and marine mammal effigies are somewhat more common north of the region, in the Gulf of Maine and Canada, though two carved steatite effigies found in southern Connecticut (a fish from Milford and a seal from Windsor) are of note (Lenik 2016:58–59). Discussion

Despite a rich tradition of coastal archaeological research in the New York Bight between Cape Cod and southern New Jersey, there are still many questions to be addressed in the region, particularly those dealing with the origins and consequences of adopting maritime cultural adaptations. The main advantage of a coastal environment to people is the variety of aquatic and terrestrial resources, especially abundant and concentrated food supplies such as shellfish beds and marsh plants, present within a relatively limited geographic area. Maritime environments frequently present relatively low risks and low costs, but potentially high returns, for hunter-gatherers (Perlman 1980). In North America, coasts supported hunter-gatherer groups with a high degree of sedentism and social complexity in otherwise very different environments (e.g., the temperate Pacific Northwest and the semitropical Gulf Coast of Florida) (Yesner 1980). Such “flexible sedentism” (Duranleau 2009) appears to be the case as early as 3,000 years ago in coastal southern New England, with year-round occupation of sites made

98 · Daria Merwin

possible by integrating maritime resources into a broad subsistence base. The ritual or symbolic function of shell deposits is one topic that has not yet been explored fully in the northeastern United States (Kerber 1997, 2002), while rare archaeological finds of objects such as marine animal effigies hint of underlying social complexity. This chapter also represents a starting point for using the concept of maritime cultural landscapes to characterize the region, and to understand what it may have meant to have a “coastal” worldview. Such an approach seeks to explore the intertwined relationship between people and the water (Westerdahl 1992, 2011). More work is needed to reconstruct the nature of this relationship in the New York Bight, though several hallmarks of maritime culture (e.g., island settlement, economic importance of marine species, fishing technology, watercraft and waterborne transportation, language) are documented here. One possible avenue of future inquiry could focus on the recent past of coastal Native peoples, mining the rich ethnohistorical record (only a very small fraction of which was presented above), oral history, traditional knowledge, and modern maritime-based economic activities, and linking these data with relevant aspects of the built and natural landscape. Close collaboration with indigenous communities, following the model of the Nipmuc Nation’s Project Mishoon (Robinson 2011), is important and fruitful. Other approaches, such as social network analysis (Mills 2017), may be coupled with the maritime cultural landscape concept to identify relationships between sites separated by water, and how these relationships may have changed over time. The land, shore, and sea bottom of the Atlantic coast in North America form a continuous swath that would have appeared much differently to the earliest settlers arriving at the end of the Pleistocene than it does today. People settled in and adapted to the coastal environment over the course of several millennia, but in order to understand this process, we must account for long-term change due to sea level rise and related shifts in ecological communities, as well as changes in population and social organization. While many of the benefits afforded by maritime landscapes are emphasized above, it should be noted that life on the coast may also include short-term hardships such as depletion of resources like shellfish beds, and periodic catastrophic storms, including hurricanes. Much work has been done to document subsistence and settlement patterns for coastal sites in the New York Bight, but archaeologists need to develop fine-grained reconstructions (among the data needed are better and/or additional radiometric dates from coastal sites, and more information regarding social and

Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight · 99

economic ties between coastal communities) if we are to learn how people in the past dealt with hardships. For example, future research focused on compiling radiocarbon dates from shell midden sites across the region, updating the record with calibrated dates that also account for marine reservoir effects where necessary, might reveal patterning in intensive marine resource use or abandonment correlated with climatic events such as the Little Ice Age, and shed light on the question of what role the coast played during times of environmental stress. This research is relevant outside of academia when we consider that 27% of the world’s population now lives in the near-coast zone (mapped at just 9% of the planet’s total land area) (Kummu et al. 2016). Successful strategies from the past for coping with demographic and environmental challenges could inform future plans for averting human catastrophe in light of accelerating sea level rise. Finally, not only modern human populations are threatened by global sea level rise and climate change, but so are coastal archaeological sites. Fully submerged sites are at somewhat lower risk from sea level rise, though exploration for sites on the continental shelf takes on some urgency in light of the accelerating rate of site destruction resulting from offshore dredging, drilling, and construction activities. More research is needed now, particularly for the most vulnerable sites in the intertidal zone and nearshore zones. The state of Rhode Island recently sponsored archaeological survey along the coast eroding in the wake of Superstorm Sandy, which serves as a case study regarding management of coastal sites threatened by rising sea levels and storms (Ives et al. 2017). It is hoped that many more such surveys are undertaken soon as part of a larger effort to help better understand the coastal peoples and environment of the New York Bight and expand on the issues and ideas discussed in this chapter. References Aberg, Alan, and Carenza Lewis (editors). 2000. The Rising Tide: Archaeology and Coastal Landscapes. Oxbow Books, Oxford. Able, Ken. 1992. Checklist of New Jersey Saltwater Fishes. Bulletin of the New Jersey Academy of Science 37(1):1–11. Bailey, Robert G., P. E. Avers, T. King, and W. H. McNab. 1994. Ecoregions and Subregions of the United States, with Supplementary Table of Map Unit Descriptions. United States Department of Agriculture Forest Service, Fort Collins, Colorado. Becker, Marshall J. 1980. Wampum: The Development of an Early American Currency. Bulletin of the Archaeological Society of New Jersey 36:1–11. Benjamin, Jonathan. 2010. Submerged Prehistoric Landscapes and Underwater Site Dis-

100 · Daria Merwin

covery: Reevaluating the “Danish Model” for International Practice. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 5:253–270. Bernabo, J. Christopher, and Thompson Webb III. 1977. Changing Patterns in the Holocene Pollen Record of Northeastern North America: A Mapped Summary. Quaternary Research 8:64–96. Bernstein, David J. 1993. Prehistoric Subsistence on the Southern New England Coast: The Record from Narragansett Bay. Academic Press, San Diego. Bernstein, David J. 2002. Late Woodland Use of Coastal Resources at Mount Sinai Harbor, Long Island, New York. In A Lasting Impression: Coastal, Lithic, and Ceramic Research in New England Archaeology, edited by Jordan E. Kerber, pp. 27–40. Bergin and Garvey, Westport, Connecticut. Bernstein, David J. 2006. Long-Term Continuity in the Archaeological Record from the Coast of New York and Southern New England, USA. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 1:271–284. Bernstein, David J., and Michael J. Lenardi. 2008. The Use of Lithic Resources in a Coastal Environment: Quartz Technology on Long Island, New York. In Current Approaches to the Analysis and Interpretation of Small Lithic Sites in the Northeast, edited by Christina B. Rieth, pp. 101–110. New York State Museum Bulletin 508. University of the State of New York, Albany. Blanton, Dennis B. 1996. Accounting for Submerged Mid-Holocene Archaeological Sites in the Southeast: A Case Study from the Chesapeake Bay Estuary, Virginia. In Archaeology of the Mid-Holocene Southeast, edited by Kenneth E. Sassaman and David G. Anderson, pp. 200–217. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Bourn, Richard Q., Jr. 1972. New Submerged Sites of Coastal Connecticut. Bulletin of the Archaeological Society of Connecticut 37:5–16. Bourn, Richard Q. 1977. The Hammonasset Beach Site (6 NH 36). Bulletin of the Archaeological Society of Connecticut 40:14–39. Bragdon, Kathleen J. 2001. The Columbia Guide to American Indians of the Northeast. Columbia University Press, New York. Braun, David P. 1974. Explanatory Models for the Evolution of Coastal Adaptation in Prehistoric Eastern New England. American Antiquity 39:582–596. Button, Emily. 2014. A Family Affair: Whaling as Native American Household Strategy on Eastern Long Island, New York. Northeast Historical Archaeology 43:110–129. Cantwell, Anne-Marie, and Diana diZerega Wall. 2001. Unearthing Gotham. Yale University Press, New Haven. Caporaso, Alicia (editor). 2017. Formation Processes of Maritime Archaeological Landscapes. Springer International, Basel. Ceci, Lynn. 1979. Maize Cultivation in Coastal New York: The Archaeological, Agronomical, and Documentary Evidence. North American Archaeologist 1:45–74. Ceci, Lynn. 1982. Method and Theory in Coastal New York Archaeology: Paradigms of Settlement Pattern. North American Archaeologist 3:5–36. Ceci, Lynn. 1984. Shell Midden Deposits as Coastal Resources. World Archaeology 16:62– 74. Chilton, Elizabeth S. 1999. Ceramic Research in New England: Breaking the Typological

Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight · 101

Mold. In The Archaeological Northeast, edited by Mary Ann Levine, Kenneth E. Sassaman, and Michael S. Nassaney, pp. 97–111. Bergin and Garvey, Westport, CT. Chilton, Elizabeth S. 2010. The Origin and Spread of Maize (Zea mays) in New England. In Nantucket and Other Native Places: The Legacy of Elizabeth Alden Little, edited by Elizabeth S. Chilton and Mary Lynn Rainey, pp. 159–180. State University of New York Press, Albany. Chilton, Elizabeth S., and Dianna L. Doucette. 2002. Archaeological Investigations at the Lucy Vincent Beach Site (19-DK-148): Preliminary Results and Interpretations. In A Lasting Impression: Coastal, Lithic, and Ceramic Research in New England Archaeology, edited by Jordan E. Kerber, pp. 41–70. Bergin and Garvey, Westport, Connecticut. Claassen, Cheryl. 1995. Digging into Dogan Point. In Dogan Point: A Shell Matrix Site in the Lower Hudson Valley, edited by Cheryl Claassen, pp. 3–38. Occasional Publications in Northeastern Anthropology, No. 14. Archaeological Services, Bethlehem, Connecticut. Claassen, Cheryl, and Thomas Whyte. 1995. Biological Remains at Dogan Point. In Dogan Point: A Shell Matrix Site in the Lower Hudson Valley, edited by Cheryl Claassen, pp. 65–78. Occasional Publications in Northeastern Anthropology, No. 14. Archaeological Services, Bethlehem, Connecticut. Collins, Beryl Robichaud, and Karl H. Anderson. 1994. Plant Communities of New Jersey: A Study in Landscape Diversity. Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick. Conkey, Laura E., Ethel Boissevain, and Ives Goddard. 1978. Indians of Southern New England and Long Island: Late Period. In Northeast, edited by Bruce G. Trigger, pp. 177–189. Handbook of North American Indians, Vol. 15, William C. Sturtevant, general editor. Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Crock, John G., James B. Petersen, and Ross M. Anderson. 1993. Scalloping for Artifacts: A Biface and Plummet from Eastern Blue Hill Bay, Maine. Archaeology of Eastern North America 21:179–192. Cross, Dorothy. 1941. Archaeology of New Jersey, Vol. 1. Archaeological Society of New Jersey and New Jersey State Museum, Trenton. Cross, Dorothy. 1956. Archaeology of New Jersey, Vol. 2: The Abbott Farm. Archaeological Society of New Jersey and New Jersey State Museum, Trenton. Danckaerts, Jasper. 1913. Journal of Jasper Danckaerts, 1679–1680. C. Scribner’s Sons, New York. Décima, Elena B., and Dena F. Dincauze. 1998. The Boston Back Bay Fish Weirs. In Hidden Dimensions: The Cultural Significance of Wetland Archaeology, edited by Kathryn Bernick, pp. 157–172. UBC Laboratory of Archaeology Occasional Publications, No. 1. University of British Columbia, Vancouver. Delabarre, Edmund B. 1928. A Prehistoric Skeleton from Grassy Island. American Anthropologist 30:476–480. Dent, Richard J., and Barbara E. Kauffman. 1985. Aboriginal Subsistence and Site Ecology as Interpreted from Microfloral and Faunal Remains. In Shawnee Minisink: A Stratified Paleoindian-Archaic Site in the Upper Delaware Valley of Pennsylvania, edited by Charles W. McNett, pp. 55–79. Academic Press, Orlando. Dincauze, Dena F. 1972. The Atlantic Phase: A Late Archaic Culture in Massachusetts. Man in the Northeast 4:40–61.

102 · Daria Merwin

Donnelly, Jeffrey P. 1998. Evidence of Late Holocene Post-Glacial Isostatic Adjustment in Coastal Wetland Deposits of Eastern North America. GeoResearch Forum 3–4:393– 400. Dunbar, James S., S. David Webb, and Michael K. Faught. 1992. Inundated Prehistoric Sites in Apalachee Bay, Florida, and the Search for the Clovis Shoreline. In Paleoshorelines and Prehistory: An Investigation of Method, edited by Lucille L. Johnson and Melanie Stright, pp. 117–146. CRC Press, Boca Raton, Florida. Duranleau, Deena L. 2009. Flexible Sedentism: The Subsistence and Settlement Strategies of the Pre-Contact Residents of Coastal New England and New York. PhD dissertation, Harvard University, Cambridge. Faught, Michael K. 2004. The Underwater Archaeology of Paleolandscapes, Apalachee Bay, Florida. American Antiquity 69:275–289. Ford, Ben (editor). 2011. The Archaeology of Maritime Landscapes. Springer, New York. Fowler, William. 1975. A Review of Dugout-Making. Bulletin of the Massachusetts Archaeological Society 37:1–5. Gaudreau, Denise C. 1988. The Distribution of Late Quaternary Forest Regions in the Northeast: Pollen Data, Physiography, and the Prehistoric Record. In Holocene Human Ecology in Northeastern North America, edited by George P. Nicholas, pp. 215–256. Plenum Press, New York. Gingerich, Joseph A. M., Thomas R. Whyte, and Scott Whittaker. 2019. Misidentified Clovis-Age Fish Bone at Shawnee-Minisink and the Problem with Single Case Studies in Late Pleistocene Archaeology. Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 25:94–99. Glynn, Frank. 1953. The Pilot’s Point Submerged Sites. Bulletin of the Archaeological Society of Connecticut 27:11–29. Goddard, Ives. 1978. Delaware. In Northeast, edited by Bruce G. Trigger, pp. 213–239. Handbook of North American Indians, Vol. 15, William C. Sturtevant, general editor. . Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Griswold, William A. 2002. Archeology of a Prehistoric Shell Midden, Statue of Liberty National Monument, New York. Occasional Publications in Field Archaeology No. 1, Archeology Branch, Northeast Region, National Park Service, U.S. Department of the Interior, Lowell, Massachusetts. Grumet, Robert S. 1995. Historic Contact: Indian People and Colonists in Today’s Northeastern United States in the Sixteenth through Eighteenth Centuries. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman. Harris, Lynn (editor). 2016. Sea Ports and Sea Power: African Maritime Cultural Landscapes. Springer International, Basel. Howe, Marshall A., Roger B. Clapp, and John S. Weske. 1978. Marine and Coastal Birds. Marine Ecosystem Analysis Program (MESA) New York Bight Atlas Monograph 31. New York Sea Grant Institute, Albany, New York. Ives, Timothy H., Kevin A. McBride, and Joseph N. Waller. 2017. Surveying Coastal Archaeological Sites Damaged by Hurricane Sandy in Rhode Island, USA. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 12:1–23. Jacobson, G. L., Thompson Webb, and E. C. Grimm. 1987. Patterns and Rates of Vegetation Change during the Deglaciation of Eastern North America. In America during Degla-

Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight · 103

ciation, edited by W. F. Ruddiman and H. E. Wright, Jr. The Geology of North America Volume K-3. Geological Society of America, Boulder, Colorado. Johnson, Frederick. 1942. The Boylston Street Fishweir. Papers of the Robert S. Peabody Foundation for Archaeology, Vol. 2. Andover, Massachusetts. Johnson, Frederick, and Hugh M. Raup. 1947. Grassy Island: Archaeological and Botanical Investigations of an Indian Site in the Taunton River, Massachusetts. Papers of the Robert S. Peabody Foundation for Archaeology, Vol. 1, No. 2. Andover, Massachusetts. Kerber, Jordan E. 1997. Lambert Farm: Public Archaeology and Canine Burials along Narragansett Bay. Harcourt Brace, Fort Worth, Texas. Kerber, Jordan E. 2002. Interpreting Diverse Marine Shell Deposits of the Woodland Period in South New England: Interrelationships among Subsistence, Symbolism, and Ceremonialism. Bulletin of the Massachusetts Archaeological Society 63:24–34. Kraft, Herbert C. 1986. The Lenape: Archaeology, History, and Ethnography. Collections of the New Jersey Historical Society, Vol. 21. Newark, New Jersey. Kummu, Matti, Hans de Moel, Gianluigi Salvucci, Daniel Viviroli, Philip J. Ward, and Olli Varis. 2016. Over the Hills and Further away from Coast: Global Geospatial Patterns of Human and Environment over the 20th–21st Centuries. Environmental Research Letters 11:034010. Lavin, Lucianne. 1988. Coastal Adaptations in Southern New England and Southern New York. Archaeology of Eastern North America 16:101–120. Lavin, Lucianne. 2013. Connecticut’s Indigenous Peoples: What Archaeology, History, and Oral Traditions Teach Us about Their Communities and Cultures. Yale University Press, New Haven. Lenik, Edward J. 2016. Amulets, Effigies, Fetishes, and Charms: Native American Artifacts and Spirit Stones from the Northeast. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Leshikar, Margaret E. 1988. The Earliest Watercraft: From Rafts to Viking Ships. In Ships and Shipwrecks of the Americas, edited by George F. Bass, pp. 13–32. Thames and Hudson, London. Levine, Mary Ann, Kenneth E. Sassaman, and Michael S. Nassaney (editors). 1999. The Archaeological Northeast. Bergin and Garvey, Westport, Connecticut. Little, Elizabeth Alden, and J. Clinton Andrews. 2010. Drift Whales at Nantucket, the Kindness of Moshup. In Nantucket and Other Native Places: The Legacy of Elizabeth Alden Little, edited by Elizabeth S. Chilton and Mary Lynn Rainey, pp. 63–86. State University of New York Press, Albany. Lutins, Allen. 1992. Prehistoric Fishweirs in Eastern North America. Master’s thesis, Department of Anthropology, State University of New York at Binghamton. Lynch, Daniel. 2001. Submerged Cultural Inventory of Rhode Island: A Method for Recording Submerged Archaeological Sites. Paper presented at the 41st Annual Meeting of the Northeastern Anthropological Association, Hartford, Connecticut. Lynch, Kerry J. 2010. New England Terrestrial Settlement in a Submerged Context: Moving Pre-Contact Archaeology into the Twenty-First Century. PhD dissertation, Department of Anthropology, University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Mahlstedt, Thomas, and Margo Muhl Davis. 2002. Caddy Park, Wollaston Beach, Quincy, Massachusetts: Burial? Cenotaph? Cache? Or Offering? Bulletin of the Massachusetts Archaeological Society 63:11–23.

104 · Daria Merwin

Martine, David Bunn. 2016. Reminiscences of a Shinnecock-Montauk Whaling Family. Long Island History Journal 25(1). McBride, Kevin. 2000. Native Watercraft in North America. Cross Paths: A Publication of the Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center 3(1):1, 7. McManamon, Francis P. 1984. Chapters in the Archaeology of Cape Cod. National Park Service, Boston. McNett, Charles. 1985. Shawnee Minisink: A Stratified Paleoindian-Archaic Site in the Upper Delaware Valley of Pennsylvania. Academic Press, Orlando. McWeeney, Lucinda J. 1999. A Review of Late Pleistocene and Holocene Climate Changes in Southern New England. Bulletin of the Archaeological Society of Connecticut 62:3–18. Merwin, Daria E. 2003. Maritime History of Southern New England: The View from Long Island, New York. Bulletin of the Archaeological Society of Connecticut 65:3–18. Merwin, Daria E. 2010. Submerged Evidence of Early Human Occupation in the New York Bight. PhD dissertation, Anthropological Sciences, Stony Brook University. Merwin, Daria E., Daniel P. Lynch, and David S. Robinson. 2003. Submerged Prehistoric Sites in Southern New England: Past Research and Future Directions. Bulletin of the Archaeological Society of Connecticut 65:41–56. Mills, Barbara J. 2017. Social Network Analysis in Archaeology. Annual Review of Anthropology 46:379–397. Mounier, R. Alan. 2003. Looking beneath the Surface: The Story of Archaeology in New Jersey. Rutgers University Press, Piscataway, New Jersey. Nadeau, Jaclyn. 2008. Investigating Lithic Raw Material Use during the Late Archaic and Woodland on Long Island. Northeast Anthropology 75/76:73–92. Newby, Paige, Bryan Shuman, Phillip Leduc, and Thompson Webb III. 2001. Integrating Scales and Data Sets: Environment and Culture in Northeastern North America 14,000 to 10,000 cal yr B.P. Paper presented at the 66th Annual Meeting of the Society for American Archaeology, New Orleans, Louisiana. Orcutt, Jacob M. 2014. Mishoonash in Southern New England: Construction and Use of Dugout Canoes in a Multicultural Context. Master’s thesis, Department of History, University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Otto, Bernard A. 1999. The Strange Emergence of a Deep Sea Plummet off Plymouth’s Gurney Head. Bulletin of the Massachusetts Archaeological Society 60(1):35–36. Otto, Paul. 2009. Intercultural Relations between Natives and Europeans in New Netherland. In Four Centuries of Dutch-American Relations, 1609–2009, edited by Cornelis A. van Minnen, Hans Krabbendam, and Giles Scott-Smith, pp. 178–191. State University of New York Press, Albany. Perlman, Stephen M. 1980. An Optimum Diet Model, Coastal Variability, and HunterGatherer Behavior. In Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory, Vol. 3, edited by M. B. Schiffer, pp. 257–310. Academic Press, New York. Pirazzoli, Paolo A. 1991. World Atlas of Holocene Sea Level Changes. Elsevier Oceanography Series, Amsterdam. Powell, Bernard W. 1965. Spruce Swamp: A Partially Drowned Coastal Shell Midden in Connecticut. American Antiquity 30:460–469. Ritchie, William A. 1959. The Stony Brook Site and Its Relation to Archaic and Transitional

Maritime Cultural Landscapes in the New York Bight · 105

Cultures on Long Island. New York State Museum and Science Service Bulletin 372. The University of the State of New York, Albany. Ritchie, William A. 1969. The Archaeology of Martha’s Vineyard: A Framework for the Prehistory of Southern New England. Natural History Press, Garden City, New York. Ritchie, William A. 1980. The Archaeology of New York State. Rev. ed. Natural History Press, Garden City, New York. Robinson, David S. 2003. Prehistoric Underwater CRM in the Northeastern United States: Recent Projects and Approaches. Paper presented at the Society for Historical Archaeology, 36th Annual Conference on Historical and Underwater Archaeology, Providence, Rhode Island. Robinson, David S. 2011. Nipmuc Nation’s Project Mishoon (2001–2011): A Status Report. Abstract and paper presented at the annual meeting of the Conference on New England Archaeology, University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Robinson, David S., Ben Ford, Holly Herbster, and Jay N. Waller. 2003. Marine Archaeological Sensitivity Assessment Cape Wind Energy Project. Public Archaeology Lab. Submitted to Cape Wind Associates, LLC. Copies available at the Rhode Island Historical Preservation and Heritage Commission, Providence, RI. Salwen, Bert. 1978. Indians of Southern New England and Long Island: Early Period. In Northeast, edited by Bruce G. Trigger, pp. 160–176. Handbook of North American Indians, Vol. 15, William C. Sturtevant, general editor. Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Silver, Annette L. 1981. Comment on Maize Cultivation in Coastal New York. North American Archaeologist 2:117–130. Snow, Dean R. 1980. The Archaeology of New England. Academic Press, New York. Solecki, Ralph S. 1993. Indian Forts of the Mid-17th Century in the Southern New England–New York Coastal Area. Northeast Historical Archaeology 22:64–78. Stanley, Alissa, Kenneth G. Miller, and Peter J. Sugarman. 2004. Holocene Sea-Level Rise in New Jersey: An Interim Report. Report submitted to the New Jersey Department of Environmental Protection Division of Science, Research, and Technology, Trenton. Stanzeski, Andrew J. 1996. Two Years of Radiocarbon Dating from the Jersey Shore. Bulletin of the Archaeological Society of New Jersey 51:42–46. Stright, Melanie J. 1990. Archaeological Sites on the North American Continental Shelf. In Archaeological Geology of North America, edited by Norman P. Lasca and Jack Donahue, pp. 439–465. Centennial Special Volume 4. Geological Society of America, Boulder, Colorado. Strong, John. 1989. Shinnecock and Montauk Whalemen. Long Island Historical Journal 2:29–41. Tooker, William Wallace. 1911. The Indian Place-Names on Long Island and Islands Adjacent. G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York. Trigger, Bruce G. (editor). 1978. Northeast. Handbook of North American Indians, Vol. 15, William C. Sturtevant, general editor. Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Tveskov, Mark A. 1997. Maritime Settlement and Subsistence along the Southern New England Coast: Evidence from Block Island, Rhode Island. North American Archaeologist 18:343–361.

106 · Daria Merwin

Tweedie, Mark S. 2014. Exploratory Steatite Source Characterization in the Long Island Sound Watershed. Master’s thesis, Department of Anthropology, Stony Brook University, New York. Verrazzano, Giovanni. 1841. The Voyage of John Verrazzano, along the Coast of North America, from Carolina to Newfoundland, A.D. 1524. Translated from the original by Joseph G. Cogswell. New York Historical Society, New York. Warren, R. Scott, Juliana Barrett, and Margaret S. Van Patten. 2015. Salt Marsh Plants of Long Island Sound. Connecticut College Arboretum Bulletin No. 40 (rev. ed.). New London, Connecticut. Weiss, Howard M., and Donald V. Bennett. 1995. Marine Animals of Southern New England and New York. Connecticut State Geological and Natural History Survey Bulletin 115. Department of Environmental Protection, Hartford, Connecticut. Westerdahl, Christer. 1980. On Oral Tradition and Place Names. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 9:311–329. Westerdahl, Christer. 1992. The Maritime Cultural Landscape. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 21:5–14. Westerdahl, Christer. 2011. The Maritime Cultural Landscape. In The Oxford Handbook of Maritime Archaeology, edited by Alex Catsambis, Ben Ford, and Donny Hamilton, pp. 733–762. Oxford University Press, New York. Williams, Roger. 1997[1643]. A Key into the Language of America. Applewood Books, Bedford, Massachusetts. Wood, William. 1865 [1634]. Wood’s New-England’s Prospect. Publications of the Prince Society 1. The Society, Boston. Yesner, David R. 1980. Maritime Hunter-Gatherers: Ecology and Prehistory. Current Anthropology 21:727–750.

5 Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

The productive woodlands, estuaries, and coastlines of the Middle Atlantic region of North America have been home to Native Americans from the Paleoindian period to the modern day (Custer 1988, 1989; Dent 1995; Gallivan 2011, 2016). People lived throughout broad environmental changes, including the emergence of Chesapeake Bay when rising seas drowned the Susquehanna River valley around 8000 years ago. As relative sea level (RSL) continued to rise during the remainder of the Holocene, estuarine conditions expanded in the region alongside the establishment of a rich and diverse forest environment. Native Americans throughout the region, including near the productive shorelines of the Chesapeake Bay, its sub-estuaries, and tributary rivers, left behind a remarkable archaeological record that helps document a complex picture of human-environmental interactions and environmental change for much of the Holocene. Much of the evidence for human harvesting of coastal resources has likely been obscured by sea level rise and modern land use and development, but the earliest evidence for human use of Chesapeake marine resources first appears by at least 5,000 years ago (Custer 1988; Rick and Waselkov 2015). By the Middle Woodland (2500–1100 BP), people were harvesting oysters, clams, fish, and other bay resources as part of a generalist subsistence strategy (Custer 1988; Dent 1995; Gallivan 2011, 2016; Miller 2001). When Europeans arrived at least some of the people living along the Chesapeake Bay were practicing agriculture while also harvesting oysters and other bay and river resources (Potter 1993). Native Americans in the Chesapeake Bay region experienced sea level rise and climate change that significantly reshaped the land and seascapes of the region and influenced human lifeways and coastal adaptations.

108 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

In this chapter we build on a long tradition of Chesapeake Bay archaeology (e.g., Blanton 1996; Custer 1988; Dent 1995; Gallivan 2016; Holmes 1907; Miller 1986, 2001; Reynolds 1889) by exploring human-environmental interactions in the coastal zone. We focus on the antiquity of Native American use of coastal resource use and the development of human interactions with the bay from its formation during the Early Holocene to the Protohistoric and early colonial periods. Our goal is to understand broad environmental changes during the Holocene and the place of people in both responding to those changes and shaping, altering, and managing the world around them, especially their subsistence systems. Ultimately, we aim to place these data in the context of modern-day environmental issues and conservation in the Chesapeake Bay area. Environmental Context

Chesapeake Bay is the dominant geographic feature of the southern Middle Atlantic region (Figure 5.1). To the north and west, large rivers drain the broad coastal plain, piedmont, and mountains. To the east, the low-lying Delmarva Peninsula—only 31 m above modern mean sea level (MSL) at its highest point—separates Chesapeake Bay from the Atlantic Ocean. Prior to the nineteenth century, the bay supported widespread rich marine, estuarine, and terrestrial ecosystems (Curtin et al. 2001). On land, oak-chestnut forests in the north and oak-pine-hickory forests in the south (Brush et al. 1980; Willard et al. 2005) were home to a broad array of small and mediumsized mammals. Archaeological sites and other historical ecological records show an ecosystem that included shellfish such as oyster, clam, mussel, scallop, crab, barnacle, and periwinkle and finfish such as sturgeon, bass, perch, drum, croaker, catfish, gar, and menhaden (Dent 1995; Miller 2001). Because of its position at the southern end of the Labrador Current, the oceanic climate of Chesapeake Bay is strongly tied to climate patterns in the North Atlantic, including the North Atlantic Oscillation (NAO) and the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation (AMOC). Estuarine conditions are further influenced by precipitation and terrestrial streamflow, which control salinity in the bay (Chapman and Beardsley 1989; Cronin et al. 2010). Terrestrial climate is also strongly tied to the NAO (Cook et al. 2002) as well as the position of the polar jet stream and moisture from the Gulf of Mexico (Maxwell et al. 2012). Although we do not know precisely when people first came to the Middle Atlantic, it is clear that they arrived onto a very different landscape than

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

Figure 5.1. Map showing Chesapeake Bay, including archaeological and geological sites mentioned in the text.

110 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

Figure 5.2. Model of shoreline evolution in Chesapeake Bay, based on the ICE-6G glacioisostatically adjusted relative sea level model (Argus et al. 2014; Peltier et al. 2015). Although the basic shape and relative timing of emergence is likely correct in this model, the absolute timing should be considered only an estimate.

what is present today. During the Late Pleistocene, models suggest that the crustal forebulge created by the weight of massive North American ice sheets peaked at the latitude of southern Chesapeake Bay. While postglacial sea level was rising globally, this region was also experiencing rapid isostatic subsidence, which caused relative sea levels to rise at an extremely fast rate. Models indicate that RSL change varied significantly across the Middle Atlantic due to the extremity of isostatic deformation (Figure 5.2) (Argus et al. 2014; Peltier et al. 2015). The southern tip of the Delmarva

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 111

Peninsula, currently positioned at modern MSL, was about 107 m above modern MSL 21,000 years ago, reached its peak of about 113 m above modern MSL 18,000 years ago, and fell to about 55 m above modern MSL by 10,000 years ago. The northern part of Chesapeake Bay, on the other hand, was only 80 m above modern MSL 21,000 years ago and did not reach its peak of about 100 m above modern MSL until 14,000 years ago (Figure 5.2). During this period of lower sea level, Chesapeake Bay did not exist, as all of the rivers that feed into Chesapeake Bay, except the James River, merged into the Susquehanna and traveled hundreds of kilometers across the continental shelf into the Atlantic Ocean (Hobbs 2004). The modern iteration of Chesapeake Bay began to emerge between 8,000 and 7,000 years ago, as postglacial sea level rise drowned the Susquehanna River valley (Bratton et al. 2002; Cronin et al. 2007). Based on cores from a transect across Chesapeake Bay (Figure 5.1), the final incursion of brackish water occurred rapidly at the latitude of the Potomac River around 7,600 years ago—estuarine foraminifera are permanently established at core MD2656 in the middle channel only 500 years before they were established at MD-2208 near the western shore, suggesting a rise in RSL of about 6 m during that period (Cronin et al. 2007). RSL has risen more than 40 m during the past 8,000 years in Chesapeake Bay (Engelhart et al. 2009). The mouths of the largest rivers—the Potomac and the Rappahannock—drowned first, perhaps as early as 6,000 years ago, while estuarine conditions may have reached smaller streams and the northern part of the bay only in the last 2,000–1,000 years (Hilgartner and Brush 2006). Sea level continues to rise today at a rapid 3.4 mm/yr due to a combination of sediment loading and isostatic subsidence (DeJong et al. 2015; Engelhart et al. 2009). High-resolution climate records for Chesapeake Bay include estimates of paleosalinity using foraminifera isotope (δ18O) measurements and ostracod assemblages (Cronin et al. 2000; Cronin et al. 2005), estimates of estuarine surface temperature (EST) using ostracod Mg/Ca ratios (Cronin et al. 2003; Cronin et al. 2005; Cronin et al. 2010), and estimates of precipitation and atmospheric temperature using pollen (Willard et al. 2003; Willard et al. 2005) and tree rings (Maxwell et al. 2011; Maxwell et al. 2012; see also Canuel et al. 2017). These records are particularly good for the past 2,300 years and from 7,000 to 5,800 years ago, and several cores from throughout the bay provide a picture of how environments varied both temporally and spatially (Figure 5.3). Sedimentation rates in Chesapeake cores are low for the period from 5,800 to 2,200 years ago, and so the Middle Holocene is poorly known.

Figure 5.3. Late Holocene climate change in Chesapeake Bay. Gray shading represents the Medieval Climatic Anomaly (AD 600–950) and the Little Ice Age (AD 1300–1750), as described by Cronin and colleagues (2010).

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 113

Overall, climate variables show high stability during the Early Holocene, with the exception of the period around 8,200 years ago. There is a significant decrease in pine pollen at this period, suggesting ~3°C decrease in atmospheric temperature (Willard et al. 2005). Salinity was relatively high during the Early Holocene, reflecting lower precipitation and streamflow, and sea surface temperatures were somewhat cooler. Although there were 30–40-year cycles of warmer, wetter periods, the range of variability was relatively narrow (Cronin et al. 2005). Low sedimentation rates in Chesapeake cores during the Middle Holocene provide poor resolution for interpreting climate change during this period. There is a significant shift in pine pollen, which doubles as deciduous forests transition to mixed deciduous-pine forests from about 5,500 to 4,800 years ago. This is part of a broad northward migration of pines along the eastern seaboard but also represents an increase in winter temperatures of 2–4°C from the Early to Late Holocene (Willard et al. 2005). Similarly, there is a shift to warmer, less saline conditions in the estuary, but there is insufficient detail to show the timing or variability of these trends (Figure 5.3) (Cronin et al. 2005). The Late Holocene is the wettest and warmest period preserved in Chesapeake cores, but also the most variable (Figure 5.3). Because of the region’s strong ties to the North Atlantic, the climate of the Middle Atlantic reacted strongly to the Medieval Climatic Anomaly (MCA) and the Little Ice Age (LIA). Geochemical analysis from bay cores suggests that sea surface temperatures within Chesapeake Bay were moderate, salinity was high, and precipitation was low during the first part of the Late Holocene from about 2400 to 1600 cal BP (Cronin et al. 2005; Cronin et al. 2010). Tree rings show a period of significant, prolonged drought 940–900 cal BP, but the MCA was otherwise characterized by high precipitation (Cronin et al. 2012; Maxwell et al. 2011) and warm sea surface temperatures, especially from 1250–1000 cal BP (Cronin et al. 2010). Stepwise decreases in sea surface and atmospheric temperature lead to the beginning of the LIA, around 650–600 cal BP. The LIA is marked by a decrease in pine pollen, suggesting reduced precipitation and winter temperatures, between 650–350 cal BP (Willard et al. 2005), and tree rings also show a period of significant drought 390–300 cal BP. Chesapeake Bay cores document an extended cool period, 600–200 cal BP, with the coolest temperatures at the end of the LIA, 300–200 cal BP (Cronin et al. 2010). Dramatic environmental shifts have occurred during the past two centuries. This includes stronger and more frequent drought and flooding events (Cook et al. 2002; Maxwell et al. 2012) and a significant change in vegetation

114 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

cover reflected in the reduction of tree pollen and increase of ragweed (Ambrosia sp.) pollen (Willard et al. 2005). Sea surface temperatures of the past 200 years have been warmer than those of the MCA, and salinity in Chesapeake Bay has been highly variable (Cronin et al. 2010). Sedimentation rates multiplied four to five times, filling in marshes and covering the hard substrates necessary for oyster reef development (Colman and Bratton 2003; Hilgartner and Brush 2006; Langland and Cronin 2003). During the twentieth century, mining for coal, iron, and minerals, refining and other industries, land clearance for lumber and agriculture, and fertilizer runoff for agriculture and landscaping have dramatically altered the physical environment of Chesapeake Bay (Curtin et al. 2001). Chesapeake waters have undergone significant eutrophication and developed large zones of anoxia/hypoxia, particularly since the middle of the twentieth century (Zimmerman and Canuel 2000). Overfishing and introduced species, including diseases, competitors, and predators, have changed the structure of ecosystems throughout Chesapeake Bay (Jones et al. 2001; Orth et al. 2006). Human-Environmental Dynamics through Time

Archaeologists in the Chesapeake region use cultural historical designations similar to others in eastern North America: Paleoindian (>10,000 BP), Archaic (10,000–3200 BP), Early Woodland (3300–2500 BP), Middle Woodland (2500–1100 BP), Late Woodland (1100–400 BP), and Colonial and Historic (400 BP to present) (Dent 1995; Gallivan 2011; Miller 2001). Numerous Paleoindian and Archaic sites have been documented near the Chesapeake Bay, but these sites were centered on the large river valley of the Susquehanna prior to the Bay’s formation (Dent 1995; Lowery, Jodry, and Stanford 2011). Similar to other regions of the North American Atlantic coast south of the Laurentide Ice Sheet (see Dillian, this volume; Turck and Thompson, this volume), sea level has likely obscured any evidence for the use of marine resources during the Late Pleistocene or Early Holocene. Oysters and other estuarine resources moved into the incipient Chesapeake Bay soon after its emergence 8,000 years ago, but it is not clear when those resources became an important component of human subsistence patterns. The absence of evidence for early coastal resource use therefore could be because the evidence has been obscured by rising sea level or because of the dynamic nature of resources in Chesapeake Bay and the possibility that early peoples focused more on terrestrial resources.

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 115

The Archaic Period (10,000–3200 BP) Often divided into the Early (10,000–8000 BP), Middle (8000–5000 BP) and Late (5000–3200 BP) Archaic, this period likely saw the first use of Chesapeake Bay estuarine resources. One of the earliest known instances comes from Kent County, Maryland, where the Fairlee Neck Shell Midden (18KE17) yielded Middle to Late Archaic radiocarbon dates from about 5500–4450 cal BP (Wilke and Thompson 1977). A few archaeologists have questioned the validity of these dates because they came from shell (Custer 1987, 1989; Custer and Doms 1983; Dent 1995). Custer’s (1987, 1989:126–127) reevaluation of the site yielded two Middle to Late Archaic dates ranging from 5550 to 3950 cal BP on a shell and 9090 to 6750 cal BP on charcoal, although another charcoal date was more recent, 2330 to 1180 cal BP. In an attempt to resolve some of these questions, we examined some of the Fairlee Neck collections made by Wilke and Thompson (1977) housed at the Maryland Archaeological Conservation Laboratory. We identified three oyster shells and two terrestrial mammal bones from secure contexts at the site. Dates on these materials confirmed an early occupation 5280–4420 cal BP, similar to the previously reported dates (Table 5.1). Although many artifacts from the site were not diagnostic of any period, the presence of a few pieces of Middle Woodland ceramics, as well as the range of radiocarbondated material (Custer and Doms 1983), suggests that the site was occupied multiple times throughout prehistory, and some of the deposits may have been mixed.

Table 5.1. New radiocarbon dates from the Fairlee Neck Shell Midden (18KE17) Provenience Pit 1, 40–60 cmbs Pit 1, 20–40 cmbs Pit 4, 40–60 cmbs Pit 1, 20–40 cmbs Pit 4, 40–60 cmbs a

Materiala

Lab #

δ13C1 ‰

C.v. C.v. C.v. Bone Bone

DAMS-11878 DAMS-11879 DAMS-11880 Beta-417096 Beta-417095

-3.9 -5.3 -2.2 -22.1 -22.4

14C

Age

4760 ± 28 4691 ± 30 4501 ± 21 3990 ± 30 4030 ± 30

Calibrated Age (BC, 2ς)b 5280–5030 5220–4900 4880–4690 4530–4420 4570–4420

C.v.= Crassostrea virginica. Bone = Terrestrial mammal bone, likely deer. All dates calibrated using OxCal 4.3 (Bronk Ramsey 2013) and applying a standard ΔR of -88 ± 23 years for all marine shells (Rick et al. 2012). The INTCAL13 data set was used for the bone samples, and the MARINE13 data set was used for the marine samples (Reimer et al. 2013). b

116 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

Wilke and Thompson (1977) dated several other Middle and Late Archaic shell middens along the coast of Kent County, including 18KE12, 18KE38, and 18KE44. Along with the Fairlee Neck midden, these sites are located close to the paleo-Susquehanna River bed, which now forms the central channel of Chesapeake Bay. Estuarine resources may have emerged relatively early in this area, as the riverbed was the first part of the Chesapeake to drown, and shorelines have changed little, because of the steeply sloping seafloor along the eastern edge of the channel (Figure 5.2). Unfortunately, we know relatively little about the nature of these sites other than that they contained oyster shell, and the exact provenience of the dated shells is often unknown. Future research could help evaluate what proportion of the shell deposits derive from the Archaic occupation and how intensively people used estuarine resources during the Middle and Late Archaic in this area. Similarly, on the Patuxent River, Steponaitis (1986) noted the possibility of estuarine resource use during the Late Archaic or possibly earlier, but these sites should also be revisited and redated to determine their precise age. Many Middle Atlantic researchers argue that the Late Archaic saw a shift from interior-oriented, hunting-based subsistence to estuarine-oriented, shellfish-based subsistence, roughly coincident with a change in lithic technology from narrow to broad blade projectile points (e.g., Custer 1988; Dent 1995; Gallivan 2011; Mouer 1991). As described above, the appearance of this shift could be the result of rising sea level obscuring the record but could also reflect actual changes in settlement and subsistence patterns to take advantage of the emerging estuary. Much of the evidence for Late Archaic coastal resource use comes from the Potomac (Gardner 1982; Potter 1982; Rick and Waselkov 2015; Waselkov 1987) and Rappahannock (ReederMyers and Cross 2019) river valleys, although other Late Archaic sites are found on the York and other rivers (Gallivan 2016, 84). In the Potomac River valley, the White Oak Point site (44WM119) contains evidence for human occupation from the Late Archaic through the Historic period (Waselkov 1987). Although the deposits have been partially mixed (Rick and Waselkov 2015), they provide a unique perspective on changing resources and subsistence through time beginning roughly coincident with (~5000 BP) or slightly after the Fairlee Neck site. Waselkov estimates that meat weights in Late Archaic deposits at the site were roughly equal between oysters and mammals, alongside a small but significant contribution from clams and mussels. Potter (1982) found a similarly high diversity of resources at the Late Archaic component of the Plum Nelly site (44NB147), with a variety of shellfish, mammals, fish, and reptiles

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 117

complementing the oyster resources. To the south on the Rappahannock River at 44LA149, oysters make up a relatively small proportion of shellfish at the site (60% by weight, 14% by MNI), with soft-shell clam (Mya arenaria), stout tagelus (Tagelus plebius), angel wing clam (Cyrtopleura costata), and scallop (Argopecten irradians) making significant contributions to shell weight (Reeder-Myers and Cross 2019). Fish, turtle, mammal, and bird bone were also found at the site, but in smaller quantities than at the Potomac sites. Coastal resources played a role in Middle and Late Archaic lifeways, probably alongside a broader riverine adaptation focused on fish, turtles, and other animals. Sites like Pig Point (18AN50) on the Patuxent River in Maryland have non-shell-bearing Archaic components beneath Woodland and Historic shell-bearing deposits (Sperling 2011), and it is likely that the estuary had not yet reached that part of the bay. Artifact styles and lithic materials suggest that people living near Chesapeake Bay were moving within the coastal plain and interior piedmont region. Occasional items from the Blue Ridge province, the Hudson River Valley, or even the Midwest suggest that larger exchange systems existed as well (Stewart 1994). From the few sites that have been excavated and fully analyzed, it appears that Archaic shell middens, as well as many Early Woodland sites (see below) contain a higher diversity of shellfish species than many Middle and Late Woodland sites, which are typically dominated by oyster. This pattern partly reflects the broader ecology of a still-emerging estuarine ecosystem, in which clam species that typically live in lower densities were necessary to supplement growing oyster populations as a food resource. So far, Archaic shell middens have been found primarily in the largest river valleys or along the central channel of the bay itself, suggesting that people gravitated to the estuary very early in its development. Sea level rise is a great challenge to understanding the antiquity of broader Chesapeake Bay settlement, since many early sites may lie submerged on the former shorelines of the bay. Blanton (1996) provided an important discussion of 18 submerged sites in the Chesapeake that had been discovered by watermen who recovered diagnostic artifacts (but no mention of archaeological faunal remains) while tonging for clams. These sites date from Paleoindian to Middle Woodland times, demonstrating human use of former river valleys and early estuary shorelines throughout much of the Native American occupation of the area. However, most (78%) of these sites contain Late Archaic components, or the same basic time period as the earliest shell middens (Blanton 1996). This is an interesting correlation,

118 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

and further underwater archaeological research is clearly needed in Chesapeake and other North American Atlantic coastal sites (see Merwin, this volume). The antiquity of coastal resource use around Chesapeake Bay is comparable to adjacent areas of the Atlantic coast, where people generally began using shellfish during the Middle or Late Archaic (Dillian, this volume; Merwin, this volume). However, the Middle Atlantic lacks the distinctive shell rings and other Late Archaic monumental earthworks found to the south in South Carolina (Dillian, this volume), Georgia (Sanger and Thomas, 2010; Turck and Thompson, this volume), and Florida (Randall, this volume; Russo 2004; Thompson and Pluckhahn 2012). The location of the Laurentide Ice Sheet forebulge in the Middle Atlantic may have created unfavorable environmental conditions for harvesting large numbers of shellfish during the middle Holocene, as sea level rise was still occurring relatively quickly. However, there is limited evidence in the Middle Atlantic for participation in the various forms of ritual monumentalism that were widespread across the Southeast and Midwest, either during the Archaic or later in time. The absence of shell rings and mounds north of South Carolina could have interesting implications for differential impacts on and interactions with estuaries, which could be explored through future research. The Early (3300–2500 BP) and Middle Woodland (2500–1100 BP) Period Custer (1988) suggested that little changed in Chesapeake Bay coastal resource use from the Late Archaic through the Middle Woodland. This is in spite of significant changes in technology, settlement systems, exchange systems, and burial practices (Dent 1995; Lowery, Godfrey, and Eshelman 2011). With few exceptions, the earliest sites in most local watersheds continue to have a higher species diversity than later sites (Custer 1988), and some researchers have noted an increase in sites during this period (e.g., Steponaitis 1983, 1986). For example, Early Woodland site 18AN308 on the Rhode River is dominated by oyster, but it contains a higher percentage of soft-shell clam, stout tagelus, and mussel than later sites in the watershed (Rick et al. 2017). At White Oak Point, which contained a more species-rich Archaic component, oyster is the dominant shellfish species (93% of shellfish MNI) throughout the Early and Middle Woodland, with minor contributions from blue crab, stout tagelus, mussel, and soft-shell clam (Waselkov 1982). The Early Woodland Savage Neck site (44NH478) provides evidence

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 119

for use of Chesapeake Bay and possibly outer-coast marine shellfish. The site is located near the mouth of Chesapeake Bay and was occupied 3320– 2740 cal BP. Unlike other Chesapeake sites, Savage Neck contains mostly bay scallop (31% MNI), hard-shell clam (17% MNI), and oyster (16% MNI), with several species of small gastropods and clams making up the rest of the assemblage (Rick, Barber et al. 2015). This pattern of relatively diverse early shellfish assemblages holds for other watersheds, such as Fishing Bay (Reeder-Myers et al. 2016) and the Rappahannock (Reeder-Myers and Cross 2019); although the first shell midden occurs at different times in each, it often contains a higher diversity of shellfish. The number of coastal sites generally continues to increase during the Middle Woodland (but see Steponaitis 1986 for variability in this trend), and oysters become almost universally dominant after 1,800 years ago, but the size and overall content of sites generally remain the same. There are some very large sites, such as White Oak Point (Waselkov 1982), Pig Point (Sperling 2011), or the Great Neck site (44VB7, 9) (Whyte 1988) that see repeated use and substantial accumulation for centuries, while others, such as the Luce Creek site (Ballweber 1993), the Skiffes Creek site (Geier and Barber 1983), and 18D0130 (Reeder-Myers et al. 2016), likely represent a single event or a few short term occupations. White-tailed deer, raccoon, and turtle are also found in most Middle Woodland shell midden, although their frequency varies considerably. The Great Neck site is located at the mouth of Chesapeake Bay, southeast of the James River. Its Middle Woodland occupation is unique, not only for its location and its size, but also in the use of fine-mesh screens in excavation, the use of floatation, and the degree of analysis of fish remains. The site contains 30 different species of fish, with large contributions from Atlantic menhaden, spot croaker, white perch, and drum. Stout tagelus and soft-shell clam are the most common shellfish, accounting for about 84% of the shellfish MNI, but unlike at the Savage Neck midden just across the mouth of the bay, hard-shell clam is rare. Oyster is present (13% of shellfish MNI), but not dominant as at other sites. White-tailed deer, raccoon, turkey, turtles, and a variety of small mammals and amphibians document a subsistence base that extends beyond the estuary. The site’s location near where Chesapeake Bay meets the Atlantic Ocean gave its occupants access to a rich assortment of marine, estuarine, and terrestrial resources (Whyte 1986, 1988). Other sites such as the Island Field site (7KF17) in Kent County, Delaware, and 18AN284/285 in the Rhode River demonstrate that Middle and

120 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

Late Woodland peoples were not only subsisting on oysters and other bay resources but made use of a variety of terrestrial plant foods (Custer et al. 1990; Gibb and Hines 1997). At Island Field, Custer and colleagues (1990) estimate a high proportion of plant foods and a dominance of carbohydrates to human diets, demonstrating that estuarine foods are only one component of a broad human diet. There is an increase in the number of shell midden sites after ~1,800 years ago, suggesting a shift in the overall subsistence system to emphasize estuarine resources (Dent 1995; Gallivan 2011; Rick et al. 2017). We suggest three possible reasons for this. First, a change in cultural variables, such as a preference for estuarine foods, a change in settlement systems and/or increase in population, or a migration of new people with different subsistence practices into the Chesapeake region could have shifted the focus of subsistence systems to the estuary. Second, the estuary may have become a more attractive resource as sea levels stabilized and ecosystems became more productive and extensive. Third, the appearance of more shell middens could be a false signal, with earlier sites simply submerged or destroyed by rising sea levels. In fact, all three of these hypotheses are likely true to some extent, but we argue that current evidence favors the second. The existence of shell middens during the Archaic and Early Woodland, and the location of those early shell middens along the largest rivers that would have developed estuarine conditions earliest, suggests that people took advantage of these resources soon after they became available. Moreover, the earliest middens in each watershed often contain an unusual diversity of shellfish, whether that first midden was deposited during the Late Archaic, Early Woodland, or Middle Woodland. The timing of the first shell midden tends to track sea level rise and estuary development, which may indicate that shellfish were collected from an ecosystem where oysters were not yet fully established or had not reached the levels of productivity seen in later sites. Although there may have been independent changes in the subsistence and settlement system unrelated to the development of the estuary, and although some sites have probably been lost to sea level rise, this consistent pattern suggests that the earliest known sites generally occur near the beginning of estuarine resource availability in various Chesapeake subestuaries (see Figure 5.2). Late Woodland (1100–400 BP) The Late Woodland ushered in significant cultural and environmental changes in Chesapeake Bay. The MCA and the LIA caused large fluctuations

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 121

in precipitation and temperature throughout the region, while people in many parts of Chesapeake Bay began to live in larger villages with more highly structured social hierarchies, decreased mobility, and increased use of cultigens. Late Woodland pottery styles (e.g., Townsend) and maize come into use around 1,050–950 years ago, with maize gradually becoming a more important part of subsistence and increasing greatly in the sixteenth century, resulting in village growth and restricted mobility (Gallivan 2011, 2016; Potter 1993). This coincides with the beginning of the LIA (Cronin et al. 2010; Maxwell et al. 2012; Willard et al. 2005), a period of decreased precipitation and cooler winters, but the connection between these two phenomena is not clear. Periods of drought have been cited elsewhere as a driving factor in cultivation, aggregation, and increased political complexity (e.g., Bocinsky et al. 2016; Miller Rosen 2007), and it may be a contributing factor in this case, but cultural shifts in Chesapeake Bay appear too gradual to be a direct response to a relatively abrupt period of climate change. It is possible that the ecological resilience of Chesapeake Bay, coupled with social and economic flexibility in Chesapeake cultures, created a strong buffer between Late Holocene climate variability and the people who lived there. This hypothesis is supported by archaeological evidence that suggests that neither the MCA nor the LIA had a significant impact on food resources in Chesapeake Bay (Reeder-Myers et al. 2016; Rick et al. 2016, 2017) in spite of changes apparent in the paleoclimate record. Estuarine resource use is remarkably consistent throughout the Woodland, and there is currently little evidence for resource depression or environmental change in midden deposits on a broad regional scale. Oyster is the dominant shellfish species at virtually all Late Woodland sites, with only trace amounts of mussel, clam, and periwinkle present. Studies of oyster shell (Rick et al. 2016) and crab claws (Rick, Ogburn, et al. 2015) suggest that neither of these species experienced large-scale resource depression on a regional scale, due either to overfishing by Native Americans or Late Holocene environmental change. At the Kiskiak site in Virginia, Gallivan (2016:86–87) has argued that oysters decline in size and indicate some pressure on the population during periods of intensive predation, and that this is most dramatic during the Late Woodland. Such size decreases and predation pressure likely occurred at some sites and perhaps in some larger areas but does not seem to be part of a region-wide trend; the number of shell middens and the abundance of oysters continues to be high throughout the Late Woodland (Rick et al. 2016).

122 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

Similarly, the consistency of species represented in middens indicates that Native Americans were able to continue hunting and fishing for the same species throughout the Late Woodland. Thomas Point (18ST570), for instance, is a large site that was occupied 1250–700 cal BP (Herbert 1995). The shell midden is dominated by oysters with few other shellfish but also contains deer, fox, raccoon, and a variety of smaller mammals alongside smaller numbers of birds, turtles, and fish. At the 44SK41 site in Virginia, which is similar in size to Thomas Point but was occupied during the latter part of the Late Woodland, the oyster midden also contained deer, red fox, raccoon, small mammals, turtles, and a small fish assemblage (Laird et al. 2001). These sites are indistinguishable in terms of their faunal assemblages, and similar to other Late Woodland sites throughout the Chesapeake (Koski-Karell 1988; Reeder-Myers et al. 2016; Rick et al. 2017; Stuck et al. 1997; Walker 2003; Whyte ca. 1991). There is no clear pattern in the size of sites and the resources that were used. Although many larger middens (e.g., White Oak Point, Great Neck, Thomas Point) that generally have a wider array of activities represented contain relatively large vertebrate assemblages compared to many smaller sites, this is not universally true (e.g., 44SK11) (Givens et al. 2001; Herbert 1995; Waselkov 1982; Whyte 1988). Similarly, although some smaller, isolated middens contain relatively large vertebrate assemblages (e.g., 44HT83, 18CV17S), many do not (Stuck et al. 1997; Whyte ca. 1991). Together, these data suggest use of terrestrial and estuarine resources that was highly flexible and perhaps seasonal. At a few very small sites, such as 18AN226, 18AN449, and 18D0439, only a few artifacts and bone fragments were found in addition to oyster shell (Jansen et al., 2015; Reeder-Myers et al. 2016; Rick et al. 2017; Koski-Karell 1981), suggesting these may represent oyster procurement sites. The White Oak Point site continues to provide a detailed diachronic view of subsistence. There is a clear increase in the use of fish relative to mammals at White Oak Point during the Late Woodland (Figure 5.4). This is driven largely by an increase in the use of striped bass (Morone saxitilis), Atlantic sturgeon (Acipenser oxyrhynchus), and white catfish (Ameiurus catus). Striped bass and Atlantic sturgeon are both anadromous fish that move into Middle Atlantic rivers in the spring, while white catfish were once common throughout the year in lower-salinity, although still brackish, waters. The increased use of these fish could indicate a shift in seasonal use of the White Oak Point site coincident with changing agricultural settlement patterns, or it could indicate a decrease in terrestrial mammal availability. More research is needed to distinguish between these

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 123

Figure 5.4. Changes in major vertebrate groups through time at White Oak Point (Waselkov 1982) and the Great Neck site complex (Whyte 1988), showing the increase in fish frequency by NISP (number of identified specimens) during the Late Woodland at White Oak Point and the contemporary decrease in fish frequency at Great Neck.

hypotheses, but there is no decrease in size of deer based on the small sample of astragali at the site, and no increase in the use of small or mediumsized animals during the Late Woodland (Waselkov 1982). In contrast to White Oak Point, the use of fish relative to mammals decreased during the Late Woodland at the Great Neck site complex (Figure 5.4) (Whyte 1988). The Late Woodland faunal assemblage at Great Neck is much smaller than the Middle Woodland, and Great Neck is located near the mouth of the bay

124 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

instead of in a large river. In spite of their different contexts, both White Oak Point and Great Neck indicate that people in Chesapeake Bay used a mix of terrestrial and marine animal resources throughout the Woodland. Resources such as oyster, crab, and deer do not appear to change in size or abundance at a broad spatial and temporal level, suggesting sustainability in the Chesapeake ecosystem as a whole (Miller 2001; Rick et al. 2016; Waselkov 1982). This does not mean that there were no localized effects or impacts, such as localized predation pressure, human-set fires, agricultural fields, or village clearance, as these undoubtedly happened (see Gallivan 2016; Potter 1993). However, the appearance of long-term, sustainable resource use is important, and, if confirmed through further research, it has important implications for modern resource use. Protohistoric and Early Colonial Period (400–300 BP) Although the accounts of early European explorers and colonists provide an outline of the indigenous ecology and subsistence that they observed, it is difficult to compare these accounts to the earlier record available in archaeological sites. John Smith and others emphasized the ecological abundance and diversity of Chesapeake Bay and made it clear that the indigenous people they encountered took full advantage of this diversity alongside terrestrial cultivation, hunting, and gathering (Potter 1993; Rountree et al. 2008). However, much of the archaeological and ethnohistoric research into this period focuses on the important topics of cultural and political response of the Powhatan chiefdom to European colonization (see Gallivan 2003, 2016; Potter 1993). A few archaeological sites suggest that indigenous people during the early colonial period interacted with Chesapeake Bay resources in ways similar to those of the Late Woodland, even in the midst of significant economic, political, and cultural changes. Deposits at the Awapantop site (18CV363), the Blue Fish site (44NB147), and the White Oak Point site represent the period of initial European contact (Catts et al. 1999; Potter 1982; Waselkov 1982), while the Posey site (18CH281) in Maryland is the only site that was clearly occupied by indigenous people and dates to well after contact, 300–250 cal BP (Landon and Shapiro 1998). These sites show high species diversity, although they are all dominated by oyster shell. The Blue Fish site contains almost exclusively oyster, with small samples of clam, mussel, and small bone fragments (Potter 1982). The relatively small vertebrate assemblage at Awapantop contains birds and deer (Catts et al. 1999), while fish consumption at White Oak Point returns to levels similar

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 125

to those of the Middle Woodland (Figure 5.4) (Waselkov 1982). If the shift to greater fish consumption at White Oak Point was the result of changes in settlement patterns between the Middle and Late Woodland, this return to less fish consumption may reflect the disruption of Late Woodland patterns. The small Posey site demonstrates the persistence of indigenous subsistence patterns—while contemporary European settlements focused on domesticated mammals and agricultural products supplemented with wild foods, the Posey site is indistinguishable from Woodland sites except for the inclusion of a few domesticated pig (Sus scrofa) teeth and a small sample of European artifacts (Landon and Shapiro 1998). Early European colonists and traders wrote about Chesapeake Bay as a region densely populated by people speaking a mutually intelligible Algonquian language. Based on his interpretation of various early historical accounts, Potter (1993) describes the western shore of Maryland and Virginia as consisting of two major paramount chiefdoms, the Powhatan and the Piscataway, along with borderland villages that maintained their independence. Longhouse villages may have contained 100–800 people, depending on the political importance of the village, and were typically fairly dispersed with kitchen gardens in between houses. The indigenous groups practiced slash-and-burn agriculture of maize and various other products in fields adjacent to their villages but also relied on hunting, gathering, and fishing. Groups of deer hunters established base camps inland during the late fall and winter, and the villagers generally dispersed during the summer to forage. These early accounts paint a picture of a generalized and flexible subsistence system that incorporated both aquatic and terrestrial, wild and domestic foods (Gallivan 2016; Miller 2001). They also tend to focus on the Potomac and James Rivers, and other parts of Chesapeake Bay and its tributaries may not have been as densely populated as the areas that attracted the most attention from Europeans. Discussion and Conclusion: Sustainability and Resilience in Chesapeake Bay, Past and Future

Chesapeake Bay has been an important focus of human settlement and subsistence for much of the Holocene, especially after about 5,000 years ago. Native Americans were a persistent part of the region’s ecosystem for millennia prior to the bay’s formation, throughout its Holocene evolution and into the modern period. Thirty years ago, Custer (1988) synthesized the coastal adaptations for Chesapeake Bay and other portions of the Middle

126 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

Atlantic region. Although he questioned the purported antiquity of some sites (e.g., Fairlee Neck), he concluded that the earliest use of marine resources in the region occurred about 5,000 years ago (Custer 1988; Potter 1982; Waselkov 1982). This is much the same place we find ourselves in today. The earliest use of Chesapeake Bay coastal resources—at least as evidenced by faunal remains and shell middens—occurs near the latter portions of the Middle Archaic or onset of the Late Archaic at roughly 5,300 to 4,000 years ago. We argue that earlier sites may exist and that people were probably exploiting bay resources in varying degrees from its inception around 8,000 years ago, or perhaps earlier near the bay’s mouth. New evidence for Early Archaic sites of that age in the southeastern United States (Randall, this volume; Saunders and Russo 2011) lend anecdotal support to that proposition. Despite evidence for Middle to Late Archaic shell middens, sites continue to be relatively rare until halfway through the Middle Woodland period, or around 1,800–1,500 years ago (see Custer 1989; Rick et al. 2014). Following trends noted by many Chesapeake archaeologists, including Custer (1988), the number of sites along the bay with coastal resource use (e.g., shell middens) increases greatly during the Middle and especially the Late Woodland, as does a focus on oysters. This pattern is likely related, at least in part, to the full maturation of the bay’s ecosystems. One theme that has emerged from recent research is that people both responded to and actively shaped the ecosystems around them. Chesapeake Bay is a dynamic landscape that has transitioned from a broad river valley to a fully submerged estuary, providing new opportunities and also challenges for human subsistence that are clearly reflected in resource use from the Archaic to the Woodland period. Just as those environmental changes, particularly sea level rise, created challenges and opportunities for indigenous people living near the bay, they also create challenges for archaeologists working to understand these issues. We cannot ignore the potential bias that marine erosion and sea level rise over the last several millennia may play on archaeological site visibility, preservation, and discoverability. Hypotheses about whether the increase in the number of Middle and Late Woodland shell middens is a cultural pattern, a result of marine erosion and inundation of earlier sites, or a combination are as viable today as they were 30 years ago (Lowery 2015; Lowery et al. 2012; Reeder-Myers et al. 2016). A recent kayak survey during extreme low tide in the Rhode River suggests that even Late Woodland sites are often located in the intertidal zone, and that earlier sites may be lost to erosion or underwater (ReederMyers and Rick 2019; see also Lowery 2015; Lowery et al. 2012).

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 127

One of the more remarkable features of Chesapeake Bay coastal archaeology is evidence for subsistence stability or continuity in resource use. The general species that were exploited and the population structure of those species seem to have remained fairly consistent, with some important changes, like the increase in oysters after 1,500 years ago. The bay and its surrounding environments offered a relatively consistent suite of fish, shellfish, deer, and other foods that people took advantage of and augmented with plant foods. Although there was likely localized harvest pressure on some resources (see Gallivan 2016), on a regional level there is also evidence for long-term sustainable Native American use of oysters, deer, and perhaps crab at a smaller scale (Miller 2001; Rick, Ogburn, et al. 2015, 2016; Waselkov 1982). For oysters, this could be explained by somewhat low population densities (at least compared to modern and historical levels), hand collecting or simple technologies (compared to dredges and commercial fisheries), and seasonal subsistence rounds and resource switching (see Rick et al. 2016). In recent years, coastal archaeologists have advanced hypotheses about resource management in coastal areas, especially the Pacific Northwest, where ethnographic and archaeological data document culturally modified trees, clam gardens, and other management strategies (see Lepofsky et al. 2015). Jenkins (2017) recently presented a case for possible management of oysters in Florida drawing on size and shape of oysters and other variables. Although this research is exploratory and hindered partly by equifinality, work like this is an important step in the right direction to help explain why we see these apparently sustainable patterns. In our view, people were actively shaping and altering the land and seascapes of the Chesapeake Bay in both positive and negative ways. An important part of surviving on long time scales involves adapting to, influencing, and managing environmental change, but as we move forward, it will be important to ensure that we have firm empirical evidence to support active management before we conclude the outcomes or results of these strategies. We also need to search for ways that people may have deviated from this sustainable pattern, such as evidence for resource depression, habitat alteration, etc. common in other coastal areas (e.g., Butler and Campbell 2004; Morrison and Hunt 2007; Nagaoka 2002). The story of Chesapeake Bay Native American coastal settlement and subsistence, like so many areas in North America and beyond, changed dramatically with European contact in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Gallivan 2003, 2016; Potter 1993). Miller’s (1986, 2001) discussion

128 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

of both Native American and colonial subsistence on the Chesapeake chronicles these changes as they pertain to subsistence and environmental change, showing clearly the declines that occurred fairly rapidly from the seventeenth century onward. During the middle to late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the estuary and its resources declined precipitously, plagued by commercial overharvest, pollution, habitat alteration, and numerous other processes (see Kirby and Miller 2005; Lotze et al., 2006), trends that continue to affect the bay today and result in multimillion- to billion-dollar restoration and management efforts. Despite these challenges, the Chesapeake Bay archaeological record shows resilient ecosystems that weathered both intense and long-lasting climate change throughout the Holocene, increasing human pressure from indigenous groups, and even the early stages of the European and American market economy. Today, Chesapeake Bay faces many challenges, including sedimentation, changing salinity, increasing sea surface temperatures, pollution, disease, and overharvest. These complex problems cannot easily be solved, but the long-term resilience of the estuary suggests that, under the right circumstances, it can recover. Despite the considerable challenges facing bay ecosystems today, we are optimistic about its future, and we argue that archaeology has an important role to play in helping better construct that future. However, we also need to protect and analyze the coastal archaeological sites of the Chesapeake Bay, elsewhere on the North American Atlantic coast, and around the world. Marine erosion, exacerbated by sea level rise and climate change, pose considerable threats to Chesapeake Bay. Indeed, these are processes that have been threatening bay archaeological sites throughout its formation, but there is a particular sense of urgency to record coastal archaeological sites, radiocarbon date them, and sample the most vulnerable before it is too late. An important example of this type of work is Lowery and colleagues’ (2012) work in coastal Virginia (and beyond) that combined modeling and fieldwork, especially survey, and illustrates the importance of tackling issues of marine erosion head-on. Similarly, the efforts of Virginia state archaeologist Michael Barber to convene Chesapeake Bay and other Middle Atlantic archaeologists in the Chesapeake Bay Archaeological Consortium is a crucial effort to help archaeologists collaborate and work together for the protection and study of threatened coastal sites. These and other efforts offer great promise for the future, but time and the rising tide of erosion are working quickly against us (Anderson et al. 2017; ReederMyers 2015).

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 129

Finally, an important facet of understanding Native American coastal land use in the Chesapeake Bay is working with the descendant communities of the region. Gallivan (2011, 2016; Lutz et al. 2015) has highlighted the value of working with indigenous Virginians to understand the Chesapeake and surrounding areas past, present, and future, with interpretations significantly enhanced by these relationships. Seeking out and building future relationships like this, where possible, is a key step forward in Chesapeake Bay archaeology and can also help significantly enhance environmental and cultural protections (Beacham 2012). Attempts to engage descendant communities and the public at large should play an increasing role over the next few decades as we continue to work to understand and protect the archaeology, cultures, and environments of the Chesapeake Bay. References Anderson, David G., Thaddeus G. Bissett, Stephen J. Yerka, Joshua J. Wells, Eric C. Kansa, Sarah W. Kansa, Kelsey Noack Myers, R. Carl DeMuth, and Devin A. White. 2017. SeaLevel Rise and Archaeological Site Destruction: An Example from the Southeastern United States Using DINAA (Digital Index of North American Archaeology). PloS ONE 12:e0188142. Argus, Donald F., W. Richard Peltier, Rosemarie Drummond, and Angelyn W. Moore. 2014. The Antarctica Component of Postglacial Rebound Model ICE-6G_C (VM5a) Based on GPS Positioning, Exposure Age Dating of Ice Thicknesses, and Relative Sea Level Histories. Geophysical Journal International 198:537–563. Ballweber, Hettie. 1993. Phase II Archaeological Testing of the Luce Creek Site (18AN143) Anne Arundel County, Maryland. Report submitted to Ron W. Johnson Associates, Inc. On file with the Maryland Historical Trust, Crownsville. Beacham, Deanna. 2012. The Indigenous Cultural Landscape of the Eastern Woodlands: A Model for Conservation, Interpretation, and Tourism. In Rethinking Protected Areas in a Changing World: Proceedings of the 2011 George Wright Society Biennial Conference on Parks, Protected Areas, and Cultural Sites, edited by Samantha Weber, pp. 40–42. George Wright Society, Hancock, Michigan. Blanton, Dennis B. 1996. Accounting for Submerged Mid-Holocene Archaeological Sites in the Southeast: A Case Study from the Chesapeake Bay Estuary, Virginia. In Archaeology of the Mid-Holocene Southeast, edited by Kenneth E. Sassaman and David G. Anderson, pp. 200–218. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Bocinsky, R. Kyle, Johnathan Rush, Keith W. Kintigh, and Timothy A. Kohler. 2016. Exploration and Exploitation in the Macrohistory of the Pre-Hispanic Pueblo Southwest. Science Advances 2:e1501532. Bratton, John F., Steven M. Colman, E. Robert Thieler, and Robert R. Seal. 2002. Birth of the Modern Chesapeake Bay Estuary between 7.4 and 8.2 ka and Implications for Global Sea-Level Rise. Geo-Marine Letters 22:188–197. Bronk Ramsey, Christopher. 2013. OxCal Program, v. 4.2. Radiocarbon Accelerator Unit, University of Oxford.

130 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

Brush, Grace S., Cecilia Lenk, and Joanne Smith. 1980. The Natural Forests of Maryland: An Explanation of the Vegetation Map of Maryland. Ecological Monographs 50:77–92. Butler, Virginia L., and Sarah K. Campbell. 2004. Resource Intensification and Resource Depression in the Pacific Northwest of North America: A Zooarchaeological Review. Journal of World Prehistory 18:327–405. Canuel, Elizabeth A., Grace S. Brush, Thomas M. Cronin, Rowan Lockwood, Andrew R. Zimmerman. 2017. Paleoecology Studies in Chesapeake Bay: A Model System for Understanding Interactions between Climate, Anthropogenic Activities and the Environment. In Applications of Paleoenvironmental Techniques in Estuarine Studies, edited by Kaarina Weckstrom, Krystyna M. Saunders, Peter A. Gell, and Greg Skilbeck, pp. 495–527. Springer, Dordrecht, Netherlands. Catts, Wade P., Stuart J. Fiedel, Douglas C. Kellogg, Charles Cheek, Katherine Dinnel, and Kathryn Wood. 1999. Phase III Data Recovery Investigations at 18CV362, Ashcomb’s Quarter (Historic Component) and Awapantop (Prehistoric Component). Report on file at the Maryland Historical Trust, Crownsville. Chapman, David C., and Robert C. Beardsley. 1989. On the Origin of Shelf Water in the Middle Atlantic Bight. Journal of Physical Oceanography 19:384–391. Colman, Steven M., and John F. Bratton. 2003. Anthropogenically Induced Changes in Sediment and Biogenic Silica Fluxes in Chesapeake Bay. Geology 31:71–74. Cook, Edward R., Rosanne D. D’Arrigo, and Michael E. Mann. 2002. A Well-Verified, Multiproxy Reconstruction of the Winter North Atlantic Oscillation Index since AD 1400. Journal of Climate 15:1754–1764. Cronin, Thomas M., Gary S. Dwyer, Takahiro Kamiya, Sara Schwede, and Debra A. Willard. 2003. Medieval Warm Period, Little Ice Age and 20th Century Temperature Variability from Chesapeake Bay. Global and Planetary Change 36:17–29. Cronin, Thomas M., K. Hayo, Robert C. Thunell, Gary S. Dwyer, C. Saenger, and Debra A. Willard. 2010. The Medieval Climate Anomaly and Little Ice Age in Chesapeake Bay and the North Atlantic Ocean. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology 297:299–310. Cronin, Thomas M., Robert Thunell, Gary S. Dwyer, Casey Saenger, Michael E. Mann, Carolyn Vann, and Robert R. Seal. 2005. Multiproxy Evidence of Holocene Climate Variability from Estuarine Sediments, Eastern North America. Paleoceanography 20:PA4006. Cronin, Thomas M., Peter R. Vogt, Debra A. Willard, Robert Thunell, J. Halka, M. Berke, and John Pohlman. 2007. Rapid Sea Level Rise and Ice Sheet Response to 8,200-Year Climate Event. Geophysical Research Letters 34:L20603. Cronin, Thomas, Debra Willard, Alexander Karlsen, Scott Ishman, Stacey Verardo, J. McGeehin, Randy Kerhin, Charles Holmes, Steven Colman, and A. Zimmerman. 2000. Climatic Variability in the Eastern United States over the Past Millennium from Chesapeake Bay Sediments. Geology 28:3–6. Curtin, Philip D., Grace S. Brush, and George W. Fisher (editors). 2001. Discovering the Chesapeake: The History of an Ecosystem. Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore. Custer, Jay F. 1987. Survey and Test Excavations at Fairlee Neck Shell Midden (18KE17), Kent County, Maryland. Report on file at the Maryland Historic Trust, Crownsville.

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 131

Custer, Jay F. 1988. Coastal Adaptations in the Middle Atlantic Region. Archaeology of Eastern North America 16:121–135. Custer, Jay F. 1989. Prehistoric Cultures of the Delmarva Peninsula: An Archaeological Study. University of Delaware Press, Cranbury, New Jersey. Custer, Jay F., and Keith R. Doms. 1983. A Re-analysis of Prehistoric Artifacts from the Wilke-Thompson Collection, Kent County, Maryland. Maryland Historical Trust Manuscript Series No. 30. Maryland Historical Trust, Crownsville. Custer, Jay F., Karen Rosenberg, Glenn Mellin, and Arthur Washburn. 1990. A Re-examination of the Island Field Site (7K-F-17), Kent County, Delaware. Archaeology of Eastern North America 18:145–212. DeJong, Benjamin D., Paul R. Bierman, Wayne L. Newell, Tammy M. Rittenour, Shannon A. Mahan, Greg Balco, and Dylan H. Rood. 2015. Pleistocene Relative Sea Levels in the Chesapeake Bay Region and Their Implications for the Next Century. GSA Today 25:4–10. Dent, Richard J. 1995. Chesapeake Prehistory: Old Traditions, New Directions. Plenum Press, New York. Engelhart, Simon E., Benjamin P. Horton, Bruce C. Douglas, W. Richard Peltier, and Torbjörn E. Törnqvist. 2009. Spatial Variability of Late Holocene and 20th Century SeaLevel Rise along the Atlantic Coast of the United States. Geology 37:1115–1118. Gallivan, Martin. 2003. James River Chiefdoms: The Rise of Social Inequality in the Chesapeake. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln. Gallivan, Martin. 2011. The Archaeology of Native Societies in the Chesapeake: New Investigations and Interpretations. Journal of Archaeological Research 19:281–325. Gallivan, Martin. 2016. The Powhatan Landscape: An Archaeological History of the Algonquian Chesapeake. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Gardner, William M. 1982. Early and Middle Woodland in the Middle Atlantic: An Overview. In Practicing Environmental Archaeology: Methods and Interpretations, edited by Roger W. Moeller, pp. 53–86. American Indian Archaeological Institute, Occasional Paper 1. Institute for American Indian Studies, Washington, Connecticut. Geier, Clarence R., and Michael Barber. 1983. The Skiffes Creek Site (NN7): A Multicomponent Middle Woodland Base Camp in York County, Virginia. Occasional Papers in Anthropology 17. Archaeological Resource Center, James Madison University, Harrisonburg, Virginia. On file with the Virginia Department of Historical Resources, Richmond. Gibb, James G., and Anson H. Hines. 1997. Selby Bay Phase Subsistence Strategies at the Smithsonian Pier Site, Anne Arundel County, Maryland. Maryland Archeology 33(1&2):59–76. Givens, David M., Matthew Laird, and Garrett Fesler. 2001. Phase III Data Recovery at Site 44SK11, Suffolk, Virginia. James River Institute for Archaeology, Inc., Jamestown, Virginia. Report on file with the Virginia Department of Historical Resources, Richmond. Herbert, Joseph. 1995. Thomas Point: Emerging Late Woodland Traditions in Southern Maryland. Jefferson Patterson Park and Museum Occasional Papers, No. 5. the Report on file with the Maryland Historical Trust, Crownsville. Hilgartner, William B., and Grace S. Brush. 2006. Prehistoric Habitat Stability and Post-

132 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

Settlement Habitat Change in a Chesapeake Bay Freshwater Tidal Wetland, USA. Holocene 16:479–494. Hobbs, Carl H. 2004. Geological History of Chesapeake Bay, USA. Quaternary Science Reviews 23:641–661. Holmes, W. H. 1907. Aboriginal Shell-Heaps of the Middle Atlantic Tidewater Region. American Anthropologist 9:113–128. Jansen, Alex, Torben Rick, and Darrin Lowery. 2015. Reconciling Cultural Technologies, and the Rising Tide at Fishing Bay, Maryland. North American Archaeologist 36:141– 164. Jenkins, Jessica A. 2017. Methods for Inferring Oyster Mariculture on Florida’s Gulf Coast. Journal of Archaeological Science 80:74–82. Jones, K. Bruce, Anne C. Neale, Timothy G. Wade, James D. Wickham, Chad L. Cross, Curtis M. Edmonds, Thomas R. Loveland, Maliha S. Nash, Kurt H. Riitters, and Elizabeth R. Smith. 2001. The Consequences of Landscape Change on Ecological Resources: An Assessment of the United States Mid-Atlantic region, 1973–1993. Ecosystem Health 7:229–242. Kirby, Michael X., and Henry Miller. 2005. Response of a Benthic Suspension Feeder (Crassostrea virginica Gmelin) to Three Centuries of Anthropogenic Eutrophication in Chesapeake Bay. Estuarine, Coastal, and Shelf Science 62:679–689. Koski-Karell, Daniel. 1981. Report of Archaeological Excavations at Site 18AN449, Annapolis Landing Housing Development, Riva, Maryland. Report on file at the Maryland Historical Trust, Crownsville. Koski-Karell, Daniel. 1988. Phase 2 Archaeological Investigations at Prehistoric Site 18AN546 (Ducks Run Site), Village of Chesapeake Harbour, Anne Arundel County, Maryland. Report on file at the Maryland Historical Trust, Crownsville. Laird, Matthew, Garrett Fesler, and Ted Maris-Wolf. 2001. Phase III Data Recovery at Site 44SK41, City of Suffolk, Virginia. James River Institute for Archaeology, Inc. Report on file with the Virginia Department of Historical Resources, Richmond. Landon, David B., and Andrea Shapiro. 1998. The Faunal Remains from the Posey Site (18CH281). Report on file at the Maryland Historical Trust, Crownsville. Langland, Michael, and Thomas Cronin (editors). 2003. A Summary Report of Sediment Processes in Chesapeake Bay and Watershed. Water-Resources Report 03–4123. U.S. Geological Survey, New Cumberland, PA. Lepofsky, Dana, Nicole F. Smith, Nathan Cardinal, John Harper, Mary Morris, Gitla (Elroy White), Randy Bouchard, Dorothy I. D. Kennedy, Anne K. Salomon, Michelle Puckett, and Kirsten Rowel. 2015. Ancient Shellfish Mariculture on the Northwest Coast of North America. American Antiquity 80:236–259. Lotze, Heike K., Hunter S. Lenihan, Bruce J. Bourque, Roger H. Bradbury, Richard G. Cooke, Matthew C. Kay, Susan M. Kidwell, Michael X. Kirby, Charles H. Peterson, and Jeremy B. C. Jackson. 2006. Depletion, Degradation, and Recovery Potential of Estuaries and Coastal Seas. Science 312:1806–1809. Lowery, Darrin. 2015. Sea Level Rise, Shoreline Erosion, and Their Impact on Archaeological Interpretation: A Delmarva Case Study. Journal of Middle Atlantic Archaeology 34:1–22. Lowery, Darrin, Stephen J. Godfrey, and Ralph Eshelman. 2011. Integrated Geology, Pale-

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 133

ontology, and Archaeology: Native American Use of Fossil Shark Teeth in the Chesapeake Bay. Archaeology of Eastern North America 39:93–108. Lowery, Darrin, Margaret Jodry, and Dennis Stanford. 2011. Clovis Coastal Zone Width Variation: A Possible Solution for Early Paleoindian Population Disparity along the Middle Atlantic Coast, USA. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 7:53–63. Lowery, Darrin L., Michael A. O’Neal, Sebastian Carisio, and Tessa Montini. 2012. Sea Level Rise in Coastal Virginia: Understanding Impacts to Archaeological Resources. Report on file with the Virginia Department of Historic Resources, Richmond. Lutz, Lara, Martin D. Gallivan, E. Randolph Turner III, David A. Brown, Thane Harpole, and Danielle Moretti-Langholtz. 2015. Virginia Indians at Werowocomoco. University of Virginia Press, Charlottesville. Maxwell, R. Stockton, Amy E. Hessl, Edward R. Cook, and Brendan M. Buckley. 2012. A Multicentury Reconstruction of May Precipitation for the Mid-Atlantic Region Using Juniperus virginiana Tree Rings. Journal of Climate 25:1045–1056. Maxwell, R. Stockton, Amy E. Hessl, Edward R. Cook, and Neil Pederson. 2011. A Multispecies Tree Ring Reconstruction of Potomac River Streamflow (950–2001). Water Resources Research 47:W05512. Miller, Henry M. 1986. Transforming a “Splendid and Delightsome Land”: Colonists and Ecological Change in the Chesapeake 1607–1820. Journal of the Washington Academy of Sciences 76:173–187. Miller, Henry M. 2001. Living along the “Great Shellfish Bay”: The Relationship between Prehistoric Peoples and the Chesapeake. In Discovering the Chesapeake: The History of an Ecosystem, edited by Philip D. Curtin, Grace Somers Brush, and George Wescott Fisher, pp. 109–126. Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore. Miller Rosen, Arlene. 2007. Civilizing Climate: Social Responses to Climate Change in the Ancient Near East. AltaMira Press, Plymouth. Morrison, A. E., and T. L. Hunt. 2007. Human Impacts on the Nearshore Environment: An Archaeological Case Study from Kaua‘i, Hawaiian Islands. Pacific Science 61:325–345. Mouer, L. Daniel. 1991. The Formative Transition in Virginia. In Late Archaic and Early Woodland Research in Virginia: A Synthesis, edited by Theodore R. Reinhart and Mary Ellen N. Hodges, pp. 1–88. Council of Virginia Archaeologists, Richmond. Nagaoka, Lisa. 2002. The Effects of Resource Depression on Foraging Efficiency, Diet Breadth, and Patch Use in Southern New Zealand. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 21:419–442. Orth, Robert J., Mark L. Luckenbach, Scott R. Marion, Kenneth A. Moore, and David J. Wilcox. 2006. Seagrass Recovery in the Delmarva Coastal Bays, USA. Aquatic Botany 84:26–36. Peltier, W. Richard, Donald F. Argus, and Rosemarie Drummond. 2015. Space Geodesy Constrains Ice Age Terminal Deglaciation: The Global ICE-6G_C (VM5a) Model: Global Glacial Isostatic Adjustment. Journal of Geophysical Research: Solid Earth 120:450–487. Potter, Stephen R. 1982. An Analysis of Chicacoan Settlement Patterns. PhD dissertation, Department of Anthropology, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Potter, Stephen R. 1993. Commoners, Tribute, and Chiefs: The Development of Algonquian Culture in the Potomac Valley. University Press of Virginia, Charlottesville.

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

134 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

Reeder-Myers, Leslie A. 2015. Cultural Heritage at Risk in the Twenty-First Century: A Vulnerability Assessment of Coastal Archaeological Sites in the United States. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 10:436–445. Reeder-Myers, Leslie A., and Kathryn Cross. 2019. 4500 Years of Estuarine Subsistence on the Rappahannock River, Virginia. Manuscript on file, Department of Anthropology, Temple University. Reeder-Myers, Leslie A., and Torben C. Rick. 2019. Mitigating the Effects of Sea Level Rise and Coastal Erosion on the Archaeological Record: Kayak Survey in Anne Arundel County, Maryland, USA. Antiquity, in press. Reeder-Myers, Leslie, Torben Rick, Darrin Lowery, John Wah, and Gregory Henkes. 2016. Human Ecology and Coastal Foraging at Fishing Bay, Maryland, USA. Journal of Ethnobiology 36:595–616. Reimer, Paula J., Edouard Bard, Alex Bayliss, J. Warren Beck, Paul G. Blackwell, Christopher Bronk Ramsey, Caitlin E Buck, Hai Cheng, R. Lawrence Edwards, Michael Friedrich, Pieter M. Grootes, Thomas P. Guilderson, Haflidi Haflidason, Irka Hajdas, Christine Hatté, Timothy J. Heaton, Dirk L. Hoffmann, Alan G. Hogg, Konrad A. Hughen, K. Felix Kaiser, Bernd Kromer, Sturt W. Manning, Mu Niu, Ron W. Reimer, David A. Richards, E. Marian Scott, John R. Southon, Richard A. Staff, Christian S. M. Turney, Johannes van der Plicht. 2013. IntCal13 and Marine13 Radiocarbon Age Calibration Curves, 0–50,000 years cal. BP. Radiocarbon 55:1869–1888. Reynolds, Elmer. 1889. The Shell Mounds of the Potomac and Wicomico. American Anthropologist 2:252–259. Rick, Torben C., Gregory A. Henkes, Darrin L. Lowery, Steven M. Colman, and Brendan J. Culleton. 2012. Marine Radiocarbon Reservoir Corrections (ΔR) for Chesapeake Bay and the Middle Atlantic Coast of North America. Quaternary Research 77:205–210. Rick, Torben C., Matthew B. Ogburn, Margaret A. Kramer, Sean T. McCanty, Leslie A. Reeder-Myers, Henry M. Miller, and Anson H. Hines. 2015. Archaeology, Taphonomy, and Historical Ecology of Chesapeake Bay Blue Crabs (Callinectes sapidus). Journal of Archaeological Science 55:42–54. Rick, Torben C., Leslie A. Reeder-Myers, Michael J. Carr, and Anson H. Hines. 2017. 3000 Years of Human Subsistence and Estuarine Resource Exploitation on the Rhode River Estuary, Chesapeake Bay, Maryland. Journal of the North Atlantic 10:113–125. Rick, Torben C., Leslie Reeder-Myers, C. Jane Cox, Stephanie T. Sperline, Alex Jansen, and Anson H. Hines. 2014. Shell Middens, Cultural Chronologies, and Coastal Settlement on the Rhode River Sub-estuary of Chesapeake Bay, Maryland, USA. Geoarchaeology 29:371–388. Rick, Torben C., Leslie A. Reeder-Myers, Courtney A. Hofman, Denise Breitburg, Rowan Lockwood, Gregory Henkes, Lisa Kellogg, Darrin Lowery, Mark W. Luckenbach, Roger Mann, Matthew B. Ogburn, M. J. Southworth, John Wah, J. Wesson, Anson H. Hines. 2016. Millennial-Scale Sustainability of the Chesapeake Bay Native American Oyster Fishery. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 113:6568–6573. Rick, Torben C., and Gregory A. Waselkov. 2015. Shellfish Gathering and Shell Midden Archaeology Revisited: Chronology and Taphonomy at White Oak Point, Potomac River Estuary, Virginia. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 10:339–362.

Sea Level Rise and Sustainability in Chesapeake Bay Coastal Archaeology · 135

Rountree, Helen C., Wayne E. Clark, and Kent Mountford. 2008. John Smith’s Chesapeake Voyages, 1607–1609. University of Virginia Press, Charlottesville. Russo, Michael. 2004. Measuring Shell Rings for Social Inequality. In Signs of Power: The Rise of Cultural Complexity in the Southeast, edited by Jon Gibson and Philip Carr, pp. 26–70. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Sanger, Matthew, and David H. Thomas. 2010. The Two Rings of St. Catherines Island: Some Preliminary Results from the St. Catherines and McQueen Shell Rings. In Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic?, edited by David H. Thomas and Matthew Sanger, pp. 45–70. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Saunders, Rebecca, and Michael Russo. 2011. Coastal Shell Middens in Florida: A View from the Archaic Period. Quaternary International 239:38–50. Sperling, Stephanie. 2011. Archaeological Investigations at Pig Point (18AN50): Extracting the Middle Woodland Period. Report on file at the Maryland Historical Trust, Crownsville. Steponaitis, Laurie C. 1983. An Archaeological Survey of the Patuxent Drainage, Vol. 1. Maryland Historical Trust Manuscript Series No. 24. Maryland Historical Trust, Crownsville. Steponaitis, Laurie C. 1986. Prehistoric Settlement Patterns in the Lower Patuxent Drainage, Maryland. PhD dissertation, Department of Anthropology, State University of New York, Binghamton. Stewart, R. Michael. 1994. Late Archaic through Late Woodland Exchange in the Middle Atlantic Region. In Prehistoric Exchange Systems in North America, edited by Timothy G. Baugh and Jonathon E. Ericson, pp. 73–98. Springer, New York. Stuck, Kenneth E., Charles M. Downing, and Gwyneth A. Duncan. 1997. Phase III Data Recovery of Site 44HT83 Associated with the Route 258, Mercury Boulevard Widening Project, City of Hampton, VA. William and Mary Center for Archaeological Research, Williamsburg, Virginia. Report on file with the Virginia Department of Historical Resources, Richmond. Thompson, Victor D., and Thomas J. Pluckhahn. 2012. Monumentalization and Ritual Landscapes at Fort Center in the Lake Okeechobee Basin of South Florida. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 31:49–65. Walker, Jesse. 2003. Archaeological Investigation of the Holland Point Site (18D0220), Dorchester County, Maryland. Master’s thesis, Department of Anthropology, Temple University, Philadelphia. Waselkov, Gregory A. 1982. Shellfish Gathering and Shell Midden Archaeology. PhD dissertation, Department of Anthropology, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Waselkov, Gregory A. 1987. Shellfish Gathering and Shell Midden Archaeology. Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory 10:93–210. Whyte, Thomas R. 1986. The Zooarchaeology of the Addington Site, a Middle and Late Woodland Fishery. In Archaeological Mitigation of Two Components (44CB9 and 44CB92) of the Great Neck Site Complex, Virginia Beach, Virginia. Report submitted to Virginia Department of Highways and Transportation by James Madison University Archaeological Research Center. On file at the Virginia Department of Historical Resources, Richmond.

136 · Leslie Reeder-Myers and Torben C. Rick

Whyte, Thomas R. 1988. Fish and Shellfish Use in the Woodland Period on the Virginia Coast. Journal of Middle Atlantic Archaeology 4:105–119. Whyte, Thomas R. ca. 1991. Archaeofaunal Remains from Sites 18CV65 and 18CV17S on the Patuxent River, Calvert County, Maryland. Report submitted to the Jefferson Patterson Park and Museum Library, St. Leonard, Maryland. On file with the Maryland Historical Trust, Crownsville. Wilke, Steve, and Gail Thompson. 1977. Prehistoric Archaeological Resources in the Coastal Zone: A Management Overview. Report submitted to the Maryland Department of Natural Resources, Annapolis. On file with the Maryland Historical Trust, Crownsville. Willard, Debra A., Christopher E. Bernhardt, David A. Korejwo, and Stephen R. Meyers. 2005. Impact of Millennial-Scale Holocene Climate Variability on Eastern North American Terrestrial Ecosystems: Pollen-Based Climatic Reconstruction. Global and Planetary Change 47:17–35. Willard, Debra A., Thomas M. Cronin, and Stacey Verardo. 2003. Late Holocene Climate and Ecosystem History from Chesapeake Bay Sediment Cores, USA. Holocene 13:201– 214. Zimmerman, Andrew R., and Elizabeth A. Canuel. 2000. A Geochemical Record of Eutrophication and Anoxia in Chesapeake Bay Sediments: Anthropogenic Influence on Organic Matter Composition. Marine Chemistry 69:117–137.

6 Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina Carolyn D. Dillian

From the popular summer vacation destinations and island communities along the Atlantic coastline, to the agricultural and industrial riches of the interior, North and South Carolina cannot easily be categorized into simple economic, cultural, or environmental categories. Unsurprisingly, then, the archaeology of the Carolinas also varies across time and space. Geographically, the Carolinas can be divided into three regions: the mountains to the west, the piedmont in the center, and the coastal plain to the east (Figure 6.1). All three provided unique resources to inhabitants. The Blue Ridge Mountains along the western border offered lithic resources that were transported throughout the Southeast and, in late prehistory, were marked by stockaded villages, mounds, and an agricultural economy influenced by Mississippian cultures (Ward and Davis 1999). In the piedmont, the Carolina Slate Belt provided rhyolite for lithic implements (Steponaitis et al. 2006) and clay for indigenous ceramics. The coastal plain offered marine and wetland resources, including shellfish, for populations that were seasonally mobile. These coastal adaptations, specifically Native American exploitation of shellfish resources, are the focus here. However, resources from all three regions created horizontally stratified, interconnected communities throughout North and South Carolina. The coast is defined as intertidal beaches, dunes, saline and brackish marshes, and the immediately adjacent uplands. Today the North and South Carolina coastline stretches over 785 km from the northern border with Virginia to the southern border with Georgia. However, this linear measurement does not fully capture the extent of coastal habitat present. Shoreline mileage, which represents the entire outer coast including offshore islands, sounds, bays, rivers, and creeks to the head of tidewater or to

138 · Carolyn D. Dillian

Figure 6.1. Physiographic regions of North and South Carolina, with site locations mentioned in the text.

a point where tidal waters narrow to a width of 30 m, more accurately depicts the size of the coast. Using this measurement, the shoreline of North Carolina is 5,430 km, and that of South Carolina is 4,630 km (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration 1975). Though the focus of this chapter is specifically on the coastal zone, with an emphasis on shellfish exploitation, it is important to note that interactions occurred across all geographic areas through long-standing seasonal mobility, exchange, and communication networks (Amick and Carr 1996; Anderson and Hanson 1988; Daniel 2001; Michie 1996; Sanger and Ogden 2017). These networks were important in social organization, the development of complexity, economic specialization, and regional politics (Muller 1995; Nassaney and Sassaman 1995), all of which are reflected in the archaeological record. The wealth of resources along the coast was an essential component to the entire regional system. Habitats of the Coastal Carolinas

The coasts of North and South Carolina are part of two different geographic features, termed bights, which are roughly defined as curved recesses. North Carolina is within the southern reaches of the Middle Atlantic Bight, which

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 139

extends from Cape Cod, Massachusetts, to Cape Hatteras, North Carolina. The South Atlantic Bight begins at Cape Hatteras and continues south. A subdivision of this geographic region is the Georgia Bight, which roughly extends from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, to the Georgia–Florida border. Slight geologic and geographic differences characterize the Middle Atlantic and South Atlantic Bights, creating a variety of coastal habitats used by early Carolinians. The Middle Atlantic Bight in North Carolina is a submerged sandy coastal plain containing re-sorted Holocene sediments that overlie ancient sounds, bays, and river channels (Browder and McNich 2006; Heron et al. 1984; Riggs et al. 1996; Shephard 1963; TRC Environmental Corporation 2012). Relict channels, probably formed by the Albemarle River and other mid-sized rivers and drainages, created topographic undulations that through time filled with sediment (Riggs et al. 1995). During periods of high sea level during the Holocene, these topographic features were inundated and quickly colonized by wetland species (Riggs and Ames 2003), providing attractive habitat for people. Further south, much of the North and South Carolina coastline is protected by barrier islands, with more than twenty-three barrier islands in North Carolina and thirty-five in South Carolina (Dolan 2000). Barrier islands are the result of multiple factors, including rising sea level, sand supply, waves, and wind. These features originated as sediment deposited as deltas in Pleistocene river systems that was modified through sea level rise, wind, and wave action. Barrier islands are unstable and constantly change shape, size, and location. Archaeologically, this means that preservation of any evidence of early occupation is unlikely, except on the highest and most stable landforms, though people probably used island habitats despite a lack of recovered evidence. More importantly, however, barrier islands create resource rich estuaries and protected marshes in the spaces between the island and the mainland, which were heavily exploited (Gunn 2002). Modern estuarine habitats on the coast contain many small tidal creeks bounded by Spartina alterniflora grasses and tidal salt marshes. These estuarine systems are typically drowned, low-lying areas behind barrier islands that include river valleys inundated by ocean waters as sea level rose through the Holocene (Dolan 2000; Gunn 2002). Tidal creeks supported productive ecosystems that included year-round resident species (e.g., oysters, hard clams) as well as transient vertebrate and invertebrate fauna that seasonally use the estuary as nursery, breeding, and/or foraging grounds (Bretsch and Allen 2006; Dahlberg 1972; Weinstein 1979). The shape and

140 · Carolyn D. Dillian

population of tidal creek habitat are controlled by both geologic and biological processes (Allen et al. 2007; Dame et al. 2000). Spartina alterniflora roots and stems anchor the marsh surface (Morris et al. 1990), and aggregations of oysters and hard clams provide harder substrates extending from the high tide line to subtidal channels. Oysters (Crassostrea virginica) are by far the most important species for shaping habitat in tidal creeks. Adult oysters create reefs that provide hard substrate for young oysters and other fauna. Fringing oyster reefs cover tidal creek banks and provide an element of structural stability for the marsh bank. Between and within these oyster reefs, quahog clams (Mercenaria mercenaria) occupy infaunal tidal creek habitats. Oyster shell clusters and fragments at the reef base are optimal clam settlement habitat, because they provide attachment points for juveniles (Carriker 1959, 2001) and protection from predators (Kraeuter 2001). Oyster reefs also regulate and filter creek flow, and as a result, they influence sediment type, transport, and deposition, which in turn affects clam habitat. As a result, clams and oysters not only were important for subsistence but were also essential in shaping the environmental conditions that humans and other species needed. However, because shellfish were so important in modulating estuarine habitat, human shellfish harvesting also impacted the local environment, creating anthropogenic effects that are just now beginning to be recognized by archaeologists. Sea Level Change during the Holocene

Rates of shoreline change as a consequence of sea level transgressions, tectonic activity, glacial isostatic adjustment, and sediment transport yield a complicated sequence of changing coastal environments in North and South Carolina. Though data are limited, sea level reconstructions for the Early and Middle Holocene in North Carolina suggest a sea level rise of approximately 5 mm per year beginning around 11,062–10,576 cal BP (Horton et al. 2009). Early and Middle Holocene sea level rise has inundated potential archaeological resources that mark human activity along the coast during this period. However, by the Late Holocene, archaeological evidence of occupation is prevalent. During the Late Holocene, beginning approximately 4000 BP to Historic times, the rate of relative sea level rise for the entire coastline of the Carolinas is argued to average approximately 0.6–0.8 mm per year (Engelhart and Horton 2012; Engelhart et al. 2009;

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 141

Kegel 2015; Zaremba 2014), but this average neglects spatial and temporal trends of increasing or decreasing sea level. Regionally specific trends show that during the Late Holocene, beginning around 2849–2543 cal BP to the present in the northern North Carolina coast (Pamlico Sound and north), there was a relative sea level rise of approximately 1.14 ± 0.03 mm per year (Horton et al. 2009). Farther south in North Carolina there was a relative sea level rise of approximately 0.82 ± 0.02 mm per year (Horton et al. 2009). Based on radiocarbon dates for salt marsh peat in Murrells Inlet, South Carolina, Gayes and colleagues (1992) and Scott and colleagues (1995) argue that a Middle Holocene sea level oscillation occurred from 3 m below present levels at 5200–4570 cal BP to 1 m below present level at 4280 cal BP and then returned again to 3 m below present by 3600 cal BP before rising at a slower rate to the modern day. However, 70 km south, the Santee Delta provides evidence of dissimilar trends in sea level oscillations during this time with a 2 m difference in sea level between Murrells Inlet and the Santee Delta (Gayes et al. 1992). Studies have indicated that this spatial variability along the North and South Carolina coasts may be a result of the melting of the Laurentide Ice Sheet and corresponding subsidence of the glacial forebulge (Englehart et al. 2009; Engelhart and Horton 2012; Kemp et al. 2014), but sediment transport (Gayes et al. 1992) and local tectonic activity also contribute to regional differences by perhaps as much as 0.24 ± 0.15 mm per year in southern North Carolina (van de Plassche et al. 2014). Overall, studies have shown a more accelerated rate of sea level rise in the Middle Atlantic region, which decreases southward (Kemp et al. 2014). Not only have sea level changes impacted the coastal environment, but shoreline changes also occurred as a result of migrating rivers within the coastal plain. Historically documented shoreline changes along the coast of Horry and Georgetown Counties in South Carolina provide an example of how mobile coastal features can be. North Inlet and Little River Inlet in Horry County and Murrells Inlet in Georgetown County have experienced rates of migration as much as 10 m per year during this time (Barnhardt 2009), which affected the availability of shellfish resources, since clam and oyster populations require time to establish, and impacted the preservation of archaeological sites.

142 · Carolyn D. Dillian

Archaeological Evidence of Late Archaic Coastal Occupation

As a result of rates of sea level rise and shoreline migration during the Early to Middle Holocene, the earliest well-established occupations of the coastal region appear during the Late Archaic. In South Carolina, from Sewee south, Late Archaic (4800–3200 BP) shell rings, measuring in some cases hundreds of meters across, provide clear evidence of established use of the coastal zone (Sanger and Ogden 2017) (Figure 6.1). These shell rings, as well as associated arcs, mounds, and middens, proliferated within much of the coastal southeastern United States during the Late Archaic (Anderson et al. 2007; Blanton 1996; DePratter 1979; DePratter and Howard 1981; Russo 1996; Russo and Heide 2001; Saunders, ed. 2002). Eastern oyster and, to a lesser degree, quahog clam were the most significant species in these sites, but others such as Atlantic bay scallop (Aequipecten irradians), whelk (Busycon sp.), and marsh periwinkle (Littorina irrorata) were also commonly harvested and discarded into shell ring and midden features (Claassen 1986). Documented Late Archaic shell ring sites in South Carolina include the Fig Island shell ring complex (38Ch42), Sea Pines (38Bu17, Calmes 1968), Skull Creek Shell Ring (38Bu8, Calmes 1968), Barrows (38Bu300), Patent (38Bu301), Coosaw Island Shell Ring (38Bu1866; Heide and Russo 2003), Lighthouse Point (38Ch12; Trinkley 1980), Chester Field (38Bu29), Auld Shell Ring (38Ch41), and Spanish Mount (38Ch62; Sassaman and Anderson 1995). The majority of these rings were created during an approximately 1000 year span between 4200–3200 cal BP (Saunders 2002a), and none have been identified north of Sewee in Charleston County, South Carolina, though non-ring coastal sites are present at least as far north as Georgetown County, South Carolina (DePratter 2005, 2010). The purpose and means of accumulation of shell in ring features is debated, with most archaeologists arguing that rings had either a ceremonial feasting origin, grew from a gradual accumulation of food waste as a result of residential occupation, or developed from an amalgamation of both ceremonial and residential activities. Rebecca Saunders (ed. 2002, 2014) has argued that shell rings result from feasting and ceremonial activity, perhaps indicating a genesis of cultural complexity. Adherents to this hypothesis maintain that the rings appear too well constructed and their patterning too formal to simply represent casual discard (Russo 1994a, 1994b, 2002). This interpretation implies deliberate

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 143

planning, in which shell ring sites were places of ceremony, with important events taking place on, within, or as part of the ring construction (Russo 2002; Saunders 1999). If rings resulted from feasting accumulation, it is argued, they likely represent a single community event tied to status creation. It could mean that important individuals controlled access to resources, such as shellfish, or were able to command the labor necessary to gather and prepare a feast for a community. If so, the rings themselves may be “consumption made conspicuous” (Saunders 2002a: 63, 2014), in that visitors and citizens seeing the rings would be reminded of the actions of high status individuals. The Fig Island shell ring complex (38Ch42), located in Charleston County, South Carolina, contains three discrete shell rings all dating between 4240–3680 cal BP (Saunders 2002a: Table 2, 2002b:154). The site was constructed primarily of oyster shell deposited on a slight topographic rise, raising the rings out of the surrounding marsh. However, sea level may have been slightly below modern levels during occupation, meaning that the shell rings were built on a dry peninsula of land adjacent to tidal marsh instead (Brooks et al. 1989; Brooks and Colquhoun 1991; Sassaman and Anderson 1995; Saunders, ed. 2002). According to models proposed by Gayes and colleagues (1992) and Scott and colleagues (1995), sea levels and corresponding tidal marshes may have been 1 to 3 m below the current level during the time that Fig Island was occupied. The site contained three discrete rings. Fig Island 1 is the tallest known shell ring in the southeastern United States at 5–6 m in height, with a diameter measuring 100 m north/south and 80 m east/west (Russo 2002: 90). It contained more than 22,000 m3 of shell, more than ten times the volume of other rings within the site (Russo 2002: 80–81). Fig Island 1 also contained a series of ancillary structures, such as smaller rings, ramps, and walkways, which may have been necessary to access the ring’s steep walls. Fig Island 2 was smaller, measuring 1 to 2 m in height and about 10–25 m in diameter. It appears more hexagonal than circular. Fig Island 3 was C-shaped but may have eroded extensively due to encroaching tidal marsh (Russo 2002). The Fig Island ring complex material culture consisted of a wide range of formal and expedient artifacts. Shell tools included hammers, gouges, and cutting tools made of whelk; and spokeshaves and net spacers of clam. Other informal shell cutting and scraping tools were probably made and used, particularly given the dearth of lithic materials along the South Carolina coast, but expedient shell artifacts are difficult to identify in shell midden contexts. Bone tools, including pressure flakers, scrapers, decorated

144 · Carolyn D. Dillian

bone pins, and punches were also discarded into the midden. Pottery, including Thom’s Creek ceramics, and lithic artifacts were recovered that were diagnostic to the Late Archaic and consistent with the chronology obtained through radiocarbon assays (Saunders 2002a). Despite the presence of a wide range of tools, ceramics, and lenses of faunal remains and organic soil within the Fig Island shell rings, Saunders maintained that the rings represent ceremonial feasting activities rather than habitation. Day-to-day activities still occurred in preparation for ceremonial feasts, and the presence of domestic debris does not preclude the occurrence of feasting activities. Shell rings are “ . . . architecture composed of midden, not midden mistaken as architecture” (Saunders 2002b:158). Alternatively, a more widely argued shell ring function focuses on gradual accumulation of residential food waste discarded by sedentary or semisedentary egalitarian communities living in a circular pattern of houses. Data on seasonality at St. Catherines shell ring just south of the South Carolina border in Georgia, for example, support a year-round occupation rather than periodic events (Colaninno 2012a, 2012b), and the overall artifact assemblages from shell-ring sites are similar to those from contemporaneous non-shell-ring sites. Trinkley (1985) argued that South Carolina’s shell rings accumulated informally as the inadvertent consequence of the deposition of waste from household shellfish consumption, with discard zones behind a circular habitation area. Through time, people moved households on top of shell middens, perhaps to elevate houses out of marshy ground, as evidenced by postholes and lenses of domestic refuse at sites such as Lighthouse Point (Trinkley 1985). The Lighthouse Point shell ring (38Ch12) is located on James Island, Charleston County, South Carolina, and dates to 3827–3213 cal BP (2 sigma, Saunders 2002a:54; Trinkley 1980:192). It was originally a circular ring about 58–69 m in diameter but was damaged heavily through Historic period shell mining and modern construction (Trinkley 1985:156). Remaining midden deposits in the lowermost levels of the shell ring were excavated in the late 1970s, yielding large quantities of faunal, floral, and artifactual material. Over 36 human coprolites were found along the outside slope of the shell ring, leading to the interpretation that this was a trash or discard area designed to keep waste and odor away from habitation zones. Using soil pH, nitrogen, phosphate, and phosphorous concentrations across the shell ring and the interior and exterior of the ring, Trinkley concluded that people lived on top of the ring itself, with the ring forming

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 145

as house middens that gradually grew into a circle of varying height and width (Trinkley 1985:112). More recent interpretations integrate both hypotheses of ring function and accumulation, in that rings represent year-round settlements where crowds gathered periodically for ceremonial events (Andrus and Thompson 2012; Russo 2002; Russo and Heide 2001; Sanger 2015; Sanger and Ogden 2017; Saunders 1999; Thompson and Andrus 2011; Thompson and Moore 2015). Russo (2002:85) proposed the idea of shell ring sites as “ceremonial villages” for Late Archaic communities. Support for this amalgam interpretation can be found in seasonality studies that demonstrate differing season of capture for shellfish (Quitmyer and Jones 2012) as compared to other food sources, such as fish (Colaninno 2012b), and through the prevalence of local and nonlocal lithic resources (Sanger and Ogden 2017). The Sewee shell ring (38Ch45), in Charleston County, South Carolina, is interpreted as integrating the accumulation of shell and other materials through ceremonial feasts as well as domestic middens from daily living activities (Russo and Heide 2003:43). It represents one of the earliest dated shell rings in South Carolina and is the northernmost shell ring in the Carolinas. The ring consists of a single closed circle, ranging from 1 to 3 m in thickness and as much as 75 m in diameter, and containing more than 3,600 m3 of shell, primarily eastern oyster (Russo and Heide 2003:30). Radiocarbon dates for excavated shell yielded ranges of 4153–3777 cal BP and 4342–3910 cal BP (Russo and Heide 2003:20). The ring accumulated through the deposition of whole oyster shell placed directly on natural sand and marsh substrate with little evidence in the form of crushed shell, hearth or pit features, or lenses of domestic refuse that the ring was the result of gradual domestic shell discard. Russo and Heide (2003:43) argued that any meals consumed within or on the ring itself would have been public events, due to the visibility of such consumption. Private meals would have been held within households, not on the ring plaza or summit, but these private meals also contributed to the piles of shell that made up the ring. The ring does not have low-lying, flat-topped summits that would support egalitarian residential construction, contrasting Trinkley’s (1985, 1997) theories of shell ring domestic accumulation. In sum, the Sewee shell ring appears to represent feasting and public consumption events, likely making up the majority of the deposited shell, as well as private meals and domestic discard. Pottery, specifically Thom’s Creek Plain/Shell Scraped, made up the overwhelming majority of

146 · Carolyn D. Dillian

ceramics recovered during test excavations at all levels (Russo and Heide 2003:13). The chronology for pottery is consistent with the radiocarbon dates obtained from shell associated with ring construction, though on the early end of the range for Thom’s Creek types (Russo and Heide 2003; Trinkley 1980), and place the Sewee shell ring firmly within a Late Archaic chronological period. However, the function of Late Archaic shell rings in South Carolina may have tacked back and forth between residential and ceremonial throughout their use-life. There’s evidence elsewhere that rings may have begun as residential sites and achieved a ceremonial purpose only later in time (Thompson and Andrus 2011). Varied interpretations related to function have also included shelter from hurricanes (cited in Russo 1994b); fish traps (Edwards 1965); monuments (Russo and Heide 2003; Waring 1968; Waring and Larson 1968); and, based on elevation data and salinity observations at Sewee shell ring, as features to store or collect freshwater (Marquardt 2010; Middaugh 2009, 2011, 2013). It is important to note, however, that non-ring shell-bearing sites also existed during the Late Archaic, though they are exceptionally rare north of Charleston County, in South Carolina. Sites such as Daws Island (38Bu9), near Beaufort; Minim Island (38Ge46) and small clam middens in Georgetown County (DePratter 2005); Bass Pond (38Ch124), Venning Creek (38Ch121 and 38Ch217), and 38Ch1693, all near Charleston, are small, Late Archaic sites along the South Carolina coast that contained shell, ceramics, lithics, and in some cases human burials (Michie 1979, 2000; Trinkley and Hacker 2007). Michie (1979) suggested that these may represent the habitation sites where populations lived when not gathering for communal feasts at shell rings, though evidence does not yet exist to directly link the populations of non-ring and ring sites. Farther north, Archaic period archaeological sites on the immediate coast of the Carolinas consisted of small, isolated finds of diagnostic bifaces or ceramics, rather than shell middens that would demonstrate intensive use of coastal resources (Sassaman 1996:81). In fact, finds of archaeological resources in coastal environments (beach, marsh, and dune landforms) attributed to the Middle and Late Archaic in South Carolina make up only 3.3% of all Middle and Late Archaic archaeological finds in the state (extrapolated from Sassaman and Anderson 1995:119, Table 5-5). In North Carolina, there are only isolated finds of Late Archaic lithic or ceramic types in coastal contexts, with little in situ evidence of coastal habitation or coastal resource exploitation prior to the Woodland period (Claassen

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 147

1986; Herbert 2011; Jones 1990:49; Millis 2011:5–8; South 1976). Arguments to explain this dearth of Archaic sites along the coast of the Carolinas north of Charleston County generally focus on Late Holocene sea level rise obscuring evidence of coastal habitation or preventing the establishment of the shellfish populations necessary for subsistence (Blum et al. 2002; Colquhoun and Brooks 1986; DePratter 2010; DePratter and Howard 1981; Elliott and Sassaman 1995; Gayes et al. 1992; Millis 2011; Russo 1996; Sassaman 1996; South 1976; Thomas 2008; Thompson and Turck 2009; Thompson and Worth 2011). The Woodland Period

By the beginning of the Woodland period (approximately 3000 BP), the Middle Holocene sea level oscillations had ended with relative sea level around 3 m below modern (Gayes et al. 1992; Scott et al. 1995) and more gradual sea level rise occurring at a rate of approximately 0.6–0.8 mm per year throughout the Woodland period until the modern day (Engelhart and Horton 2012; Engelhart et al. 2009; Kegel 2015; Zaremba 2014). Few archaeologically visible cultural changes are apparent from the earlier Late Archaic, however, with the exception of the abandonment of shell rings in South Carolina (Sanger 2010) and notable differences in pottery and lithic styles (DePratter 2010; Herbert 2002, 2009; Millis 2011). Subsistence and mobility patterns during the Early and Middle Woodland involved seasonal rounds that took advantage of upland as well as coastal plain resources, as they did during the Late Archaic. Site density increased, and sites were scattered through more diverse environmental settings (Herbert 2002; Millis 2011; South 1976). Soil types and vegetation cover affected the choice of habitation locations, with new emphasis on upland sites that offered access to acorns, hickory nuts, and terrestrial mammals (Millis 2011; Scurry and Brooks 1980; Trinkley 1990:20). Seasonal resource procurement also occurred at shell midden sites (Scurry and Brooks 1980; Trinkley 1990:20) but likely does not represent long-term occupations. Gradually rising sea levels during this time affected the availability of some resources, specifically shellfish, and may have altered coastal occupation patterns (Claassen 1986:124; Michie 1980; Trinkley 1990:20). By the Middle Woodland, a marine transgression averaging rates of 0.6–0.8 mm per year (Engelhart and Horton 2012; Engelhart et al. 2009; Kegel 2015; Zaremba 2014) resulted in expanded estuaries and changes in subsistence that emphasized seasonal shellfish harvesting (Brooks et al.

148 · Carolyn D. Dillian

1989). Analyses of quahog clam and eastern oyster yielded Middle and Late Woodland season-of-harvest data suggesting a November to April shellfishing season (Cannarozzi 2012; Claassen 1982, 1986). However, critics suggest that shellfish may have been gathered during multiple seasons, and possibly even throughout the year, based on data from Georgia (Quitmyer and Massaro 1999; Quitmyer et al. 1985; Quitmyer et al. 1997; Reitz and Quitmyer 1988), since other lines of evidence, including season of harvest for vertebrates and plants, indicate that shell midden sites were occupied year round (Colaninno 2012a; Quitmyer and Jones 2012; Reitz et al. 2012; Scarry and Hollenbach 2012). Changing patterns of species selection as evidenced by species ratios in shell middens also appear during the Woodland period, but these patterns are not universal (Claassen 1986), and syntheses of these data are over 30 years old. Claassen’s (1982, 1986) research in Onslow and Carteret Counties represents the most extensive regional investigation of shellfish exploitation. On the central North Carolina coast, small middens dominated by quahog clam were prevalent during the Woodland period (beginning around 3000 BP) prior to approximately 1500 BP. A shift then occurred to oyster-dominated middens between approximately 1500 and 1100 BP, followed by a return to clam middens after 1100 BP (Claassen 1986:124). South Carolina shell middens during the Woodland period also exhibit changing frequencies of species through time. Early shell middens are dominated by oyster until relatively late in prehistory, when quahog clam was then used almost exclusively beginning around 1160 BP in Winyah Bay in Georgetown County and as recently as 315 BP in Bulls Bay farther south in Charleston County (Claassen 1986:124). In addition to high quantities of quahog clam, it is also not unusual to find large quantities of fish bone and reduced numbers of terrestrial mammals into the Late Woodland (Palmiotto 2011:171). These small middens resulting from seasonal, short-term foraging events are common Woodland period sites along the Atlantic coast of the Carolinas. As an example, site 38Hr594, a discrete shell midden positioned on high, eolian sand bluffs located on the Little River Neck in Horry County, South Carolina, is typical of a Middle to Late Woodland coastal occupation. The site is a Hanover phase (1550–1050 BP, Trinkley 1990:22; Hanover I phase, 1550–1150 BP, Herbert 2009:140), Middle Woodland period temporary encampment and processing site with an associated undisturbed shell midden. Artifacts included Woodland Triangle projectile points; lithic debitage; faunal remains such as bird, fish, turtle, and raccoon; and

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 149

Hanover Complex ceramics. These ceramics have been found throughout the South Carolina coastal plain but may center on the inner coastal plain north of the Cape Fear River in North Carolina (Trinkley 1990:18) or along the North Carolina/South Carolina border (Herbert 2009). Like many Woodland period sites, 38Hr594 was located at a confluence of environmental settings. Terrestrial resources such as deer, rabbit, raccoon, opossum, and other mammals, as well as birds, would have been hunted on the higher ground of Little River Neck. Adjacent tidal creeks contained waterfowl, shellfish, fish, alligator, and crabs, in wetlands protected from the Atlantic Ocean by Waties Island, a small barrier island. The highest concentrations of resources can be found in estuarine and nearshore environments, rather than in offshore waters, due to the availability of nutrients for shellfish, crustaceans, fish, and turtles, and the wide range of species that prey on them (Reitz 1988:138). By positioning themselves in close proximity to several different environmental niches, indigenous people would have been able to take advantage of a range of resources with little travel time. Preliminary excavations suggested that the midden consisted of quahog clam and lesser numbers of eastern oyster, with a ratio of approximately 75% clam and 25% oyster (Dillian 2016). However, recently completed excavations during the 2017 field season indicate that this conclusion was premature, and the site contains a more balanced ratio of clam and oyster, approaching 50%, with only very minor representation of other species such as marsh periwinkle (Littorina irrorata) and whelk (Busycon sp.). The midden is horizontally stratified, with clam dominant at one end, and oyster at the other, yet radiocarbon dates obtained from clam and oyster shells in level 1 and level 3 yielded statistically overlapping 2-sigma calibrated results (Level 1 clam: 815–625 cal BP, Level 1 oyster: 780–610 cal BP; Level 3 clam: 940–700 cal BP, Level 3 oyster: 1165–905 cal BP). No visible stratigraphic break was identified between the horizontal extent of the clam and oyster deposits, meaning they were harvested and processed at approximately the same time, probably during a single shellfishing season. However, since clam and oyster are obtained from slightly different locations within the adjacent estuary, people may have been digging for clams in tidal creeks adjacent to the site, and collecting oysters from the fringing oyster reefs within the marsh nearby. These two activities could have occurred on different days or by different individuals within the community, resulting in the horizontally stratified disposal pattern revealed by moreextensive excavations.

150 · Carolyn D. Dillian

The shell midden at 38Hr594 is typical of the small shellfish-processing middens found throughout the coastal Carolinas during the Woodland period. Though protein and carbohydrate amounts vary depending on the time of year in which they are harvested, shellfish often exceed turkey, quail, and rabbit in carbohydrates and have concentrations of protein comparable to many fish species (Claassen 1991: 273–275). However, despite the importance of shellfish in the diet, middens may have held functions that were more than mere trash deposits, even if not built as deliberate constructions or earthworks. The interpretation of these shell middens has varied along a wide spectrum from informal, scattered disposal of food waste, on the one extreme, to that of ceremonial and status-enhancing activity on the other (e.g., DePratter 1979; Elliott and Sassaman 1995; Erlandson and Fitzpatrick 2006; Marquardt 2010; Palmiotto 2011; Phelps 1983; Russo 1996, 2004, 2010; Russo and Heide 2001; Sanger 2010; Sanger and Thomas 2010; Saunders, ed. 2002; Thomas 2008; Thompson and Worth 2011; Waselkov 1987). Anthropogenic Effects of Shellfish Harvesting

With changing perspectives on coastal occupations, archaeologists are beginning to focus less on the ways in which the environment dictated human behavior, and more on the ways in which human behavior affected the environment (Redman 1999; Redman et al. 2004; Reitz 2014). Through selective harvest of shellfish, humans may have temporarily or even permanently changed the ecological system in which they lived. Research using archaeological shell from sites outside of the Carolinas has shown anthropogenic effects on coastal fisheries of the Atlantic coast of North America predating European colonization (Jackson et al. 2001) and continuing to today (Harding et al. 2008; Henry and Nixon 2008; Kirby and Miller 2005; Merwin, this volume; Powell et al. 2012; Reeder-Myers and Rick, this volume; Reitz 2004, 2014; Rothschild et al. 1994; Turck and Thompson, this volume). Archaeological signatures of overharvesting pressure include an overall decrease in size of harvested specimens through time, different ratios of species in archaeological assemblages than those that occur in nature, and an increased utilization of less easily procured or less easily processed species through time (Claassen 1986:127). When these criteria are applied to archaeological assemblages, harvesting by indigenous people has been linked to reductions in size and age demographics, abundance, and size at maturity for some coastal shellfish populations (Jones et al. 2012; Lightfoot

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 151

and Cerrato 1989; Mannino and Thomas 2002; O’Dea et al. 2014). Claassen (1986) has proposed that overharvesting may be the cause of changes in species use through time in coastal middens in the Carolinas, and Jones and colleagues (2012) have used archaeological and modern samples to examine changing population demographics for hard clam at Litchfield Beach in South Carolina. Trinkley (1980) used a reduction in oyster shell size to propose overharvesting at middens around Pinckney Island in South Carolina, and in Georgia, Quitmyer and colleagues (1985) demonstrate a reduction in age at death for clams through time, with clams then disappearing from midden assemblages, which was interpreted to indicate overharvesting. Overexploitation of marine fish and shellfish populations has also been discussed for modern and historic fisheries (Jackson et al. 2001; Law and Grey 1989; Mannino and Thomas 2002; Rothschild et al. 1994; Walsh et al. 2006). Though this has yet to be thoroughly tested, intensive harvesting of shellfish of a desirable size may also have more subtle genetic effects on the population of an entire estuary, by putting pressure on species to reproduce when they are smaller and to grow more slowly in heavily exploited estuaries. Shellfish that reproduce at these smaller sizes are the only ones genetically contributing to future generations; shellfish that cannot reproduce until they become larger are harvested before they can produce offspring. However, because of the way in which clams in particular reproduce, tidal creeks and estuaries may gain new genetic diversity each season and rebound when harvesting ceases (Claassen 1986). Hard clams are broadcast spawners, meaning that their gametes are released into the water column. Larvae float in tidal currents for 14 to 21 days before settling to the bottom and beginning to grow rapidly. Ideally, larvae will settle within existing shellfish communities, with the larger adults providing some protection against predation on younger and smaller individuals. This means that anthropogenic selection effects are in some ways mitigated by new larvae being transported into a locality by tidal currents, but human harvesting may remove adults that provide protection against predation for very young shellfish. As a result, human harvesting impacts tidal creeks’ shellfish populations in several ways. Humans choose individuals within the target size range to collect, but selectively removing larger individuals compromises not only the protective capacity provided by larger shells but also depletes the reproductive potential, genetic composition, and ability to maximize local conditions, in the form of existing reefs and shellfish beds of mature

152 · Carolyn D. Dillian

individuals, for future generations. Furthermore, fishing pressure selects for slower-growing, smaller, and younger individuals that reach maturity earlier (Buxton 1993; Law and Grey 1989; Walsh et al. 2006). Size-specific harvesting promotes lower genetic diversity and reduced fecundity, because individuals may be removed before they get big enough to reproduce. In sum, the act of harvesting shellfish may have had lasting impacts on the environment and the population of individual estuaries. Currently, more in-depth and estuary-specific research is needed on this subject in the Carolinas in order to understand how Native Americans affected shellfish populations more broadly, and as an important data set for looking at the effect of shellfishing today, and for the management of these fisheries. If shellfishing profoundly and permanently affects estuaries’ populations, then careful management may be necessary to ensure a continuation of these delicate ecosystems. As archaeological data also suggest that fluctuating sea levels can affect shellfish populations, the combination of harvesting pressure and climate change could impact shellfish populations in the future. Directions for Future Research

The archaeological data of anthropogenic impacts on shellfish populations and coastal environments are rapidly disappearing, with sea level rise resulting from climate change inundating and eroding coastal sites. Sea level rise within the last century has accelerated measurably from the Late Holocene. In Charleston, South Carolina, this is estimated at 2.6 ± 0.3 mm per year (Engelhart et al. 2009), a rate that already is impacting archaeological sites. Recent syntheses of archaeological sites at risk of inundation from sea level rise have shown that there are approximately 900 recorded sites in North Carolina, and over 2,000 recorded sites in South Carolina that would be impacted by a sea level rise of only 1 m (Anderson et al. 2017:Table 1). Such effects are already apparent. At the Spanish Mount Point shell mound in Edisto, South Carolina, a transitional Late Archaic/Early Woodland shell mound, active erosion is plainly visible. Archaeologists with South Carolina State Parks, the South Carolina Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology, and student and professional volunteers from the Archaeological Society of South Carolina have performed salvage excavations, frantically trying to recover data before the site completely erodes away. Hurricane Matthew, in 2016, severely damaged the site, despite the

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 153

construction of a seawall around the perimeter. It is unlikely that the site can be preserved in situ. Spanish Mount Point is not unique. Other shell middens and shell rings representing coastal occupation from the Late Archaic through historic times are actively eroding after being inundated by rising sea levels. Archaeological survey, testing, documentation, and excavation may be our only hope to salvage data in the face of climate change (Anderson et al. 2017; Erlandson 2008; Hambrecht and Rockman 2017; Thompson and Worth 2011). Hopefully, research questions related to sea level fluctuations can guide these investigations with a goal of helping us understand how environmental changes may impact coastal communities in the future. Acknowledgments

Thank you to the editors of this volume for the invitation to contribute, and to reviewers for their helpful comments. I wish to also thank Dr. Juli Harding, Department of Marine Science, Coastal Carolina University, for her assistance, knowledge, and partnership on research at 38Hr594. All errors are, of course, my own. References Allen, Dennis M., Susanne Haertel-Borer, Brian Milan, David Bushek, and Richard F. Dame. 2007. Geomorphological Determinants of Nekton Use in Intertidal Salt Marsh Creeks. Marine Ecology Progress Series 329:57–71. Amick, Daniel S., and Philip J. Carr. 1996. Changing Strategies of Lithic Technological Organization. In Archaeology of the Mid-Holocene Southeast, edited by Kenneth E. Sassaman and David G. Anderson, pp. 41–56. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Anderson, David G., and Glen T. Hanson. 1988. Early Archaic Occupations in the Southeastern United States: A Case Study from the Savannah River Basin. American Antiquity 53:262–286. Anderson, David G., Michael Russo, and Kenneth E. Sassaman. 2007. Mid-Holocene Cultural Dynamics in Southeastern North America. In Climate Change and Culture Dynamics: A Global Perspective on Mid-Holocene Transitions, edited by David G. Anderson, Kirk A. Maasch, and Daniel H. Sandweiss, pp. 457–490. Academic Press, Oxford. Anderson, David G., Thaddeus G. Bissett, Stephen J. Yerka, Joshua J. Wells, Eric C. Kansa, Sarah W. Kansa, Kelsey Noack Myers, R. Carl DeMuth, and Devin A. White. 2017. SeaLevel Rise and Archaeological Site Destruction: An Example from the Southeastern United States using DINAA (Digital Index of North American Archaeology). PLoS ONE 12:1–25. Andrus, C. Fred T., and Victor D. Thompson. 2012. Determining the Habitats of Mollusk

154 · Carolyn D. Dillian

Collection at the Sapelo Island Shell Ring Complex, Georgia, USA, Using Oxygen Isotope Sclerochronology. Journal of Archaeological Science 39:215–228. Barnhardt, Walter A. (editor). 2009. Coastal Change along the Shore of Northeastern South Carolina: The South Carolina Erosion Study. U.S. Geological Survey Open-File Report 2008–1206. Blanton, Dennis B. 1996. Accounting for Submerged Mid-Holocene Archaeological Sites in the Southeast: A Case Study from the Chesapeake Bay Estuary, Virginia. In Archaeology of the Mid-Holocene Southeast, edited by Kenneth E. Sassaman and David G. Anderson, pp. 200–218. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Blum, Michael D., Amy E. Carter, Tracy Zayac, and Ron Goble. 2002. Middle Holocene Sea-Level and Evolution of the Gulf of Mexico Coast (USA). Journal of Coastal Research 36:65–80. Bretsch, Kurt, and Dennis M. Allen. 2006. Tidal Migrations of Nekton in Salt Marsh Creeks. Estuaries and Coasts 29:474–486. Brooks, Mark J., Peter A. Stone, Donald J. Colquhoun, and Janice G. Brown. 1989. Sea Level Change, Estuarine Development and Temporal Variability in Woodland Period Subsistence-Settlement Patterning on the Lower Coastal Plain of South Carolina. In Studies in South Carolina Archaeology: Essays in Honor of Robert L. Stephenson, edited by Albert C. Goodyear III and Glen T. Hanson, pp. 91–100. Anthropological Studies 9. South Carolina Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of South Carolina, Columbia. Brooks, Mark J., and Donald J. Colquhoun. 1991. Late Pleistocene-Holocene Depositional Change in the Coastal Plain of the Savannah Valley: A Geoarchaeological Perspective. Early Georgia 19:1–20. Browder, A. Grace, and Jesse E. McNinch. 2006. Linking Framework Geology and Nearshore Morphology: Correlation of Paleo-Channels with Shore-Oblique Sandbars and Gravel Outcrops. Marine Geology 231(1–4):141–162. Buxton, Colin D. 1993. Life History Changes in Exploited Reef Fishes on the East Coast of South Africa. Environmental Biology of Fishes 36:47–63. Calmes, Alan. 1968. Test Excavations at Three Late Archaic Shell-Ring Mounds on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. Southeastern Archaeological Conference Bulletin 8:45–48. Cannarozzi, Nicole R. 2012. Estimating the Season of Harvest of the Eastern Oyster (Crassostrea virginica) from the St. Catherines Shell Ring. In Seasonality and Human Mobility along the Georgia Bight, edited by Elizabeth J. Reitz, Irvy R. Quitmyer, and David H. Thomas, pp. 171–186. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 97. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Carriker, Melbourne R. 1959. The Role of Physical and Biological Factors in the Culture of Crassostrea and Mercenaria in a Salt-Water Pond. Ecological Monographs 29:219–266. Carriker, Melbourne R. 2001. Functional Morphology and Behavior of Shelled Veligers and Early Juveniles. In Biology of the Hard Clam, edited by John N. Kraeuter and Michael Castagna, pp. 283–304. Elsevier Science, Amsterdam. Claassen, Cheryl. 1982. Shellfishing Patterns: An Analytical Study of Prehistoric Shell from North Carolina Coastal Middens. PhD dissertation, Department of Anthropology, Harvard University, Cambridge.

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 155

Claassen, Cheryl. 1986. Temporal Patterns in Marine Shellfish-Species Use along the Atlantic Coast in the Southeastern United States. Southeastern Archaeology 5:120–137. Claassen, Cheryl. 1991. Normative Thinking and Shell-Bearing Sites. In Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory, Vol. 3, edited by M. B. Schiffer, pp. 249–298. Academic Press, San Diego. Colaninno, Carol. 2012a. Evaluating 18O Profiles of Hardhead Catfish and Atlantic Croaker Otoliths as a Method of Determining Seasonal Use of Fishes. In Seasonality and Human Mobility along the Georgia Bight, edited by Elizabeth J. Reitz, Irvy R. Quitmyer, and David H. Thomas, pp. 83–102. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 97. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Colaninno, Carol. 2012b. Evaluating Formational Models for Late Archaic Shell Rings of the Southeastern United States Using Vertebrate Fauna from the St. Catherines Shell Ring, St. Catherines Island, Georgia. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 7:338– 362. Colquhoun, Donald J., and Mark J. Brooks. 1986. New Evidence from the Southeastern U.S. for Eustatic Components in the Late Holocene Sea Levels. Geoarchaeology 1:275–291. Dahlberg, Michael. 1972. An Ecological Study of Georgia Coastal Fishes. Fishery Bulletin 70:323–353. Dame, Richard, David Bushek, Dennis Allen, Don Edwards, Leah Gregory, Alan Lewitus, Sarah Crawford, Eric Koepfler, Chris Corbett, Bjorn Kjerfve, and Theo Prins. 2000. The Experimental Analysis of Tidal Creeks Dominated by Oyster Reefs: The Premanipulation Year. Journal of Shellfish Research 19:361–369. Daniel, I. Randolph, Jr. 2001. Stone Raw Material Availability and Early Archaic Settlement in the Southeastern United States. American Antiquity 66:237–265. DePratter, Chester B. 1979. Shellmound Archaic on the Georgia Coast. South Carolina Antiquities 11:1–69. DePratter, Chester B. 2005. Georgetown County Marsh Middens and Clam Shell Analyses. Legacy 9:12–13. DePratter, Chester B. 2010. Thoughts on the Late Archaic-Early Woodland Transition on the Georgia and South Carolina Coasts. In Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic? edited by David H. Thomas and Matthew Sanger, pp. 247–252. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 93. American Museum of Natural History, New York. DePratter, Chester B., and James D. Howard. 1981. Evidence for a Sea Level Lowstand between 4500 and 2400 years B.P. on the Southeast Coast of the United States. Journal of Sedimentary Petrology 5:1287–1295. Dillian, Carolyn. 2016. Coastal Environments and Carolina Prehistory: A Shell Midden on the Little River Neck, South Carolina. Archaeology of Eastern North America 44:37–56. Dolan, Robert. 2000. The Outer Banks of North Carolina. U.S. Geological Survey Professional Paper 1177-B. Reston, VA. Edwards, William E. 1965. A Preliminary Report on the Sewee Mound Shell Ring, Charleston County, South Carolina. Manuscript on file, Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of South Carolina, Columbia. Elliott, Daniel T., and Kenneth Sassaman. 1995. Archaic Period Archaeology of the Georgia

156 · Carolyn D. Dillian

Coastal Plain and Coastal Zone. Laboratory of Archaeology, Series Report No. 35. University of Georgia, Athens. Engelhart, Simon E., and Benjamin P. Horton. 2012. Holocene Sea Level Database for the Atlantic Coast of the United States. Quaternary Science Reviews 54:12–25. Engelhart, Simon E., Benjamin P. Horton, Bruce C. Douglas, W. Richard Peltier, and Torbjorn E. Tornqvist. 2009. Spatial Variability of Late Holocene and 20th Century SeaLevel Rise along the Atlantic Coast of the United States. Geology 37:1115–1118. Erlandson, Jon M. 2008. Racing a Rising Tide: Global Warming, Rising Seas, and the Erosion of Human History. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 3:167–169. Erlandson, Jon M., and Scott M. Fitzpatrick. 2006. Oceans, Islands, and Coasts: Current Perspectives on the Role of the Sea in Human Prehistory. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 1:5–32. Gayes, Paul T., David B. Scott, Eric S. Collins, and Douglas D. Nelson. 1992. A Late Holocene Sea-Level Fluctuation in South Carolina. In Quaternary Coasts of the United States: Marine and Lacustrine Systems, edited by Charles H. Fletcher III and John F. Wehmiller, pp. 155–160. Special Publication No. 48. SEPM Society for Sedimentary Geology, Broken Arrow, OK. Gunn, Joel D. 2002. Steep Slope, Deadly Environment: The Case for a Cultural Anvil along the Unembayed Atlantic Coast. North Carolina Archaeology 51:1–33. Hambrecht, George, and Marcy Rockman. 2017. International Approaches to Climate Change and Cultural Heritage. American Antiquity 82:627–641. Harding, Juliana M., Roger Mann, and Melissa J. Southworth. 2008. Shell Length-at-Age Relationships in James River, Virginia Oysters (Crassostrea virginica) Collected Four Centuries Apart. Journal of Shellfish Research 27:1109–1115. Heide, Gregory, and Michael Russo. 2003. Investigation of the Coosaw Island Shell Ring Complex (38Bu1866). Report submitted to the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources, Heritage Trust Program, Columbia. On file, Southeast Archaeological Center, National Park Service, Tallahassee. Henry, Kelly M., and Scott W. Nixon. 2008. A Half Century Assessment of Hard Clam, Mercenaria mercenaria, Growth in Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island. Estuaries and Coasts 31:755–766. Herbert, Joseph. 2002. A Woodland Period Prehistory of Coastal North Carolina. In The Woodland South, edited by David G. Anderson and Robert C. Mainfort, Jr., pp. 292– 317. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Herbert, Joseph. 2009. Woodland Potters and Archaeological Ceramics of the North Carolina Coast. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Herbert, Joseph. 2011. Recent Woodland Archaeology of Coastal North Carolina. In The Archaeology of North Carolina: Three Archaeological Symposia, edited by Charles R. Ewen, Thomas R. Whyte, and R. P. Stephen Davis, Jr., 4:1–4:58. Publication No. 30. North Carolina Archaeological Council, Chapel Hill. Heron, S. Duncan, Jr., Thomas F. Moslow, William M. Berelson, John R. Herbert, George A. Steele III, and Kenneth R. Susman. 1984. Holocene Sedimentation of a WaveDominated Barrier-Island Shoreline: Cape Lookout, North Carolina. Marine Geology 60(1–4):413–434. Horton, Benjamin P., W. Richard Peltier, Stephen J. Culver, Rosemarie Drummond, Simon

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 157

E. Engelhart, Andrew C. Kemp, David Mallinson, E. Robert Thieler, Stanley R. Riggs, Dorothy V. Ames, and Katie H. Thomson. 2009. Holocene Sea-Level Changes along the North Carolina Coastline and Their Implications for Glacial Isostatic Adjustment Models. Quaternary Science Reviews 28:1725–1736. Jackson, Jeremy B. C., Michael X. Kirby, Wolfgang H. Berger, Karen A. Bjorndal, Louis W. Botsford, Bruce J. Bourque, Roger H. Bradbury, Richard Cooke, Jon Erlandson, James A. Estes, Terence P. Hughes, Susan Kidwell, Carina B. Lange, Hunter S. Lenihan, John M. Pandolfi, Charles H. Peterson, Robert S. Steneck, Mia J. Tegner, and Robert R. Warner. 2001. Historical Overfishing and the Recent Collapse of Coastal Ecosystems. Science 293:629–638. Jones, David C. 1990. Prehistoric Subsistence Patterns on the North Carolina Coast: Nutritional Status as Measured by Cortical Bone Area. Master’s thesis, Department of Anthropology, University of Tennessee, Knoxville. Jones, Douglas S., Irvy R. Quitmyer, and Chester B. DePratter. 2012. Validation of Annual Shell Increments and Shifting Population Dynamics in Modern and Zooarchaeological Hard Clams (Mercenaria mercenaria). In Seasonality and Human Mobility along the Georgia Bight, edited by Elizabeth J. Reitz, Irvy R. Quitmyer, and David H. Thomas, pp. 149–164. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 97. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Kegel, Jessica. 2015. Extension of the Late Holocene Sea-Level Record in North Carolina, USA. Master’s thesis, Department of Geological Sciences, East Carolina University, Greenville, North Carolina. Kemp, Andrew C., Christopher E. Bernhardt, Benjamin P. Horton, Robert E. Kopp, Christopher H. Vane, W. Richard Peltier, Andrea D. Hawkes, Jeffrey P. Donnelly, Andrew C. Parnell, and Niamh Cahill. 2014. Late Holocene Sea- and Land-Level Change on the U.S. Southeastern Atlantic Coast. Marine Geology 357:90–100. Kirby, Michael X., and Henry M. Miller. 2005. Response of a Benthic Suspension Feeder (Crassostrea virginica Gmelin) to Three Centuries of Anthropogenic Eutrophication in Chesapeake Bay. Estuarine, Coastal, and Shelf Science 62:679–689. Kraeuter, John N. 2001. Predators and Predation. In Biology of the Hard Clam, edited by John N. Kraeuter and Michael Castagna, pp. 441–590. Elsevier Science, Amsterdam. Law, Richard, and David R. Grey. 1989. Evolution of Yields from Populations with AgeSpecific Cropping. Evolutionary Ecology 3:343–359. Lightfoot, Kent, and Robert Cerrato. 1989. Regional Patterns of Clam Harvesting along the Atlantic Coast of North America. Archaeology of Eastern North America 17:31–46. Mannino, Marcello A., and Kenneth D. Thomas. 2002. Depletion of a Resource? The Impact of Prehistoric Human Foraging on Intertidal Mollusk Communities and Its Significance for Human Settlement, Mobility and Dispersal. World Archaeology 33:452–474. Marquardt, William H. 2010. Shell Mounds in the Southeast: Middens, Monuments, Temple Mounds, Rings, or Works? American Antiquity 75:551–570. Michie, James L. 1979. The Bass Pond Dam Site: Intensive Archaeological Testing at a Formative Period Base Camp on Kiawah Island, South Carolina. Research Manuscript Series No. 197. University of South Carolina Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology, Columbia. Michie, James L. 1980. An Intensive Shoreline Survey of Archaeological Sites in Port Royal

158 · Carolyn D. Dillian

Sound and the Broad River Estuary, Beaufort County, South Carolina. Research Manuscript Series No. 167. University of South Carolina Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology, Columbia. Michie, James L. 1996. The Taylor Site: An Early Occupation in Central South Carolina. In The Paleoindian and Early Archaic Southeast, edited by David G. Anderson and Kenneth E. Sassaman, pp. 238–269. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Michie, James L. 2000. The Daws Island Shell Midden: Cultural Diversity on the Lower South Carolina Coast during the Late Archaic Period. South Carolina Antiquities 32(1 & 2):3–48. Middaugh, Douglas P. 2009. Putative Structures and Salinity Gradients at the Sewee Shell Ring, South Carolina: Evidence for Ancient Control of Freshwater Resources. Journal of the North Carolina Academy of Science 125(3):87–102. Middaugh, Douglas P. 2011. Carolina Bays and the Sewee Shell Ring Site, South Carolina: Evidence for Natural and Planned Water Gathering. Journal of the North Carolina Academy of Science 127(3):197–213. Middaugh, Douglas P. 2013. Evidence of an Archaic Dam in a Carolina Bay: The Sewee Shell Ring, South Carolina. Journal of the North Carolina Academy of Science 129(1):9– 19. Millis, Tracy L. 2011. Woodland Period Site Distribution and Landscape Use in the Coastal Plain of Southeastern North Carolina. In The Archaeology of North Carolina: Three Archaeological Symposia, edited by Charles R. Ewen, Thomas R. Whyte, and R. P. Stephen Davis, Jr., pp. 5:1–5:32. Publication No. 30. North Carolina Archaeological Council, Chapel Hill. Morris, James T., Björn Kjerfve, and John M. Dean. 1990. Dependence of Estuarine Productivity on Anomalies in Mean Sea Level. Limnology and Oceanography 35(4):926– 930. Muller, Jon. 1995. Regional Interaction in the Later Southeast. In Native American Interactions: Multiscalar Analyses and Interpretations in the Eastern Woodlands, edited by Michael S. Nassaney and Kenneth E. Sassaman, pp. 317–340. University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville. Nassaney, Michael S., and Kenneth E. Sassaman. 1995. Introduction: Understanding Native American Interactions. In Native American Interactions: Multiscalar Analyses and Interpretations in the Eastern Woodlands, edited by Michael S. Nassaney and Kenneth E. Sassaman, pp. xix–xxxviii. University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. 1975. The Coastline of the United States [NOAA/PA 71046]. US Government Printing Office, Washington, DC. O’Dea, Aaron, Marian Lynne Shaffer, Douglas R. Doughty, Thomas A. Wake, and Felix A. Rodriguez. 2014. Evidence of Size-Selective Evolution in the Fighting Conch from Prehistoric Subsistence Harvesting. Proceedings of the Royal Society B 281:20140159. Palmiotto, Andrea. 2011. A Zooarchaeological Synthesis of South Carolina’s Prehistoric Coastal Sites. Southeastern Archaeology 30:166–175. Phelps, David S. 1983. Archaeology of the North Carolina Coast and Coastal Plain: Problems and Hypotheses. In The Prehistory of North Carolina: An Archaeological Symposium, edited by Mark A. Mathis and Jeffrey J. Crow, pp. 1–51. North Carolina Division of Archives and History, Raleigh.

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 159

Powell, Eric N., John M. Klinck, Katheryn Ashton-Alcox, Eileen E. Hofmann, and Jason Morson. 2012. The Rise and Fall of Crassostrea virginica Oyster Reefs: The Role of Disease and Fishing in Their Demise and a Vignette on Their Management. Journal of Marine Research 70(2–3):505–558. Quitmyer, Irvy R., and Douglas S. Jones. 2012. Annual Incremental Shell Growth Patterns in Hard Clams (Mercenaria spp.) from St. Catherines Island, Georgia: A Record of Seasonal and Anthropogenic Impact on Zooarchaeological Resources. In Seasonality and Human Mobility along the Georgia Bight, edited by Elizabeth J. Reitz, Irvy R. Quitmyer, and David H. Thomas, pp. 135–148. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 97. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Quitmyer, Irvy H., and Melissa A. Massaro. 1999. Seasonality and Subsistence in a Southwest Florida Estuary: A Faunal Analysis of Precolumbian Useppa Island. In The Archaeology of Useppa Island, edited by William H. Marquardt, pp. 99–128. Institute of Archaeology and Paleoenvironmental Studies, Monograph 3. University of Florida, Gainesville. Quitmyer, Irvy, H. Stephen Hale, and Douglas S. Jones. 1985. Paleoseasonality Determination Based on Incremental Shell Growth in the Hard Clam Mercenaria mercenaria, and Its Implications for the Analysis of Three Southeast Georgia Coastal Shell Middens. Southeastern Archaeology 4:27–40. Quitmyer, Irvy, Douglas S. Jones, and William S. Arnold. 1997. The Sclerochronology of Hard Clams Mercenaria spp., from the South-Eastern U.S.A.: A Method of Elucidating the Zooarchaeological Records of Seasonal Resource Procurement and Seasonality in Prehistoric Shell Middens. Journal of Archaeological Science 24:825–840. Redman, Charles L. 1999. Human Impact on Ancient Environments. University of Arizona Press, Tucson. Redman, Charles L., Steven R. James, Paul R. Fish, and J. Daniel Rogers (editors). 2004. The Archaeology of Global Change: The Impact of Humans on Their Environment. Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington, DC. Reitz, Elizabeth. 1988. Evidence for Coastal Adaptations in Georgia and South Carolina. Archaeology of Eastern North America 16:137–158. Reitz, Elizabeth. 2004. “Fishing down the Food Web”: A Case Study from St. Augustine, Florida, USA. American Antiquity 69:63–83. Reitz, Elizabeth. 2014. Continuity and Resilience in the Central Georgia Bight (USA) Fishery between 2760 BC and AD 1580. Journal of Archaeological Science 41:716–731. Reitz, Elizabeth, and Irvy Quitmyer. 1988. Faunal Remains from Two Coastal Georgia Swift Creek Sites. Southeastern Archaeology 7:95–108. Reitz, Elizabeth J., Bruce M. Saul, J. Q. Moak, Gwendolyn D. Carroll, and Charles W. Lambert. 2012. Interpreting Seasonality from Modern and Archaeological Fishes on the Georgia Coast. In Seasonality and Human Mobility along the Georgia Bight, edited by Elizabeth J. Reitz, Irvy R. Quitmyer, and David H. Thomas, pp. 51–82. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 97. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Riggs, Stanley R., and Dorothea V. Ames. 2003. Drowning the North Carolina Coast: Sea Level Rise and Estuarine Dynamics. North Carolina Department of Environment and Natural Resources, and North Carolina Sea Grant, Raleigh.

160 · Carolyn D. Dillian

Riggs, Stanley R., William J. Cleary, and Stephen W. Snyder. 1995. Influence of Inherited Geologic Framework upon Barrier Beach Morphology and Shoreface Dynamics. Marine Geology 126(1–4):213–234. Riggs, Stanley R., Stephen W. Snyder, Albert C. Hine, and David L. Mearns. 1996. Hardbottom Morphology and Relationship to the Geologic Framework: Mid-Atlantic Continental Shelf. Journal of Sedimentary Research 66:830–846. Rothschild, Brian J., Jerald S. Ault, Philippe Goulletquer, and Maurice Héral. 1994. Decline of the Chesapeake Bay Oyster Population: A Century of Habitat Destruction and Overfishing. Marine Ecology Progress Series 111:29–39. Russo, Michael. 1994a. A Brief Introduction to the Study of Archaic Mounds in the Southeast. Southeastern Archaeology 11:89–93. Russo, Michael. 1994b. Why We Don’t Believe in Archaic Ceremonial Mounds and Why We Should: The Case from Florida. Southeastern Archaeology 11:95–108. Russo, Michael. 1996. Southeastern Mid-Holocene Coastal Settlements. In Archaeology of the Mid-Holocene Southeast, edited by Kenneth E. Sassaman and David G. Anderson, pp. 177–199. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Russo, Michael. 2002. Architectural Features at Fig Island. In The Fig Island Ring Complex (38Ch42): Coastal Adaptation and the Question of Ring Function in the Late Archaic, edited by Rebecca Saunders, pp. 85–97. South Carolina Department of Archives and History, Columbia. Russo, Michael. 2004. Measuring Shell Rings for Social Inequality. In Signs of Power: The Rise of Cultural Complexity in the Southeast, edited by Jon L. Gibson and Philip J. Carr, pp. 26–70. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Russo, Michael. 2010. Shell Rings and Other Settlement Features as Indicators of Cultural Continuity between the Late Archaic and Woodland Periods of Coastal Florida. In Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic?, edited by David H. Thomas and Matthew C. Sanger, pp. 150–172. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 93. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Russo, Michael, and Gregory Heide. 2001. Shell Rings of the Southeast U.S. Antiquity 75:491–492. Russo, Michael, and Gregory Heide. 2003. Mapping the Sewee Shell Ring. Report submitted to the Francis Marion and Sumter National Forests, South Carolina. Southeast Archaeological Center, National Park Service, Tallahassee. Sanger, Matthew C. 2010. Leaving the Rings: Shell Ring Abandonment and the End of the Late Archaic. In Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic?, edited by David H. Thomas and Matthew C. Sanger, pp. 202–215. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 93. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Sanger, Matthew C. 2015. Determining Depositional Events within Shell Deposits Using Computer Vision and Photogrammetry. Journal of Archaeological Science 53:482–491. Sanger, Matthew C., and David H. Thomas. 2010. The Two Rings of St. Catherines Island: Some Preliminary Results from the St. Catherines and McQueen Shell Rings. In Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic?, edited by David H. Thomas and Matthew C. Sanger, pp. 45–70. Anthropological Papers of the Ameri-

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 161

can Museum of Natural History No. 93. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Sanger, Matthew C., and Quinn-Monique Ogden. 2017. Determining the Use of Late Archaic Shell Rings Using Lithic Data: “Ceremonial Villages” and the Importance of Stone. Southeastern Archaeology 37:232–252. Sassaman, Kenneth E. 1996. Early Archaic Settlement in the South Carolina Coastal Plain. In The Paleoindian and Early Archaic Southeast, edited by David G. Anderson and Kenneth E. Sassaman, pp. 58–83. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Sassaman, Kenneth E., and David G. Anderson. 1995. Middle and Late Archaic Archaeological Records of South Carolina. Savannah River Archaeological Research Papers 6. Occasional Papers of the Savannah River Research Program. South Carolina Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of South Carolina, Columbia. Saunders, Rebecca. 1999. Feast or Quotidian Fare? Rollins Shell Ring and the Question of Site Function. Paper presented at the 56th Annual Meeting of the Southeastern Archaeological Society, Pensacola, Florida. Saunders, Rebecca. 2002a. Previous Archaeological Research. In The Fig Island Ring Complex (38Ch42): Coastal Adaptation and the Question of Ring Function in the Late Archaic, edited by Rebecca Saunders, pp. 43–63. South Carolina Department of Archives and History, Columbia. Saunders, Rebecca. 2002b. Summary and Conclusions. In The Fig Island Ring Complex (38Ch42): Coastal Adaptation and the Question of Ring Function in the Late Archaic, edited by Rebecca Saunders, pp. 154–159. South Carolina Department of Archives and History, Columbia. Saunders, Rebecca (editor). 2002. The Fig Island Ring Complex (38Ch42): Coastal Adaptation and the Question of Ring Function in the Late Archaic. South Carolina Department of Archives and History, Columbia. Saunders, Rebecca. 2014. Shell Rings of the Lower Atlantic Coast of the United States. In The Cultural Dynamics of Shell-Matrix Sites, edited by Mirjana Roksandic, Sheila Mendonca de Souza, Sabine Eggers, Meghan Burchell, and Daniela Klokler, pp. 41–55. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque. Scarry, C. Margaret, and Kandace D. Hollenbach. 2012. What Can Plants and Plant Data Tell Us about Seasonality? In Seasonality and Human Mobility along the Georgia Bight, edited by Elizabeth J. Reitz, Irvy R. Quitmyer, and David H. Thomas, pp. 187–198. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 97. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Scott, David B., Paul T. Gayes, and Eric S. Collins. 1995. Mid-Holocene Precedent for a Future Rise in Sea-Level along the Atlantic Coast of North America. Journal of Coastal Research 11:615–622. Scurry, James, and Mark Brooks. 1980. An Intensive Archaeological Survey of the South Carolina State Ports Authority’s Bellview Plantation, Charleston, South Carolina. Research Manuscript Series 157. South Carolina Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of South Carolina, Columbia. Shepard, Francis P. 1963. Submarine Geology. Harper and Row, New York. South, Stanley. 1976. An Archaeological Survey of Southeastern Coastal North Carolina.

162 · Carolyn D. Dillian

The Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology Notebook, Vol. 8. Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of South Carolina, Columbia. Steponaitis, Vincas, Theresa McReynolds, Jeffrey Irwin, and Christopher Moore (editors). 2006. Stone Quarries and Sourcing in the Carolina Slate Belt. Research Report No. 25. Research Laboratories of Archaeology, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Thomas, David H. (editor). 2008. Native American Landscapes of St. Catherines Island, Georgia, Vols. I–III. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 88. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thompson, Victor D., and C. Fred T. Andrus. 2011. Evaluating Mobility, Monumentality, and Feasting at the Sapelo Island Shell Ring Complex. American Antiquity 76 (2):315– 344. Thompson, Victor D., and Christopher R. Moore. 2015. The Sociality of Surplus among Late Archaic Hunter-Gatherers of Coastal Georgia. In Surplus: The Politics of Production and the Strategies of Everyday Life, edited by Christopher T. Morehart and Kristin De Lucia, pp. 245–266. University Press of Colorado, Boulder. Thompson, Victor D., and John A. Turck. 2009. Adaptive Cycles of Coastal Hunter-Gatherers. American Antiquity 74:255–278. Thompson, Victor D., and John E. Worth. 2011. Dwellers by the Sea: Native American Adaptations along the Southern Coasts of Eastern North America. Journal of Archaeological Research 19:51–101. TRC Environmental Corporation. 2012. Inventory and Analysis of Archaeological Site Occurrence on the Atlantic Outer Continental Shelf. U.S. Dept. of the Interior, Bureau of Ocean Energy, Gulf of Mexico OCS Region, New Orleans. OCS Study BOEM 2012–008. Trinkley, Michael B. 1980. Investigation of the Woodland Period along the South Carolina Coast. PhD dissertation, Department of Anthropology, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Trinkley, Michael B. 1985. The Form and Function of South Carolina’s Early Woodland Shell Rings. In Structure and Process in Southeastern Archaeology, edited by Roy S. Dickens, Jr., and H. Trawick Ward, pp. 102–118. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Trinkley, Michael B. 1990. An Archaeological Context for the South Carolina Woodland Period. Chicora Foundation, Inc., Research Series 22. Prepared for South Carolina Department of Archives and History, Columbia. Trinkley, Michael B. 1997. The Gradual Accumulation Theory: the Lighthouse Point and Stratton Place Shell Rings. From South Carolina Archaeology Week poster, Shell Rings of the Late Archaic. South Carolina Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of South Carolina, Columbia. Trinkley, Michael B., and Debi Hacker. 2007. Data Recovery at 38CH 1693, A Small Thom’s Creek Site in Charleston County, South Carolina. Chicora Foundation, Inc., Research Series 69. Prepared for South Carolina Department of Archives and History, Columbia. Van de Plassche, Orson, Alex J. Wright, Benjamin P. Horton, Simon E. Engelhart, Andrew C. Kemp, David Mallinson, and Robert E. Kopp. 2014. Estimating Tectonic Uplift of the Cape Fear Arch (South-Eastern United States) Using Reconstructions of Holocene Relative Sea Level. Journal of Quaternary Science 29:749–759.

Coastal Adaptations in North and South Carolina · 163

Walsh, Matthew R., Stephan B. Munch, Susumu Chiba, and David O. Conover. 2006. Maladaptive Changes in Multiple Traits Caused by Fishing: Impediments to Population Recovery. Ecology Letters 9:142–148. Ward, H. Trawick, and R. P. Stephen Davis, Jr. 1999. Time before History: The Archaeology of North Carolina. University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill. Waring, Antonio J., Jr. 1968. The Archaic Hunting and Gathering Cultures: The Archaic and Some Shell Rings. In The Waring Papers: The Collected Works of Antonio J. Waring Jr., edited by Stephen B. Williams, pp. 243–246. Papers of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology 58. Cambridge, Massachusetts. Waring, Antonio J., Jr., and Lewis Larson. 1968. The Shell Ring on Sapelo Island. In The Waring Papers: The Collected Works of Antonio J. Waring Jr., edited by Stephen B. Williams, pp. 263–278. Papers of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology 58. Cambridge, Massachusetts. Waselkov, Gregory. 1987. Shellfish Gathering and Shell Midden Archaeology. In Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory, Vol. 10, edited by M. B. Schiffer, pp. 93–210. Springer, New York. Weinstein, Michael P. 1979. Shallow Marsh Habitats as Primary Nurseries for Fishes and Shellfish, Cape Fear River, North Carolina. Fishery Bulletin 77:339–357. Zaremba, Nicholas. 2014. Holocene Stratigraphy and Paleoenvironmental Change of Pamlico Sound, North Carolina, USA. Master’s thesis, Department of Geological Sciences, East Carolina University, Greenville, North Carolina.

7 Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

Dynamic processes along the Georgia coast were not uniform in space or in time and have altered the landscape into various micro-environmental habitats. Evaluating these changing habitats leads to a better understanding of human-environmental interactions, including human landscape use and its enduring ecological legacies. This chapter synthesizes and evaluates settlement and subsistence patterns in relation to habitat change for all precontact periods of the Georgia coastal zone (Figure 7.1). This is defined as the tidally influenced portion of Georgia, including parts of the mainland, back-barrier and interbarrier areas (small islands, marshes, and estuaries), and barrier islands. These patterns are linked to the cultural chronology developed by DePratter (1991:11; DePratter and Howard 1981:1288) and Thomas (2008a:423; 2009:53), with Turck and Thompson’s (2016) revised Late Archaic chronology (Table 7.1). This is supplemented with the radiocarbon record, newly corrected and calibrated at two sigma (using CALIB’s estimated delta 13C measurements and v. 7.0.0 of the online program, the Northern Hemisphere calibration curve [intcal13.14c] for terrestrial dates, and the global marine calibration curve [marine13.14c] and delta R value of -119 ± 16 [Thomas et al. 2013:33] for marine dates; Turck and Thompson 2014). This discussion of the past has implications for the future. Past peoples dealt with similar coastal issues as today’s, such as sea level fluctuations and changes to once productive resources. Knowledge of past human-environmental interactions is necessary to understand future coastal changes, and people’s role in them. The end of this chapter takes an activist approach, to show archeology’s usefulness and ultimately to transform society for the better, by outlining a way to convey this information to non-scientists.

Figure 7.1. Map of the Georgia coast study area.

166 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

Table 7.1. Chronologies for the Georgia coast Subperiod Contact Late Mississippian Middle Mississippian Early Mississippian Late Woodland Middle Woodland Early Woodland Late Archaic

Phase Altamaha (Guale) Irene Savannah St. Catherines Wilmington Deptford Refuge St. Simons

Years BP (uncal) Years BP (cal) (DePratter 1991) (Thomas 2008a) 370–250 675–370 800–675 1000–800 1500–1000 2400–1500 3100–2400 4500–3100

370–250 650–370 X 1150–650 1600–1150 2300–1600 2950–2300 4950–2950

Environmental Habitats

The present-day Georgia coastal zone is composed of both Pleistocene and Holocene-aged deposits (Hayes et al. 1980:285). The Pleistocene islands (the Silver Bluff shoreline) formed between 110,000 and 40,000 BP (Howard and Frey 1985:78), when sea level was higher than at present. As sea level lowered during the last glacial period, these islands became part of the interior. Around 5000 BP sea levels had risen to once again meet the former Silver Bluff shoreline, depositing Holocene sediments with Pleistocene ones. The landforms composing the Georgia coastal zone are defined as: ~20 km of mainland; back-barrier areas of islands, marsh, and estuaries; Pleistocene barrier islands; interbarrier areas of marsh and islands; and Holocene barrier islands. Such landforms can be differentiated by how freshwater enters the coast, as drainage patterns are related to settlement patterns, at least during some periods (e.g., Turck and Thompson 2016). In deltaic areas rivers supply suspended sediment, resulting in high rates of organic and inorganic accumulation, which can lead to marsh progradation during sea level fluctuations (Reed 2002:238). Marshes provide people with subsistence options, as they function as nurseries for juvenile fish and macrocrustaceans (Hampel et al. 2003:286). Georgia deltaic areas include the Savannah and Ogeechee Rivers to the north, the Altamaha River along the central coast, and the Satilla and St. Marys Rivers to the south. Non-deltaic areas, where no rivers flow into the coastal zone, lack sediment influx. This leaves the marsh-estuarine system susceptible to change, as it is harder for the marsh to maintain itself during fluctuating sea levels (see Turck 2011, 2012). Non-deltaic areas are found between the aforementioned rivers, including the St. Catherines and

Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast · 167

Sapelo Island area and the Jekyll Island area. This chapter details, when appropriate, information by landform and drainage. Middle Archaic Period (8000–5000 BP)

Environment The Middle Archaic was most likely a time of warmer summer temperatures and colder winter temperatures (Kerwin et al. 1999). Evidence for wetter conditions is seen as large paleomeander scars on the middle Ogeechee River (Leigh and Feeney 1995), indicating high river discharge but not necessarily higher levels of effective precipitation (see Leigh 2008). Sea level at 8000 BP was anywhere from 32 m below present (mbp) to 10 mbp (e.g., Garrison et al. 2008). Turck’s (2012) model, which uses 15 mbp from Horton and colleagues (2009:1731–1732) for the height of sea level at this time, reveals that the present-day coastal zone was mainland upland, over 20 km from the coastline. Rivers were within range of the ocean to begin undergoing floodplain aggradation. Sea level rose to ~3.0 mbp by 5000 BP (Gayes et al. 1992) (Figure 7.2), a fairly rapid rise. Palynological evidence indicates that forest conditions

Figure 7.2. Sea level curves relevant to the Georgia coast.

168 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

were similar to modern (Leigh 2008:101), with possible warmer-thanpresent temperatures (Jones et al. 2005). Rainfall was similar to modern (Leigh 2008:101), with possible initial river channel incision (Leigh and Webb 2006). Rising sea levels and backfilling of river valleys buried former surfaces in Holocene sediments (Leigh 2008:103). Estuaries most likely formed, and there was a fairly large intertidal area where marsh could potentially form (Turck 2012). The present-day barrier islands were still part of one contiguous mainland, but fronted on their east sides by marsh (like the present-day mainland) or by ocean (Turck 2012). Archaeology The coastal plain had a significantly lower population during the Middle Archaic period as compared to other areas of Georgia (Turck et al. 2011; see also Elliott and Sassaman 1995:125). The low visibility of Middle Archaic remains may be a factor (i.e., no pottery, the dearth of lithic materials, no shell middens). However, it is more likely that the lack of sites actually represents a low population. In the coastal zone, only two Middle Archaic sites have been found, none with evidence of coastal adaptations (Figure 7.3). This pattern is more pronounced when compared to the nearby Gulf Coast and Atlantic coast (Randall, this volume) of Florida, which had coastally adapted Middle Archaic populations, possibly year-round. Evidence of Middle Archaic coastal adaptations in northern areas (Wolff et al., this volume; Betts et al., this volume; Merwin, this volume) seems to be due to how relative sea level affects the archaeological record. The establishment of estuaries and marsh, along with the lack of coastal populations in Georgia, suggests nonenvironmental reasons played a role in Middle Archaic settlement patterns (Turck 2012). That Middle Archaic settlement did not change over 3,000 years, even though the setting changed drastically (going from interior to coastal, with the establishment of productive resources), must be addressed further. Late Archaic Period (St. Simons Phase): 5000–3100 BP

Environment Gayes and colleagues (1992) present the most relevant sea level data for Georgia (see discussion in Thomas 2011). While not as fine-grained as other curves (see Marquardt 2010:258, 267), it is based on reliable methods (foraminifera in closely spaced cores) (Gayes et al. 1992:159). The validity of the

Figure 7.3. Distribution of Archaic period sites within the Georgia coastal zone.

170 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

Colquhoun and Brooks (1986) sea level curve has been questioned, with sea level indicators suspect for some intervals (Gayes et al. 1992:159). Eustatic, or global, sea level curves are not adequate, and should be used only as general guides (Rull et al. 1999:496). Local differences in neotectonic activity (Colquhoun and Brooks 1986:278; Hayes 1994:246) underscore the need for relative sea level curves. Sea level continued rising after 5000 BP, reaching ~2 mbp by 4500 cal BP, to 1.2 mbp at 4200 cal BP (Gayes et al. 1992). The large increase in salt marsh formation during this early Late Archaic period was similar to the modern landscape (Turck 2011). Marsh sedimentation and flooding filled in lower elevations, separating areas of higher elevations from the mainland. This re-created the Pleistocene coastline, where former islands were islands once again (Turck 2012). Holocene-aged coastal deposits (beach ridges, islands, etc.) began forming around these islands (Hayes et al. 1980:286). Sea level reversed course and dropped to 2.5 mbp by 3800 cal BP, and 3.15 mbp by 3600 cal BP (Gayes et al. 1992). By the end of the Late Archaic (~3000 BP), sea level either continued dropping to about 4.0 mbp or reversed course, rising to 2.7 mbp (Gayes et al. 1992). The difference is based on data reported by Gayes and colleagues (1992:159) but not used in constructing the curve. When that is taken into account with DePratter and Howard’s (1981:1292) data, there probably was a continued regression (Thompson and Turck 2009:266–267). Under either scenario, the majority of the coastal zone reverted back to an upland mainland setting by the end of the Late Archaic (Turck 2011:163–164, 198). In deltaic areas, marsh maintained itself during falling sea levels (Turck and Thompson 2016), while there was a general disruption in marsh productivity in non-deltaic areas (Turck (2011). Evidence from sediment cores indicates that intertidal marsh deposition began between 3560 and 2900 BP off the northeast coast of the non-deltaic Sapelo Island (Turck and Alexander 2013). This suggests that a protective barrier formed to the east, although it was not Blackbeard Island, which dates much later in time (Turck and Alexander 2013). Archaeology: General Intensive settlement on the Georgia coast occurs during the Late Archaic period, similar to other Atlantic coast areas, like South Carolina (Dillian, this volume). There are 277 sites in the Georgia coastal zone during this time (Table 7.2, Figure 7.3) (Turck and Thompson 2016; Turck et al. 2011). There are deviations from this pattern in other areas, for example,

Table 7.2. Site counts, percentages, and densities for the Late Archaic through Late Woodland Period Late Archaic Landform Deltaic Mainland Back-barrier (islands/ marsh) Barrier island (Pleistocene) Interbarrier

Area

(km2)

Early Woodland

Mid. Woodland

Late Woodland

Ct

%

Dens.

Ct

%

Dens.

Ct

%

Dens.

Ct

%

Dens.

1,226.4

54

19.5%

0.04

40

30.8%

0.03

103

27.8%

0.08

45

12.9%

0.04

831.0

12

4.3%

0.01

8

6.2%

0.01

24

6.5%

0.03

21

6.0%

0.03

155.6

36

13.0%

0.23

23

17.7%

0.15

56

15.1%

0.36

61

17.4%

0.39

431.0

25

9.0%

0.06

17

13.1%

0.04

19

5.1%

0.04

50

14.3%

0.12

Barrier island (Holocene) Subtotal

43.4

0

0.0%

0.00

0

0.0%

0.00

1

0.3%

0.02

2

0.6%

0.05

2,687.4

127

45.8%

0.05

88

67.7%

0.03

203

54.9%

0.08

179

51.1%

0.07

Non-deltaic Mainland

1,302.9

83

30.0%

0.06

12

9.2%

0.01

98

26.5%

0.08

45

12.9%

0.03

1,046.9

47

17.0%

0.04

28

21.5%

0.03

45

12.2%

0.04

63

18.0%

0.06

78.0

19

6.9%

0.24

2

1.5%

0.03

22

5.9%

0.28

50

14.3%

0.64

121.0

1

0.4%

0.01

0

0.0%

0.00

2

0.5%

0.02

12

3.4%

0.10

Back-barrier (islands/ marsh) Barrier island (Pleistocene) Interbarrier Barrier island (Holocene) Subtotal

13.8

0

0.0%

0.00

0

0.0%

0.00

0

0.0%

0.00

1

0.3%

0.07

2,562.6

150

54.2%

0.06

42

32.3%

0.02

167

45.1%

0.07

171

48.9%

0.07

TOTAL/AVERAGE

5,249.9

277

0.05

130

0.02

370

0.07

350

0.07

172 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

apparently lower occupation along the coast of Chesapeake Bay (ReederMyers and Rick, this volume). The factor seems to be differences in relative sea level, which obscures site visibility. The absence of coastally adapted Middle Archaic populations in Georgia suggests that Late Archaic populations migrated from other areas (e.g., the piedmont, interior coastal plain, along the Savannah River, etc.) (Turck 2012; see also Crook 2009:81–83; Crusoe and DePratter 1976:13). The three main coastal Late Archaic site types include shell rings, shell middens, and non-shell sites (Michie 1979; Waring 1968). These sites have been identified by the presence of diagnostic fiber-tempered pottery, some of the earliest in North America (Sassaman 1993), as well as the presence of shell. The high visibility of shell-bearing sites potentially biases the archaeological record (DesJean et al. 1985:166). Shell rings are circular-toarcuate in shape and composed predominantly of shell, with a mostly shellfree plaza in the center. Empirical evidence indicates that many shell rings were occupied year-round (Colaninno 2012; Reitz et al. 2009; Russo 1998; Thomas 2010:190–191; Thompson and Andrus 2011), with substantial deposits of habitation refuse. A relatively recent hypothesis posits that shell ring deposits are the result of both habitation and mounding, feasting, or ceremonial activities (Russo 2004; Thompson 2007). Archaeology: Deltaic Areas Northern Coast Around the coastal zone of the Savannah and Ogeechee Rivers, there are large shell midden, shell ring, and shell crescent sites in all micro-environmental habitats. This includes large shell middens on the mainland and Pleistocene barrier islands, such as the 2 m-thick Bilbo dating 4500–3800 cal BP, with a possible initial occupation around 5000 cal BP (Crook 2009). Multiple shell middens and shell rings/crescents are found in the interbarrier marsh just east of the Pleistocene islands. Radiocarbon dates from basal contexts indicate these sites were first occupied during the early portion of the Late Archaic period, between 5000 and 3800 cal BP (Turck and Thompson 2016). Continued occupation after 3800 BP is found in the interbarrier area farther east (behind Little Tybee Island), where there are multiple shell middens completely or partially buried under marsh on a subsurface beach ridge. Radiocarbon dates of 3978–3838 cal BP and 3846–3474 cal BP from

Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast · 173

the basal shell layers of two middens indicate that shell deposition began fairly late in this area (Turck and Thompson 2016). Central Coast There are Late Archaic sites on the mainland in the central portion of the coast, where the Altamaha River flows to the ocean, but it is unknown whether they are shell-bearing. A shell ring (West Ring) on the Pleistocene St. Simons Island dates from 4808–4288 cal BP at its base to 4502–3873 cal BP at the top. The interbarrier marsh contains shell rings as well, including the Oatland Ring-Bony Hammock site on a marsh island, and Cannon’s Point Marsh Ring, just to the east of the West Ring. Cannon’s Point contains one of the oldest dates for a shell ring on the Georgia coast, at 5276–4731 cal BP. The upper levels date to 4711–4126 cal BP, similar to the lower levels of the West Ring, suggesting these sites were occupied simultaneously. Occupation had ceased at both rings by 3800 cal BP. Similar to the interbarrier area of the northern Georgia coast, there is a shell midden (9GN58) with both a Late Archaic and an Early Woodland component on a buried landform within the marsh, suggesting the possibility of terminal Archaic shellfish utilization. Southern Coast The Satilla and St. Marys Rivers contribute to the southernmost deltaic area of the Georgia coast. Two non-shell Late Archaic components on the mainland have radiocarbon dates with good contexts. The Kings Bay Site (Big Cedar Area) has a terminal Late Archaic date (3843–3409 cal BP) not associated with shell deposition (DesJean et al. 1985:201). The Devils Walkingstick site (Fiber Tempered Area) returned a date with a large range (4229–3634 cal BP), straddling the early and terminal Late Archaic (DesJean et al. 1985:154, 156). At the time of occupation, lowering sea levels would have left these sites far from marsh resources. The one possible Late Archaic site with shell is a supposed shell ring in the back-barrier area, although no artifacts or radiocarbon dates are known from the site. Archaeology: Non-deltaic Areas On the central coast, Pleistocene barrier islands contain shell rings dating to the early Late Archaic. On St. Catherines Island shell construction completely ceases at both rings by 3750 BP (Sanger and Thomas 2010:67). On

174 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

Sapelo Island three shell rings in close proximity were probably occupied at the same time, for a fairly short amount of time (between 50 and 100 years), and abandoned at the same time around 3800 BP (Thompson 2007). Growth band analysis at Sapelo Ring II and III and isotope analysis at Ring III indicate occupation during all four seasons (Thompson and Andrus 2011:335, 337). Pleistocene barrier islands contain sites dating to after 3800 BP that are not associated with shell use. These include 9Li-197 (Thomas 2008b:567) and 9Li-137 on St. Catherines Island, the latter dating to both before and after 3800 cal BP, and containing both Late Archaic and Early Woodland ceramics (Thomas 2008b:547). Three other non-shell Late Archaic sites without dates (Thomas 2010:189) indicate a wider range of activities outside of shellfishing on St. Catherines. On Sapelo Island there are two non-shell sites with terminal Late Archaic dates. Less dense occupations (based on sherd count) were found outside of the Shell Rings (Thompson 2007:103). At the Kenan Field site, a fairly substantial occupation (based on amount and extent of sherd distribution) dates to 3571–3409 cal BP. In the back-barrier area, the Late Archaic component on Patterson Island dates to the terminal Late Archaic period (Turck 2011). The occupation at this time was substantial, especially when compared to other marsh islands (Thompson and Turck 2010), and the majority of it was not associated with shellfish exploitation, likely due to how falling sea levels adversely affected the marsh (Turck 2011). Little Sapelo Island also had a non-shell Late Archaic occupation (Thompson and Turck 2010). The A. Busch Krick shell crescent, located on the back-barrier Creighton Island, is the only ring site in Georgia that dates to the terminal Late Archaic period. However, the date (3900–3450 cal BP) is probably incorrect, as it was obtained from a conch or whelk shell (species unknown), which has been shown to produce problematic dates (Hadden and Cherkinsky 2014). Archaeology: Summary Late Archaic populations experienced environmental change differentially, but without societal collapse or massive depopulation (Turck and Thompson 2016). In deltaic areas, shellfishing starts earlier and ends later (5000–3500 cal BP), with continuity in shellfish utilization and settlement in interbarrier areas. Along non-deltaic portions of the coast, early Late Archaic shellfishing extends from 4500 to 3800 cal BP. During the terminal Late Archaic period, some non-shellfishing occupations were substantial,

Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast · 175

even with population movements and subsistence changes. Terminal Late Archaic communities were resilient in both deltaic and non-deltaic areas, even when lowering sea levels returned much of the coast to a mainland setting. There was a general continuity throughout the early and terminal Late Archaic period, even with a transition from coastal adaptations to lifeways where shellfish use was fairly limited or nonexistent (Turck and Thompson 2016). Turck and Thompson (2016) speculated that intervillage relationships reinforcing communal activities developed during the early part of the period and continued into the terminal Late Archaic. These relationships ameliorated adverse affects that occurred due to environmental change. Early Woodland Period (Refuge Phase): 3100–2400 BP

Environment As discussed in the previous section, multiple sources indicate that sea level continued dropping at the end of the Late Archaic and into the Early Woodland. At 2700 cal BP, sea level was 4.0 mbp (DePratter and Howard 1981:1292), or as low as 4.7 mbp (Gayes et al. 1992:150). After this, sea level rose rapidly (1 cm per year), reaching 1.0 mbp by 2400 BP (DePratter and Howard 1981; Gayes et al. 1992). There is evidence that the marsh-estuarine system persisted or formed anew in some locations. In the northern deltaic area, a marine shell dating to the Early Woodland (2698–2496 cal BP) was found over 3 m deep on an interbarrier marsh island behind Wassaw (Turck and Alexander 2013). In the central non-deltaic area, marsh developed northeast of Sapelo Island by 2900 BP, indicating that the marsh-estuarine system and possibly shellfish were available for exploitation at this time (Turck and Alexander 2013). Archaeology: General The Archaic-Woodland transition was a time of change throughout the United States, including the Southeast (Thomas and Sanger 2010). There are statistically significant differences between Late Archaic and Early Woodland settlement on the greater coastal plain of Georgia (Turck et al. 2011) and specifically in the coastal zone (Thompson and Turck 2009). However, the general continuity from the early to the terminal Late Archaic

176 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

may extend into the Early Woodland, at least in some locations (Turck and Thompson 2016). South Carolina actually exhibits an increase in Early Woodland site density (Dillian, this volume). An issue with understanding Early Woodland settlement is the difficulty with discerning Early from Middle Woodland sites (DePratter 1976:2). Some ceramic types (i.e., Refuge plain and simple stamped) are present throughout both subperiods (DePratter 1991:9, 11). Thus, it is necessary to sometimes combine these two subperiods into a larger unit of analysis. This can be more accurate, but it masks more subtle patterns. Archaeology: Deltaic Areas Northern Coast The highest concentration of Early Woodland sites occurs in the northern section of the coast (Table 7.2, Figure 7.4). In the interbarrier area, most of the Late Archaic shell middens have Early Woodland components, suggesting a continuity in occupation, even if the latter is not associated with shellfish exploitation. DePratter and Howard (1977; DePratter 1977a) found Early Woodland ceramics in dredge piles 3.0–1.5 m below sea level, indicating that sea levels lowered, and shorelines prograded eastward at this time. Although shoreline progradation continued, sea level reversed course and began rising, eventually burying landforms, and associated archaeological sites, under marsh sediment (DePratter and Howard 1981). Thus, the lack of coastally adapted Early Woodland sites may be due to the lack of deep testing. As Late Archaic people followed the migrating coast, continuing to utilize marsh-estuarine resources where available, so too did some Early Woodland peoples (DePratter 1977a; Turck and Thompson 2016). Deep testing in deltaic interbarrier areas should locate more Early Woodland sites under marsh sediments, associated with former surfaces. Evidence further supporting this claim comes from coastal South Carolina, where large shell midden and shell ring sites date to the terminal Late Archaic and Early Woodland periods. For example, ceramics and radiocarbon dates indicate a terminal Late Archaic/ Early Woodland occupation (3200–2800 cal BP) at the Delta site. Faunal and floral remains indicate that people exploited estuarine and freshwater riverine habitats (Crook 2009). This appears to be linked to environmental change, as falling sea levels would have caused the marsh-estuarine system to move eastward. The people living at the Delta site would have been in a position to continue

Figure 7.4. Distribution of Woodland period sites within the Georgia coastal zone.

178 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

exploiting estuarine resources, but with a closer proximity to freshwater resources. Central Coast On the central coast, another possible transitional site was found near the Late Archaic shell ring sites on St. Simons Island. Cultural material beneath the present-day marsh (termed “Marsh Culture”) has an Early Woodland radiocarbon date of 3141–2750 cal BP (Marrinan 1975:49). The mix of fiber, fiber and sand, and sand-tempered ceramics (Marrinan 2010:97) indicates cultural continuity between the people here and previous Late Archaic peoples. This locale reverted back to a mainland setting, with the coastline 11–16 km to the east (Turck 2011:176–180). No shellfish were found at the site, although the estuary remained productive, as freshwater, brackish, and marine fish species were recovered at this site (see Marrinan 1975). This suggests a forager strategy, utilizing the nearby estuary but not traveling farther to collect shellfish (Turck 2011). Archaeology: Non-deltaic Areas Through a comparative, distributional analysis of eight archaeological surveys across four different habitats of the central non-deltaic area, Turck (2011) found that there was a decrease in the intensity of occupation everywhere except one back-barrier island. Although this indicates a decrease in population without abandonment, that pattern needs refining when falling sea level is taken into account. Most of the coastal zone reverted back to a mainland setting, with the ocean around 1.5–2.0 km east of today (Turck 2011:171). Early Woodland sites may be found buried under subsequent marsh sediment, as in deltaic areas. One such site exists in the non-deltaic back-barrier marsh, southwest of Creighton Island, where DePratter (1984) found Early Woodland ceramics in a thin shell layer. If this site is dated definitively to the Early Woodland, the presence of shell so close to the present-day mainland would be an anomaly for Georgia. This, and sites like it, need further testing and radiocarbon dating to understand the full Early Woodland settlement pattern. Early and Middle Woodland sites are combined into a larger Early/ Middle Woodland (Refuge/ Deptford) subperiod on St. Catherines Island (Thomas 2008a:412). However, the radiocarbon record can be used to differentiate the two. There is a decrease in radiocarbon dates during the Early Woodland, with only eight of the over 150 marine shell dates falling between 3300–2150 BP (Thomas 2010:184). Thomas (2010:184) argues that this

Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast · 179

indicates a hiatus in shell deposition on the island during the Early Woodland. That most marine radiocarbon dates in association with Early/Middle Woodland ceramics are younger than those ceramics (Thomas 2010:185) suggests mixing of older and younger deposits. Two sites (9Li26 and 46) with Early and Middle Woodland ceramics date to the Early Woodland (3190–2370 BP), and two (9Li47 and 173) have dates from both periods (Thomas 2008a:408–409). This indicates at least four definitive Early Woodland sites, as well as possible continuities or connections between the Early and Middle Woodland periods. Again, understanding environmental changes in conjunction with radiocarbon dating from undisturbed contexts will be necessary to fully understand Early Woodland settlement. Middle Woodland Period (Deptford Phase): 2400–1500 BP

Environment Sea level rose from 1.0 mbp at 2400 cal BP to ~0.72 mbp by 1500 cal BP (Gayes et al. 1992). In deltaic areas, progradation of the coastline continues to occur, due to sediment influx from rivers. Optically stimulated luminescence (OSL) dating of sediments, radiocarbon dating (Turck and Alexander 2013), and the use of the archaeological record to date former shorelines (DePratter and Thompson 2013) all indicate the existence of Flora Hammock/Little Wassaw Island prior to 1500 BP. Although progradation did not occur in non-deltaic areas on a large scale, other landform formation took place. Turck and Alexander (2013) estimate that the southern end of Sapelo Island was an active margin from 2375 to 2056 BP, possibly related to Doboy Sound activity. Around 2000 BP, the small island off the southern end formed, and the intervening area filled with marsh sediment (Turck and Alexander 2013). In general, temperatures in the Northern Hemisphere were warmer than average until about 1000 BP (Wanner et al. 2015). Archaeology Populations in Georgia were part of the “Hopewell Interaction Sphere,” trading exotic items long distances. Typical of this are large earthen mounds at sites like Kolomoki, Swift Creek, and Leake. The coastal zone is no exception, with ample evidence of mound building (e.g., Thomas and Larsen 1979). In fact, much of the eastern seaboard seems to have relatively high

180 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

population densities, large diet breadths, and diverse artifact assemblages (Betts et al., this volume; Merwin, this volume; Reeder-Myers and Rick, this volume; Randall, this volume). There is a significant increase in Middle Woodland site density on the coastal plain (Turck et al. 2011). In the coastal zone, sites are once again found in abundance, even greater than in the Late Archaic period (Table 7.2, Figure 7.4; see also Thompson and Turck 2009). Site densities are evenly distributed between deltaic and non-deltaic landforms, with an emphasis on back-barrier and interbarrier marsh island settlement (Thompson and Turck 2010). Sherd density data (i.e., number of sherds per area surveyed) also support this idea, with fairly low sherd densities on the mainland, and extremely high densities on back-barrier islands (Turck 2011). Sherd density data also suggest that marsh islands were just as intensively occupied/utilized as large barrier islands (Turck 2011). It was common for people to occupy marsh edges (DePratter and Howard 1980:12–14), which gave them access to the resources of the marshes, islands, and tidal creeks (Milanich 1980:173). Numerous shell middens reveal that estuarine shellfish were once again utilized, and that much of the diet was made up of bony fish and turtle (DePratter and Howard 1980:14; Milanich 1980:174). This reliance on oysters, clams, and fish was similar to Late Archaic populations’ (Quitmyer and Reitz 2006). Some coastal sites were fairly large, and some were occupied throughout the year (Quitmyer et al. 1985; Quitmyer et al. 1997). These findings suggest a preference for Middle Woodland settlement on the coastal plain in general, and the coastal zone specifically. This intensification of occupation, or the visibility of sites, in the coastal zone may be related to sea level rise. The slow rise in sea level allowed for the reestablishment of the marsh-estuarine system and the resources utilized by people (Turck 2011). Definitive Middle Woodland occupations can be differentiated from the Early Woodland through radiocarbon dating. Four St. Catherines Island sites (9Li15, 47, 173, and 228) with Early/Middle Woodland ceramics have nine dates from the Middle Woodland (2290–1510 BP) (Thomas 2008a:408–409). With 9Li47 and 173 also having Early Woodland dates, this indicates distinct occupations from both subperiods, and possibly some form of connectivity. The majority of mortuary activities preserved in the archaeological record occurred during the Middle Woodland subperiod, according to the radiocarbon record (Thomas 2008c:1009–1010). Most samples were found underneath the sand mounds on the former ground surface and date initial

Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast · 181

construction activities of burning and clearing. Other samples were from before burning occurred (e.g., Cunningham Mound C features 2 and 3) (Thomas and Larsen 1979:58), indicating that not all such dates are associated with the mounds. More radiocarbon dating is needed to discern Middle Woodland mound construction. The people interred in these burial mounds were likely from an egalitarian society where they achieved higher status during their lifetimes (Thomas 2010:193). There is also a high frequency of female interments (Thomas and Larsen 1979). In addition to the religious significance of these mounds, Thompson and Turck (2009) suggest that the construction was related to people controlling resources and territories. Late Woodland Period (Wilmington Phase): 1500–1000 BP

Environment From 0.72 mbp at 1500 cal BP, sea level rose to ~0.6 mbp by 1000 cal BP (Gayes et al. 1992). Off the northeast coast of Sapelo Island, Blackbeard Island first formed, as indicated by Late Woodland period archaeological sites (DePratter 1977b), a radiocarbon date (2000–1616 BP), and an OSL date (1340–1140 BP) (Turck and Alexander 2013). Although marsh first developed in this area earlier (~2900 BP), the formation of Blackbeard around 1500 BP indicates a larger interbarrier area existed. The rest of the ridges making up Blackbeard Island have not been dated or fully surveyed archaeologically, but they probably formed later in time, successively (see DePratter 1977b). A decrease in oyster size at this time when compared to the Late Archaic most likely indicates large-scale changes in environment (Lulewicz et al. 2017). By the end of the Late Woodland, flooding and marsh formation due to sea level rise began shaping the coastline similar to today. For example, in the central non-deltaic coast, Mary Hammock in the backbarrier area separated from the larger entity containing Little Sapelo Island, Fishing Hammock, and Pumpkin Hammock around 1000 BP (Turck 2011). At this same time, Harris Neck separated from the mainland, becoming a back-barrier marsh island. Archaeology The Hopewell Interaction Sphere comes to an end. In the Southeast there were more-restricted social boundaries (Cobb and Nassaney 1995), and people may have been fighting over territories (McElrath and Emerson

182 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

2009). In Georgia there is an abandonment of the large mound centers except for Kolomoki, and distinct ceramic types arose in specific areas (Williams 2005). Similar to the Middle Woodland period, there was a preference for settlement on the coastal plain, which contained significantly high component proportions (Turck et al. 2011). In the coastal zone, the total number of sites decreases slightly compared to the previous subperiod (Table 7.2, Figure 7.4). However, this does not necessarily equate to a lower population. Restricted social boundaries would lead to decreased mobility, resulting in fewer sites being occupied/created. It is probable that population increased. Non-deltaic back-barrier areas have the highest number of sites of all environmental habitats. However, due to the large area of marsh, the density is artificially low. When this is taken into account (Thompson et al. 2013), back-barrier areas throughout the coastal zone have the highest site densities. Sherd density data support this idea as well. Similar to the Middle Woodland period, mainland sherd density is fairly low, but on marsh islands like Patterson Island and Mary Hammock, Late Woodland sherd densities are high, suggesting people focused on marsh-estuarine habitats (Turck 2011). Late Woodland populations rapidly occupied new coastal landforms as they developed (DePratter 1977b; DePratter and Thompson 2013). In deltaic areas, almost all interbarrier islands have evidence of occupation, such as between the Wilmington-Tybee and Skidaway-Wassaw areas. Nondeltaic areas have similar patterns, such as on Blackbeard Island (DePratter 1977b) and the marsh island off the southern end of Sapelo Island (Turck and Alexander 2013). Over half of the Late Woodland sites on St. Catherines Island were found on the southern island core (Thomas 2008d:905). In addition, incremental data from clams indicate that St. Catherines Island was occupied during all seasons of the year (Thomas 2008d:907). All evidence indicates that year-round settlement and occupation intensification seen during the Middle Woodland continued through the Late Woodland subperiod.

Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast · 183

Mississippian Period (St. Catherines, Savannah, and Irene Phases): 1000–370 BP

Environment Sea level continued to rise at a negligible pace (Gayes et al. 1992). Off the east shore of Sapelo Island, Frey and Basan (1981:113) dated relict marsh under present-day Cabretta Beach to between 1000 and 500 BP. This suggests that protective barrier beaches (e.g., Cabretta Beach and Nanny Goat Beach) were present along the Georgia coast at this time, but farther seaward. A number of global-scale climate shifts occurred during this time, including the Medieval Climate Anomaly (1000–650 BP) and the Little Ice Age (650–250 BP). It is uncertain how, if at all, these large-scale shifts are expressed along the Georgia coast, mostly due to a lack of research regarding the nature of these changes. An important source of paleoenvironmental data is bald cypress (Taxodium distichum) dendrochronology, where a 1,055-year tree ring sequence from the lower Altamaha River has been produced and used to reconstruct the climate of the area (Stahle and Cleaveland 1992). Blanton and Thomas (2008) provide an in-depth discussion of this work and the Palmer Hydrological Drought Index (PHDI; after Stahle and Cleaveland, 1992), identifying three important patterns. First, it is clear that for the past thousand years there was periodicity in the degree to which droughts affected the Georgia coast. That is, the region experienced an “oscillating history of wetter–drier and warmer–colder conditions” (Blanton and Thomas 2008:800). The second pattern shows a pronounced drought from 774 to 730 cal BP (AD 1176–1220), which also corresponds to a time of generally cooler temperatures in the Northern Hemisphere. Blanton and Thomas (2008) suggest that this would have impacted agricultural practices. Third, there appears to be another drought from 388 to 379 cal BP (AD 1562–1571), with the apex of the drought occurring between 385 and 381 cal BP (AD 1565–1569, Blanton and Thomas 2008:803). Ethnohistory Based on ethnohistorical documents, the people who occupied the northern Georgia coast in the sixteenth century were known as the Guale. The Mocama, a Timucua-speaking distinct ethnic and political group, occupied the southern Georgia coast, south of St. Simons Island (Worth 1995). These Native American populations practiced agriculture, as well as fishing,

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

184 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

hunting, and foraging. The degree to which individual groups engaged in these traditions varied across the region. Coastal populations engaged in the planting of maize, beans, and a variety of squashes. It is possible that they practiced a type of swidden agriculture, leaving some fields fallow during certain years. Again, this picture of coastal farming is derived largely from the ethnohistoric record. Settlement within the coastal zone focused on tidal creeks and rivers that were adjacent to uplands. On the barrier islands, large sites dating to the Mississippian period straddle such environments, often on the backbarrier-facing side of these islands (e.g., Crook 1986). It is not clear the degree to which coastal groups practiced shifting residence patterns. Possibly there were varying degrees of settlement shifts over time and space. For the northern Georgia coast, and presumably the southern portion, the key component of the settlement was the town. Orista towns on the South Carolina coast were described as being located near the edge of the forest, with maize fields and other houses at varying distances, presumably occupied by family groups (Sandford 1911:91). There is conflicting evidence on the stability of populations in similar Guale towns. Early Jesuit accounts suggest that the Guale were highly mobile and that agriculture was limited in the coastal zone. Conversely, slightly later Franciscan descriptions note the presence of towns and agricultural fields (Jones 1978:243; Thomas 2008e). Such ethnohistoric descriptions have heavily influenced archaeological models of Guale settlement and subsistence. At one end of the spectrum, Larson (1980) and Crook (1986) propose a highly variable subsistence tied to population movements, where the vast majority of people living in towns leave for part of the year. In Crook’s (1986) scheme, only at the largest towns do chiefs and their close kin stay year-round. Population aggregation for the most part occurred only after the autumn harvest (Crook 1986). This view of settlement is dependent on the nature of resources in certain habitats, and the ethnohistoric accounts of mobility. Thomas (2008e:1112) has critiqued this model, suggesting that Guale mobility and subsistence observed by the Jesuits was directly influenced by the drought. The ethnohistoric record shows that the Georgia coast housed complex political groups. Portions of the coast were organized into polities with hereditary positions of authority. The Guale were organized into three primary polities during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Thomas 2008e; Worth 1995). Each of these had two major towns with leaders and retainers (Thomas 2008e). It seems that leadership rotated between the two

Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast · 185

towns; the primary leader was known as the mico or mico mayor (Thomas 2008e). This latter term refers to the related leaders of each of the linked towns. There was also an entourage of secondary officers, including individuals known as caciques and principales (Thomas 2008e). Together these formed councils that met in great houses to discuss important matters. Archaeology The Mississippian period of the Southeast is equivalent to the Late Woodland period north of North Carolina. Evidence from Georgia indicates broad changes in settlement and subsistence during the Early Mississippian (St. Catherines phase) (Table 7.3, Figure 7.5). Larger habitation sites and few small sites were occupied at this time, indicating that populations were more clustered (DePratter and Howard 1980:16). Most sites were located on the well-drained upland portions of barrier islands (DePratter and Howard 1980:16). This may be due to a transition to agriculture, as Hutchinson and colleagues (1998:409) note a steady increase in the reliance on maize from 1000 BP based on bone isotopes. However, macrobotanical remains do not indicate heavy maize use. During the Middle Mississippian (Savannah phase) the number of sites decreased, but sites were larger (DePratter and Howard 1980:17). Large sites were located on both the mainland and the barrier islands, and were associated with one or more burial mounds (DePratter and Howard 1980:17). Political organization was more centralized, with a chief in control of the religious and political realms (DePratter and Howard 1980:17–18). The settlement system can be described as nucleated, consisting of a primary center, secondary sites, and multiple smaller sites (Pearson 1980). Maize became an important part of the diet at this time, as indicated by the increase in dental carries (Hutchinson et al. 1998). On the coastal plain of Georgia (~80 km inland), Pluckhahn and McKivergan (2002) found Middle Mississippian sites to be less clustered, with less separation between clusters, when compared to their interior counterparts. This suggests that occupation of the coastal plain was less centralized, and boundaries were less defended than in the interior (Pluckhahn and McKivergan 2002). By the Late Mississippian (Irene phase), the settlement system included more sites, but smaller and more dispersed (see Pearson 1980). Communities were composed of smaller villages and farmsteads, as well as larger settlements that continued to function as political/religious centers (see DePratter and Howard 1980). On Ossabaw Island, Pearson (1980) notes a

Table 7.3. Site counts, percentages, and densities for the Early through Late Mississippian Period Early Miss. Landform

Middle Miss.

Late Miss.

Ct

%

Dens.

Ct

%

Dens.

Ct

%

Dens.

1,226.4

16

8.4%

0.01

60

20.5%

0.05

39

10.3%

0.03

Back-barrier (islands/ marsh)

831.0

6

3.2%

0.01

31

10.6%

0.04

23

6.1%

0.03

Barrier island (Pleistocene)

155.6

40

21.1%

0.26

44

15.0%

0.28

73

19.3%

0.47

Interbarrier

431.0

25

13.2%

0.06

32

10.9%

0.07

21

5.5%

0.05

43.4

1

0.5%

0.02

1

0.3%

0.02

1

0.3%

0.02

2,687.4

88

46.3%

0.03

168

57.3%

0.06

157

41.4%

0.06

Mainland

1,302.9

21

11.1%

0.02

50

17.1%

0.04

66

17.4%

0.05

Back-barrier (islands/ marsh)

1,046.9

56

29.5%

0.05

49

16.7%

0.05

77

20.3%

0.07

78.0

18

9.5%

0.23

17

5.8%

0.22

57

15.0%

0.73

121.0

5

2.6%

0.04

7

2.4%

0.06

16

4.2%

0.13

13.8

2

1.1%

0.14

2

0.7%

0.14

6

1.6%

0.43

Subtotal

2,562.6

102

53.7%

0.04

125

42.7%

0.05

222

58.6%

0.09

TOTAL/AVERAGE

5,249.9

190

0.04

293

0.06

379

Deltaic Mainland

Barrier island (Holocene) Subtotal

Area

(km2)

Non-deltaic

Barrier island (Pleistocene) Interbarrier Barrier island (Holocene)

0.07

Figure 7.5. Distribution of Mississippian period sites within the Georgia coastal zone.

188 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

change from a three-level hierarchy during the Savannah phase to a fourlevel settlement hierarchy during the Irene phase. Part of the reason for this dramatic increase in sites may be due to population relocation, as well as abandonment (Anderson 1994). Based on demographic modeling and site file data, Ritchison (2018) argues that this increase in sites may be due to the infilling of the landscape by migrants from the Savannah River valley. It may not be chance that the timing of these changes (650 cal BP) coincides with social transitions in other areas (e.g., Chesapeake Bay [Reeder-Myers and Rick, this volume]). This general observation needs to be thoroughly tested. Evidence of maize and other domesticated plants indicates that agriculture was a significant source of food at this time (Keene 2004). However, estuarine resources were still heavily used (Hutchinson et al. 1998). There is also evidence of year-round occupation on large barrier islands and small back-barrier islands (Keene 2004; Thompson and Andrus 2013). The evidence for maize agriculture and year-round occupation is at odds with the notion that most of the population of large coastal villages retreated to smaller, dispersed settlements after the maize harvest (see Crook 1986). The formation of polities based on inherited status inequalities seems to have emerged relatively early on the Georgia coast. Thomas (2008e) argues, based on mortuary burial mound data, that ascribed status emerges ~1200 BP. This is some time before the adoption of and increase in maize agriculture (~700 BP), at least according to the isotopic data (Thomas 2008e; Thompson and Worth 2011). As Thomas (2008e:1078) states, the Native American inhabitants of St. Catherines Island engaged in “a ranked, despotic system of inherited asymmetry in leadership and social status.” If these patterns observed in burial mounds translated to the larger political entities, this would indicate yet another case where the development of social inequality and political complexity was not reliant on investments in maize agriculture. While burial mounds are prevalent throughout the coast, platform mounds (diagnostic features of the Mississippian period) are rare (Cook and Pearson 1989; Pluckhahn and McKivergan 2002). The most famous of the few known platform mounds on the coast is the one at the Irene site (9CH1), a multistage mound whose initial construction began in the Savannah phase (Caldwell and McCann 1941). By the Irene phase, the platform mound is capped and becomes a burial mound with a large council house, possibly 36 m in diameter. Some suggest that this indicates a more egalitarian society (e.g., Anderson 1994; DePratter 1991), while Thompson

Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast · 189

(2009) argues that this is inconsistent with the ethnohistoric accounts of chiefly authority in the region. Thompson (2009) suggests that public performance of power and displays of authority were important, and the council house provided a venue for such acts. The ethnohistoric descriptions seem to support the notion that such structures reinforce, rather than downplay, such hierarchies, as raised benches and seating in these houses were strictly regulated by status within the community (Shapiro and Hann 1990). It may be that the council house supplanted the platform mound during the Irene phase on the coast, and given the paucity of such structures it is legitimate to question whether platform mounds were ever part of the larger tradition of power structures in the region. Besides Irene, only a few other unconfirmed platform mounds exist in the area, such as those at Kenan Field on Sapelo Island, and the large multiple mounds of Ossabaw Island’s Middle Place settlement. While the existence of platform mounds on the Georgia coasts remains elusive, there is no reason to think that people in the region did not make up a coastal variant of the Mississippian lifeway (Worth 1995). There are many similarities, including the ability to create maize surpluses, the existence of paired towns such as those found in interior Georgia, and the continuation of inherited statuses and leadership until the Guale leave or are removed from the region by the Spanish (Worth 1995). That said, these groups still retained a distinctly coastal way of life well into the AD 1500s, when the arrival of European explorers disrupted Native American life on the coast of Georgia. Activist Archaeology

Applying the theoretical framework of historical ecology, the previous discussion illustrates that the Georgia coast is a dynamic socio-ecological system with a deep history, where humans are a keystone species and primary driver of ecological change (see Balée and Erickson 2006). This perspective allows the archaeological record to be reevaluated for present-day issues, performing activist archaeology: reorienting archaeology toward addressing current social problems, making it relevant to present-day societies (Dawdy 2009:140; McGuire 2008; Rockman and Flatman 2012; Sabloff 2008; Stottman 2010). The key is public buy-in: showing people how archeology is useful, not simply interesting (as with public “dig days”), will create lifelong advocates for archeology and anthropology in general.

190 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

Past Human Impacts Our initial reorienting of archaeological research evaluated past human impacts on the intertidal environment. Focusing on back-barrier marsh islands, we found that the cumulative deposition of shellfish by Native Americans for 4,000 years fundamentally altered the ecosystem, creating and modifying upland habitats (Thompson et al. 2013). Native American shell deposition changed the shape and size of landforms, adding enough elevation to keep them out of reach of sea level rise and marsh accretion (Thompson et al. 2013). More importantly, this single part of a small-scale economy (i.e., shellfishing) transformed the landscape over time (Thompson et al. 2013). With vegetation and salinity tied to elevation, this shows Native Americans were significant actors in the formation and maintenance of the coastal landscape (Thompson et al. 2013). Past human activities continue to influence the structure and function of the present-day ecosystem, with much of coastal Georgia being anthropogenic. This idea that activities of nonindustrialized communities from 500 years ago and earlier continue to have a profound effect on the environment must be shared with the public, to help them understand how humans impact the environment. Applying the Past to the Present Archaeology’s deep time perspective is also useful for addressing contemporary problems in environmental education. Most legislators dealing with future sea level rise lack basic understanding of the topic (e.g., North Carolina legislation HB 819; Virginia state delegate Chris Stolle; Florida unofficially banning use of the terms “climate change” and “global warming”; however, see New York state Community Risk and Resiliency Act, SB 6617-B, for contrast). Archaeologists must work with policymakers and the public on presentday issues with sea level and temperature. Showing people that sea level has risen and lowered, with changing rates over time, is the first step to having them acknowledge that such processes continue today and will continue in the future. Tangible evidence and real-world examples are best to reveal implications for the present. The patterns of the Late Archaic/Early Woodland transition are directly applicable to today. We (Turck and Thompson 2016) have concluded that there was a general continuity between the early and terminal Late Archaic, possibly extending into the Early Woodland. While societal transformations

Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast · 191

occurred (e.g., populations moved), they were not accompanied by collapse. Communities were resilient throughout the coast in the face of sea level fluctuations. We (Turck and Thompson 2016) speculated that intervillage relationships reinforcing communal activities ameliorated adverse affects of sea level change that may have occurred. Something quite different seems to have occurred along the Gulf of Maine (Betts et al., this volume), with a supposed incursion of Susquehanna tradition peoples occurring at the same time as possible environmental change. Did populations get incorporated into, or displaced by, this group? Or were Susquehanna traditions adopted over a broad area? While archaeology does not give us a direct guide for what to do when confronted with environmental change, it does reveal the consequences of human action in the face of those changes. We can extrapolate this to the present, because future sea level rise will put 13 million people along the U.S. coasts at risk (Hauer et al. 2016). We suggest that relationships must be developed now between coastal communities and groups farther inland, especially along evacuation routes. These can be as simple as county fairs in strategic locations. Such relationship building will lay the groundwork for coastal evacuations/influxes of people inland, with the concomitant stress on emergency (and other) resources. As with the Georgia coast example, this will lead to community resilience in the face of future sea level change. References Anderson, David G. 1994. The Savannah River Chiefdoms: Political Change in the Late Prehistoric Southeast. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Balée, William L., and Clark L. Erickson. 2006. Time, Complexity, and Historical Ecology. In Time, Complexity, and Historical Ecology: Studies in the Neotropical Lowlands, edited by William L. Balée and Clark L. Erickson, 1–17. Columbia University Press, New York. Blanton, Dennis B., and David Hurst Thomas. 2008. Paleoclimates and Human Responses along the Central Georgia Coast: A Tree-Ring Perspective. In Native American Landscapes of St. Catherines Island, Georgia: II. The Data, edited by David H. Thomas, 799–806. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 88. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Caldwell, Joseph, and Catherine McCann. 1941. Irene Mound Site, Chatham County, Georgia. University of Georgia Press, Athens. Cobb, Charles R., and Michael S. Nassaney. 1995. Interaction and Integration in the Late Woodland Southeast. In Native American Interactions: Multiscalar Analysis and Interpretations in the Eastern Woodlands, edited by Michael S. Nassaney and Kenneth E. Sassaman, pp. 205–226. University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville. Colaninno, Carol E. 2012. Evidence for Year-Round Occupation at Late Archaic Shell

192 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

Rings of the Georgia Coast: Data from Oxygen Isotopic Profiles and Seasonally Sensitive Vertebrate Fauna. In Seasonality and Human Mobility along the Georgia Bight, edited by Elizabeth J. Reitz, Irvy R. Quitmyer, and David H. Thomas, pp. 83–102. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, No. 97. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Colquhoun, Donald J., and Mark J. Brooks. 1986. New Evidence from the Southeastern U.S. for Eustatic Components in the Late Holocene. Geoarchaeology 1(3):275–291. Cook, Fred C., and Charles E. Pearson. 1989. The Southeastern Ceremonial Complex on the Georgia Coast. In The Southeastern Ceremonial Complex, Artifacts and Analysis, edited by Patricia K. Galloway, pp. 147–165. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln. Crook, Morgan R., Jr. 1986. Mississippi Period Archaeology of the Georgia Coastal Zone. University of Georgia Laboratory of Archaeology, Athens. Crook, Morgan R., Jr. 2009. Bilbo (9CH4) and Delta (38JA23): Late Archaic and Early Woodland Shell Mounds at the Mouth of the Savannah River. Occasional Papers in Cultural Resource Management, No. 17. Georgia Department of Transportation, Atlanta. Crusoe, Donald L., and Chester B. DePratter. 1976. A New Look at the Georgia Coastal Shell Mound Archaic. Florida Anthropologist 29(1):1–23. Dawdy, Shannon Lee. 2009. Millennial Archaeology. Locating the Discipline in the Age of Insecurity. Archaeological Dialogues 16(2):131–142. DePratter, Chester B. 1976. The Refuge Phase on the Coastal Plain of Georgia. Early Georgia 4(1 and 2):1–13. DePratter, Chester B. 1977a. Environmental Changes on the Georgia Coast during the Prehistoric Period. Early Georgia 5(1 and 2):1–14. DePratter, Chester B. 1977b. Report on an Archaeological Survey of Portions of Wassaw Island National Wildlife Refuge, Chatham, Georgia, and Blackbeard Island National Wildlife Refuge, McIntosh County, Georgia. Report on file, Laboratory of Archaeology, University of Georgia, Athens. DePratter, Chester B. 1984. Unpublished notes on site southwest of Creighton Island, on file, Laboratory of Archaeology, University of Georgia, Athens. DePratter, Chester B. 1991. W.P.A. Archaeological Excavations in Chatham County, Georgia: 1937–1942. University of Georgia Laboratory of Archaeology Series Report, Athens. DePratter, Chester B., and James D. Howard. 1977. History of Shoreline Changes Determined by Archaeological Dating: Georgia Coast, U.S.A. Transactions: Gulf Coast Association of Geological Societies 27:252–258. DePratter, Chester B., and James D. Howard. 1980. Indian Occupation and Geologic History of the Georgia Coast: A 5,000 Year Summary. In Excursions in Southeastern Geology: The Archaeology-Geology of the Georgia Coast, edited by James D. Howard, Chester B. DePratter and Robert W. Frey, pp. 1–65. Georgia Geological Society Guidebook, Atlanta. DePratter, Chester B., and James D. Howard. 1981. Evidence for a Sea Level Lowstand between 4500 and 2400 Years B.P. on the Southeast Coast of the United States. Journal of Sedimentary Petrology 51(4):1287–1295. DePratter, Chester B., and Victor D. Thompson. 2013. Past Shorelines of the Georgia Coast. In Life among the Tides: Recent Archaeology of the Georgia Bight, edited by Victor D. Thompson and David H. Thomas, pp. 145–168. Anthropological Papers of the

Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast · 193

American Museum of Natural History, No. 98. American Museum of Natural History, New York. DesJean, Thomas, Karen Jo Walker, and Rebecca Saunders. 1985. Descriptive Archaeology of the Devils Walkingstick Site (9CAM177). In Aboriginal Subsistence and Settlement Archaeology of the Kings Bay Locality, Volume 1: The Kings Bay and Devils Walkingstick Sites, edited by W. H. Adams, pp. 73–167. Department of Anthropology, University of Florida, Gainesville. Elliott, Daniel T., and Kenneth E. Sassaman. 1995. Archaic Period Archaeology of the Georgia Coastal Plain and Coastal Zone. University of Georgia Laboratory of Archaeology, Athens. Frey, Robert W., and Paul B. Basan. 1981. Taphonomy of Relict Holocene Salt Marsh Deposits, Cabretta Island, Georgia. Senckenbergiana Maritima 13(4/6):111–155. Garrison, Ervan G., Greg McFall, and Scott E. Noakes. 2008. Shallow Marine Margin Sediments, Modern Marine Erosion and the Fate of Sequence Boundaries, Georgia Bight (USA). Southeastern Geology 45(3):127–142. Gayes, Paul T., David B. Scott, Eric S. Collins, and Douglas D. Nelson. 1992. A Late Holocene Sea-Level Fluctuation in South Carolina. In Quaternary Coasts of the United States: Marine and Lacustrine Systems, edited by Charles H. Fletcher and John F. Wehmiller, pp. 155–160. SEPM Special Publication No. 48. Society for Sedimentary Geology, Tulsa. Hadden, Carla, and Alexander Cherkinsky. 2014. Short-Term Fluctuations in 14C in NearShore Environments of the Northern Gulf of Mexico: Implications for Dating Marine Shell. Paper presented at the 81st Annual Meeting of the Eastern States Archaeological Federation, Solomons, MD. Hampel, Henrietta, Andre Cattrijsse, and Magda Vincx. 2003. Habitat Value of a Developing Estuarine Brackish Marsh for Fish and Macrocrustaceans. Journal of Marine Science 60:278–289. Hauer, Mathew E., Jason M. Evans, and Deepak R. Mishra. 2016. Millions Projected to Be at Risk from Sea-Level Rise in the Continental United States. Nature Climate Change 6:691–695. Hayes, Miles O. 1994. The Georgia Bight Barrier System. In Geology of Holocene Barrier Island Systems, edited by Richard A. Davis, pp. 233–304. Springer-Verlag, New York. Hayes, Miles O., Vernon J. Henry, Thomas F. Moslow, Aileen M. Wojtal, Gary A. Zarillo, and Larry F. Lens. 1980. Coastal Environments of Georgia and South Carolina. In Excursions in Southeastern Geology, edited by Robert W. Frey and Thorton L. Neathery, pp. 281–310. American Geological Institute, Falls Church, VA. Horton, Benjamin P., W. Richard Peltier, Stephen J. Culver, Rosemarie Drummond, Simon E. Engelhart, Andrew C. Kemp, David Mallinson, E. Robert Thieler, Stanley R. Riggs, Dorothea V. Ames, and Katie H. Thomson. 2009. Holocene Sea-Level Changes along the North Carolina Coastline and Their Implications for Glacial Isostatic Adjustment Models. Quaternary Science Reviews 28:1725–1736. Howard, James D., and Robert W. Frey. 1985. Physical and Biogenic Aspects of Backbarrier Sedimentary Sequences, Georgia Coast, USA. Marine Geology 63:77–127. Hutchinson, Dale L., Clark Spencer Larsen, Margaret J. Schoeninger, and Lynette Norr. 1998. Regional Variation in the Pattern of Maize Adoption and Use in Florida and Georgia. American Antiquity 63(3):397–416.

194 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

Jones, Douglas S., Irvy R. Quitmyer, and C. Fred T. Andrus. 2005. Oxygen Isotopic Evidence for Greater Seasonality in Holocene Shells of Donax variabilis from Florida. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology 228:96–108. Jones, Grant D. 1978. The Ethnohistory of the Guale Coast through 1684. In The Anthropology of St. Catherines Island: Natural and Cultural History, edited by David H. Thomas, Grant D. Jones, Roger S. Durham, and Clark S. Larsen, pp. 178–210. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 55. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Keene, Deborah A. 2004. Reevaluating Late Prehistoric Coastal Subsistence and Settlement Strategies: New Data from Grove’s Creek Site, Skidaway Island, Georgia. American Antiquity 69(4):671–688. Kerwin, Michael, Jonathan T. Overpeck, Robert S. Webb, Anne DeVernal, David H. Rind, and Richard J. Healy. 1999. The Role of Oceanic Forcing in Mid-Holocene Northern Hemisphere Climatic Change. Paleoceanography 14:200–210. Larson, Lewis H. 1980. Aboriginal Subsistence Technology on the Southeastern Coastal Plain during the Late Prehistoric Period. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Leigh, David S. 2008. Late Quaternary Climates and River Channels of the Atlantic Coastal Plain, Southeastern USA. Geomorphology 101:90–108. Leigh, David S., and Thomas P. Feeney. 1995. Paleochannels Indicating Wet Climate and Lack of Response to Lower Sea Level, Southeast Georgia. Geology 23(8):687–690. Leigh, David S., and Paul A. Webb. 2006. Holocene Erosion, Sedimentation, and Stratigraphy at Raven Fork, Southern Blue Ridge Mountains, USA. Geomorphology 78(1):161– 177. Lulewicz, Isabelle H., Victor D. Thompson, Justin Cramb, and Bryan Tucker. 2017. Oyster Paleoecology and Native American Subsistence Practices on Ossabaw Island, Georgia, USA. Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 15:282–289. Marquardt, William H. 2010. Mounds, Middens, and Rapid Climate Change during the Archaic-Woodland Transition in the Southeastern United States. In Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic?, edited by David H. Thomas and Matthew C. Sanger, pp. 253–272. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 93. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Marrinan, Rochelle A. 1975. Ceramics, Molluscs, and Sedentism: The Late Archaic Period on the Georgia Coast. Unpublished PhD dissertation, Department of Anthropology, University of Florida, Gainesville. Marrinan, Rochelle A. 2010. Two Late Archaic Period Shell Rings, St. Simon’s Island, Georgia. In Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic?, edited by David H. Thomas and Matthew C. Sanger, pp. 71–102. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 93. American Museum of Natural History, New York. McElrath, Dale L., and Thomas E. Emerson. 2009. Concluding Thoughts on the Archaic Occupation of the Eastern Woodlands. In Archaic Societies: Diversity and Complexity across the Midcontinent, edited by Thomas E. Emerson, Dale L. McElrath and Andrew C. Fortier, pp. 841–856. State University of New York Press, Albany. McGuire, Randall H. 2008. Archaeology as Political Action. University of California Press, Berkeley.

Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast · 195

Michie, James L. 1979. The Bass Pond Site: Intensive Archaeological Testing at a Formative Period Base Camp on Kiawah Island, South Carolina. Research Manuscript Series 154. South Carolina Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of South Carolina, Columbia. Milanich, Jerald T. 1980. Coastal Georgia Deptford Culture: Growth of a Concept. In Excursions in Southeastern Geology: The Archaeology-Geology of the Georgia Coast, edited by James D. Howard, Chester B. DePratter, and Robert W. Frey, pp. 170–178. Georgia Geological Society Guidebook, Atlanta. Pearson, Charles E. 1980. Late Prehistoric Settlement Systems on Ossabaw Island, Georgia. In Excursions in Southeastern Geology: The Archaeology-Geology of the Georgia Coast, edited by James D. Howard, Chester B. DePratter, and Robert W. Frey, pp. 179–191. Georgia Geological Society Guidebook, Atlanta. Pluckhahn, Thomas J., and David A. McKivergan. 2002. A Critical Appraisal of Middle Mississippian Settlement on the Georgia Coast. Southeastern Archaeology 21(2):149– 161. Quitmyer, Irvy R., and Elizabeth J. Reitz. 2006. Marine Trophic Levels Targeted between AD 300 and 1500 on the Georgia Coast, USA. Journal of Archaeological Science 33:806– 822. Quitmyer, Irvy R., H. S. Hale, and Douglas S. Jones. 1985. Paleoseasonality Determination Based on Incremental Shell Growth in the Hard Clam, Mercenaria mercenaria, and Its Implications for Future Analysis of Three Southeast Georgia Coastal Shell Middens. Southeastern Archaeology 4:27–40. Quitmyer, Irvy R., Douglas S. Jones, and William S. Arnold. 1997. The Sclerochronology of Hard Clams, Mercenaria spp., from the South-Eastern U.S.A.: A Method of Elucidating the Zooarchaeological Records of Seasonal Resource Procurement and Seasonality in Prehistoric Shell Middens. Journal of Archaeological Science 24(9):825–840. Reed, Denise J. 2002. Sea-Level Rise and Coastal Marsh Sustainability: Geological and Ecological Factors in the Mississippi Delta Plain. Geomorphology 48(1–3):233–243. Reitz, Elizabeth J., Irvy R. Quitmyer, and Rochelle A. Marrinan. 2009. What Are We Measuring in the Zooarchaeological Record of Prehispanic Fishing Strategies in the Georgia Bight, USA? Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 4(1):2–36. Ritchison, Brandon T. 2018. Exploring a Bayesian Method for Examining the Regional Ceramic Sequence along the Georgia Coast. Southeastern Archaeology 37(1):12–21. Rockman, Marcy, and Joe Flatman. 2012. Archaeology in Society: Its Relevance in the Modern World. Springer, New York. Rull, Valenti, Teresa Vegas-Vilarrubia, and Narcisana Espinoza de Pernia. 1999. Palynological Record of an Early–Mid Holocene Mangrove in Eastern Venezuela. Implications for Sea-Level Rise and Disturbance History. Journal of Coastal Research 15(2):496–504. Russo, Michael. 1998. Measuring Sedentism with Fauna: Archaic Cultures along the Southwest Florida Coast. In Seasonality and Sedentism: Archaeological Perspectives from Old and New World Sites, edited by Thomas R. Rocek and Oscar Bar-Yosef, pp. 143–164. Peabody Museum Press, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA. Russo, Michael. 2004. Measuring Shell Rings for Social Inequality. In Signs of Power: The Rise of Cultural Complexity in the Southeast, edited by Jon L. Gibson and Philip J. Carr, pp. 26–70. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa.

196 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

Sabloff, Jeremy. 2008. Archaeology Matters. Left Coast Press, Walnut Creek, California. Sandford, R. 1911. A Relation of a Voice on the Coast of the Province of Carolina [1666]. Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York. Sanger, Matthew C., and David Hurst Thomas. 2010. The Two Rings of St. Catherines Island: Some Preliminary Results from the St. Catherines and McQueen Shell Rings. In Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic?, edited by David H. Thomas and Matthew C. Sanger, pp. 45–102. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 93. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Sassaman, Kenneth E. 1993. Early Pottery in the Southeast: Tradition and Innovation in Cooking Technology. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Shapiro, Gary N., and J. H. Hann. 1990. The Documentary Image of the Council Houses of Spanish Florida Tested by Excavations at the Mission of San Luis de Talimali. In Columbian Consequences, Vol. 2: Archaeological and Historical Perspectives on the Spanish Borderlands East, edited by David H. Thomas, pp. 511–526. Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington, DC. Stahle, David W., and Malcolm K. Cleaveland. 1992. Reconstruction and Analysis of Spring Rainfall over the Southeastern U.S. for the Past 1000 Years. Bulletin of the American Meteorological Society 73:1947–1961. Stottman, M. Jay. 2010. Introduction: Archaeologists as Activists. In Archaeologists as Activists: Can Archaeologists Change the World?, edited by M. Jay Stottman, pp. 1–16. University , of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Thomas, David Hurst. 2008a. Melding the Ceramic and Radiocarbon Chronologies. In Native American Landscapes of St. Catherines Island, Georgia: II. The Data, edited by D. H. Thomas, pp. 404–434. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 88. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thomas, David Hurst. 2008b. The Transect Survey on St. Catherines Island. In Native American Landscapes of St. Catherines Island, Georgia: II. The Data, edited by David H. Thomas, pp. 525–601. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 88. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thomas, David Hurst. 2008c. Synthesis: The Aboriginal Landscape of St. Catherines Island. In Native American Landscapes of St. Catherines Island, Georgia: III. Synthesis and Implications, edited by D. H. Thomas, pp. 990–1045. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 88. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thomas, David Hurst. 2008d. Central-Place and Patch-Choice Modeling on St. Catherines Island. In Native American Landscapes of St. Catherines Island, Georgia: III. Synthesis and Implications, edited by David H. Thomas, pp. 859–935. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 88. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thomas, David Hurst. 2008e. The “Guale Problem” Revisited: Farming and Foraging on St. Catherines Island (cal A.D. 1300–1580). In Native American Landscapes of St. Catherines Island, Georgia: III. Synthesis and Implications, edited by David H. Thomas, pp. 1095–1115. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 88. American Museum of Natural History, New York.

Human-Environmental Dynamics of the Georgia Coast · 197

Thomas, David Hurst. 2009. Late Aboriginal Ceramics from St. Catherines Island (cal A.D. 1400–1700). In From Santa Elena to St. Augustine: Indigenous Ceramic Variability (A.D. 1400–1700), edited by Kathleen Deagan and David H. Thomas, pp. 49–81. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 90. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thomas, David Hurst. 2010. “What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic?” A Perspective from St. Catherines Island. In Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic?, edited by David H. Thomas and Matthew C. Sanger, pp. 173–199. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 93. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thomas, David Hurst. 2011. Why This Archaeologist Cares about Geoarchaeology: Some Pasts and Futures of St. Catherines Island. In Geoarchaeology of St. Catherines Island, Georgia, edited by Gale A. Bishop, Harold B. Rollins, and David H. Thomas, pp. 25–77. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 94. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thomas, David Hurst, and Clark Spencer Larsen. 1979. The Anthropology of St. Catherines Island: 2. The Refuge-Deptford Morturary Complex. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 56. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thomas, David Hurst, and Matthew C. Sanger. 2010. Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic? Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 93. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thomas, David Hurst, Matthew C. Sanger, and Royce H. Hayes. 2013. Revising the 14C Reservoir Correction for St. Catherines Island, Georgia. In Life among the Tides: Recent Archaeology of the Georgia Bight, edited by Victor D. Thompson and David H. Thomas, pp. 25–46. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 98. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thompson, Victor D. 2007. Articulating Activity Areas and Formation Processes at the Sapelo Island Shell Ring Complex. Southeastern Archaeology 26(1):91–107. Thompson, Victor D. 2009. The Mississippian Production of Space through Earthen Pyramids and Public Buildings on the Georgia Coast, USA. World Archaeology 41:445–470. Thompson, Victor D., and C. Fred T. Andrus. 2011. Evaluating Mobility, Monumentality, and Feasting at the Sapelo Island Shell Ring Complex. American Antiquity 76(2):315– 343. Thompson, Victor D., and C. Fred T. Andrus. 2013. Using Oxygen Isotope Sclerochronology to Evaluate the Role of Small Islands among the Guale of the Georgia Coast, USA. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 8(2):190–209. Thompson, Victor D., and John A. Turck. 2009. Adaptive Cycles of Coastal Hunter-Gatherers. American Antiquity 74(2):255–278. Thompson, Victor D., and John A. Turck. 2010. Island Archaeology and the Native American Economies (2500 B.C.–A.D. 1700) of the Georgia Coast, USA. Journal of Field Archaeology 35:281–297. Thompson, Victor D., John A. Turck, and Chester B. DePratter. 2013. Cumulative Actions and the Historical Ecology of Islands along the Georgia Coast. In The Archaeology and

198 · John A. Turck and Victor D. Thompson

Historical Ecology of Small Scale Economies, edited by Victor D. Thompson and James C. Waggoner, pp. 79–95. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Thompson, Victor D., and John E. Worth. 2011. Dwellers by the Sea: Native American Adaptations along the Southern Coasts of Eastern North America. Journal of Archaeological Research 19:51–101. Turck, John A. 2011. Geoarchaeological Analysis of Two Back-Barrier Islands and Their Relationship to the Changing Landscape of Coastal Georgia, U.S.A. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Department of Anthropology, University of Georgia, Athens. Turck, John A. 2012. Where Were All of the Coastally Adapted People during the Middle Archaic Period in Georgia, USA? Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 7(3):404– 424. Turck, John A., and Clark R. Alexander. 2013. Coastal Landscapes and Their Relationship to Human Settlement on the Georgia Coast. In Life among the Tides: Recent Archaeology of the Georgia Bight, edited by Victor D. Thompson and David H. Thomas. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 98, pp. 169–189. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Turck, John A., and Victor D. Thompson. 2014. A Comprehensive Radiocarbon Date Database from Archaeological Contexts on the Coastal Plain of Georgia. University of Georgia, Georgia Coastal Ecosystems LTER Project, Long Term Ecological Research Network. DOI: 10.6073/pasta/d0a83dc508e50e5038e6b6a3ccca36d6. Turck, John A., and Victor D. Thompson. 2016. Revisiting the Resilience of Late Archaic Hunter-Gatherers along the Georgia Coast. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 43:39–55. Turck, John A., Mark Williams, and John F. Chamblee. 2011. Examining Variation in the Human Settlement of Prehistoric Georgia. Early Georgia 39:5–26. Wanner, Heinz, L. Mercolli, Martin Grosjean, and Stefan P. Ritz. 2015. Holocene Climate Variability and Change: A Data-Based Review. Journal of the Geological Society 172(2):254–263. Waring, Antonio J., Jr. 1968. The Archaic and Some Shell Rings. In The Waring Papers: The Collected Works of Antonio J. Waring, Jr., edited by Stephen B. Williams, pp. 243–246. Papers of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Vol. 58. Harvard University Cambridge. Williams, Mark. 2005. 4000 Years at a Glance: Patterns of Ceramic Style Distribution over Georgia. Early Georgia 33(2):181–190. Worth, John E. 1995. The Struggle for the Georgia Coast: An 18th-Century Spanish Retrospective on Guale and Mocama. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History No. 75. American Museum of Natural History, New York.

8 Gathering for Nine Millennia along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida Asa R. Randall

Communities have gathered in northeast Florida for nine millennia. They gathered resources, and they came together for collective action. Such gatherings were afforded by the configuration of water, ecologies, and social networks. The ability of northeast Florida to promote gathering is evident today: the region boasts some of the higher population densities in the state. People have arrived in large numbers—nearly a 2,000% growth in some coastal counties since 1950—to search for recreation, work, and other opportunities provided by environmental productivity, numerous waterways, and perceptions of a good life (Mormino 2005:322–326). At the same time, the daily lives and gatherings of modern communities are socially and economically vulnerable to earth processes such as hurricanes and sea level rise (Emrich and Cutter 2011). Northeast Florida was also the focal point of past human interest. Ancient settlements—many of them shell bearing—situated adjacent to the Atlantic strand, amidst brackish estuaries, and along the freshwater St. Johns River attest to the vibrancy and diversity of past communities. The ancient culture history of northeast Florida is remarkable for a number of reasons, but perhaps none more so than the repeated, if not continuous, aquatic-oriented habitation by fisher-gatherer-hunters that stretches back 9,000 years. Diets that emphasized shellfish and nettable fishes, coupled with exploitation of a wide variety of plant resources, enabled an array of social configurations and seasonal settlement systems. Through time, the tempo and organization of regional inhabitation involved not only the day-to-day of making-do but was often oriented toward cyclical gatherings

200 · Asa R. Randall

involving feasting, object exchange, and reverence for the dead. Social histories were manifested through extensive terraforming of the landscape (e.g., Grier 2014). So too cultural encounters shaped the contours of social and technological innovations (see also Betts et al., this volume; Turck and Thompson, this volume; and Wolff and Holly, this volume). Multiple archaeological data sets illuminate long-lived connections between communities inhabiting the coast, freshwater river valley, and points beyond. Constructed places such as shell and earthen monuments, cemeteries, and residential middens were nodal points for the negotiation of alliances and the recreation of cosmological experiences. People moved through, into, and away from the region, sometimes permanently, sometimes in the context of commemorative events. Climate and anthropogenic impacts to fisheries also played into social responses. The social vulnerabilities of these communities were likely different from those of the modern era (see also Reeder-Myers and Rick, this volume). However, a long-term perspective reveals the dynamics of coastal and estuarine systems in which humans were active agents, and how people responded to social and climatological concerns such as migrations, sea level change, and collapsed social networks (Sassaman 2012). Given the immediate and long-term prospects of displacement, ancient data provide useful contexts to explore the dynamic ways that social groups incorporate others displaced by sea level rise. In this chapter I consider aquatically oriented lifeways and their relevance to ancient communities in northeast Florida. I focus on the freshwater, estuarine, and beach fronts between the mouth of the St. Johns River south to Cape Canaveral (Figure 8.1). While it is separated from the coast, I argue that the St. Johns River is not an interior landscape. The St. Johns River valley shares many characteristics with estuarine environments, including abundant shellfish, coastlike physiography, and marine species even along its freshwater reaches. I focus on the northern half of the Florida peninsula to better capture the complex relationships between the many kinds of watered landscapes along this portion of the Atlantic coast. This chapter addresses portions of two archaeological culture areas, the St. Marys region to the north (Russo et al. 1993; Turck and Thompson, this volume), and the northern St. Johns region to the south (Goggin 1952:15–17). I first describe the local physiography and environmental history. I then detail lifeways and traditions during the Middle–Late Archaic (8900–3200 BP), Woodland (3200–1050 BP), and Mississippi (1050–437 BP, or AD 900–1513) periods. I conclude with a statement on the relevance of Florida’s ancient cultural heritage. A note on radiocarbon dates and calibration is relevant.

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 201

All radiocarbon dates are reported at two sigma, calibrated in OxCal 4.3 using the IntCal13 curve for terrestrial samples or the Marine13 curve for marine samples. Physiography and Environmental History

The study area is defined to the north by the lower St. Johns River estuary, to the east by the Atlantic Ocean, and to the west by the St. Johns River valley (Figure 8.1). The southern boundary is adjacent to Cape Canaveral, the traditional separation between the Northern St. Johns and Indian River culture areas (Goggin 1952:15–16). The physiography of northeast Florida reflects a complicated history of marine transgressions and regressions (Schmidt 1997). Underlying the peninsula are carbonate-rich sedimentary rocks; these are exposed as karst landscape features such as freshwater springs and sinkholes in the middle St. Johns River valley and off the Atlantic coast. The offshore sinks and springs have yet to be investigated for evidence of archaeological deposits. The immediate surface topography of the region is Quaternary in age and includes coast-parallel barrier islands and valleys, plains, and waterways (Schmidt 1997). The Atlantic coast south to Cape Canaveral is the southern extent of the Georgia Bight. The coastline is composed of narrow barrier islands along the entire peninsula. There are three large inlets in the region (Figure 8.1). Behind the barrier beaches are long and narrow tidal marshes, lagoons, and channelized rivers that form the intracoastal waterway. These include the Tolomato, Guana, and Matanzas Rivers to the north, and the Halifax River and Mosquito Lagoon to the south. Salinity ranges from freshwater to polyhaline or greater salinities, depending on distance from the tidal inlets (Davis 1997). Coastal environments contain a mix of terrestrial and aquatic communities, including salt marsh, coastal uplands, and maritime hammocks. Fauna tend to be similar to interior forest taxa (Russo et al. 1993). Aquatic communities vary by salinity and tidal effects but include a diverse array of bony and cartilaginous fishes. Most numerous in ancient contexts are mullet (Mugil cephalus), Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus), sea catfishes (Ariidae), black drum (Pogonias cromis), and sharks (Chondrichthyes) (Reitz 2004). There are a few notable shellfish species exploited by ancient communities. Coquina (Donax variablis), a small bivalve, is found in the wave-swept mid-intertidal swash zone of ocean-fronting beaches. Salt marshes supported oysters (Crassostrea virginica) and quahog (Mercenaria mercenaria), depending on salinity. Gastropods were

er

iv

a

R

ah

w

a kl

c

O

Figure 8.1. Distribution of wetlands and waterways in northeast Florida.

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 203

collected from the intertidal flats and salt marshes, including the knobbed whelk (Busycon carica) and lightning whelk (Busycon perversum) that were used for making tools and ornaments. To the west is the north-flowing, 500 km-long St. Johns River system (Figure 8.1). Due to its low gradient, the blackwater river is sluggish, supports extensive marshlands, and is susceptible to small changes in sea level or precipitation. The river is tidally influenced 212 km upstream (Smock et al. 2011). The upper basin is characterized by freshwater marsh. In the middle basin, the river alternates through a series of lakes and anastomosing channel segments lined with freshwater marsh. Approximately 20% of the river’s flow is gained through first magnitude (a flow of more than 2.8 m3/s) and smaller springs (Kroening 2004). Below Lake George begins the lower basin, which broadens to more than 10 km in places yet remains shallow, at 3 m deep. Neither freshwater nor salt-water invertebrates are abundant, which is reflected in a general lack of shell-bearing sites. The last 30 km of the river is estuarine and is flanked by extensive marshes, such as the Timucuan Preserve on the north bank. The St. Johns River system contains a diverse array of fishes and invertebrates, and numerous reptiles, mammals, and birds. At least 75 freshwater species and 115 euryhaline species of fish have been documented in the non-marine portions of the system (Tagatz 1968). Spring discharge of saline water in the freshwater reaches provides zones where salt-tolerant and salt-obligate species thrive (Odum 1953). At least six anadromous fishes inhabit the river, including striped mullet and four Clupeid species. Many of these populations are nonmigratory (Tagatz 1968). Freshwater mollusks that were most important in ancient times were the banded mystery snail (Viviparus georgianus), Florida apple snail (Pomacea paludosa), and freshwater clam (Unionidae). Although once numerous (e.g., Wyman 1875:123), shellfish are rare in modern macrobenthic surveys, in particular mystery snail, likely due to the history of dredging, development, and agricultural discharge into the system (e.g., Kroening 2004). Several general points regarding the environmental history of the region are worth noting. In general, the region became wetter through time. At the regional scale, pollen cores record increasing water tables due to rising sea level—despite lower precipitation during the Middle Holocene—with broad-scale shifts from deciduous trees to conifers (Watts and Hansen 1988). The Middle Holocene and early portions of the Late Holocene were characterized by greater seasonality than today, with summer coastal waters averaging 3.5 °C greater than modern (Jones et al. 2005).

204 · Asa R. Randall

There are no locally developed sea level curves. Balsille and Donoghue’s (2004) high-resolution Gulf of Mexico curve is useful due to its time depth, extending back to the Last Glacial Maximum. Late Holocene records and curves for Georgia and South Carolina may be valuable due to their proximity to the study region (see Thomas 2010; Turck and Thompson, this volume). However, those studies that have explored the utility of nonlocal curves encountered local archaeological contradictions that highlight the complex spatiotemporal dimensions of relative sea level change (e.g., Randall 2015; Russo 2010). Sea level rose in stages, with periods of rapid rise interspersed with periods of slow rise or stability. Based on Balsille and Donoghue’s (2004) Gulf of Mexico curves, sea level was perhaps -25 m at 8900 BP, rose to -20 m by 8500 BP, and then to approximately -10 m by 8000 BP. In the next millennium there was a 2 m rise, followed by a final pulse of 7 m between 7000 and 6000 BP that brought sea level to within 1 m of modern by the end of the Middle Holocene. Coastal sites are rare until 6250 BP, which doubtlessly relates to the erosion or reconfiguration of coastal lands during marine transgressions (Saunders and Russo 2011). Indeed, Middle Holocene shorelines are likely quite rare. Geoarchaeological reconnaissance of Cape Canaveral failed to locate any surface predating 6200 BP (Doran et al. 2014). Several Late Holocene sea level events may have influenced regional settlement and political economies. Working in coastal South Carolina, Gayes and colleagues (1992) documented a 2 m rise of sea level (ca. 5300–4300 BP) followed by a 2 m regression that was completed after 3600 BP. Thereafter, sea level rose roughly 3 m over the following millennium. The drop in sea level is recorded in changing site locations along the Georgia Bight in Georgia and perhaps in northeast Florida (Russo 2010; Thomas 2010; Turck and Thompson, this volume). It remains to be determined whether more recent lower-amplitude, sea surface temperature variations and sea level oscillations impacted local fisheries, as they appear to have done in southwest Florida (Ardren et al., this volume). A complicating factor on the St. Johns River is the relationship of Floridan Aquifer output to sea level. Springs flowed by 8850 cal BP (O’Donoughue 2017). It is unlikely that lower-amplitude sea level variance would significantly impact spring flow during the Middle to Late Holocene.

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 205

Brief History of Investigations

There is a comparably long record of regional archaeological observation. Early colonists noted ancient places (Goggin 1952:31), while in the mid- to late 1800s antiquarians and archaeologists such as Jeffries Wyman (1875) and C. B. Moore (1999) determined that shell sites were anthropogenic. In the 1940s John Goggin (1952) synthesized the region’s culture history, with a similar synthesis produced for the Indian River region to the south by Irving Rouse (1951). During the mid-twentieth century, many sites were salvaged as they were being mined for shell or otherwise destroyed during land development. Indeed, few shell mounds were spared from industrialized shell mining. Since the 1970s, research principally continues through cultural resource management surveys and mitigations, university initiatives, and special projects by the State of Florida Bureau of Archaeological Research and the National Park Service Southeast Archeological Center. A state synthesis exists (Milanich 1994), and several monographs about the region have been published (Gilmore 2016; Miller 1998; O’Donoughue 2017; Randall 2015; Wallis 2011). Archaic Period (ca. 8900–3200 BP)

In the southeastern United States, the start of the Middle Holocene (ca. 8900 BP)—also the onset of the Altithermal climate episode—is the traditional beginning of the Middle Archaic period. Across the Southeast the era was ushered in by new stemmed hafted biface styles, myriad exchange networks, and intensive land use (Anderson and Sassaman 2012:73–74). In northeast Florida, aquatic orientations emerged ca. 8900 BP in the freshwater St. Johns River watershed as the region switched from an arid to a generally well-watered regime (Figure 8.2). The Windover Pond site is a mortuary located in the upper reaches of the St. Johns River system, and approximately 6 km from the now-estuarine Indian River Lagoon. Windover is an early example of an Archaic tradition of interring the dead in shallow bodies of water (Doran 2002). Between 8900 and 7600 BP, at least 168 individuals were wrapped in textiles, some with offerings, and placed underwater within 72 hours of death (Dickel 2002). Bone gorges and barbed points attest to a riverine orientation, as do fish bones in the stomach contents of an individual (Penders 2002). Shark teeth were transformed into cutting tools. Marine shell objects were recovered (Dickel 2002), including 36 ground Marginella sp. beads, a cache of five lightning whelk shells, and

Figure 8.2. Distribution of early Middle Archaic, Mount Taylor, and Orange period sites in the study region.

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 207

two lightning whelk tools. Analysis of carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen isotopes suggests that people consumed freshwater resources in the cooler months and marine resources in the warmer months (Tucker 2009). A riverine economy is also evident 100 km downstream at the Silver Glen Springs complex. Excavations in the basal deposits of the Locus A shell mound documented a shell-bearing component dated between 8900 and 7000 BP (Randall and Sassaman 2017). The 1 m-thick deposit, which measures roughly 150 m × 45 m in extent, is composed of superimposed pits. Individual pits contain organically enriched matrices that encase wellpreserved shell and faunal assemblages. The faunal assemblages include those species that would later become central to intensified economies, including mystery snail, apple snail, and freshwater clam, as well as small fishes, turtles, and waterfowl (Cerimele 2017). No marine species have been identified there, nor can a direct link be made to the Windover population. Regardless, at the scale of the river basin, early Middle Archaic communities exploited environments analogous to those in the following eight millennia. The archaeological visibility of aquatic economies increases significantly after 7400 BP, when communities began mounding shell coincident with the start of the Mount Taylor archaeological culture (ca. 7400–4600 BP), which has freshwater expressions throughout the period and coastal expressions after 6250 BP (Randall 2015; Saunders and Russo 2011). Objects crafted from marine shell—including adzes, axes, cooking vessels, and beads—highlight regional movement or exchange (Wheeler and McGee 1994). Mobility was enabled by canoes, many of which are still preserved underwater on the St. Johns River (Wheeler et al. 2003). Mount Taylor communities terraformed the region by constructing scores of shell mounds. These places had complex life histories, including uses as residences, ceremonial platforms, and the earliest known burial mounds in the Eastern Woodlands (Randall 2015). Mount Taylor communities also created sheet middens, shell-free components, and nearshore saturated deposits (Randall et al. 2014). Bayesian modeling of radiocarbon dates indicates that there were at least three “episodes” of shell deposition during the Mount Taylor period, differentiated by the location and intensity of shell mound construction (Randall 2013). These changes reflect complex intersections of seasonality, climate, and social process. Episode I dates to ca. 7400–6350 cal BP. The few known sheet middens of this time are arranged in a linear fashion adjacent to water. Early shell mounds were likely places of gathering and feasting by

208 · Asa R. Randall

regional populations who mobilized riverine resources to construct ceremonial platforms (Sassaman and Randall 2012) (Figure 8.3). Regional settlement during Episode II (ca. 6350–5700 cal BP) follows an abandonment of Episode I shell mounds, perhaps due to decreasing local productivity of waterways that infilled with sediment (Sassaman and Randall 2012). New freshwater shell mounds were sited adjacent to embayments, lakes, and lagoons. Many were likely places of residence, based on diverse object assemblages, and activity areas or floors inferred from complex stratigraphy (Randall et al. 2014). Two coastal settlements date as early as 6250 cal BP. Spencers Midden is situated on high ground approximately 7 km south of the mouth of the St. Johns River (Saunders and Russo 2011). The site is composed of oyster and coquina shell deposits arranged in a circular arc around a depression (Saunders and Russo 2011). The North Midden site is located on the west side of the intracoastal waterway near Flagler Beach. In addition to a coquina-filled pit that was radiocarbon dated between 6260–5870 cal BP, the preceramic component has yielded diagnostic stemmed hafted bifaces (Sipe et al. 2006). Beginning around 5700 cal BP, there is a trend toward what may be yearround communities who inhabited each sub-basin of the St. Johns River and the Atlantic coastal lagoon (Russo 2010), in addition to elaborate mortuary ritual and expanded social networks (Endonino 2008; Randall 2015). This is also the start of Episode III deposition, the Late Archaic Thornhill Lake phase (ca. 5700–4600 cal BP). These social innovations are coeval with more-predictable flood histories and decelerated sea level rise (Randall 2015). Freshwater shell mounds of this era are some of the largest in the region, ranging in size from 200 to 400 m in length, and 4 m or more in height (Figure 8.3). Whether these were places of residence, grounds for community aggregation and ceremony, or a complex combination of the two remains to be determined. Settlement also occurred throughout the St. Johns River estuary and coastal lagoons. Extensive surveying of the Timucuan Ecological Preserve identified oyster-dominated components dating between 5,000 and 4,500 years ago (Russo et al. 1993). A variety of site types are found adjacent to the coast and along beaches, marshes, and islands of the intracoastal rivers. Some sites were likely quite large, perhaps 10 m or more in height, including McGundo Midden and a midden associated with the Rollins Bird Sanctuary shell ring. At least one Mount Taylor-age shell ring at Oxeye Island dates to this era. Farther to the south, matrices tend to be dominated by coquina, highlighting beachfront collection. At the Crescent Beach site,

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

Figure 8.3. Topography of Mount Taylor (above) and Orange (below) shell mounds (after Randall 2015; Russo 2006).

210 · Asa R. Randall

seasonal shell growth patterns and oxygen isotopes indicate that coquina were collected during the autumn (Quitmyer et al. 2005). The importance of ecotones is attested to by the mixture of freshwater turtles and banded mystery snails with estuarine fauna. Farther south, several large Late Archaic sites with estuarine and freshwater species have been documented at the confluence of the Tomoka River and the Halifax River (Endonino 2014), and are expected in the Mosquito Lagoon north of Cape Canaveral (e.g., Nelson 1918). Mount Taylor communities had a long tradition of collection strategies and culinary techniques that emphasized nettable aquatic fauna (Blessing 2011; Russo et al. 1992). Indeed, save for suspected gorges and composite fishhooks, there are few fishhooks known from pre-Columbian contexts in the study area. The scale of catchment areas has not been investigated, but most sites are situated immediately adjacent to exploitable ecosystems. Freshwater midden matrix is dominated by mystery snail, whereas freshwater clam and apple snail often make up individual strata within middens or in pits, perhaps indicative of individual collecting episodes, pit functions, or recipes. Vertebrate faunal assemblages from shell sites are dominated by fishes that were available in shallow lagoons and channels. Most samples are numerically dominated by shellcracker sunfishes and basses (Centrarchidae). Anadromous fish such as shads and herrings (Clupeidae) are ubiquitous but occur in low frequencies. Terrestrial game was also taken but does not seem to be a major source of biomass. A wide variety of nondomesticated plants, including Cucurbita sp. squashes, were exploited (O’Donoughue et al. 2011). These species could be collected during the spring, summer, and fall. Determining seasonality from zooarchaeological remains has been difficult on the freshwater St. Johns River. Today most fish species are available year-round, and shellfish species resist attempts to reveal season of collection through growth measures or isotopic studies. The estuarine diet revealed at Spencers Midden and elsewhere is quite similar to Late Archaic techniques. Shellfish collection involved the exploitation of oysters and coquina, representing visits to the estuary and ocean strand proper. Fishes were typically small and were dominated by herrings, menhaden (Brevortia tyrannus), and drum. Spencers Midden was visited during multiple seasons. Coquina and drum were exploited predominantly in the fall, and menhaden were targeted in the winter (Russo et al. 1993). Social gathering, which brought together coastal and interior communities, was clearly important throughout the Mount Taylor era. During Episode I, mounds such as Live Oak and Hontoon Dead Creek were repeatedly

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 211

resurfaced with shell during gatherings afforded by lagoon productivity (Sassaman and Randall 2012). During Episode II, communities constructed dedicated mortuary mounds out of shell and sand, such as at Harris Creek (Aten 1999). Most individuals interred at Harris Creek appear to have lived within the river basin based on carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and strontium isotopes (Quinn et al. 2008). Some persons interred there consumed marine resources during warmer months (Tucker 2009), however, at least two individuals spent most of their lives on the coast of north Florida or southern Georgia, while two other individuals migrated from the interior southeast (Quinn et al. 2008). Thornhill Lake phase communities participated in an elaborate political economy that involved mortuary ritual and extraregional exchange (Endonino 2008; Randall 2015). Burial mounds are the most obvious materialization of this tradition, and are situated in the freshwater St. Johns River, including Thornhill Lake and Bluffton, and near the coast at the Tomoka Mounds complex. This particular mode of monumentality was concentrated in the last centuries of the Mount Taylor period, between 4900 and 4700 cal BP (Endonino 2014; Randall 2013). Burial mounds made of shell and sand took the form of truncated cones, measuring 20–35 m in diameter and 3–5 m high (Figure 8.3). Thornhill Lake phase mortuary mounds were constructed in short-duration events, included relatively few burials, and contain bundled objects such as bannerstones, marine shell beads, and stone beads. These objects reveal social networks with northern and western communities, such as the Savannah River valley (Sassaman 2004). The visibility of Late Archaic regional occupation increases greatly after 4,600 years ago during the Orange period (ca. 4600–3500 cal BP), when communities began to produce pottery tempered with Spanish moss (Figure 8.2). Fiber-tempered pottery production has its origins in the Stallings Island tradition of the Georgia and South Carolina coastal plain (Sassaman 2004; Dillian, this volume; Turck and Thompson, this volume). In east Florida, fiber-tempered pottery is diagnostic of the Orange period. The precise timing of early pottery production is unclear, but Orange pottery is ubiquitous in the study region by 4200 cal BP (Gilmore et al. 2015). Also unknown is whether the arrival of pottery reflects a process of diffusion, an influx of persons from the north, or both. Regardless, the technology did not significantly influence domestic economies; Orange communities continued to emphasize shellfishing, small fish, turtles, and some terrestrial game. However, pottery’s appearance is coincident with social realignments and new modes of gathering that centered on monumental shell

212 · Asa R. Randall

rings. Attendant changes include widespread adoption of living in circular villages, a de-emphasis of mortuary ritual, and new social network connections (Gilmore 2016). Orange components are located in areas similar to the preceding Mount Taylor period and were often built above earlier Archaic deposits, and for the first time sites are also documented in the non-estuarine reach of the lower St. Johns River valley (Sassaman et al. 2000) (Figure 8.2). Site types include monumental shell rings, sheet middens, and smaller shell-bearing and shell-free sites. No burial mounds of this age are known, and midden burials are rare. Seasonality studies from mounded and nonmounded coastal middens demonstrate that they were likewise in use year-round (Saunders and Russo 2011). Along the southern coast of the study area are several extensive shell middens dominated by coquina or oyster or both. These may be residential sites, such as Cotten, Summer Haven, and Tomoka Stone. Where testing has been sufficient to document intrasite patterning, such as at Blue Springs Midden B and Silver Glen Springs, communities were organized into arcuate or circular compounds (Randall et al. 2014). Orange period sociality emphasized gatherings, feasting, and deposition of large quantities of available shellfish and small fishes, and the preferential use and discard of decorated cooking and serving vessels at shell rings. This is not to say unequivocally that shell rings were only places of ceremony, but as places of poignancy they afforded the coming together of many persons. Orange shell rings have been found in the Timucuan Preserve (Rollins), along the intracoastal waterway (Guana), and on the freshwater St. Johns River (two at Silver Glen Springs) (Figure 8.3). The heyday of coastal shell ring construction appears to be between 3800 and 3600 cal BP, and is perhaps earlier on the freshwater St. Johns River. Shell rings tend to be dominated by single species (oyster at Guana and Rollins, mystery snail at Silver Glen Springs). In northeast Florida, Orange shell rings are U-shaped (Russo 2004) (Figure 8.3). Typically, the closed end has the highest deposits, and one arm may have thicker deposits than the others. Where documented, shell rings are composed of largely homogeneous, so-called clean shell deposits that Saunders and Russo (2011) argue resulted from feasting and intentional deposition of shell. Russo (2004) has further argued that differences in the placement of shell, particularly in terms of height, and perhaps also density of pottery and other objects may reflect status distinctions. The circularity of shell rings could additionally mean that Orange communities were segmentary or dual-organization societies, with rank

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 213

asserted and structured by the arrangement of social groups within a ring (Russo 2004). The contents of shell rings and coeval sites provide insight into Orange Period social networks. Gilmore (2016:213–218) suggests that the sociality of pottery manufacture and use undermined the prestige-based Thornhill Lake phase political economy by providing new modes of expression and interaction. Shell rings in all regions tend to have large quantities of thick, well-made decorated vessels when compared with contemporaneous non-mounded sites, whose assemblages are dominated by plain vessels (Gilmore 2016:209; Saunders 2004). Saunders and Wrenn (2014) argued that there were distinct communities of potters at each coastal shell ring; gatherings may have been intracommunity affairs within distinct drainages. Alternatively, resident communities were responsible for producing vessels to be used in gatherings. In contrast, Gilmore’s (2016) provenance study suggests that gatherings on the freshwater river were integrative affairs. Approximately half of the vessels found at the Silver Glen Springs shell rings were made from clays likely found in the southern Florida Gulf Coast region. Gilmore further suggests that there may have been an east– west divide between Atlantic coastal and freshwater groups. Coastal communities traded to the north for soapstone vessels made in the piedmont, which are virtually absent on the middle St. Johns. On the middle St. Johns River, there is a decrease in marine shell. Millennium in Question (3500–2500 BP)

According to convention, the changeover from the Late Archaic to the Early Woodland period occurred around 3200 cal BP (Anderson and Sassaman 2012:5). What caused the end of the large, corporate communities that characterized the Late Archaic and their associated social networks continues to be a matter of debate but likely involved broad-scale climate change, sea level regression, and social realignments (Thomas and Sanger 2010). Sites dating to the end of the Archaic and the beginning of the Woodland are rare (Miller 1998). Russo (2010:150) has aptly referred to this problem era as the “Millennium in Question” (MIQ). He noted that the tail ends of the MIQ are characterized by similarities in resource exploitation but differences in how those resources were mobilized for community traditions of settlement and collective gathering. Whereas Late Archaic communities emphasized recognizing and negotiating social difference by mounding

214 · Asa R. Randall

shell, Early Woodland communities directed political economies toward mortuary mounds shared among kinship lines. There were likely several social and environmental inflection points during the MIQ. Some of the first changes may be entrained with the history of Poverty Point in northeast Louisiana, toward which many social networks across the southeastern United States were directed between 3600 and 3200 cal BP. This large mound center was arguably a place for pilgrimage or multiethnic aggregation (Spivey et al. 2015). That northeast Floridians were involved is attested to by St. Johns pottery found at Poverty Point, and Poverty Point objects found on the middle St. Johns River (Hays et al. 2016). Northeast Florida communities ceased construction of shell mounds as this network came online, perhaps registering a reconfiguration of regional gathering and new definition of sacred space (Gilmore 2016:218). A second inflection point occurred ca. 3200 cal BP and in the centuries afterward, when Poverty Point ceased to be a regional focal point, and communities realigned themselves locally. This reorganization may have occurred at the bottom end of the Late Archaic sea level regression. Russo (2010) suggests that spatial shifts in coastal aquatic resources, as well as their predictability, undermined ownership of productive and predictable fisheries and thus the abilities of corporate societies to host feasts. This hypothesis deserves explicit testing in the coast and freshwater regions. Woodland Period (3200–1050 BP)

The Woodland period in the Southeast is characterized by the widespread adoption of pottery, diverse foodways, cycles of social gathering emphasizing mortuary ritual, and networks of exchange (Anderson and Mainfort 2002). This description is true of northeast Florida, where a proliferation of ceramic types, sand burial mounds, and, in some eras, foreign objects have been documented across the region. As noted by Russo (2010), many of the same species that were exploited during the Woodland period were also important in the Late Archaic. When Woodland period sites become visible (ca. 2500 cal BP), there is a spatial division materialized by different ceramic traditions roughly north and south of the mouth of the St. Johns River (Ashley 2008). The northern area was a crossroads of traditions from the north and west (Russo 1992; Turck and Thompson, this volume), while the southern end of the study region was home to the long-lived St. Johns tradition. Each zone was inhabited by communities that emphasized yearround exploitation of aquatic resources.

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 215

The St. Johns I period represents Woodland era traditions on the freshwater and adjacent Atlantic seaboard, although components are known in the lower St. Johns River basin (Figure 8.4). The hallmark of the period is St. Johns Plain pottery. While subperiods have been defined based on mortuary tradition and cross-dating trade wares from the north, there needs to be more independent testing of this chronology. St. Johns I sites doubled in frequency per century from the Late Archaic (Miller 1998:78–86), and their distribution shows a preference for aquatic zones (Sassaman et al. 2000:107). Miller (1998:79–86) proposed that the larger site inventory was evidence for greater populations, increased social complexity, and horticulture after the Archaic. This model did not take into account the scale of social organization now evident during the Archaic, and the current lack of evidence for intensive horticulture during the Woodland (e.g., Newsom 1987). The distribution could equally be a result of more-numerous specialpurpose encampments, or a more dispersed settlement organization. On the freshwater St. Johns River, aquatic species dominated subsistence pursuits, with hints of multiseasonal or year-round occupation of some places (Purdy 1991; Weisman 1993). Freshwater St. Johns I occupation involved a variety of site types, including large shell mounds, shell midden mounds, extensive sheet middens with and without shell, and burial complexes. It remains to be determined how intensive shellfishing was at this time. While St. Johns pottery is often recovered from mounds, there is limited evidence for the mounding of shell. Jeffries Wyman (1875), for example, observed that pottery was confined to the upper 50 cm of deposits in 90% of mounds he surveyed. It may be that shellfishing continued at a similar or greater scale, but shell was deposited in smaller residential sheet middens and midden mounds, not unlike the interior Southeast during the Woodland (e.g., Peacock 2002). Midden mounds, such as the Twin Mounds site on the Wekiva River, could be more representative of household middens (Weisman 1993). Maritime connections are highlighted in residential and mortuary spaces by marine shell and shark teeth. Large marine gastropod shells were used to make a variety of percussive tools such as axes, adzes, and hammers (Goggin 1952:49). Lightning whelks were also used to make vessels and may provide evidence for ritualized consumption of the Black Drink, made by brewing yaupon holly (Ilex vomitoria) (e.g., Milanich 1979). St. Johns I coastal occupation is represented by an almost continuous stretch of sites (Figure 8.4), with the greatest density of sites near inlets and lagoons (Sassaman et al. 2000:107). A variety of site types are known,

Figure 8.4. Distribution of Woodland and Mississippi period sites in the study area.

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 217

including large shell mounds, mortuary mounds, extensive linear sheet middens, and smaller shell- and non-shell-bearing components. How, specifically, all of these different sites were organized remains to be determined, but they likely represent year-round coastal settlement. Along the Mosquito Lagoon, settlement may have been organized around villages associated with mortuary mounds, with a variety of shellfish exploitation sites emplaced around the lagoon. One such village may be the Ross Hammock site, which had a 2–3 m-thick shell midden composed of layers of ash and crushed shell, alongside two earthen mortuary mounds (Bullen et al. 1967) (Figure 8.5). The village may have articulated with large shell mounds where shellfish was harvested and processed, such as Edgewater Landing and Seminole Rest (Horvath 1995; Russo et al. 1989). Small burial or nonresidential mounds are often found immediately adjacent to larger shell mounds, suggesting that the larger shell mounds were not simply refuse heaps but were accorded social significance. Similar site types and exploitation patterns have been documented at places like Marineland Hammock on the Matanzas River (Austin 2005). Woodland occupation of the lower St. Johns River is materialized in numerous small special purpose middens and larger middens and midden mounds that are likely multiseasonal villages (Wallis 2008). Gatherings took place at earthen mortuary mounds. The refined ceramic chronology and large set of independent radiocarbon determinations enable discrimination of several phases: Deptford (ca. 2450–1750 cal BP), Unnamed postDeptford phase (ca. 1750–1650 cal BP), Early Swift Creek (ca. 1650–1450 cal BP), Late Swift Creek (ca. 1450–1100 cal BP), and Colorinda (ca. 1100–1050 cal BP) (Ashley 2008). In many cases what is known about cultural traditions and resource procurement strategies is based on studies of affiliated communities in Georgia and South Carolina (e.g., Stephenson et al. 2002). Deptford phase sites are recognized along the Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico coasts and interior lower Southeast on the basis of Check Stamped and Simple Stamped pottery (Stephenson et al. 2002). The study region is part of the Atlantic Deptford tradition (Milanich 1994:111–141; Stephenson et al. 2002). In general, Deptford habitation sites are often located in marine hammocks associated with estuaries, with smaller, likely single-family encampments throughout the estuaries and uplands. Deptford community life emphasized multifamily residential villages composed of 5 to 25 structures. At the Greenfield Site No. 5 at the mouth of the St. Johns River, no structures were identified, but there were diverse object assemblages including bone tools, shell tools, and lithics (Kirkland and Johnson 2000).

Figure 8.5. Topography of post-Archaic mounds in northeast Florida (after Ashley and Rolland 2015; Hellman 2013).

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 219

The midden was dominated by oyster, which was most likely collected in the summer and fall based on the size distribution of impressed odostome shells (Boonea impressa). Residents of the site also exploited estuarine bony fishes, mostly mullet and drum. The Swift Creek phases are distinguished by the production of Complicated Stamped vessels. Settlement distribution and site types were similar to the preceding era and likely represent seasonally mobile populations who gathered for feasting and commemoration of the dead (Ashley and Wallis 2006). Seasonal village sites were likely composed of households arranged in arcs or rings, based on the distribution of sheet midden and individual midden deposits (Ashley and Wallis 2006). Little zooarchaeological research has been done locally, but on the Greenfield Peninsula Swift Creek culture contexts were dominated by oyster and a minority of other invertebrates. Bony fishes such as marine catfishes made up the bulk of vertebrate protein (Johnson 1998). These results are consistent with Swift Creek coastal occupations in Georgia, thought to represent year-round occupation where mass capture techniques were used (e.g., Reitz and Quitmyer 1988). Finally, the short-lived Colorinda phase is distinguished by ceramics tempered with St. Johns and other wares found along the intracoastal and barrier islands north and south of the mouth of the St. Johns River (Ashley 2006). Gathering during the Woodland emphasized earthen mound construction, mortuary ritual, and object gifting. St. Johns I communities conducted mortuary rituals at mounds constructed of sand and shell (Milanich 1994: 260–262). These were typically truncated cones, measuring 30 m in diameter and 1–5 m high. The mounds were primarily used to inter the deceased after extended treatment in charnel houses. Pottery and objects of galena, copper, and greenstone attest to interactions with communities to the north and west. Mortuary mounds can be found in isolation or adjacent to shell mounds or villages. Gathering in the St. Johns River estuary is best known from Swift Creek contexts, where earthen accretional mortuary mounds were situated hundreds of meters away from villages (Wallis 2008). Through time, communities of the estuarine St. Johns River participated in ritualized exchanges with contemporaneous communities throughout the lower Southeast. Chemical sourcing with neutron activation, coupled with matching of designs impressed on Complicated Stamped pottery with the same wooden paddles, indicates that social connections were maintained between Late Swift Creek communities of Florida and Georgia through gifts of vessels (Wallis 2011).

220 · Asa R. Randall

Mississippi Period (ca. 1050–437 BP)

Across the region, post-Woodland gathering strategies remained largely unchanged from previous traditions. In at least some cases, however, gathered foods were used to host large feasts among chiefly societies. Across the region St. Johns Check Stamped pottery is diagnostic of the St. Johns II period. The ware was first produced during the Late Woodland sometime around 1200 cal BP in the coastal and freshwater portions of the study region and is found into the estuarine St. Johns River region by 1050 cal BP (Ashley 2008). St. Johns II covers three regional social phenomena: participation in Late Weeden Island ritual gatherings, the process of Mississippianization ca. 1050–950 cal BP, and early incursions of European colonists between 437 and 385 cal BP. Within the region there are as many or fewer St. Johns II components than during St. Johns I times (Figure 8.4). However, there is a greater component frequency per century than before (Miller 1998:86; Sassaman et al. 2000:76). A wide range of site types have been documented, but on the St. Johns River a new form of terraforming emerged that involved earthen and shell mound centers. Unlike Archaic monuments, this new tradition incorporated mortuaries, platform mounds, extended ramps and other architecture (Figure 8.5). Large shell mounds and villages are also known on the freshwater river and coast. It has been argued that the patterns evident during St. Johns II times register higher population densities and political consolidation marked by the emergence of ranked societies organized around hereditary chiefs that were supported by corn agriculture (Miller 1998:86–87). This perspective is informed on one hand by the expected impacts of the appearance of chiefly, mound-building agricultural societies in the interior Southeast during the Mississippi period after 1050 cal BP or so (Ashley and White 2012), and on the other hand by colonial descriptions of Timucuan, Mayacan, and Ais communities that were organized into simple and complex chiefdoms, some of which grew maize in addition to fishing and gathering (Worth 1998). This is not the place for an extended discussion of the matter, but currently there is no credible evidence for agricultural production in the study region, and maize cobs are found in deposits dating to the years just before and after European incursion (Ashley 2009; Purdy 1990). It seems likely that there were significant transformations immediately prior to colonial disruptions (Ashley 2009). The complexity of St. Johns II social histories and resource use is perhaps nowhere clearer than in the lower St. Johns and St. Marys drainages. Two settlement clusters that center on mound complexes are known from

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 221

Mount Royal north of Lake George, and 100 km to the north at the Mill Cove complex in the lower St. Johns River estuary (Figures 8.4, 8.5). These two mound centers are notable for large earthen mounds, ramps and causeways, and shell deposits that contain objects such as copper plates, stone celts, and other sacra produced by Mississippian communities in the interior Southeast. Much more is known about Mill Cove and the surrounding landscape than about Mount Royal, but each place was a center for communal gathering, feasting, and mortuary rituals. These places take on greater significance in the context of an apparent migration of communities from the middle St. Johns River basin around 1050 cal BP. At this time St. Johns Check Stamped pottery becomes pervasive in the estuarine region (Ashley 2008). Sand-tempered wares of the Ocmulgee series are found as well and may represent southward migration from Georgia. In the estuary at least 12 St. Johns II villages have been identified (Ashley 2012). Each cluster is likely a multiseasonal or year-round occupation, with an attached sand burial mound. While most are linear settlements, the Grand Shell Ring is a circular shell ring located only 4 km from the Orange period Rollins ring. Subsistence was very similar to earlier eras and emphasized oyster and small bony fishes (Parsons and Marrinan 2013). The Mill Cove complex is situated on an embayment on the estuarine St. Johns River. The 15 ha complex is characterized by two large sand mounds, Grant and Shields mounds, a causeway, and a variety of mounded oysterdominated shell middens. The sand mounds were built in a style reminiscent of other Mississippian mound centers (Figure 8.5). However, Ashley and Rolland (2015) argue that prior to constructing the sand mounds the participants created middens on which the sand mounds would be built. These practices, in addition to the inclusion of Archaic and Woodland objects, suggest that St. Johns II immigrants followed traditions established in the middle St. Johns River basin for making places sacred by building on top of ancient middens. Gatherings emphasized a communal political economy through shared feasting, preparation of the dead, and consumption of sacra. Certain middens in the complex, such as Kinzey’s Knoll, appear to have been central to this process. In addition to sacra, the oyster midden had a dense faunal biomass, and a diverse assemblage including deer, avifauna, and predatory mammals, including dolphin and bear (Parsons and Marrinan 2013). Sometime after 700 cal BP, the Mill Cove complex was left by St. Johns II communities, with evidence for northern populations moving into the estuary (Ashley 2009). To the south, in the middle St. Johns River basin, our understanding of

222 · Asa R. Randall

St. Johns II social history is not so well refined, due to a lack of independent radiocarbon assays. Sites of this age tend to be concentrated at mound centers, such as the Thursby Mound, which was sited across the river from the 300 m-long U-shaped Hontoon Island North shell mound complex. Both mounds were built on top of Archaic and Woodland foundations. The Thursby Mound was a mortuary fronted by a series of wooden carvings (found preserved in the river bottom) (Ostapkowicz et al. 2017). Much of what we know about St. Johns II subsistence comes from excavations in the eastern slope and adjacent saturated midden at the Hontoon Island North site, summarized by Purdy (1991). In the terrestrial portion were several features and post molds, indicative perhaps of residential occupation. The saturated midden provided a dense and diverse vegetation assemblage not unlike Archaic flora use. At least 11 wild plants were identified that could have been used for food, in addition to gourd and squash that may have been domesticated. A large quantity of adzed wood chips was also found, indicating that carving and perhaps boat making occurred there. Objects of marine origin found in the midden attest to coastal connections, including a lightning whelk vessel, tools made from whelk and quahog shells, and sharks’ teeth (used to finish wooden carvings). Shellfishing was abandoned sometime early in the sixteenth century, and domestic pumpkin/squash and maize were deposited there along with metal items, indicative of colonial encounter. St. Johns II sites are found along the barrier island chain and intracoastal estuaries, but some clustering occurs at inlets and throughout the Mosquito Lagoon south of the Ponce de Leon Inlet (Figure 8.4). St. Johns II coastal site types include shell scatters, shell and earthen sheet middens, and large shell mounds. It may be, as suggested for St. Johns I times, that sites represent a complex of year-round activities, including villages, special extraction sites, and shellfish processing locales (Russo et al. 1989). Some sheet middens have been linked to named villages based on Spanish documents, including Seloy at St. Augustine and Nocoroco in the Tomoka River basin, but no clear spatial organization of deposits indicative of village life has been discerned (Deagan 2009; Griffin and Smith 1949). Some of the largest mounds that remain partially preserved are present in the Halifax River and Mosquito Lagoon area, including the 10 m-high Turtle Mound (Figure 8.5), Green Mound, Castle Windy, and Snyder’s Mound at Seminole Rest. According to Horvath (1995), large mounds such as Snyder’s Mound may be shellfish processing stations, where shell was harvested year-round.

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 223

Other shell mounds such as Castle Windy and Green Mound were likely seasonal (or longer) villages. For example, Bullen and Sleight (1960) identified numerous floors and post molds throughout the deposits at Green Mound. Little has been reported on the internal structure of Turtle Mound, but it is composed mostly of oyster shell. Notably, a sand burial mound was built adjacent to this shell mound. More work is needed to examine the social connections between shellfish exploitation and local political economies on the Atlantic Coast. The Relevance of Ancient Northeast Florida

This survey of northeast Florida’s ancient culture history reveals that freshwater and estuarine ecosystems afforded many different modes of social organization, including kin-based networks, corporate groups, and chiefly societies. These ecosystems were not deterministic, nor were they necessarily self-limiting. On the cusp of a significant change in the availability of surface waters ca. 8,900 years ago, a core culinary tradition emerged that emphasized sessile or slow-moving mollusks and small, nettable fishes. Three millennia later a new practice took hold wherein communities practiced sedentary or year-round living in circumscribed localities (Russo 2010). These economies may have been enabled by sea level rise deceleration that influenced landscape predictability and allowed for longer-term planning of futures (Sassaman 2012). Contrary to claims of continuity, a historical perspective reveals that communities deployed available resources for a wide range of activities, from daily affairs to regional gatherings for mortuary and other commemorative events. Where available, zooarchaeological data highlight how various foods were prepared for gatherings and feasts. During the Middle Archaic, communities socially and symbolically valued water and things that came from it, and eventually mobilized shell and earth to extensively terraform the landscape. Instead of territorial markers, construction efforts created places that were integrative and drew participants from hundreds of kilometers away. Such places provided historical resources for future communities in the context of regional changes from climate and migration (Randall and Sassaman 2017). Just like today, erosion of or variability in the ecological context of places was a bellwether of change. At the same time, places that were ancient in the past provided literal and figurative foundations for successive communities to construct new habitable places. Indeed, far from inhabiting

224 · Asa R. Randall

a natural landscape, northeast Florida’s communities created an extensive anthropogenic landscape filled with sacred and secular places whose significance enabled continued habitation in the region. Many studies that provide long-term insights into coastal living and coastal environments also make northeast Florida relevant. The determination that Archaic and later communities exploited a range of species throughout the year has been enabled by fish season-of-capture studies coupled with shell size and oxygen isotope sclerochronology (e.g., Quitmyer et al. 2005; Quitmyer et al. 1997; Russo et al. 1993). These same studies provide the foundation for tracking human-environmental interactions, including between the ancient and modern worlds. For example, Quitmyer and Jones (2000) examined the age structure of hard clam from Archaic through Mississippi period contexts. They determined that during St. Johns I times, hard clams were collected at younger ages. They argue that this survivorship suppression represents overharvesting of hard clams, perhaps with greater pressure than commercial harvesters today. Reitz (2004) similarly used a long-term perspective to gauge changes in fishing intensity. She demonstrated that as early as the seventeenth century, there were changes in exploited trophic levels, perhaps due to a combination of overfishing estuaries and exploiting deeper waters. The region’s history takes on greater import in the context of numerous anthropogenic threats such as land use intensification, as well as accelerated sea level rise that will swamp low-lying areas (Donoghue 2011; Hine et al. 2016). The nine millennia of social histories of northeast Florida provide numerous instances of community responses to increased sea level. Pond mortuaries, shell mounds, earthen mounds and other terraforming all arguably made reference to—and helped communities understand and plan for—changes in the structure of life from climatic and associated human events. As such, the experiences of ancient communities—in particular their perceptions of risk, their ability to mobilize social resources to challenging events, and their cosmological shifts to accommodate change— provide comparative spaces for modern thinking regarding how humans historicize and plan for change (Sassaman 2012). As little as a 1 m rise in sea level could displace over a million people and inundate over 5,000 archaeological sites on the coast and low-lying freshwater reaches of Florida (Anderson et al. 2017). Drawing on the need to identify and monitor atrisk sites, the Florida Public Archaeology Network (FPAN) developed the Heritage Monitoring Scouts program (FPAN 2017). This innovative program trains volunteers to identify and record impacts to coastal cultural

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 225

resources. Irrespective of the social contexts of terraforming, the erosion of ancient places materializes and makes highly visible the loss of pasts in tandem with future threats to water-bound lives. In that sense, the culturehistory of northeast Florida is both a bellwether of change and a resource for ensuring future gatherings. References Anderson, David G., Thaddeus G. Bissett, Stephen J. Yerka, Joshua J. Wells, Eric C. Kansa, Sarah W. Kansa, Kelsey Noack Myers, R. Carl DeMuth, and Devin A. White. 2017. Sea-Level Rise and Archaeological Site Destruction: An Example from the Southeastern United States Using DINAA (Digital Index of North American Archaeology). Plos One 12:1–25. Anderson, David G., and Robert C. Mainfort. 2002. An Introduction to Woodland Archaeology in the Southeast. In The Woodland Southeast, edited by David G. Anderson and Robert C. Mainfort, pp. 1–19. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Anderson, David G., and Kenneth E. Sassaman. 2012. Recent Developments in Southeastern Archaeology: From Colonization to Complexity. Society for American Archaeology Press, Washington, DC. Ashley, Keith H. 2006. Colorinda and Its Place in Northeastern Florida History. Florida Anthropologist 59:91–99. Ashley, Keith H. 2008. Refining the Ceramic Chronology of Northeastern Florida. Florida Anthropologist 61:123–131. Ashley, Keith H. 2009. Straddling the Florida-Georgia State Line: Ceramic Chronology of the St. Marys Region (A.D. 1400–1700). In From Santa Elena to St. Augustine: Indigenous Ceramic Variability (A.D. 1400–1700), edited by Kathleen Deagan and David H. Thomas, pp. 125–139. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Ashley, Keith H. 2012. Early St. Johns II Interaction, Exchange, and Politics: A View from Northeastern Florida. In Late Prehistoric Florida: Archaeology at the Edge of the Mississippian World, edited by Keith H. Ashley and Nancy Marie White, pp. 100–125. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Ashley, Keith H., and Vicki Rolland. 2015. Archaeological Testing of the Proposed Grand Shell Ring (8DU1) Interpretive Trail Big Talbot Island State Park. Report on file at the Florida Division of Historical Resources, Tallahassee. Ashley, Keith H., and Neill J. Wallis. 2006. Northeastern Florida Swift Creek: Overview and Future Research Directions. Florida Anthropologist 59:5–18. Ashley, Keith H., and Nancy Marie White. 2012. Late Prehistoric Florida: An Introduction. In Late Prehistoric Florida: Archaeology at the Edge of the Mississippian World, edited by Keith H. Ashley and Nancy Marie White, pp. 100–125. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Aten, Lawrence E. 1999. Middle Archaic Ceremonialism at Tick Island, Florida: Ripley P. Bullen’s 1961 Excavations at the Harris Creek Site. Florida Anthropologist 52:131–200. Austin, Robert J. 2005. Phase II Archaeological Investigations on the Centex Marineland Development Property, Flagler County, Florida. Report on file at the Florida Division of Historical Resources, Tallahassee.

226 · Asa R. Randall

Balsille, James H., and Joseph F. Donoghue. 2004. High-Resolution Sea-Level History for the Gulf of Mexico since the Last Glacial Maximum. Report of Investigations No. 103. Florida Geological Survey, Tallahassee. Blessing, Meggan E. 2011. Zooarchaeological Assemblage. In Cultural Resource Assessment Survey of Silver Glen Springs Recreational Area in the Ocala National Forest, Florida, edited by Asa R. Randall, Meggan E. Blessing, and Jon C. Endonino, pp. 173–194. Technical Report 13, Laboratory of Southeastern Archaeology. Department of Anthropology, University of Florida, Gainesville. Bullen, Ripley P., Adelaide K. Bullen, and William J. Bryant. 1967. Archaeological Investigations at the Ross Hammock Site, Florida. , American Studies Report 7.Bryant Foundation, Orlando. Bullen, Ripley P., and Frederick W. Sleight. 1960. Archaeological Investigations of Green Mound, Florida. William L. Bryant Foundation, Springfield, Vermont. Cerimele, Nicole G. 2017. Early Middle Archaic Placemaking: A Faunal Analysis of Three Pit Deposits from Silver Glen Springs (8LA1). Master’s thesis, Department of Anthropology, University of Oklahoma, Norman. Davis, Richard A., Jr. 1997. Geology of the Florida Coast. In The Geology of Florida, edited by Anthony F. Randazzo and Douglas S. Jones, pp. 155–168. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Deagan, Kathleen. 2009. Native American Ceramics at the Fountain of Youth Park Site, St. Augustine (8-SJ-31). In From Santa Elena to St. Augustine: Indigenous Ceramic Variability (A.D. 1400–1700), edited by Kathleen Deagan and David H. Thomas, pp. 141–164. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Dickel, David N. 2002. Analysis of Mortuary Patterns. In Windover: Multidisciplinary Investigations of an Early Archaic Florida Cemetery, edited by Glen H. Doran, pp. 73–96. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Donoghue, Joseph F. 2011. Sea Level History of the Northern Gulf of Mexico Coast and Sea Level Rise Scenarios for the Near Future. Climatic Change 107:17–33. Doran, Glen H. 2002. Introduction to Wet Sites and Windover (8BR246) Investigations. In Windover: Multidisciplinary Investigations of an Early Archaic Florida Cemetery, edited by Glen H. Doran, pp. 1–38. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Doran, Glen H., Jack Rink, Katherine Rodrigues, and Richard R. Hendricks. 2014. Nothing on Cape Canaveral Is Older than 6,000 Years. Report on file at the Florida Division of Historical Resources, Tallahassee. Emrich, Christopher T., and Susan L. Cutter. 2011. Social Vulnerability to Climate-Sensitive Hazards in the Southern United States. Weather, Climate, and Society 3:193–208. Endonino, Jon C. 2008. The Thornhill Lake Archaeological Research Project: 2005–2008. Florida Anthropologist 61:149–165. Endonino, Jon C. 2014. Recent Investigations at the Tomoka Mound & Midden Complex: New Insights into Mound Chronology & Function. Paper presented at the 71st Annual Southeastern Archaeological Conference, Greenville, South Carolina. Florida Public Archaeology Network (FPAN). 2017. Heritage Monitoring Scouts Program. https://fpan.us/projects/HMSflorida.php, accessed August 12, 2017. Gayes, Paul T., David B. Scott, Eric S. Collins, and Douglas D. Nelson. 1992. A Late Holocene Sea-Level Fluctuation in South Carolina. In Quaternary Coasts of the United

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 227

States: Marine and Lacustrine Systems, edited by C. H. Fletcher and John F. Wehmiller, pp. 155–160. Special Publication No. 48. SEPM Society for Sedimentary Geology, Tulsa. Gilmore, Zackary I. 2016. Gathering at Silver Glen: Community and History in Late Archaic Florida. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Gilmore, Zackary I., Kenneth E. Sassaman, and Asa R. Randall. 2015. Locating Events in Process: A Multiscalar Examination of Early Pottery in the Southeastern U.S. Using Bayesian Statistics. Paper presented at the 80th Annual Meeting of the Society for American Archaeology, San Francisco. Goggin, John M. 1952. Space and Time Perspective in Northern St. Johns Archeology, Florida. Yale University Press, New Haven, Connecticut. Grier, Colin. 2014. Landscape Construction, Ownership and Social Change in the Southern Gulf Islands of British Columbia. Canadian Journal of Archaeology 38:211–249. Griffin, John W., and Hale G. Smith. 1949. A Timucua Village of 1605 Now in Tomoka State Park. Florida Historical Quarterly 27:340–361. Hays, Christopher T., Richard A. Weinstein, and James B. Stoltman. 2016. Poverty Point Objects Reconsidered. Southeastern Archaeology 35:213–236. Hellmann, Robert. 2013. Canaveral National Seashore Volusia and Brevard County, Florida: Archeological Overview and Assessment. Southeast Archaeological Center, Tallahassee. Hine, Albert C., Don P. Chambers, Tonya D. Clayton, Mark R. Hafen, and Gary T. Mitchum 2016. Sea Level Rise in Florida: Science, Impacts, and Options. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Horvath, Elizabeth A. 1995. Final Report on the Archeological Investigations of the Seminole Rest Site (CANA-063/8V0124): Canaveral National Seashore Volusia County, Florida. Southeast Archaeological Center. Tallahassee. Johnson, Robert E. 1998. A Phase II Archaeological Investigation of Florida Inland Navigation District Tract DU-7 Greenfield Peninsula, Duval County, Florida. Report on file at the Florida Division of Historical Resources. Tallahassee. Jones, Douglas S., Irvy R. Quitmyer, and C. Fred T. Andrus. 2005. Oxygen Isotopic Evidence for Greater Seasonality in Holocene Shells of Donax variabilis from Florida. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology 228:96–108. Kirkland, S. Dwight, and Robert E. Johnson. 2000. Archaeological Data Recovery at Greenfield Site No. 5, 8DU5541 for Segment 2 of the Wonderwood Connector Project, Duval County, Florida. Report on file at the Florida Division of Historical Resources. Tallahassee. Kroening, Sharon E. 2004. Streamflow and Water-Quality Characteristics at Selected Sites of the St. Johns River in Central Florida, 1933 to 2002. U.S. Geological Survey Scientific Investigations Report 2004–5177. Milanich, Jerald T. 1979. Origins and Prehistoric Distribution of Black Drink and the Ceremonial Shell Drinking Cup. In Black Drink: A Native American Tea, edited by Charles M. Hudson, pp. 83–119. University of Georgia Press, Athens. Milanich, Jerald T. 1994. Archaeology of Precolumbian Florida. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Miller, James J. 1998. An Environmental History of Northeast Florida. University Press of Florida, Gainesville.

228 · Asa R. Randall

Moore, Clarence B. 1999. The East Florida Expeditions of Clarence Bloomfield Moore. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Mormino, Gary Ross. 2005. Land of Sunshine, State of Dreams: A Social History of Modern Florida. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Nelson, Nels C. 1918. Chronology in Florida. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History 22:75–103. Newsom, Lee A. 1987. Analysis of Botanical Remains from Hontoon Island (8V0202), Florida: 1980–1985 Excavations. Florida Anthropologist 40:47–84. O’Donoughue, Jason M. 2017. Water from Stone: Archaeology and Conservation at Florida’s Springs. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. O’Donoughue, Jason M., Kenneth E. Sassaman, Meggan E. Blessing, Johanna B. Talcott, and Julie Byrd. 2011. Archaeological Investigations at Salt Springs (8MR2322), Marion County, Florida. Laboratory of Southeastern Archaeology. Technical Report 11. Department of Anthropology, University of Florida, Gainesville. Odum, Howard T. 1953. Factors Controlling Marine Invasion into Florida Fresh Waters. Bulletin of Marine Science 3:134–156. Ostapkowicz, Joanna, Rick J. Schulting, Ryan Wheeler, Lee Newsom, Fiona Brock, Ian Bull, and Christophe Snoeck. 2017. East-Central Florida Pre-Columbian Wood Sculpture: Radiocarbon Dating, Wood Identification, and Strontium Isotope Studies. Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 13:595–608. Parsons, Alexandra L., and Rochelle A. Marrinan. 2013. An Assessment of the Coastal Faunal Data from Georgia and Northeast Florida. In Life among the Tides: Recent Archaeology on the Georgia Bight, edited by Victor D. Thompson and David H. Thomas, pp. 47–74. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Peacock, Evan. 2002. Shellfish Use during the Woodland Period in the Middle South. In The Woodland Southeast, edited by David G. Anderson and Robert C. Mainfort, pp. 444–460. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Penders, Thomas E. 2002. Bone, Antler, Dentary, and Lithic Artifacts. In Windover: Multidisciplinary Investigations of an Early Archaic Florida Cemetery, edited by Glen H. Doran, pp. 97–120. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Purdy, Barbara A. 1990. Chronology of Cultivation in Peninsular Florida: Prehistoric or Historic? Southeastern Archaeology 9:35–42. Purdy, Barbara A. 1991. The Art and Archaeology of Florida’s Wetlands. CRC Press, Boca Raton. Quinn, Rhonda L., Bryan D. Tucker, and John Krigbaum. 2008. Diet and Mobility in Middle Archaic Florida: Stable Isotopic and Faunal Data from the Harris Creek Archaeological Site (8V024), Tick Island. Journal of Archaeological Science 35:2346–2356. Quitmyer, Irvy R., and Douglas S. Jones. 2000. The Over-Exploitation of Hard Clams (Mercenaria spp.) from Five Archaeological Sites in the Southeastern United States. Florida Anthropologist 53:158–166. Quitmyer, Irvy R., Douglas S. Jones, and Fred T. Andrus. 2005. Seasonal Collection of Coquina Clams (Donax variabilis Say, 1822) during the Archaic and St. Johns Periods in Coastal Northeast Florida. In Archaeomalacology: Molluscs in Former Environments of Human Behavior, edited by Daniella E. Bar-Yosef Mayer, pp. 18–28. Oxbow Books, Oxford.

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 229

Quitmyer, Irvy R., Douglas S. Jones, and William S. Arnold. 1997. The Sclerochronology of Hard Clams, Mercenaria spp., from the South-Eastern U.S.A.: A Method of Elucidating the Zooarchaeological Records of Seasonal Resource Procurement and Seasonality in Prehistoric Shell Middens. Journal of Archaeological Science 24:825–840. Randall, Asa R. 2013. The Chronology and History of Mount Taylor Period (ca. 7400–4600 cal B.P.) Shell Sites on the Middle St. Johns River, Florida. Southeastern Archaeology 32:193–217. Randall, Asa R. 2015. Constructing Histories: Archaic Freshwater Shell Mounds and Social Landscapes of the St. Johns River, Florida. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Randall, Asa R., and Kenneth E. Sassaman. 2017. Terraforming the Middle Ground in Ancient Florida. Hunter Gatherer Research 3:9–29. Randall, Asa R., Kenneth E. Sassaman, Zackary I. Gilmore, Meggan E. Blessing, and Jason M. O’Donoughue. 2014. Archaic Histories beyond the Shell “Heap” on the St. Johns River. In New Histories of Pre-Columbian Florida, edited by Neill J. Wallis and Asa R. Randall, pp. 18–37. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Reitz, Elizabeth J. 2004. “Fishing down the Food Web”: A Case Study from St. Augustine, Florida, USA. American Antiquity 69:63–83. Reitz, Elizabeth J., and Irvy R. Quitmyer. 1988. Faunal Remains from Two Coastal Georgia Swift Creek Sites. Southeastern Archaeology 7:95–108. Rouse, Irving. 1951. A Survey of Indian River Archaeology, Florida. Yale University Press, New Haven. Russo, Michael. 1992. Chronologies and Cultures of the St. Marys Region of Northeast Florida and Southeast Georgia. Florida Anthropologist 45:107–126. Russo, Michael. 2004. Measuring Shell Rings for Social Inequality. In Signs of Power: The Rise of Cultural Complexity in the Southeast, edited by Jon L. Gibson and Philip J. Carr, pp. 26–70. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Russo, Michael. 2010. Shell Rings and Other Settlement Features as Indicators of Cultural Continuity between the Late Archaic and Woodland Periods of Coastal Florida. In Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic?, edited by David H. Thomas and Matthew C. Sanger, pp. 149–172. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Russo, Michael, Ann S. Cordell, Lee A. Newsom, and Robert J Austin. 1989. Phase III Archaeological Excavations at Edgewater Landing, Volusia County, Florida. Report on file at the Florida Division of Historical Resources, Tallahassee. Russo, Michael, Ann S. Cordell, and Donna Ruhl. 1993. The Timucuan Ecological and Historic Preserve, Phase III Final Report. Report on file at the Florida Division of Historical Resources, Tallahassee. Russo, Michael, Barbara Purdy, Lee A. Newsom, and Ray M. McGee. 1992. A Reinterpretation of Late Archaic Adaptations in Central-East Florida: Groves’ Orange Midden (8V02601). Southeastern Archaeology 11:95–108. Sassaman, Kenneth E. 2004. Common Origins and Divergent Histories in the Early Pottery Traditions of the American Southeast. In Early Pottery: Technology, Function, Style and Interaction in the Lower Southeast, edited by Rebecca Saunders and Christopher T. Hays, pp. 23–39. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Sassaman, Kenneth E. 2012. Drowning Out the Past: How Humans Historicize Water as

230 · Asa R. Randall

Water Historicizes Them. In Big Histories, Human Lives: Tackling Problems of Scale in Archaeology, edited by John Robb and Timothy R. Pauketat, pp. 171–181. SAR Press, Santa Fe. Sassaman, Kenneth E., and Asa R. Randall. 2012. Shell Mounds of the Middle St. Johns Basin, Northeast Florida. In Early New World Monumentality, edited by Richard L. Burger and Robert M. Rosenswig, pp. 53–72. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Sassaman, Kenneth E., J. Christian Russell, and Jon C. Endonino. 2000. St. Johns Archaeological Project Phase I: A GIS Approach to Regional Preservation Planning in Northeast Florida. Technical Report 3, Laboratory of Southeastern Archeology. Department of Anthropology, University of Florida, Gainesville. Saunders, Rebecca. 2004. Spatial Variation in Orange Culture Pottery: Interaction and Function. In Early Pottery: Technology, Function, Style and Interaction in the Lower Southeast, edited by Rebecca Saunders and Christopher T. Hays, pp. 40–62. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Saunders, Rebecca, and Michael Russo. 2011. Coastal Shell Middens in Florida: A View from the Archaic Period. Quaternary International 239:38–50. Saunders, Rebecca, and Margaret K. Wrenn. 2014. Crafting Orange Pottery in Early Florida: Production and Distribution. In New Histories of Pre-Columbian Florida, edited by Neill J. Wallis and Asa R. Randall, pp. 183–202. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Schmidt, Walter. 1997. Geomorphology and Physiography of Florida. In The Geology of Florida, edited by Anthony F. Randazzo and Douglas S. Jones, pp. 1–12. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Sipe, Ryan O., Gregory S. Hendryx, and Neill J. Wallis. 2006. Archaeological Data Recovery and Mitigation at the North Midden Site (8FL216) Flagler County, Florida. Report on file at the Florida Division of Historical Resources, Tallahassee. Smock, Leonard A., Anne B. Wright, and Arthur C. Benke. 2011. Atlantic Coast Rivers of the Southeastern United States. In Rivers of North America, edited by Arthur C. Benke and Colbert E. Cushing, pp. 73–122. Elsevier Academic Press, New York. Spivey, S. Margaret, Tristam R. Kidder, Anthony L. Ortman, and Lee J. Arco. 2015. Pilgrimage to Poverty Point? In The Archaeology of Events: Cultural Change and Continuity in the Pre-Columbian Southeast, edited by Zackary I. Gilmore and Jason M. O’Donoughue, pp. 141–159. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Stephenson, Keith, Judith A. Bense, and Frankie Snow. 2002. Aspects of Deptford and Swift Creek of the South Atlantic and Gulf Coastal Plains. In The Woodland Southeast, edited by David G. Anderson and Robert C. Mainfort, pp. 318–351. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Tagatz, Marlin E. 1968. Fishes of the St. Johns River, Florida. Quarterly Journal of the Florida Academy of Sciences 30:25–50. Thomas, David Hurst. 2010. “What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic?” A Perspective from St. Catherines Island. In Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic?, edited by David H. Thomas and Matthew C. Sanger, pp. 173–199. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thomas, David Hurst, and Matthew C. Sanger (editors). 2010. Trend, Tradition, and Turmoil: What Happened to the Southeastern Archaic? American Museum of Natural History, New York.

Gathering along the Atlantic Coast and St. Johns River of Northeast Florida · 231

Tucker, Bryan D. 2009. Isotopic Investigations of Archaic Period Subsistence and Settlement in the St. Johns River Drainage, Florida. Unpublished PhD dissertation, Department of Anthropology, University of Florida, Gainesville. Wallis, Neill J. 2008. Networks of History and Memory. Journal of Social Archaeology 8:236–271. Wallis, Neill J. 2011. The Swift Creek Gift: Vessel Exchange on the Atlantic Coast. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Watts, William A., and Barbara C. S. Hansen. 1988. Environments of Florida in the Late Wisconsin and Holocene. In Wet Site Archaeology, edited by Barbara A. Purdy, pp. 307–323. Telford Press, Caldwell, New Jersey. Weisman, Brent R. 1993. An Overview of the Prehistory of the Wekiva River Basin. Florida Anthropologist 46:20–36. Wheeler, Ryan J., and Ray M. McGee. 1994. Technology of Mount Taylor Period Occupation, Groves’ Orange Midden (8V02601), Volusia County, Florida. Florida Anthropologist 47:350–379. Wheeler, Ryan J., James J. Miller, Ray M. McGee, Donna Ruhl, Brenda Swan, and Melissa Memory. 2003. Archaic Period Canoes from Newnans Lake, Florida. American Antiquity 68:533–551. Worth, John E. 1998. The Timucuan Chiefdoms of Spanish Florida. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Wyman, Jeffries. 1875. Fresh-Water Shell Mounds of the St. John’s River, Florida. Memoirs of the Peabody Academy of Science 1(4). Peabody Academy of Science, Salem, Massachusetts.

9 Island Chain Coastlines A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys

Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

On a global scale, the importance of smaller islands for understanding human population dispersals and adaptations is underemphasized (Fitzpatrick et al. 2016). These types of environments have been marginalized for a host of reasons, including the perception that they were unsuitable for long-term habitation, largely due to the misconception that they were resource impoverished, the notion that larger islands were preferable for human occupation, and issues of research accessibility. It is clear, however, that smaller islands were important—and in some cases pivotal—to human populations, which leads scholars to more closely examine the underlying reasons behind this phenomenon. The Florida Keys are a small island chain along the Atlantic coast that preserves unique data on human-environment interactions in prehistory, overlooked in earlier research but now the focus of new investigations spurred in part by the threat of rising sea level and the need to better understand human adaptations to changing ecosystems. Over a decade ago, Keegan and colleagues (2008) outlined the importance of smaller islands in the Caribbean, noting among other things that highly productive reef banks were likely attractive to pre-Columbian settlers and ubiquitous among the Bahamian archipelago and the Grenadines, for example. Fitzpatrick and colleagues (2016) expanded on these notions to other world regions such as the Pacific and the Channel Islands of California, with others (Crowther et al. 2016; Giovas 2016; McNiven 2016; Wickler 2016) working in the Caribbean, the Torres Strait, Norway, and Africa, suggesting that despite this perceived marginality, smaller islands were at times crucial to economic specialization and development.

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 233

This brings us to the Florida Keys, which, as we describe below, have also been deemed marginal in considerations of pre-Columbian settlement patterns and adaptations in the south Florida region. As a testament to this issue, there has never been a synthesis of Atlantic Florida archaeology that included the Keys (Russo 1988). This is curious, for these islands have rich estuarine and marine environments, evidence (though somewhat ephemeral due to development) of persistent foraging as described by ethnohistoric accounts, and highly mobile populations that interacted with Calusa and other groups, which led to the widespread movement of goods and resources. Below we provide an environmental and cultural-historical background to the Keys, discuss how these islands influenced local populations, and vice versa, highlight what has been recorded in some of the better-known sites, and examine how this archipelago compares to both nearby and environmentally similar island regions. Although our current research is in its early stages, we believe a more comprehensive understanding of the human occupation of the Florida Keys from their initial occupation in the Archaic period (or possibly earlier) until today will help create better models of human resiliency and adaptation. As the location most vulnerable to sea level rise within a state where sea level rise is addressed piecemeal and largely at the local level, detailed information about choices made by human populations in the face of environmental changes in the past could assist planners and preservationists to better manage the relocation of current occupants within the Keys. Documentation of past environmental adaptations will improve decision making about a host of resource management, site preservation, and future development issues. From the decline of bird and fish populations, the mortality of corals and associated reef ecosystems, and water-regulation practices, the modern population of the Keys faces a profusion of environmental management issues for which greater historical data and context could prove essential. Geography and Ecology of the Southeastern Florida Atlantic Coast and Florida Keys

Geology There is no firm edge to the Atlantic coastline of Florida. The southern tip of the Florida peninsula is a convoluted marshy wetland of seasonally inundated estuaries known today as the Everglades. The coastline in

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

234 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

Figure 9.1. Map of Florida Keys sites mentioned in the text.

this part of the peninsula is constantly shifting and changing, as is typical for other shoreline regions, but it is particularly true in the gently sloping drainage systems that make up the Everglades, where the mud islands of Florida Bay gradually give way to seasonally dry tree islands and patches of higher ground. Not until one reaches north of Cape Romano and the Ten Thousand Islands area on the west coast of Florida—nearly 100 km north from the southernmost point of the peninsula at Cape Sable—does the coastline become elevated enough to support human occupation (Figure 9.1). The coral reef archipelago known as the Florida Keys, a chain of lowlying limestone islands extending 240 km from just south of Miami to Key West, although bounded on all sides by water and quite distant from the mainland, provided a more suitable habitation area than the southernmost coastline of the state. Along with inland tree islands of the Everglades and

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 235

the artificially enhanced mounded landscapes of the shell middens along the Ten Thousand Islands, the Keys provided areas for settlement in an otherwise watery and shifting landscape. While this archipelagic environment is unique for the Atlantic coast and for North America generally, preliminary data suggest the pre-Columbian inhabitants of the Keys were not isolated from cultural and environmental adaptations in Florida Bay to the west of the Keys and on the nearby mainland. Technically, the Holocene mud islands of Florida Bay, sandy islands west of Key West known as the Dry Tortugas, and ephemeral islands along the island chain are also “keys.” However, each of these contexts is distinct from the Pleistocene limestone islands known today as the Florida Keys, where pre-Columbian human habitation was concentrated. As the bestknown marine carbonate setting in the continental United States, the Keys were the focus of early geological studies by well-known scientists such as Louis Agassiz, the nineteenth-century scholar behind the idea of an ice age. Subsequent research on the geology of the island chain was robust, including a long-term research program by T. Wayland Vaughn of the Carnegie Institution (Halley et al. 1997). In part, the impetus for MacArthur and Wilson’s (1967) theory of island biogeography was also born from the mangrove islands of the Keys, which led to novel ways in which to examine the distribution and richness of biota and was later adopted by archaeologists interested in how these principles could apply to human population dispersal (e.g., Keegan and Diamond 1987). Climate The Keys are subtropical, and winter freezes occur very rarely. Rainfall is highly seasonal, with the Upper Keys from Bahia Honda northward receiving an annual average of 140 cm, and the Lower Keys from Bahia Honda south to Key West receiving 100 cm. The vast majority of precipitation occurs between May and October, and summer hurricane events are common. On the Atlantic Ocean side of the Keys, the Florida Current flows northward, east of the approximately 5–8 km-wide shelf of coral reefs. The Florida Current is a moderating influence on the climate of the Keys. Florida Bay lies west of the Upper Keys and is a triangular, shallow lagoon with an average depth of only 4 m (Rudnick et al. 2005; Swart and Kramer 1997:250). Winds play a significant role in Florida Bay water levels, which can increase by up to 40 cm above normal tidal levels in the northeastern part of the Bay if strong winds are constant for several days from the southwest. Water level may also be lowered by the same amount if winds

236 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

come from the northeast (Swart and Kramer 1997:253). The area is characterized by Holocene mud islands that cover approximately 1.73% (1,500 km2) of the total bay (Swart and Kramer 1997:249), and which do not have the same concentration of evidence for pre-Columbian occupation found on the Keys, although these ephemeral islands have not been adequately investigated. Florida Bay has fewer invertebrates relative to surrounding areas due to extreme salinity ranges (Mikkelson and Bieler 2000). The Keys are low lying, with an average elevation of 1 m or less, and most of the shoreline is rocky or comprises muddy intertidal flats interspersed with mangrove stands. The bedrock geology of the Upper and Lower Keys is distinctive, which directly influenced the natural resources available to ancient human settlement (Randazzo and Halley 1997; Ross et al. 1992). The Upper Keys represent a reef tract formed during the high sea level of the last interglacial known as Key Largo Limestone, and the Lower Keys are fossil oolitic shoals, also formed during the last interglacial and known as Miami Limestone. The Upper Keys are elongated and oriented parallel to the shelf edge, while the Lower Keys are oriented perpendicular. The hydrogeology of these two island groups varies, with direct implications for pre-Columbian adaptations. In the Upper Keys, the more permeable coral limestone allows rainwater to seep away quickly, while the less permeable oolite limestone of the Lower Keys does not. In both areas are temporary lenses of freshwater, but they are deeper and longer lasting in the oolitic Lower Keys. Mackenzie (1990) mapped the freshwater lens on Key West and found a small (less than 1 m deep) lens under Old Town, with a thick transition zone of salinity. On Big Pine Key, 40 km northeast of Key West and one of the largest of the Lower Keys, the freshwater lens was relatively constant, at a maximum of 5 m deep, although it expanded and contracted laterally due to seasonal recharge (Hanson 1980). It is unknown whether smaller islands had permanent freshwater lenses. In historic periods rainwater cisterns were required throughout the Keys, and today over 95% of the water used in domestic contexts is provided via pipeline from the mainland. Anecdotal evidence of artificially enhanced holes in the limestone bedrock, which may have served as preColumbian cisterns or even artesian wells, as well as historic descriptions by Spanish sailors of “freshwater Indian wells,” provide tantalizing suggestions of a more complex adaptation by the indigenous occupants of the Keys (Wheeler 2000), similar to those practiced on smaller islands in the Caribbean and Pacific (e.g., atolls), where wells were critical to long-term

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 237

survival. No sustained research into such wells or water sources has been undertaken in the Keys. Sea Level Fluctuations The coastal wetlands, estuaries, and limestone islands of south Florida are the result of slowing sea level rise during the past 3,200 years, when the rate dropped to around 4 cm/100 years (Wanless et al. 1994:199). The Middle to Late Holocene has seen continuous sea level rise throughout the Atlantic Ocean, but especially along the Gulf of Mexico and southern Atlantic coast. A large number of coastal sediment bodies seem to have stabilized around 3300 to 3000 BP due to interactions between sea level changes, climate fluctuations, topography, vegetative colonization, and sediment availability. Current models suggest sea level changes were the most influential of these factors (Wanless et al. 1994:200). Around 15,000 BP, at the end of the last major ice age, sea level was 130 m below its present level in south Florida (Wanless et al. 1994:207). The shoreline was 10 km seaward on the eastern Atlantic coast of the peninsula, and as much as 100–200 km westward of the Gulf of Mexico coast, effectively doubling the land mass of the peninsula (Wanless et al. 1994:207). Between this time and around 9000 BP, sea level rose at a rate of 2 m/100 years, and many shoreline features were rapidly buried under encroaching marine waters and are now available only through underwater archaeological investigation (Wanless et al. 1994:207). This rapid rate of inundation slowed somewhat between 9000 and 5500 BP, when a rate of 50 cm/100 years allowed the shoreline to come within approximately 6.5 m of its present level (Wanless et al. 1994:207). By 3200 BP the rate had slowed further to 23 cm/100 years, but rapid and repeated inundations of the coastal zone caused retreat of mangrove shorelines with the formation of coastal lagoons and estuaries (Wanless et al. 1994:209). Biscayne Bay, immediately north of the Florida Keys, a narrow channel prior to 5500 BP, was largely inundated during this time. Florida Bay, which emerged at the same time, was inundated and took its modern form by 3200 BP, due to repeated erosion and the movement of sediments inland by the sea (Wanless et al. 1994:208). Sea level change continued to slow, and until the modern era, it has averaged 4cm/100 years, which permitted many coastlines to stabilize. Recent research on the southwestern coast of the peninsula, just north of Cape Romano where Calusa settlement was centered, has shown that sea level rose and fell in concert with well-recognized Atlantic climate episodes

238 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

over the past two millennia (Walker 2013). Although the estuaries of the southwestern coast are a different biogeochemical and geological setting than the Keys, and marine conditions have changed considerably over the millennia, we will cautiously use data from this region as analogous to the prehispanic Keys. As part of the long-term, transdisciplinary research project centered on the Calusa homeland and directed by William Marquardt and Karen Walker, human-environment relationships were a key metric for understanding the unique coastal adaptation of one of the most complex pre-Columbian cultures of Florida (Marquardt and Walker 2013). Environmental productivity and fluctuations were seen as particularly crucial in order to understand how the sociopolitically complex Calusa and their politically connected neighbors sustained dense populations, hierarchical social ranking, and monumental construction efforts without an agriculture base. Given the relative absence of research on sea level rise in the Florida Keys by scholars interested in the Holocene, the results from the Calusa area on the southwest coast of Florida are particularly important (cf. Hine et al. 2016). With more attention paid to sea level curves during the Holocene, scholars now agree it is less important to determine a global curve and instead focus on modeling regional patterns (Clark et al. 1978). For the Gulf of Mexico and Florida Keys, the studies of Missimer (1973), Tanner (1993, 2000), and Stapor and colleagues (1991) are the most useful for the time frame during which human habitation of south Florida is established. Missimer argues for a fluctuating sea level based on sediment cores (Missimer 1973), while Tanner and Stapor use data from beach ridges. Stapor and colleagues’ (1991) research in the coastal barrier islands of Charlotte Harbor and south is based on radiocarbon dating shell from coastal ridges and shows a fluctuating pattern of sea level changes, including levels higher than modern. Other research supports a model of fluctuations at 500–1,000year periods since 3000 BP, including the work of Karen Walker (Walker et al. 1994, 1995), an environmental archaeologist working on the Pineland Calusa project and earlier research by John W. Griffin on the archaeology of the Everglades (Griffin 1988, 2002). Walker and her colleagues devised a timeline of five periods that span the human occupation of the southwest coast of Florida (Walker 2013). Given that data for this time frame come from a variety of sources, the spans are rough approximations but should provide a reasonable proxy for human habitation in the Keys and adjacent coastal areas.

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 239

Figure 9.2. Shell midden in southern Florida impacted by coastal sea level rise. Sandfly Key, Everglades National Park. Photograph by William Pestle.

The first period is 1950–1450 BP and represents the latter part of the Roman Warm Period (Walker 2013:38). Surface sea temperature records consulted by Walker all concur that the period from 2050 to 1950 BP was a time of cooling followed by an abrupt warming from 1950 to 1700 BP, while cores from the Florida Straits correspond with slightly variable warmth continuing until 1450–1400 BP. In the Mediterranean this period of higher sea surface temperatures is associated with sea level transgressions (Lamb 1995), and similarly, Colquhoun and Brooks and colleagues (1986) found evidence for transgressions on the South Carolina coastline during this same time. They suggested that sea level may have been at or above the present level during this period. Research along the Gulf of Mexico also supports a higher sea level as evidenced in submerged or inundated archaeological shell middens (Figure 9.2) and barnacle-encrusted pilings from now-dry sites (Ruppe 1980; Widmer 1986, 1988). Widmer in particular has utilized archaeological data from coastal contexts to argue that sea level was 60 cm higher than today in Charlotte Harbor by 1550 BP (Widmer 1986, 1988). Based on this and other data from their study region, Walker and colleagues conclude that south Florida was characterized by warmth

240 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

and elevated sea level punctuated with short, cooler events, from 1950 to 1450 BP. From 1450 to 1100 BP, sea surface temperature data and cores from the Florida Straits show an initial cooling of the region (Walker 2013:39). Sea surface temperatures cooled from 1450 to 1250 BP and then rose from 1250 to 1150 BP, followed by another hundred years of cooling. One of the Florida Straits cores shows an abrupt cooling, with the coolest temperatures on record at 1250 BP. Records from throughout the Caribbean and Yucatan peninsula, although variable, show cooler and drier conditions for this region from 1450 to 1100 BP. Some paleoclimate scientists use the name “Vandal Minimum” for this period, which correlates with the European Dark Ages and a historically documented period of coldness and fog. Stothers (1984) suggests a tropical supervolcanic eruption as the cause of this persistent darkness, and while he points to New Guinea as the location of the eruption, other scholars have identified coeval eruptions in Mexico (Tilling et al. 1984). Walker and colleagues (1994) argue for lowered sea level during this period, based on Atlantic climate data as mentioned above, and archaeological deposits in the Charlotte Harbor area. Archaeofaunal data from this period in the Calusa heartland show a decline in ribbed mussels, previously abundant in the record. Walker also documented an abundance of the scavenger species crown conch at this same time, usually associated with poorly producing oyster beds (Hathaway and Woodburn 1961:45; Walker 1992:285). She suggests that lowering mean sea level was the best explanation for both phenomena (Walker 1992:285). In a recent update to her earlier model, Walker includes isotopic data from sixth- to eighth-century oysters that corroborates winter conditions as colder than modern averages (Surge et al. 2003:749; Walker 2013:41). She concludes that south Florida was cooler and characterized by lower sea level during the period from 1450 to 1100 BP. The third period of relevance to an understanding of human-environmental relations along the coastline of south Florida is 1100–750 BP, when Walker concludes that data show record warm temperatures and high sea level (Walker 2013:41). Surface sea temperatures warm starting in 1100 BP and reach their warmest at 950 BP. The Florida Straits cores demonstrate a similar start to the period, with warm peaks in one core at 1050 BP and in another at 850 BP. This period roughly correlates with the Medieval Warm Period in the southeastern United States and has been called the “Mississippian Optimum” for the potential correlation of warmer climatic conditions

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 241

and the rise of complex Mississippian polities (Gunn 1997). The South Carolina record and Tanner’s (2000) data on the Gulf of Mexico both indicate higher sea level for the period. Sediment cores from south of the Calusa near the Ten Thousand Islands area document a marine transgression of shelly carbonate mud overlying mangrove peat around cal 1090 BP ± 40 years (Lowery 2002). While this may have been caused by a storm event, or a series of such events, such natural processes as warmer climatic conditions may have initiated a new higher sea level. This period was warmer, with short-term cooler events and a sea level rise up to at least twentiethcentury means (Walker 2013:42). The final period of interest to the prehistory of south Florida is from 750 to 100 BP. All three Florida Straits cores and the Sargasso Sea record show evidence of a cool period that lasted until a warmer spike around 550 BP. Tanner’s Gulf of Mexico record shows a sea level drop around 750–700 BP that lasted until around 150 BP. Stapor and colleagues (1991) estimate sea level began to drop around 500 BP to perhaps 0.3 m below the twentiethcentury mean and stayed there for as long as 400 years. Walker (2013:42) concludes this period was cooler with somewhat lower sea level. Thus, landscape change has been constant in south Florida, but of a moderate nature. Only in the modern era has there been significant alteration of Holocene era land masses or coastlines (see below). Ecology Before the arrival of Europeans, the vegetation of the Keys fell into three ecozones: mangrove, tropical and subtropical hardwoods, and pines and palmettos (Halley et al. 1997:221). Larger islands supported pine-palmetto open grasslands, while smaller islands had hardwood hammocks, areas higher than the surrounding land with humus-rich soil and hardwood trees, including oaks, sweetgums, hickories, and palms. All of the islands were fringed with mangroves, and today up to one half of all land mass is still covered in mangrove swamp (Hoffmeister and Multer 1968). Across the Florida Bay, the gentle slope of the West Florida Shelf provides a broad, shallow zone where brackish water from the Everglades mixes with marine water of the Gulf of Mexico to support rich estuaries of semitropical mangrove forests filled with oyster bars, wading birds, fishes, and marine mammals. Culturally significant terrestrial mammals endemic to the Keys include the Key deer, panther, bobcat, raccoon, rabbit, opossum, squirrel, and a

242 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

variety of rodents (Lazell 1989). Although there has been limited zooarchaeological analysis from Keys site assemblages, there is reason to think that the subsistence base diverges somewhat from the other areas of southern Florida. The most striking difference is the relative degree to which mollusk and gastropods are absent at these sites compared to the Ten Thousand Islands and Caloosahatchee regions. Still this is not the only significant difference. Based on preliminary analysis by Michelle Lefebvre, we seem to have evidence for collection of more marine-based species, especially sea turtle in our Keys material. This is in contrast to the Caloosahatchee region of southwest Florida, where it appears that the vast majority of species can be extracted from the inshore environment, including several species of shark, ray, skate, and a variety of finfishes (deFrance and Walker 2013:321; Marquardt 2014:5). To some extent, these differences make sense as sites situated in the Keys are located in, or are more proximate to, deeper waters where marine species are more easily captured, thus accounting for some of the differences in the resource base of these two areas. Human-Environment Dynamics over Time

More than 150 pre-Columbian archaeological sites have been identified in the Keys, according to the Florida Master Site File, a comprehensive database maintained by the Florida Division of Historical Resources. Most of these remain unexamined or underinvestigated, with many now lost due to natural processes and modern development. Archaeological research in the Keys is much better known for the rich underwater and especially shipwreck resources that are the subject of many documentaries. The most common pre-Columbian site in the Keys is a black earth midden, a thick lens of organically rich dark soil filled with bone, some shell, and pottery fragments, with generally good preservation. The character of these middens is quite different from the naturally occurring coral rock sand that covers most of the islands, and many archaeological middens were reutilized for agricultural purposes in the modern period, given their fertile organic composition. These sites are presumed to be the remains of living areas. Often, but not always, adjacent to black earth middens are shell piles, 1–3 m-high piles of large gastropod shells, usually conch. These gastropods were perforated for extraction of meat. Like their counterparts along the southwestern Gulf Coast, Keys inhabitants made a variety of tools from these shells, including adzes, dippers, and hammers that are recovered from

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 243

middens (Goggin 1944; Sierra et al. 2015). Occasionally, as at Sands Key #2, shell piles line pathways from midden sites to the water (Carr and Beriault 2009). Rock mounds are an additional archaeological feature found in the Keys, and while almost none of them survive today due to modern reuse of the basketball-sized limestone boulders, many were documented in the earlier parts of the twentieth century (Goggin 1944; Carr et al. 1988). Rock mounds are isolated from settlement sites and have been suggested to be effigy mounds in forms such as crabs and turtles (Goggin 1944; Eyster 1982). Finally, sand burial mounds contain human remains and are found throughout the Keys, isolated from human occupation sites, sometimes occupying their own island (Kessel 2004). The use of water as a barrier between the living and the dead has been interpreted as an effective way to use natural landscape features to support the strong cultural taboo on contact with the dead within south Florida indigenous cultures, and it is a feature of larger pre-Columbian sites on the nearby mainland as well. The pre-Columbian Keys inhabitants were well adapted to a marine resource-based lifestyle, and Spanish accounts describe them as healthy and muscular canoe fisherfolk who lived in largely perishable housing (Hann 1991; Worth 2014). Historic evidence suggests that they were in regular contact with other peoples in the Calusa area and on the mainland of the Florida peninsula. Indigenous inhabitants of the Keys were the first salvagers in the area, and as ship-borne transport increased during the colonial period, there are European descriptions of their skill with deep-water navigation and diving. Often goods salvaged by Keys Indians, such as gold and silver coins, ended up reworked into indigenous gorgets, which were traded well into the middle of the state (Wheeler 2000:15; Worth 2014). The Keys Indians were so proficient at salvage that they were later employed by Spanish Cuban fishermen for similar endeavors (Waselkov and Holland Braund 2002). Spanish accounts of trade with Keys Indians are plentiful. By the seventeenth century, Spaniards regularly traded goods with Native Keys people in Havana, when ships passed in the Florida Straits or when they resupplied with water or turtle meat in the Keys (Covington 1959; Wheeler 2000:14). European ships were often boarded by south Florida Native people looking to trade seal and manatee fat for metal or glass objects (Andrews 1984:6; Wheeler 2000:14). While later in time than the period under consideration here, these historic accounts speak to a high degree of maritime skill and mastery of shipborne transport, free-diving, and terrestrial provisioning. Clearly the indigenous inhabitants of the Florida Keys

244 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

were highly adapted to the island chain and moved easily throughout the islands and across Florida Bay or Biscayne Bay to the mainland as well as inland areas. Perhaps European familiarity with the Keys, and centuries of interactions with their Native occupants, discouraged scholarly interest in the prehistory of this region. Plentiful maps and charts of the treacherous Florida Straits contain the names of the Native groups sailors encountered in the Keys, such as the Matecumbe in the Upper Keys and the Cuchiyaga and Guarungunbe in the Lower Keys. Eighteenth- and nineteenth-century travelers noticed the rock mounds and other archaeological features of the Keys, and once Key West began to be developed as a naval base and salvaging town in the mid-nineteenth century, accidental discoveries of human skeletal materials and artifacts appeared occasionally in the press. In 1935 Matthew Stirling of the Bureau of American Ethnology visited sites in the Keys and wrote about their possible connections to other regions, but he did not conduct any excavation (Stirling 1936). Smithsonian zoologist Gerrit Miller collected artifacts on Plantation Key, at Upper and Lower Matecumbe, and at Tea Table Key (Goggin and Sommer 1949:28). Karl Squires, who supervised WPA excavations on the mainland of Florida along with Matthew Stirling’s brother Gene, collected artifacts from Key Largo but did not conduct any further research (Lyon 2010; Squires 1941). It was not until archaeologists interested in the Caribbean, such as Irving Rouse, and especially his student John Mann Goggin, turned their attention to the Keys in the 1940s that sustained research programs began (Goggin 1947; Goggin and Sommer 1949). Goggin and Sommer excavated at a large black earth midden on Upper Matecumbe Key in difficult field conditions during the summer of 1944, and their analysis of materials recovered from two large test units remains the basis for Keys ceramic chronology today. Goggin surveyed much of the Keys between 1944 and 1948, although his manuscript on the Glades cultural region was never published. Despite rapid development during the twentieth century, which destroyed or impacted numerous archaeological sites, there has been very little archaeological research conducted in the Keys since Goggin’s time. Avocational archaeologists have collaborated with cultural resource management firms to salvage information ahead of bulldozers, but both pressure from developers and uneven enforcement of preservation codes has resulted in dramatic impact to archaeological sites along this coastline. In 2009 Ardren started the Matecumbe Chiefdom Project, a long-term research initiative to reconstruct the social organization and environmental

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 245

adaption of the pre-Columbian Keys inhabitants, with a specific aim to salvage data from existing artifact collections and sites at risk. In 2014 Fitzpatrick and Thompson joined the project to initiate excavations at the Clupper site (8M017), a midden on Upper Matecumbe Key in the central Florida Keys, and one of the largest and best-preserved black earth middens in the island chain. In our pilot project at the Clupper site, we wanted to provide new insight into how the occupants of this possible village differed in terms of their ecological adaptations from other groups in southern Florida. Such a comparison would provide an important basis for an initial evaluation of Spanish ethnohistoric accounts that the Matecumbe or Keys Indians were an independent chiefdom that paid tribute to the Calusa (Ardren et al. 2018; Sierra et al. 2015). The site has deposits that date to many of the major chronological periods in the Keys region and thus represents an ideal site to examine material culture and subsistence change over time and how Keys area traditions may have shifted or differed in terms of larger environmental and social conditions. While analysis of these materials is ongoing, preliminary findings from the 2014 excavation of four 50 × 50 cm units indicate an occupation that began as early as 1080–930 cal BP with dense faunal remains that include at least 34 discrete taxa of mollusks totaling 3,420 NISP, 769 MNI, and 6,452.1 g. A smaller subsample of vertebrates totaled 5,822 NISP and 2,898.7 g, which includes birds, sea turtles, mammals, and finfishes. Further excavations are planned with the intention of examining the complex natural resource management choices in prehistory, which will have strong implications for understanding the scale and organization of Keys populations and their relationships with neighboring pre-Columbian people of the Caribbean and Florida peninsula. Paleoindian Period (14,000–8500 BP) Evidence of the first occupants of Florida, such as lithic tools in association with the remains of megafauna, is relatively abundant throughout the state, but given dramatic changes in the coastline of the peninsula at the end of the Pleistocene, such evidence is usually found around inland freshwater sources such as springs and rivers concentrated in the northern part of the peninsula. The Paleoindian shoreline of Florida was 100–200 km farther west than it is today, and over half the landmass from 12,000 years ago is now inundated (Milanich 1994:38). The southeastern Atlantic coast of the peninsula saw the least amount of landmass loss, given its position on a submerged continental shelf. However, reliable evidence of Paleoindian

246 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

occupation is rare in this area of the state, in part due to the combination of research neglect and urban development. No materials dating to the Paleoindian period have been reported from the Keys. Archaic (8500–2500 BP) As with the Paleoindian period, there is no secure evidence from the Keys or south Florida coastal sites for Early Archaic occupation, although there is a possibility that the material culture overlaps with Paleoindian assemblages (Milanich 1994:64). Increasingly wetter conditions over the Archaic period suggest that coastal occupations are submerged along the Gulf of Mexico and likely the eastern Atlantic coast as well. The Everglades, the largest subtropical wetland system in North America, began to emerge 5,000–6,000 years ago and presented an entirely new aquatic habitation environment to Middle Archaic occupants accustomed to the dry savannahs filled with oaks and ponds. As the climate changed during this period, precipitation increased, sea level changed, and the Everglades basin became the principal drainage for Lake Okeechobee. This seasonally inundated landscape created new coastal microenvironments as the largest bay systems of southern Florida, Biscayne Bay on the Atlantic coast, and Florida Bay on the southern tip of the peninsula, emerged to their nearmodern configurations. Middens with food and tool remains that could be considered ancestral to later coastal adaptations have been found in the Everglades dating to as early as 4650 BP, although such materials are buried beneath a thick calcification that requires mechanized assistance to penetrate (Ardren et al. 2016; Schwadron 2006). Graf and colleagues (2008) have observed that the distinctly wet/dry climate of Florida with seasonal moisture deficits and high evaporation rates can be conducive to the formation of such calcrete layers as a result of in situ replacement from limestone to calcrete. A significant cultural development of the Middle to Late Archaic in south Florida is the appearance of extensive shell middens from 5000 to 4000 BP. Horseshoe-shaped ridges and ring features are found at Horr’s Island on the southern Gulf Coast and nearby at Bonita Springs (Russo 1994, 1996). Russo notes there is growing evidence these complex shell features likely were the result of earlier coastal occupations that have yet to be detected (Russo 1996:177). Evidence of shell rings and other ridge features along the Atlantic coast are relatively common after 4200 BP, although they are abandoned by 3200 BP (Thompson and Worth 2011:55). Fiber-tempered pottery appears in the Late Archaic in south Florida and is found at sites on the southeastern mainland of the state (Carr 1981). At Marco Island on the

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 247

southwestern coast, fiber-tempered pottery is dated to 3400 BP, and at sites along Biscayne Bay it has been found from 4000 to 3000 BP (Carr 1981). Fiber-tempered pottery was reportedly found on Key Largo, the northernmost island of the Florida Keys archipelago, although this unpublished discovery was made by avocational archaeologists (Eyster 1982). By 2000 BP, pottery with both fiber and sand temper appears throughout south Florida and remains the primary utilitarian material through European contact. Glades Period (2500–500 BP) Early in the twentieth century, John Goggin defined three major periods for south Florida’s pre-Columbian occupation based on decorated ceramic types (1947). These periods, Glades I (2000–1200 BP), Glades II (1200–750 BP), and Glades III (750–437 BP), remain in use today. Refining an earlier suggestion of Matthew Stirling (1936), Goggin identified three regions within south Florida based on distinctive environments, historic descriptions, and his knowledge of the archaeological record; the Calusa area in southwest Florida, the Tequesta area in southeastern Florida plus the Everglades and the Keys, and the Okeechobee area around Lake Okeechobee. Goggin noted the dramatic differences between the Glades area and most of the rest of Florida—pottery was simpler and largely sand-tempered in the south, whereas the rest of Florida had many different decorated types with a variety of pastes, and there was no evidence for maize agriculture in south Florida, despite centuries of agriculture in the rest of the state. Glades cultures were described as fisher-forager-hunters, perhaps moving seasonally between coastal and inland settlements. Subsequent research on the mainland of the peninsula has clarified that the Okeechobee area has a distinctive culture history, as does the Calusa area, where sociopolitical complexity reached its most visible levels immediately prior to, and during, Spanish contact (Marquardt 2014; Thompson et al. 2016). The Ten Thousand Islands area south of the Calusa heartland on the southern peninsular coast may also be a distinctive cultural area, given its unique ceramic traditions and dramatic monumental shell constructions (Schwadron 2013). While the material culture of the Keys shares many features with the better-known assemblages from the Calusa or Everglades regions, there are differences as well, and Goggin’s suggestion that the Keys and mainland peoples of the southeast coast were culturally uniform was based on very little data. Importantly, the landscape of an island archipelago in a deepwater marine setting is unique in south Florida and provided a different set of natural resources and challenges. Contact between Goggin’s subregions

248 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

is presumed to have been ubiquitous throughout the entire history of human occupation of south Florida, although almost all specific details about the nature of this contact remain undefined. For now we will set aside the question of whether the pre-Columbian occupants of the Keys, Everglades, and southeastern mainland were members of a single cultural group, as assumed by Stirling and Goggin. It is a hypothesis contradicted by sixteenth-century Spanish accounts of multiple and competing chiefs located throughout this area, and never systematically tested against material culture. In the meantime, it is clear that existing data, limited as they are, support an extensive occupation of the Keys during the Glades I, II, and III periods. Nearly all available archaeological data from Goggin’s research up through the most recent cultural resource management mitigation projects can be dated within the past 3,000 years. Glades I sites are identified by the presence of exclusively sand-tempered plain pottery, presumed to be the earliest form of pottery present in the Keys, since fiber-tempered wares have yet to be recovered from verified archaeological contexts. Because sand-tempered pottery continues as the primary ceramic ware for 1,000 years up to and following European contact, it is ubiquitous at archaeological sites in the Keys and may not be the sensitive chronological indicator Goggin suggested. Furthermore, it is extremely rare to find sites that have exclusively sand-tempered plain ceramics. Occasionally, minor refuse or artifact scatters found on smaller Keys will yield only sand-tempered plain ceramics, but sample sizes are small in these contexts. The Newport #2 site in Key Largo is possibly a Glades I site, located along the Atlantic coastline at the mangrove-hammock interface. The shell refuse scatter is approximately 120 m in length and continues into the hammock for 7 m (Carr et al. 2016:60). Gastropod shells and sandtempered pottery were collected from the surface during a recent survey. Glades II sites are identified by the introduction of decorated pottery types such as Key Largo Incised, Miami Incised, etc. and the first construction of mounds. The Key Largo Rock Mound and Midden site complex (Key Largo #3 and Key Largo #2) is a good example of this period. The black earth midden is large (120 × 35 m) and located on a peninsula of coral rock adjacent to mangrove swamp (Carr et al. 2016:23). It is estimated that the midden was originally 50–60 cm deep, and Goggin collected Glades IIb materials from the surface (Goggin and Sommer 1949:92). The rock mound was located about 175 m east of the midden and was made of coral rock boulders. Flat topped and kidney shaped, the mound had an elevation of approximately 2.5 m and was 30 × 15 m long. The east side of the

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 249

mound had a ramp, and Goggin reported the ramp led to a “stone pathway or causeway about 14 feet wide and 1 foot high,” which ran for about 25 feet (Goggin 1949:35). Potholes in the rock mound indicated it was filled with layers of soil and ash, but artifacts were not present on the surface. Glades III sites are the largest in the Keys and the most numerous. An increased amount of decorated ceramic wares, and the appearance of trade wares such as St. Johns Checked Stamped, which is found throughout Florida along the east coast, characterize this period. Lithic tools also increase during this time, all of which had to be made of nonlocal material. A primary example is the Stock Island Midden (8MO2), once located within the tropical hardwood hammock along the northwest corner of Stock Island. The site was purportedly located along the southern boundaries of the island, with the midden extending at least 50 m north–south by 30 m east–west, though this is probably an underestimate, given that the site was subject to frequent looting, and its westernmost section partially flooded during the twentieth century from tidal inundation (Eyster 1986). The Archaeological and Historical Conservancy, Inc. excavated the site before it was bulldozed and covered by the construction of the Monroe County Detention Center and an adjacent parking lot in 1988 (Carr 1991). The site comprises primarily sea turtle bones and tropical, large-gastropod food refuse and shell tools. A preliminary analysis of mollusks shows the highest MNI for queen conch (Lobatus gigas), Florida horse conch (Triplofusus giganteus), lightning whelk (Sinistrofulgur sinistrum), West Indian top snail (Cittarium pica), and Caribbean vase (Vasum muricatum), which account for 88% of total shell weight and 95% of total biomass (Mann 2016). Diagnostic south Florida (Glades) pottery types suggest that incipient occupation of the Stock Island site could stretch back to early Glades I times (~2000 BP) (Milanich 1994), but the lone radiocarbon date from unprovenienced shell debris yielded an approximate age of 750 BP, aligning with contemporaneous Glades IIIa or Matecumbe IIa periods (Griffin 2002:137). Spanish olive jar sherds, ship nails, and other construction materials were also recovered from numerous locations and depths throughout the site, testifying to either a permanent or perpetual-seasonal occupation over hundreds of years through European contact (Harke et al. 2016). Florida Keys within Global Coastal Archaeology

In many respects, preliminary archaeological data from the Florida Keys suggest that local pre-Columbian inhabitants practiced a similar sub-

250 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

sistence system and lifestyle as would be expected in other comparable types of tropical and semitropical, small, low-lying island environments. The heavy reliance on marine resources as reflected in midden deposits is something observed in adjacent mainland and island regions from south Florida to the Bahamas, and elsewhere along the North American Atlantic coast (see Dillian, this volume; Turck and Thompson, this volume). However, there are also some distinct differences that warrant future investigation with important implications for understanding how Native peoples in the Keys interacted with other groups and adapted to a variety of changing social and ecological conditions. Interestingly, the dominance of vertebrates—both marine and terrestrial—over mollusk species is uncommon in the Caribbean and other island regions in tropical areas. The reasons for this are unclear, though the close proximity to the Florida mainland may have provided a much richer plant and terrestrial biota than what is found in the Caribbean. This does not explain the lack of focus on invertebrates, which generally preserve well, are typically more easily recoverable archaeologically compared to vertebrates, are easier to harvest, and provide ideal and concentrated packages of protein. On a global scale, it is also rare for people to successfully colonize islands without some form of food production. There are exceptions, of course, including the Channel Islands of California, though the existence of kelp forests with their highly productive environments and the presence of pinnipeds and other sea mammals clearly provided an impetus for peoples to live there permanently. We do not discount the possibility that such mammals played an important role in Keys subsistence. Regardless of this latter point, the Keys seem to be an extension of cultural processes seen in south Florida where maize agriculture was never practiced (Thompson et al. 2013) and where extensive exchange networks and interaction spheres provided access to resources (e.g., pottery) that would otherwise be unavailable. As Reeder-Myers and Rick describe for the Chesapeake Bay (Chapter 5), one of the remarkable aspects of south Florida lifeways is the evidence for subsistence stability or continuity in resource use. Clearly there is an incomplete record of subsistence—plants certainly played a role but have not been investigated in detail in the Keys. Future research will provide a much richer interpretation of how inhabitants structured their quotidian and ritual lifeways.

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 251

Future Research Directions

There is a great need for future research on the history of human-environment interactions in the Florida Keys as well as the ways in which this research can be applied to contemporary challenges such as sea level rise, species extinction, and population density management. As discussed throughout our chapter, the most pressing areas of future research fall into two broad categories—primary data recovery and application of research findings to modern planning and preservation. These two areas of investigation are tightly coupled in the Florida Keys, as they are in many coastal settings where modern occupation overlies pre-Columbian settlements in ways that replicate past vulnerabilities. Modern hardened shorelines are less adaptable than past shorelines and thus even more susceptible to multiple stressors requiring careful management plans (Hine et al. 2016). Basic chronological and typological information on when the Florida Keys were first occupied, and how extensively they were occupied, would be an important first step in building the available primary database on human-environment interactions in this tropical island location. Likewise, we lack a large body of quantifiable data on native freshwater sources and the exact nature of vertebrates versus invertebrates in the dietary habits of early Keys occupants. While some data exist on marine and terrestrial food sources, almost nothing is known about Native plant use, despite excellent preservation conditions in black dirt middens. Greater collaboration between underwater and terrestrial research in the Keys might yield important information on recently submerged sites. These basic sorts of inquiries will provide both the ability to begin to resolve issues of seasonality or persistent year-round occupation, and a scientific database against which to evaluate ethnohistoric descriptions of permanent settlements led by paramounts who paid tribute to regional polities. Only after we have a better understanding of how many people lived in the precontact Keys and when, and what they ate or exchanged in tribute, can we begin to ask questions about why the islands were colonized in the absence of a secure food production system such as agriculture. These elementary data are also necessary to better evaluate the interdependencies between the occupants of the Keys and interior groups, both to address the nature of a possibly dependent tributary relationship and to understand the movement of goods, tools, and resources back and forth between the mainland, the islands, and possibly neighboring islands. The documentation of typical south Florida ceramic and tool types in the Keys as well as the extraordinary ability of

252 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

Keys Indians to salvage goods from shipwrecks that ended up deep in peninsular Florida, suggests exchange was pervasive and complex. The management of sizable towns in an island chain for nearly 1,000 years prior to European contact, if substantiated, would indicate a sophisticated knowledge of natural resources and indigenous systems of management. Drinking water was a crucial resource to collect, store, and allocate. Likewise, fuel for cooking fires and housing was a relatively scarce commodity that might have been managed by emergent elites who also were engaged in trade with mainland or inland communities. Zooarchaeological analysis under way currently is exploring age at harvest for sea turtle and other significant marine resources—the results of this analysis will point toward whether seasonal harvesting was part of indigenous dietary adaptations. Future archaeological research in the Keys holds great potential to inform a range of modern planning and preservation concerns. The island chain of the Florida Keys is an unusual occupational zone that faces specific challenges due to its location in the western Caribbean as well as its small land mass. These issues are debated in the popular press every day and include the provision of drinking water, soil and coastal erosion, invasive species and native species extinction, coral die-off, vector-borne diseases, smuggling and other marine piracy of cargo including humans, infrastructure decline of bridges and roads, and extreme weather preparedness. All of these are complex matters with many contributing factors, but all are issues present prior to European contact. Scientific data from archaeological and environmental investigations that provide time depth for these seemingly modern challenges and information about the ways earlier occupants addressed such issues could be productively brought to bear on contemporary efforts to innovate new solutions to age-old trials of coastal and island life. Perhaps no issue is as pressing for the current inhabitants of south Florida as rising sea level. Seawalls and bulkheads built during the twentieth century, and reinforced due to rising water levels over the last 100 years, have caused the phenomenon of “coastal squeeze,” which exacerbates the effects of shoreline sea level rise by limiting habitat migration. Nearly onefifth of the shoreline of Florida is currently hardened in this manner (Hines et al. 2016). Precontact cultures dealt with sea level rise by moving settlements upland and allowing coastal species to adapt to a changing coastline. Better documentation of this pattern in the archaeological record of the Keys could provide a much-needed lesson in human adaptation to climate change as well as novel alternatives for modern planners.

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 253

The discipline of archaeology as well as all scientists interested in the preservation of cultural and natural heritage must advocate for the effective enforcement of existing preservation codes as well as the strengthening of such legislation. Historic preservation laws and building codes exist in the Florida Keys; however, too often cultural resource management firms discover that extensive damage to an archaeological site has taken place before an assessment can be completed. The pressure imposed by an economy based on tourism and its need for constant development leaves coastal sites of Florida in a precarious state of existence. Only county, state, and federally owned lands are truly safe from wholesale destruction. The isolated islands of the Keys host rare and endemic plants and animals. The combination of overdevelopment and sea level rise has been hard on the rare upland forests of the Keys, where ancient peoples often chose to locate settlements. Only by connecting our investigations of seasonal harvesting of species such as horse conch or sea turtle, and our understanding of ancient settlement patterns to the twenty-first-century challenges of today’s coastal inhabitants, can we hope to make an impact on policy discussions about the sustainability of Atlantic coastal systems. Would long-term data on settlement location suggest locations that are more resistant to storm damage? Preliminary indications suggest a concentration of pre-Columbian settlement on the bay side of Keys islands rather than along the Atlantic, where deeper waters produce greater storm surge. Are there natural breeding grounds that deserve preservation at a level above the generalized protections that exist for the entire island chain? Dietary data from large pre-Columbian middens can point to areas of the archipelago that were more intensively occupied, perhaps due to their proximity to spawning grounds or migratory paths. As Randall (this volume) discusses for north Florida, the experiences of ancient coastal communities provide comparative spaces for modern seaside communities to think about how humans have planned for change in vulnerable environments. Smaller islands may have been overlooked in earlier scholarship, but they are now recognized as uniquely important in the history of human settlement. Small island connectivity is a topic of current research, and the traditional, specialized environmental knowledge island inhabitants possessed is deeply needed as a corrective to overdevelopment of coastal sand dunes and barrier islands along the entire Atlantic shoreline. The Pleistocene island archipelago of the Florida Keys is an iconic landscape and waterscape along the Atlantic coast, and while scientific investigation of the archeological component of the Keys is still in its infancy, we know

254 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

island occupants were tied to mainland traditions of material culture yet practiced culinary habits that were uniquely adapted to their location at the intersection of the Caribbean and Florida Bay. Spanish and other early European descriptions suggest permanent settlements with hereditary leaders in at least two locations in the Keys, while the archaeological record indicates there may have been many more. As island and coastal archaeology advances, the Florida Keys have an important role to play in documenting a sophisticated environmental adaptation within a sea of rich natural communities. References Andrews, Anthony P. 1984. La Extinción de la Foca (Monachus tropicalis) en Yucatán. Boletín ECAUDY 12(68):3–12. Ardren, Traci, Justin Lowry, Melissa Memory, Kelin Flanagan, and Alexandra Busot. 2016. Pre-Columbian Human Impact on Tree Island Lifecycles in the Florida Everglades. Holocene 26:772–780. Ardren, Traci, Victor Thompson, Scott Fitzpatrick, Joseph Stevenson, and Roger Sierra. 2018. When Foragers Are Managers: Social Complexity and Persistent Foraging in the Florida Keys. In The Archaeology of Caribbean and Circum-Caribbean Farmers (5000 BC–AD 1500), edited by Basil A. Reid, pp. 311–326. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Brooks, Mark J., Peter A. Stone, Donald J. Colquhoun, and J. G. Brown. 1989. Sea Level Change, Estuarine Development and Temporal Variability in Woodland Period Subsistence-Settlement Patterning on the Lower Coastal Plain of South Carolina. In Studies in South Carolina Archaeology: Essays in Honor of Robert L. Stephenson, edited by Albert C. Goodyear III and Glen T. Hansen, pp. 91–100. Anthropological Studies 9. Occasional Papers, Vol. 9. South Carolina Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology, Columbia. Carr, Robert S. 1981. Dade County Historic Survey Final Report: The Archaeological Survey. Metropolitan Dade County Office of Community and Economic Development, Historic Preservation Division, Miami. Carr, Robert S. 1991. Archaeologists Will Dig Jail Site before It’s Paved. Florida Antiquity Newsletter 2:1–2. Carr, Robert S., and John G. Beriault. 2009. Archaeological Survey of the Sands Key Site 8DA4582 Biscayne National Park, Miami-Dade County. Archaeological and Historical Conservancy, Inc., Davie, FL. Carr, Robert S., David Allerton, and Ivan Rodriguez. 1988. An Assessment of the Archaeological and Historic Resources of the Florida Keys, Monroe County, Florida. Archaeological and Historical Conservancy, Inc., Davie, FL. Carr, Robert S., Jane S. Day, Timothy A. Harrington, John Beriault, Alan M. Noe, and John Wesley White. 2016. Monroe County Cultural Resource Assessment Update Certified Lo-

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 255

cal Government Grant F#1503, Monroe County, Florida. Archaeological and Historical Conservancy, Inc., Davie, FL. Clark, James A., William E. Farrell, and W. Richard Peltier. 1978. Global Changes in Sea Level: A Numerical Calculation. Quaternary Research 9:265–287. Covington, James W. 1959. Trade Relations between Southwestern Florida and Cuba— 1600–1840. Florida Historical Quarterly 38:114–128. Crowther, Alison, Patrick Faulkner, Mary E. Prendergast, Eréndira M. Quintana Morales, Mark Horton, Edwin Wilmsen, Anna M. Kotarba-Morley, Annalisa Christie, Nik Petek, Ruth Tibesasa, Katerina Douka, Llorenc Picornell-Gelabert, Xavier Carah, and Nicole Boivin. 2016. Coastal Subsistence, Maritime Trade, and the Colonization of Small Offshore Islands in Eastern African Prehistory. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 11:211–237. DeFrance, Susan D., and Karen J. Walker. 2013. The Zooarchaeology of Pineland. In The Archaeology of Pineland: A Coastal Southwest Florida Site Complex, AD 50–1750, edited by William Marquardt and Karen J. Walker, pp. 53–154. Institute of Archaeology and Paleoenvironmental Studies, Monograph 4. University of Florida, Gainesville. Eyster, Irving. 1982. The Archaeology of the Florida Keys: An Interview with Irving Eyster. Florida Anthropologist 35(3):105–114. Eyster, Irving. 1986. Archaeological and Historical Site Survey of Proposed Village at Key West Resort. Report on file, Florida Division of Historic Resources, Tallahassee. Fitzpatrick, Scott M., Victor Thompson, Aaron Poteate, Matthew Napolitano, and Jon Erlandson. 2016. Marginalization of the Margins: The Importance of Smaller Islands in Human Prehistory. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 11:1–24. Giovas, Christina M. 2016. Though She Be But Little: Resource Resilience, Amerindian Foraging, and Long-Term Adaptive Strategies in the Grenadines, West Indies. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 11:238–263. Goggin, John M. 1944. Archaeological Investigations on the Upper Florida Keys. Tequesta 4:13–35. Goggin, John M. 1947. A Preliminary Definition of Archaeological Areas and Periods in Florida. American Antiquity 13:114–127. Goggin, John M. 1949. Cultural Traditions in Florida Prehistory. University of Florida Press, Gainesville. Goggin, John M., and Frank Sommer. 1949. Excavations on Upper Matecumbe Key, Florida. Yale University Publications in Anthropology 41. Yale University Press, New Haven. Graf, Maria-Theresia, Margo Schwadron, Peter A. Stone, Michael Ross, and Gail L. Chmura. 2008. An Enigmatic Carbonate Layer in Everglades Tree Island Peats. Eos, Transactions, American Geophysical Union 89(12):117–124. Griffin, John. 1988. The Archaeology of Everglades National Park: A Synthesis. National Park Service, Southeast Archaeological Center, Tallahassee. Griffin, John. 2002. Archaeology of the Everglades. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Gunn, Joel D. 1997. A Framework for the Middle to Late Holocene Transition: Astronomical and Geophysical Conditions. Southeastern Archaeology 16:134–151. Halley, Robert B., H. Leonard Vacher, and Eugene Shinn. 1997. Geology and Hydrogeology of the Florida Keys. In Geology and Hydrogeology of Carbonate Islands., edited by

256 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

H. Leonard Vacher and T. Quinn, pp. 217–248. Developments in Sedimentology, Vol. 54. Elsevier, Amsterdam. Hann, John. 1991. Missions to the Calusa. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Hanson, C. F. 1980. Water Resources of Big Pine Key, Monroe County, Florida. U.S. Geological Survey, Open-File Report, 80–447. Harke, Ryan, William Pestle, and Evan Mann. 2016. Late Pre-Columbian Habitation of Stock Island, Lower Florida Keys. Paper presented at the 73rd Southeast Archaeological Conference, Athens, GA. Hathaway, Ralph R., and K. D. Woodburn. 1961. Studies on the Crown Conch Melongena cornoa Gmelin. Bulletin of Marine Science of the Gulf and Caribbean 11(1):45–65. Hine, Albert C., Don P. Chambers, Tonya D. Clayton, Mark R. Hafen, and Gary T. Mitchum. 2016. Sea Level Rise in Florida. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Hoffmeister, J. Edward, and H. Gray Multer. 1968. Geology and Origin of the Florida Keys. Geological Society of America Bulletin 79:1487–1502. Keegan, William F., and Jared M. Diamond. 1987. Colonization of Islands by Humans: A Biogeographical Perspective. In Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory, Vol. 10, edited by M. B. Schiffer, pp. 10:49–92. Springer, New York. Keegan, William F., Scott M. Fitzpatrick, Kathleen Sullivan Sealey, Michelle J. LeFebvre, and Peter T. Sinelli. 2008. The Role of Small Islands in Marine Subsistence Strategies: Case Studies from the Caribbean. Human Ecology 36:635–654. Kessel, Morton H. 2004. Human Skeletal Remains from Lignumvitae Key Burial Mound, Monroe County, Florida. Florida Anthropologist 57:229–235. Lamb, Hubert H. 1995. Climate, History, and the Modern World. Routledge, New York. Lazell, James D., Jr. 1989. Wildlife of the Florida Keys: A Natural History. Island Press, Washington, DC. Lowery, Lily E. 2002. Sedimentary Evidence of Coastal Response to Holocene Sea-Level Change, Blackwater Bay, Southwest Florida. In Fifteenth Keck Research Symposium in Geology Proceedings, pp. 81–84. Amherst College, Amherst, Massachusetts. Lyon, Edwin A. 2010. A New Deal for Southeastern Archaeology. University Press of Alabama: Tuscaloosa. MacArthur, Robert H., and Wilson, E. O. 1967. The Theory of Island Biogeography. Princeton University Press, Princeton. MacKenzie, Donald J. 1990. Water Resources Potential of the Freshwater Lens at Key West, Florida. U.S. Geological Survey Water Resource Investment Report 90–4115. U.S. Department of the Interior, Geological Survey. Tallahassee. McNiven, Ian J. 2016. Increase Rituals and Environmental Variability on Small Residential Islands of Torres Strait. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 25:195–210. Mann, Evan, William Pestle, Traci Ardren, Ryan Harke, and M. Faraldo. 2016. Taking Stock of Shell vs. Seafood: Malacological Resource Utilization on Stock Island. Paper presented at the 73rd Southeast Archaeological Conference, Athens, Georgia. Marquardt, William H. 2014. Tracking the Calusa: A Retrospective. Southeastern Archaeology 33:1–24. Marquardt, William, and Karen Walker. 2013. The Pineland Site Complex: An Environmental and Cultural History. In The Archaeology of Pineland: A Coastal Southwest Florida Site Complex, A.D. 50–1710, edited by William H. Marquardt and Karen J. Walker.

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 257

Institute of Archaeology and Paleoenvironmental Studies, Monograph 4. University of Florida, Gainesville. Mikkelson, Paula M., and Rudiger Bieler. 2000. Marine Bivalves of the Florida Keys: Discovered Biodiversity. Geological Society of London, Special Publications. 177:367–387. Milanich, Jerald. 1994. Archaeology of Precolumbian Florida. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Missimer, T. 1973. The Depositional History of Sanibel Island, Florida. Master’s thesis, Department of Geology, Florida State University, Tallahassee. Randazzo, Anthony F., and Robert B. Halley. 1997. Geology of the Florida Keys. In The Geology of Florida, edited by Anthony Randazzo and Douglas Jones, pp. 251–259. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Ross, Michael S., Joseph J. O’Brien, and Laura Flynn. 1992. Ecological Site Classification of Florida Keys Terrestrial Habitats. Biotropica 24:488–502. Rudnick, David T., Peter B. Ortner, Joan A. Browder, and Steven M. Davis. 2005. A Conceptual Ecological Model of Florida Bay. Wetlands 25:870–883. Ruppe, Tricia A. 1980. Analysis of the Mollusks from the Venice Beach Site. Bureau of Historic Sites and Properties Bulletin 6:35–45. Division of Archives, History, and Records Management, Florida Department of State, Tallahassee. Russo, Michael. 1988. Coastal Adaptations in Eastern Florida: Models and Methods. Archaeology of Eastern North America 16:159–176. Russo, Michael. 1994. Why We Don’t Believe in Archaic Ceremonial Mounds and Why We Should: The Case from Florida. Southeastern Archaeology 13:93–108. Russo, Michael. 1996. Southeastern Mid-Holocene Coastal Settlements. In Archaeology of the Mid-Holocene Southeast, edited by Kenneth Sassaman and David G. Anderson, pp. 177–199. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Schwadron, Margo. 2006. Everglades Tree Islands Prehistory: Archaeological Evidence for Regional Holocene Variability and Early Human Settlement. Antiquity 80 (310). http:// www.antiquity.ac.uk/projgall/schwadron310/. Schwadron, Margo. 2013. Pre-Columbian Shell Landscapes of the Ten Thousand Islands, Florida. In Shell Energy: Mollusc Shells as Coastal Resources, edited by Geoffrey Bailey, Karen Hardy, and Abdoulaye Camara, pp. 43–58. Oxbow Press, Oxford. Sierra, Roger, Joseph Stevenson, Traci Ardren, Victor Thompson, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Jim Clupper. 2015. Evaluating Small Islands: Preliminary Results of Archaeological Research at Upper Matecumbe Key. Paper presented at the 67th Annual Meeting of the Florida Anthropological Society, Sarasota. Squires, Karl. 1941. Pre-Columbian Man in Southern Florida. Tequesta 1:39–46. Stapor, Frank W., Jr., Thomas D. Mathews, and Fonda E. Lindfors-Kearns. 1991. BarrierIsland Progradation and Holocene Sea-Level History in Southwest Florida. Journal of Coastal Research 7:815–838. Stirling, Matthew W. 1936. Florida Cultural Affiliations in Relation to Adjacent Areas. In Essays in Anthropology in Honor of Alfred Louis Kroeber, pp. 351–357. University of California, Berkeley. Stothers, Richard B. 1984. Mystery Cloud of AD 536. Nature 307:344–345. Surge, Donna M., Kyger C. Lohmann, and Glenn A. Goodfriend. 2003. Reconstructing

258 · Traci Ardren, Scott Fitzpatrick, and Victor D. Thompson

Estuarine Conditions: Oyster Shells as Recorders of Environmental Change, Southwest Florida. Estuaries, Coastal, and Shelf Science 57:737–756. Swart, Peter, and Philip A. Kramer. 1997. Geology of Mud Islands in Florida Bay. In Geology and Hydrogeology of Carbonate Islands. Developments in Sedimentology 54, edited by H. Leonard Vacher and Terrence Quinn, pp. 249–274. Elsevier, Amsterdam. Tanner, William F. 1993. An 8,000-Year Record of Sea Level Change from Grain Size Parameters: Data from Beach Ridges in Denmark. Holocene 3: 220–231. Tanner, William F. 2000. Beach Ridge History, Sea Level Change, and the A.D. 536 Event. In The Years without Summer: Tracing 536 and Its Aftermath, edited by Joel D. Gunn, pp. 89–97. Archaeopress, Oxford. Thompson, Victor D., and John E. Worth. 2011. Dwellers by the Sea: Native American Adaptations along the Southern Coasts of Eastern North America. Journal of Archaeological Research 19:51–101. Thompson, Victor D., Kristen Gremillion, and Thomas Pluckhahn. 2013. Challenging the Evidence for Pre-Columbian Wetland Maize Agriculture at Fort Center, Florida. American Antiquity 78:181–193. Thompson, Victor D., William H. Marquardt, Alexander Cherkinsky, Amanda D. Roberts Thompson, Karen J. Walker, Lee A. Newsom, and Michael Savarese. 2016. From Shell Midden to Midden-Mound: The Geoarchaeology of Mound Key, an Anthropogenic Island in Southwest Florida, USA. PloS One 11:e0154611. Tilling, Robert I., Meyer Rubin, Haraldur Sigurdsson, Steven Carey, Wendell A. Duffield, and William I. Rose. 1984. Holocene Eruptive Activity of El Chinchon Volcano, Chiapas, Mexico. Science 224:747–749. Walker, Karen J. 1992. The Zooarchaeology of Charlotte Harbor’s Pre-Columbian Maritime Adaptation: Spatial and Temporal Perspectives. In Culture and Environment in the Domain of the Calusa, edited by William Marquardt, pp. 265–366. Institute of Archaeology and Paleoenvironmental Studies, Monograph 1. University of Florida, Gainesville. Walker, Karen J. 2013. The Pineland Site Complex: Environmental Contexts. In The Archaeology of Pineland: A Coastal Southwest Florida Site Complex, A.D. 50–1710. Edited by William Marquardt and Karen Walker, pp. 23–46. Institute of Archaeology and Paleoenvironmental Studies, Monograph 4. University of Florida, Gainesville. Walker, Karen J., Frank W. Stapor, Jr., and William Marquardt. 1994. Episodic Sea Levels and Human Occupation at Southwest Florida’s Wightman Site. Florida Anthropologist 47:161–179. Walker, Karen J., Frank W. Stapor, Jr., and William Marquardt. 1995. Archaeological Evidence for a 1750–1450 B.P. Higher than Present Sea Levels along Florida’s Gulf Coast. In Holocene Cycles: Climate, Sea Levels, and Sedimentation, edited by C. W. Finkl, Jr., pp. 205–218. Journal of Coastal Research, Special issue number 17. Wanless, Harold R., Randall W. Parkinson, and Lenore P. Tedesco. 1994. Sea Level Control on Stability of Everglades Wetlands. In Everglades: The Ecosystem and Its Restoration, edited by Steve Davis and John C. Ogden, pp. 199–223. St. Lucie Press, Delray Beach, Florida. Waselkov, Gregory, and Kathryn Holland Braund (editors). 2002. William Bartram on the Southeastern Indians. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln.

Island Chain Coastlines: A History of Human Adaptation in the Florida Keys · 259

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

Wheeler, Ryan J. 2000. Treasure of the Calusa: The Johnson/Wilcox Collection from Mound Key, Florida. Monographs in Florida Archaeology Number 1, Tallahassee. Wickler, Stephen. 2016. The Centrality of Small Islands in Arctic Norway from the Viking Age to Recent Historic Period. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 11(2):124. Widmer, Randolph. 1986. Prehistoric Estuarine Adaptation at the Solana Site, Charlotte County, Florida. Florida Division of Archives, History, and Records Management, Bureau of Archaeological Research, Tallahassee. Widmer, Randolph. 1988. The Evolution of the Calusa: A Non-Agricultural Chiefdom on the Southwest Florida Coast. University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa. Worth, John E. 2014. Discovering Florida: First-Contact Narratives from Spanish Expeditions along the Lower Gulf Coast. University Press of Florida, Gainesville.

10 Making the Atlantic Coast a Smaller Place and a Stepping Stone to Larger Issues Thomas J. Pluckhahn

In September of 1700, Sewee Indians residing on the Atlantic coast near Charleston, South Carolina, set sail for England in search of better trading terms than they were receiving from British traders in colonial North America. As described by the explorer and naturalist John Lawson (1709:11), “some of the craftiest of them had observ’d, that the Ships came always in at one Place, which made them very confident that Way was the exact Road to England; and seeing so many Ships come thence, they believ’d it could not be far thither.” After secretly constructing a fleet of canoes and assembling provisions for the trip, the Sewee set sail, leaving “only the Old, Impotent, and Minors at Home” (Lawson 1709:12). In Lawson’s telling, the Indians were scarcely out of sight of land when a storm enveloped them, taking part of these “Indian Merchants . . . by Way of the other World.” The survivors were taken up by an English ship and sold as slaves. The Sewee’s misunderstanding of the scale of the Atlantic Ocean is understandable, given that they lacked a tradition of long-distance seafaring. Like other Native peoples of the Atlantic coast of North America, the extent of their oceangoing was generally limited by the watercraft they needed to navigate along the rivers, bays, and inlets of the coast—from the dugout canoes used by the Sewee and other coastal dwellers of the Middle and South Atlantic coasts, to the birch bark canoes, kayaks, and umiaks employed by groups on the North Atlantic. But if some of the Native peoples of North America had underestimated the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean, did they better understand the immensity of the Atlantic coast of North America? After all, it is nearly 3,700 km between the Cabot Strait and the Straits of Florida (NOAA 2012)—a distance broadly comparable at the scale

Making the Atlantic Coast a Smaller Place and a Stepping Stone to Larger Issues · 261

of human perception to the 3,500 nautical miles between Charleston and Plymouth, England (Sea-distances.org 2017). It seems reasonable to suggest that Native peoples of North America like the Sewee may have better grasped the scale of the Atlantic coast—if perhaps not its full extent—than that of the Atlantic Ocean. Long-distance voyages and migrations along the coast were probably not as infrequent as archaeologists have traditionally been inclined to believe (Kehoe 1998). Shorter travels along the coast would have routinely brought Native groups in contact with neighboring societies, who no doubt occasionally told tales of groups still farther along. The coastal migrations of birds, fish, turtles, and whales must have also given them pause to consider the extent of the coast (Games 2006:714). We can imagine that the flows of the Gulf Stream and Labrador Current, as well as the paths of Atlantic hurricanes and nor’easters, had the same effect. Perhaps they were also provoked to consider the scale of the Atlantic coast by their observations of longshore drifts and the migrations of barrier islands. Thanks to modern maps, charts, and satellite imagery, the full extent of the Atlantic coast of North America is no longer left to secondhand stories or imagination. Yet social and natural scientists rarely conceive of the region in its entirety, and archaeologists are no exception. We have overwhelmingly tended to divide the Atlantic coast into smaller units of analysis: maritime Canada, the Northeast United States, the Middle Atlantic, and the Southeast coast. Although this is a legacy of cultural historical thinking, it is also rooted in real differences in climate, vegetation, material culture, and society. As the editors of this volume note in their introduction, there are also commonalities: in terms of physiography, the Atlantic coast is almost uniformly jagged; in terms of vegetation, it consists mainly of forests; and in terms of Native cultures, the indigenous people of the Atlantic coast shared a broadly similar adaptation to marine and estuarine resources. Nevertheless, the emphasis on differences prevails; it is rare to see an archaeological study of the Atlantic coast that does not include a modifier such as “South,” “Middle,” or “North.” On this point it seems we are not alone as scholars. Natural histories and ecological studies of the Atlantic coast are equally provincialized (e.g., Denys 1908 [1762]; Hay and Farb 1966; Shumway 2008; Thurston 2006; but see Bertness 2007 for an exception). Historians of the modern era have lately tended to think more broadly, considering the whole of the Atlantic as a productive unit of analysis (e.g., Crosby 1986), but Games (2006) has

262 · Thomas J. Pluckhahn

observed that it was one that they had to invent for themselves, given that the region lacks the physiographic natural boundedness of, for example, Braudel’s (1972) Mediterranean. While this volume may not invent an “archaeology of the Atlantic coast” (e.g., it follows the established method of parceling the Atlantic coast into sections, rather than focusing on the whole), it is not hyperbole to suggest that the juxtaposition of these sections together in a single volume constitutes a significant step forward in the invention of the Atlantic coast of North America as a region of analysis for archaeologists. The editors have neatly summarized the intent of this volume as essentially threefold: (1) to bring the diversity of the Atlantic coast together, and in doing so (2) highlight commonalities and differences in cultural and ecological traditions, specifically with regard to the understanding of human subsistence and ecology, with the ultimate goal (3) of providing a foundation from which the archaeology of the Atlantic coast may contribute to broader discussions and debates. My discussion follows the same logic. Bringing the Diversity of the Atlantic Coast Together

Perhaps inevitably, given the range of contributors and the diversity of their areas of study, the chapters more clearly highlight the diversity of the Atlantic coast than its commonalities. Most obvious, there are differences in the timing of initial human settlement, the timing and extent of the commitment to marine-centered subsistence strategies, and, of course, the marine taxa that were targeted (Figure 10.1). Labrador and Newfoundland were initially settled in the Middle Holocene around 8000 BP. The coasts of the Carolinas, Georgia, and the Florida peninsula appear to have been initially settled a millennium or two later, by around 6000 BP (notwithstanding the possibility of submerged earlier settlements). There is evidence of earlier settlement in the interior regions of the Gulf of Maine, the New York Bight, and the Chesapeake, albeit not on the coasts. On the other hand, the available evidence suggests that the Florida Keys were settled much later than the rest of the Atlantic coast. Maritime resources—particularly walrus and other marine mammals— seem to have been critical to the initial settlement of the Atlantic coasts of Labrador and Newfoundland. Elsewhere, the commitment to marine resources seems to have developed after initial settlement—perhaps much later in the case of the Chesapeake, and less so with the later settlement of the coasts to the south—after sea levels stabilized and coastal estuaries

Figure 10.1. Approximate ages for important cultural developments on the North American Atlantic coast.

264 · Thomas J. Pluckhahn

formed. Marine mammals were hunted with some regularity in the Gulf of Maine (albeit with variation over time), but probably only opportunistically in the New York Bight and increasingly so farther south along the coast. The cultivation of domesticated plants seems to follow an inverse pattern, with maize and other crops making a significant contribution to subsistence by around 1000 BP in Georgia, perhaps by around 700 BP as far north as the New York Bight (Chilton 2010), but with a later and lesser (or no) commitment to horticulture from the Gulf of Maine northward. Evidence from the New York Bight suggests a broadening of diet in the later Holocene, while Native peoples of the Chesapeake focused increasingly on oysters and maize over time, with some notable exceptions. Indigenous peoples living along the coast of the Carolinas, Georgia, and the Florida peninsula seem to have maintained a diverse diet throughout the Late Holocene, exploiting a wide range of fish, shellfish, reptiles, and terrestrial mammals. In the Florida Keys, the focus was on larger-bodied shellfish (mainly gastropods) and, to a surprising extent, small vertebrates. Likewise, the chapters in this volume highlight variability in the degree to which Native peoples of the Atlantic coast organized their societies, including the choices people made whether or not to aggregate into larger communities, to contribute their labor to the construction of public architecture, and to tolerate differences in wealth, prestige, and power. On the coast of the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida, considerable labor was devoted to the construction of rings and mounds of shell and earth, beginning in the Late Archaic period some 4,000 or 5,000 years ago. Small villages appeared around the same time, often in association with these monuments, and larger ones developed over time. It is commonly assumed that communities and community labor projects were directed by leaders, some of whom—especially later—may have exercised hereditary claims to authority. To the north in the Chesapeake region, Native societies likewise constructed mounds, aggregated into villages of considerable size, and were led by “chiefs,” but generally only later and with less frequency than societies to the south. Moving still farther north, villages, mounds, and pronounced social differentiation seem to have been less common. These north–south differences in subsistence and social organization undoubtedly owe much to the ecology of the Atlantic coast. Thurston (2006:10) defines the great ecological divide as Cape Cod, which he colorfully describes as projecting into the Atlantic “like a police officer’s arm directing marine traffic.” To the north of this divide, the cooler ocean waters serve as a barrier to animals endemic to more southerly climates

Making the Atlantic Coast a Smaller Place and a Stepping Stone to Larger Issues · 265

(Thurston 2006:10–11). To the south, the waters are too warm to accommodate animals endemic to the boreal zone. As Thurston (2006:11) goes on to note, this divide is also manifested in coastal physiography. To the north the Wisconsin glaciation left a deeply indented coastline with rocky beaches and cliffs, and removed much of the softer sediments. To the south the coast is mainly linear and consists of softer sediments eroded from the Appalachian Mountains and reworked by the ocean into sandy beaches and barrier islands. Of course, there are both larger and smaller processes that mitigate or exacerbate the effects of these broader differences in ecology. For example, the warmer waters of the Gulf Stream are diverted away from the coast from Cape Hatteras north, but pinched-off eddies sometimes drift westward to bring warmer water to the coasts of the Gulf of Maine (Thurston 2006:9–10). But while environment is a major theme in the histories of the Native peoples of the Atlantic coast, it is not the only one, as the chapters also illustrate. For example, Turck and Thompson make the case that the increases in social differentiation that are evidence after 1000 BP or so on the Georgia coast may stem largely from social connections with Mississippian societies in the interior. In a sort of converse perspective, Betts and colleagues suggest that some of the differences between coastal and interior societies in the Gulf of Maine may relate to the maintenance of “ethnocultural boundaries.” Of course, environment is not irrelevant to understanding the relationships between societies residing along the coast and interior—for example, it seems conceivable that the easily navigable rivers of the Southeastern coastal plain facilitated interaction between the two regions more so than was the case with rocky rivers of the Northeast. But clearly, the histories of the Native peoples of the Atlantic coast were not predetermined by their relationships to the land and sea. Even with respect to subsistence, the differences that are apparent in the timing of maize adoption across societies along the Atlantic coast likely owe as much to cultural considerations as to climate or physiography (Chilton 2010:173). The chapters also highlight the diversity of approaches to the archaeological record and the types of evidence and issues that have tended to be the focus of concerted study. For example, the chapters on northerly latitudes—from Labrador to the Chesapeake—draw in part on pollen studies to reconstruct changes in maritime forest regimes, and the use of fruits, seeds, berries, nuts, and tubers is inferred, if mainly indirectly. In contrast, pollen and plant resources are scarcely mentioned in chapters focusing on areas south of the Chesapeake. This is clearly an area for more research,

266 · Thomas J. Pluckhahn

given archaeological and ethnohistorical evidence that mast resources like acorn and hickory nuts were important to coastal dwellers (e.g., Sanger 2017a; Thomas et al. 2008). Ethnohistorical sources also suggest the importance of starchy roots, including the as-yet-unidentified species described as ache (Hann 1996:201–202; Larson 1980; Thomas et al. 2008), as well as Smilax and, of course, the Zamia (coontie) that was a staple for the Seminoles of southern Florida (Small 1921; Smith 1951; Swanton 1913). It would seem that archaeologists working on the Atlantic coast have often been distracted by the more obvious remains of fish, shellfish, and other animals in coastal middens. They might do well to follow the example of colleagues in the Pacific Northwest, where a shift in perspective, the adoption of innovative methods, and the corresponding discovery of new lines of data have together resulted in the documentation of ancient plant management practices that were previously obscured by the dominant focus on animal resources—especially salmon (e.g., Lepofsky and Lertzman 2008). To cite an example from not too far afield, pollen analysis of samples from a site on the Gulf Coast of Florida indicates the probable procurement of the freshwater herb wapato (Sagittaria spp.), and the presence of robust quantities of sponge spicules in midden samples suggests the possible processing of this and other wetlands plants (Jackson 2016:116–120). It would not be surprising if we eventually find evidence not only for more extensive plant use by the Native peoples of the Atlantic coast than we currently appreciate but also that people here actively managed the growth of plants in ways similar to those documented for the opposite coast of North America, including the use of fire and the construction of garden plots (Deur 2002; Hoffman et al. 2016; Keeley 2002). More broadly, the more frequent incorporation of pollen and other plant data would enhance our understanding of human-environmental dynamics, as the chapter by Wolff and Holly aptly demonstrates. Several of the chapters of this volume focus on subsistence technologies, with greater discussion of various technologies in the chapters to the north. Thus, in their chapter on Newfoundland and Labrador, Wolff and Holly consider variability in the importance of harpoons, boats, and ground stone over time. Betts and colleagues do the same in their coverage of the Gulf of Maine. For the New York Bight, we read mention of harpoons, weirs, nets, and plummets (presumed net weights). Moving south along the coast, technology receives much less attention. Reeder-Myers and Rick discuss broad-bladed stone tools and their possible relation to estuarine adaptations of the Chesapeake, Dillian mentions digging for clams

Making the Atlantic Coast a Smaller Place and a Stepping Stone to Larger Issues · 267

and harvesting oysters without referencing specific tools, and Ardren and colleagues briefly discuss adzes, canoes, and other technologies. However, there is relatively little mention of technology in the chapters covering the coasts of Georgia and mainland Florida. This tendency in the coverage may, at least in part, reflect real trends in the relative importance of fishing technologies across the Atlantic coast, specifically the technological requirements of hunting sea mammals and open-water fish species such as swordfish in the north versus the heavy emphasis on more easily procured mollusks and estuarine fish along the southern Atlantic coast. It also no doubt reflects the lesser accessibility of stone for the Native inhabitants of the southern coasts. It may even be possible that fishing technology is over-represented in archaeological assemblages from the northern Atlantic coasts relative to the dietary importance of fish, perhaps reflecting recreational fishing or a more symbolic than practical importance (Whitridge 2001). Still, there is ethnohistorical evidence that fish weirs and traps—some of substantial size—were used extensively by the Native peoples of the middle and southern Atlantic coasts (Brickell 1737:366; Hann 1996:100; Larson 1980:119–120; Swanton 1922:357–358; Thomas and Blair 2008:122–125). Ethnohistorical evidence also attests to the employment of spears, leisters, harpoons, and throat gorges by fishers in these regions. Documentary evidence for the use of nets is less robust (Thomas and Blair 2008:129–130). Unfortunately, archaeological evidence for the use of these technologies is scant. Bone fishing implements and fiber cordage—in rare cases identifiable as net fragments—are not uncommon on sites in southern Florida (Newsom et al. 2013; Patton 2013; Thompson and Worth 2011:61; Walker 1992, 2000) but relatively rare for sites on the Atlantic coast, presumably because preservation conditions are less favorable (Petersen et al. 1984). The identification of subsistence technologies here may require the use of indirect evidence, as illustrated by Colaninno’s (2011) inference of mass-capture technologies such as weirs or nets from her study of the standard lengths of archaeological fish assemblages (as compared with expected size distributions). It would not be surprising if we find that Native peoples of the Atlantic coast enhance the productivity of fish and shellfish through the use of technologies, such as the clam gardens documented in the Pacific Northwest (Deur et al. 2015; Lepofsky and Caldwell 2013). Like Reeder-Myers and Rick, I see Jenkins’s (2017) recent argument for oyster management in Florida as an imperfect, yet provocative effort to extend the concept of indigenous mariculture to the Atlantic coast. The identification of subsistence technology not only is important

268 · Thomas J. Pluckhahn

for understanding human-environmental adaptations but also has implications for modeling social changes, as our colleagues on the West Coast have clearly illustrated with regard to the role that boats played in the development of more pronounced differences in status, power, and wealth (Arnold 1995; Arnold and Bernard 2005). In sum, the chapters highlight the diversity of human-environmental dynamics along the Atlantic coast but also our approaches to its study. Some of the variation in archaeological practice and interpretation may reflect our social networks as scholars. Specifically, the differences in perspectives between Chapters 2 to 5 (Virginia to Newfoundland) and Chapters 6 to 9 (Carolinas to Keys) roughly track a division between archaeologists who are more likely to attend the Middle Atlantic Archaeological Conference and the Southeastern Archaeological Conference, respectively. This volume, by bridging such divides, brings us closer to the understanding of the Atlantic coast as a community of practice as scholars. Highlighting Commonalities and Shared Cultural and Ecological Traditions

There are obvious commonalities among the chapters, beginning with their framing around the topics of subsistence and ecology (as directed by the editors). The authors all generally approach their areas from the perspective of historical ecology. In some cases, particularly the chapter by Wolff and Holly, the connection to this research program is made explicit. In other cases, the term “historical ecology” is not mentioned, but the language reflects its general principles; to cite a few examples, Merwin reflects on the “maritime cultural landscape” of the New York Bight, Reeder-Myers and Rick define their focus as “human-environmental interactions” of the Chesapeake Bay, and Randall sets his sights on “aquatically oriented lifeways and their relevance to ancient communities” of peninsular Florida. Several of the case studies build on the authors’ more explicitly theoretical works of historical ecology, or at least the attention to both history and environment (e.g., Holly 2002, 2003, 2013; Randall 2015; Rick and Lockwood 2012; Thompson 2014). The authors all recognize that the coastal landscapes have been significantly affected by people, in historically contingent circumstances, and in different ways and to varying extents (see Balée 2006). Human impacts on the Atlantic coast are illustrated most poignantly by the examples of Historic era extinctions that arise in several of the chapters, from the great auk

Making the Atlantic Coast a Smaller Place and a Stepping Stone to Larger Issues · 269

in the north to the West Indies monk seal in the south. But the chapters also make it clear that the ostensibly “pristine” landscapes described by the first European colonizers to the Atlantic coast had actually been shaped by human action for at least five millennia, and much longer in many cases. Native histories defined the natural world of the Atlantic coast, as indicated most obviously by pervasiveness of mounded monuments, from the rock burial mound at L’Anse Amour in Labrador, to the Tuckerton Mound in the New York Bight, to the numerous shell rings and sand burial mounds of the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Less obviously, at least to untrained eyes, but perhaps even more pervasive in terms of overall human modification of the Atlantic coast landscape, are the thousands of shell middens that dot the margins of the continent from at least Maine to Florida. Recent research on the Everglades “tree islands” documents the extent to which these were formed and augmented by human action, with artifacts like bone and shell and pottery contributing much of the soil volume (Coultas et al. 2008; Schwadron 2006), while also revealing more-subtle associated effects of these middens on local ecology, such as the high phosphorous levels introduced by the human waste of indigenous populations (Ardren et al. 2016). There is no reason to think that the Everglades middens are unusual in these regards; extrapolating to the region as a whole, we are forced to consider the cumulative effects that such seemingly small-scale terraforming has played in constituting the ecology of the Atlantic coast. The authors recognize their areas of study as temporally and spatially heterogeneous landscapes. Spatial heterogeneity is clearly addressed across axes ranging from interior to coastal (Wolff and Holly), near-shore to open water (Merwin), deltaic to non-deltaic estuaries (Turck and Thompson), island to mainland (Betts et al.), and smaller to larger islands (Ardren and colleagues), among other dimensions of variability. Discussion of temporal heterogeneity and resolution at something approaching historical time (i.e., Braudel’s [1980] histoire événementielle) is necessarily limited by the nature of the archaeological record and the confines of chapter-length summaries. Still, the authors recognize the interplay of short- and long-term processes in shaping the history and ecology of their areas of study. This is nicely illustrated by Wolff and Holly’s description of the extinction of the great auk as the result of complex interconnections between social interactions, cultural traditions, and ecological processes, including the reduction in range that accompanied the Little Ice Age, the long-standing Beothuk tradition of hunting of auk for food, and the market demands of the sixteenth century that prompted European fishers to begin collecting birds and eggs at

270 · Thomas J. Pluckhahn

greater scales and intensity. Still, there is also a strong thread of stability, sustainability, and resilience in many of the papers, at least with regard to discussions of Native lifeways on the Atlantic coast before the arrival of Europeans. Merwin, for example, sees long-term continuity in native adaptations to the New York Bight. Reeder-Myers and Rick describe sustainable resource use “on a broad spatial and temporal level” in late precontact Chesapeake Bay. Turck and Thompson suggest that communities on the Georgia coast were resilient “in the face of sea level fluctuations.” Also consistent with much of the work conducted under the rubric of historical ecology (e.g., Rick and Lockwood 2012; Swetnam et al. 1999), the authors of these chapters are concerned with making the archaeology of the Atlantic Coast relevant to contemporary issues, particularly the ever-moredire process of human-induced climate change. Wolff and Holly make the case that our understanding of what a healthy population of cod (or any species) is supposed to look like “requires a deeper chronological understanding of the various cultural and ecological processes of that region”—a perspective that necessarily involves archaeology. Merwin argues that the archaeological record of the New York Bight preserves a valuable record of how people in the past have dealt with hardships; she also notes that this record is disappearing with sea level rise. Ardren and colleagues likewise note the loss of sites to sea level rise in the Keys but also describe the exacerbating effects of overdevelopment and poorly designed attempts to mitigate rising waters. Reeder-Myers and Rick move the discussion forward in important new ways with the argument that our efforts to document and protect archaeological sites will be enhanced through better engagement with descendant communities. Drawing from their archaeological research on the Georgia coast, Turck and Thompson suggest that communities on the coast will be more resilient in the face of future sea level change if they have strong connections to those in the inland. Randall extends the relevance of archaeological record of community response to climate change to perceptions of risk, including “their cosmological shifts to accommodate change.” The relevance of the Atlantic coast to discussions regarding climate change should be obvious, given that it is home to almost 40% of the American population (Active USA Center AUC 1999–2018), and that Americans have contributed an estimated 20% of the observed global warming since the beginning of the industrial era (Matthews et al. 2014). The ramifications of sea level rise along the Atlantic coast are even more ominous when we consider the uneven extent of modern development; Zhang and Leatherman (2011:356) estimate that the population densities of barrier islands of

Making the Atlantic Coast a Smaller Place and a Stepping Stone to Larger Issues · 271

the Atlantic coast are now three times those of coastal states on average, setting up a “collision course” of population increases, development, and sea level rise. Putting the Atlantic Coast in a Broader Context

In his famous treatise on the American frontier, the historian Frederick Jackson Turner (1986 [1921]:9) wrote, “At the Atlantic frontier one can study the germs of processes repeated at each successive frontier.” Turner’s focus was the colonial era, he viewed the Atlantic coast as a frontier of Western Europe, and his thesis was that the frontier advanced west from there across the American continent. From an alternate perspective, the Atlantic coast was a frontier between land and sea for Native peoples, first for settlers who arrived from the west, but enduring for multiple millennia. But it may nevertheless—and perhaps even more so—hold the germs of processes repeated at larger scales. It would have been a herculean task for the authors of these chapters to both summarize their respective sections of the Atlantic coast in sufficient detail and situate their summaries with respect to larger theoretical contexts. Still, the contributors to this volume illustrate by example the relevancy of the archaeology of the Atlantic coast to broader ideas and issues. To cite a couple of examples, Ardren and colleagues connect the Florida Keys to the broader Caribbean, and to larger issues like the importance of small islands; and Wolf and Holly connect maritime Canada to global migrations and economies, beginning with the arrival of the Norse a millennium ago and continuing to the more recent arrival of European fishers. The chapter authors cite many more references that attest to the contributions they have made to contemporary archaeological debates and dialogues (e.g., Rick et al. 2016; Thompson and Turck 2009). However, having these cultural histories compiled together in a single volume provides an unprecedented opportunity for both the contributors and readers to reflect on how the archaeology of the Atlantic Coast may contribute to other conversations. I note three examples. First, as Moss (2012) has observed for the Northwest Coast, and as Rowley-Conwy (2001), Sanger (2017b), and many others have described for hunter-gatherers more generally, we can no longer maintain a single and simplistic narrative of increasing cultural complexity over time. The contributors to this volume are clearly aware that cultural change is uneven across their regions both temporally and spatially, and that the association between political and economic institutions and time is considerably more

272 · Thomas J. Pluckhahn

complicated than was often presumed by earlier generations of archaeologists. But, at least in comparison with their colleagues in other coastal regions (such as the Northwest Coast), archaeologists of the Atlantic coast seem to have been slow to insert their conceptual advances in this regard into larger dialogues, from critiques of neo-evolution to alternative models of complexity. Next, few of the contributors to this volume make more than a passing reference to the topic of trade, with the exception in some cases of exchange in the Historic era. However, archaeologists elsewhere in the world have documented the importance of maritime trade and coastal trading centers to ancient economies as varied as Late Period Egypt, the Roman Empire, the Classic Maya, the Lapita culture of Papua New Guinea, and Iron Age East Africa (Crowther et al. 2016; McKillop 1996; Robinson and Wilson 2011; Skelly and David 2017). Coastal trade was clearly important to Native societies of the Atlantic coast (e.g., Lowery 2012), and we would do well to give this possibility greater consideration. Similarly, concurrent with larger trends in anthropology, maritime archaeologists elsewhere in the world have increasingly explored the understanding of coasts as ritual landscapes, with ritual often seen as mediating relationships among people with regard to natural resources or between people and natural forces (McNiven 2004; Orton 2012; Westerdahl 2005). That these sorts of rituals and relationships with other organisms and ecosystems were important to the Native peoples of the Atlantic coast seems obvious from the previously cited pervasiveness of shell, sand, and rock mounds. With one or two exceptions (see especially Randall, and Wolff and Holly), the contributors to this volume focus more on what such constructions may say about sociopolitical organization or boundary maintenance than on seeing them as part of a ritual landscape. At the risk of cliché, it seems clear that the world is a smaller place now than it was in 1700 when the Sewee Indians set sail from Carolina for England. By bringing together their work in one volume—not the first compilation for the region, but certainly the first detailed and comprehensive synthesis—the contributors help make the Atlantic coast both a smaller and more intelligible place and a stepping stone to larger issues.

Making the Atlantic Coast a Smaller Place and a Stepping Stone to Larger Issues · 273

References Active USA Center AUC. 2018. Geographic Distribution of U.S. Population. Electronic document, http://www.theusaonline.com/people/geographic-distribution.htm. Ardren, Traci, Justin P. Lowry, Melissa Memory, Kelin Flanagan, and Alexandra Busot. 2016. Prehistoric Human Impact on Tree Island Lifecycles in the Florida Everglades. Holocene 26:772–780. Arnold, Jeanne E. 1995. Transportation Innovation and Social Complexity among Maritime Hunter Gatherer Societies. American Anthropologist 97:733–747. Arnold, Jeanne E, and Julienne Bernard. 2005. Negotiating the Coasts: Status and the Evolution of Boat Technology in California. World Archaeology 37:109–131. Balée, William. 2006. The Research Program of Historical Ecology. Annual Review of Anthropology 35:75–98. Bertness, Mark D. 2007. Atlantic Shorelines: Natural History and Ecology. Princeton University Press, Princeton. Braudel, Fernand. 1972. The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II. Translated by Siân Reynolds. Harper and Row, New York. Braudel, Fernand. 1980. On History. Translated by Sarah Matthews. University of Chicago Press, Chicago. Brickell, John. 1737. Natural History of North Carolina. J. Carson, Dublin. Chilton, Elizabeth S. 2010. The Origin and Spread of Maize (Zea mays) in New England. In Nantucket and Other Native Places: The Legacy of Elizabeth Alden Little, edited by Elizabeth S. Chilton and Mary Lynn Rainey, pp. 159–180. State University of New York Press, Albany. Colaninno, Carol E. 2011. Examining Ichthyofaunal Remains for Evidence of Fishing Technologies Employed in Georgia Estuaries during the Late Archaic Period. Southeastern Archaeology 30:337–350. Coultas, Charles L., Margo Schwadron, and John M. Galbraith. 2008. Petrocalcic Horizon Formation and Prehistoric People’s Effect on Everglades Tree Island Soils, Florida. Soil Survey Horizons 49:16–21. Crosby, Alfred W. 1986. Ecological Imperialism: The Biological Expansion of Europe, 900– 1900. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Crowther, Alison, Patrick Faulkner, Mary E. Prendergast, Eréndira M. Quintana Morales, Mark Horton, Edwin Wilmsen, Anna M. Kotarba-Morley, Annalisa Christie, Nik Petek, Ruth Tibesasa, Katerina Douka, Llorenç Picornell-Gelabert, Xavier Carah, and Nicole Boivin. 2016. Coastal Subsistence, Maritime Trade, and the Colonization of Small Offshore Islands in Eastern African Prehistory. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 11:211–237. Denys, Nicolas. 1908 [1762]. The Description and Natural History of the Coasts of North America (Acadia). Translated and edited by William F. Ganong. Champlain Society, Toronto. Deur, Douglas. 2002. Rethinking Precolonial Plant Cultivation on the Northwest Coast of North America. Professional Geographer 54:140–157. Deur, Douglas, Adam Dick, Kim Recalma-Clutes, and Nancy J. Turner. 2015. Kwakwaka’wakw “Clam Gardens.” Human Ecology 43:201–212.

274 · Thomas J. Pluckhahn

Games, Alison. 2006. Atlantic History: Definitions, Challenges, and Opportunities. American Historical Review 111:741–757. https://doi.org/10.1086/ahr.111.3.741. Hann, John H. 1996. A History of the Timucua Indians and Missions. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Hay, John, and Peter Farb. 1966. The Atlantic Shore: Human and Natural History from Long Island to Labrador. Harper and Row, New York. Hoffmann, Tanja, Natasha Lyons, Debbie Miller, Alejandra Diaz, Amy Homan, Stephanie Huddlestan, and Roma Leon. 2016. Engineered Feature Used to Enhance Gardening at a 3800-Year-Old Site on the Pacific Northwest Coast. Sciences Advances 2(12). DOI: 10.1126/sciadv.1601282 Holly, Donald H. 2002. Subarctic “Prehistory” in the Anthropological Imagination. Arctic Anthropology 39(1/2):10–26. Holly, Donald H. 2003. A Historiography of an Ahistoricity: On the Beothuk Indians. History and Anthropology 14:127–140. Holly, Donald H. 2013. History in the Making: The Archaeology of the Eastern Subarctic. AltaMira Press, Lanham, Maryland. Jackson, Kendal. 2016. The Archaeopalynology of Crystal River Site (8CI1), Citrus County, Florida. Master’s thesis, Department of Anthropology, University of South Florida, Tampa. Jenkins, Jessica A. 2017. Methods for Inferring Oyster Mariculture on Florida’s Gulf Coast. Journal of Archaeological Science 80:74–82. Keeley, Jon E. 2002. Native American Impacts on Fire Regimes of the California Coastal Ranges. Journal of Biogeography 29(3):303–320. Kehoe, Alice. 1998. The Land of Prehistory. Routledge, New York. Larson, Lewis. 1980. Aboriginal Subsistence Technology on the Southeastern Coastal Plain during the Late Prehistoric Period. University of Florida Press, Gainesville. Lawson, John. 1709. A New Voyage to Carolina; Containing the Exact Description and Natural History of That Country: Together with the Present State Thereof. And A Journal of a Thousand Miles, Travel’d Thro’ Several Nations of Indians. Giving a Particular Account of Their Customs, Manners, &c. London. Lepofsky, Dana, and Megan Caldwell. 2013. Indigenous Marine Resource Management on the Northwest Coast of North America. Ecological Processes 2:12. DOI: 10.1186/2192– 1709–2-12. Lepofsky, Dana, and Ken Lertzman. 2008. Documenting Ancient Plant Management in the Northwest of North America. Botany 86(2):129–145. Lowery, Darrin L. 2012. The Delmarva Adena Complex: A Study of the Frederica Site, Kent County, Delaware. Archaeology of Eastern North America 40:27–58. Matthews, H. Damon, Tanya L. Graham, Serge Keverian, Cassandra Lamontagne, Donny Seto, and Trevor J. Smith. 2014. National Contributions to Observed Global Warming. Environmental Research Letters 9:014010. McKillop, Heather. 1996. Ancient Maya Trading Ports and the Integration of Long-Distance and Regional Economies: Wild Cane Cay in South-Coastal Belize. Ancient Mesoamerica 7:49–62. McNiven, Ian. 2004. Saltwater People: Spiritscapes, Maritime Rituals and the Archaeology of Australian Indigenous Seascapes. World Archaeology 35:329–349.

Making the Atlantic Coast a Smaller Place and a Stepping Stone to Larger Issues · 275

Moss, Madonna. 2012. Understanding Variability in Northwest Coast Faunal Assemblages: Beyond Economic Intensification and Cultural Complexity. Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 7:1–22. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), Office of Coast Survey, National Ocean Service (NOS). 2012. Distances between United States Ports. Electronic document, https://www.nauticalcharts.noaa.gov/nsd/distances-ports/distances.pdf. Newsom, Lee A., Robin C. Brown, and Wendy Natt. 2013. Pineland Cordage and Modified Wood: Material-Technological Aspects of Plant Use. In The Archaeology of Pineland: A Coastal Southwest Florida Site Complex, A.D. 50–1710, edited by William H. Marquardt and Karen J. Walker, pp. 585–620. Institute of Archaeology and Paleoenvironmental Studies, Monograph 4. University of Florida, Gainesville. Orton, Jayson. 2012. Tortoise Burials in Namaqualand: Uncovering Ritual Behaviour on South Africa’s West Coast. Azania: Archaeological Research in Africa 47:99–114. Patton, Robert B. 2013. Use of Bone at the Pineland Site Complex: Expanding the Caloosahatchee Bone-Artifact Typology. In The Archaeology of Pineland: A Coastal Southwest Florida Site Complex, A.D. 50–1710, edited by William H. Marquardt and Karen J. Walker, pp. 719–740. Institute of Archaeology and Paleoenvironmental Studies, Monograph 4. University of Florida, Gainesville. Petersen, James B., Nathan D. Hamilton, J. M. Adovasio, and Alan L. McPherron. 1984. Netting Technology and the Antiquity of Fish Exploitation in Eastern North America. Midcontinental Journal of Archaeology 9:199–225. Randall, Asa R. 2015. Constructing Histories: Archaic Freshwater Shell Mounds and Social Landscapes of the St. Johns River, Florida. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Rick, Torben C., and Rowan Lockwood. 2012. Integrating Paleobiology, Archeology, and History to Inform Biological Conservation. Conservation Biology 27:45–54. Rick, Torben C., Leslie A. Reeder-Myers, Courtney A. Hofman, Denise Breitburg, Rowan Lockwood, Gregory Henkes, Lisa Kellogg, Darrin Lowery, Mark W. Luckenbach, Roger Mann, Matthew B. Ogburn, Melissa J. Southworth, John Wah, James Wesson, Anson H. Hines, and Patrick V. Kirch. 2016. Millennial-Scale Sustainability of the Chesapeake Bay Native American Oyster Fishery. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 113:6568–6573. Robinson, Damian, and Andrew Wilson. 2011. Introduction: Maritime Archaeology and the Ancient Economy. In Maritime Archaeology and Ancient Trade in the Mediterranean, edited by Damian Robinson and Andrew Wilson, pp. 1–12. Oxford Centre for Maritime Archaeology Monograph 6. School of Archaeology, University of Oxford, Oxford. Rowley-Conwy, Peter. 2001. Time, Change, and the Archaeology of Hunter-Gatherers: How Original Is the “Original Affluent Society”? In Hunter-Gatherers: An Interdisciplinary Perspective, edited by Catherine Painter-Brick, Robert H. Layton, and Peter Rowley-Conwy, pp. 39–72. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Sanger, Matthew C. 2017a. Evidence for Significant Subterranean Storage at Two HunterGatherer Sites: The Presence of a Mast-Based Economy in the Late Archaic Coastal American Southeast. American Antiquity 82:50–70. Sanger, Matthew C. 2017b. Anarchic Theory and the Study of Hunter-Gatherers. SAA Archaeological Record 17(1):39–41.

276 · Thomas J. Pluckhahn

Schwadron, Margo. 2006. Everglades Tree Islands Prehistory: Archaeological Evidence for Regional Holocene Variability and Early Human Settlement. Antiquity 80(310): https:// www.antiquity.ac.uk/projgall/schwadron310/ Sea-distances.org. 2017. Sea Distances/Port Distances. https://sea-distances.org/. Shumway, Scott W. 2008. Atlantic Seashore, Beach Ecology from the Gulf of Maine to Cape Hatteras. Globe Pequot Press, Guilford, Connecticut. Skelly, Robert John, and Bruno David. 2017. Hiri: Archaeology of Long-Distance Maritime Trade along the South Coast of Papua New Guinea. University of Hawai’i Press, Honolulu. Small, John K. 1921. Seminole Bread—The Conti. Journal of the New York Botanical Garden 22:121–137. Smith, Hale G. 1951. The Ethnological and Archeological Significance of Zamia. American Anthropologist 53:238–244. Swanton, John R. 1913. Coonti. American Anthropologist 15:141. Swanton, John R. 1922. Early History of the Creek Indians and Their Neighbors. Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin 73, Washington, DC. Swetnam, Thomas W., Craig D. Allen, and Julio L. Betancourt. 1999. Applied Historical Ecology: Using the Past to Manage for the Future. Ecological Applications 9:1189–1206. Thomas, David Hurst, and Elliot Blair. 2008. Marine Foraging on St. Catherines Island. In Native American Landscapes of St. Catherines Island, Georgia, Part 1: The Theoretical Framework, edited by David Hurst Thomas, pp. 74–130. Anthropological Papers No. 88. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thomas, David Hurst, Maureen Kick, Matthew Sanger, and Anna Semon. 2008. Terrestrial Foraging on St. Catherines Island. In Native American Landscapes of St. Catherines Island, Georgia, Part 1: The Theoretical Framework, edited by David Hurst Thomas, pp. 136–197. Anthropological Papers No. 88. American Museum of Natural History, New York. Thompson, Victor D. 2014. What I Believe: Reflections on Historical and Political Ecology as Research Frameworks in Southeastern Archaeology. Southeastern Archaeology 33:246–254. Thompson, Victor D., and John A. Turck. 2009. Adaptive Cycles of Coastal Hunter-Gatherers. American Antiquity 74:255–278. Thompson, Victor, and John Worth. 2011. Dwellers by the Sea: Native American Adaptations along the Southern Coasts of Eastern North America. Journal of Archaeological Research 19:51–101. Thurston, Harry. 2006. The Atlantic Coast: A Natural History. Greystone Books, Vancouver, British Columbia. Turner, Frederick Jackson. 1986. The Frontier in American History. University of Arizona Press, Tucson. Originally published 1921 by Henry Holt, New York. Walker, Karen J. 1992. The Zooarchaeology of Charlotte Harbor’s Prehistoric Maritime Adaptation: Spatial and Temporal Perspectives. In Culture and Environment in the Domain of the Calusa, edited by William H. Marquardt, pp. 265–366. Institute of Archaeology and Paleoenvironmental Studies, Monograph 1. Florida Museum of Natural History, University of Florida, Gainesville.

Making the Atlantic Coast a Smaller Place and a Stepping Stone to Larger Issues · 277

Walker, Karen J. 2000. The Material Culture of Precolumbian Fishing: Artifacts and Fish Remains from Coastal Southwest Florida. Southeastern Archaeology 19:24–45. Westerdahl, Christer. 2005. Seal on Land, Elk at Sea: Notes on and Applications of the Ritual Landscape at the Seaboard. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 34:2–23. Whitridge, Peter. 2001. Zen Fish: A Consideration of the Discordance between Artifactual and Zooarchaeological Indicators of Thule Inuit Fish Use. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 20:3–7. Zhang, Keqi, and Stephen Leatherman. 2011. Barrier Island Population along the U.S. Atlantic and Gulf Coasts. Journal of Coastal Research 27(2):356–363.

CONTRIBUTORS

Traci Ardren is professor in the Department of Anthropology at the University of Miami. Matthew W. Betts is curator of Eastern archaeology in the Canadian Museum of History, Gatineau, Quebec. David W. Black is honorary research professor in the Department of Anthropology, University of New Brunswick. Carolyn D. Dillian is professor in the Department of Anthropology and Geography, Coastal Carolina University. Scott Fitzpatrick is professor in the Department of Anthropology, as well as the associate director of the Museum of Natural and Cultural History, at the University of Oregon, Eugene. Donald H. Holly Jr. is professor in the Department of Sociology, Anthropology, and Criminology, Eastern Illinois University. Daria Merwin is codirector of the Cultural Resource Survey Program, New York State Museum, Albany. Thomas J. Pluckhahn is professor in the Department of Anthropology, University of South Florida, Tampa. Asa R. Randall is associate professor in the Department of Anthropology, University of Oklahoma, Norman.

280 · Contributors

Leslie Reeder-Myers is assistant professor in the Department of Anthropology, Temple University. Torben C. Rick is curator of North American archaeology in the Department of Anthropology, Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History. Brian Robinson was professor in the Department of Anthropology, University of Maine, Orono. Arthur Spiess is chief historic preservationist, prehistoric archaeology, in the Maine Historic Preservation Commission. Victor D. Thompson is professor in the Department of Anthropology, University of Georgia. John A. Turck is an archeologist/GIS specialist in the National Park Service, Valley Forge NHP and Hopewell Furnace NHS. Christopher B. Wolff is assistant professor in the Department of Anthropology, University at Albany, State University of New York.

INDEX

Activist archeology: Georgia coast and, 164, 189–91; SLR and, 190, 191 Agassiz, Louis, 235 Age of Humans (Anthropocene), 5 Agriculture. See Maize Albemarle River, 139 Alexander, Clark, 179 Algonquian people, 26–27, 81, 96 Altithermal climate episode, 205 Amerindians: Algonquian languages and, 26–27; Algonquian people, 26–27, 81, 96; Newfoundland and Labrador and, 26–27, 28, 34. See also Beothuk AMOC. See Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation L’Anse Amour Mound site, 17, 20–21, 51 Anthropocene (Age of Humans), 5 Archaic period: in Chesapeake Bay, 115, 115–18, 126; Everglades and, 246; Florida Keys and, 246–47; Late, 45; in Newfoundland and Labrador, 20; New York Bight and, 86–87, 88–89, 93; Northeast Florida and, 205–13 Archaic period, Early and Middle, 3, 45; NGOM in, 50–52, 63 Archaic period, Late, Georgia coast, 169, 171, 191; archeology in, 170, 172; deltiatic areas and, 172–73; environment in, 168, 170; Kings Bay Site and Devils Walkingstick site, 173; non-deltiatic areas an, 173–74; RSL and, 170; shellfish utilization in, 174–75; shell rings and shell middens in, 172; SLR in, 168, 170; yearround occupation in, 172 Archaic period, Late, North and South Carolina, 147; non-ring shell-bearing sites in, 146; shell rings in, 118, 142–46; Spanish Mount Point shell mound and, 152–53

Archaic period, Middle, Georgia coast, 169; archeology in, 168; environment in, 167–68; middle Ogeechee River and, 167; SLR in, 167, 167–68 Archaic period, northeast Florida: catchment in, 210; Crescent Beach site, 208, 210; death rituals in, 205; Mount Taylor period and, 207–8, 209, 210–11; Orange period, 209, 211–13; pottery in, 213; regional occupation in, 211; seasonal occupation in, 207–8, 210; Silver Glen Springs complex, 207, 213; site distribution, 206; Thornhill Lake phase, 208, 211; year-round occupation in, 208 Archaic period, Terminal Late, 45; canoe in, 55; Georgia Coast, 173–76; NGOM in, 53–55, 66 Archeology of Eastern North America, 7–8 Ashley, Keith, 221 Atlantic coast scale, 261 Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation (AMOC), 108 Atlantic Ocean, 260–61 Awapantop site, 124 Bahia Honda, 235 Bald cypress dendrochronology, 183 Balsille, James, 204 Barber, Michael, 128 Bark boats, 95 Barnhardt, Walter A., 46 Barrier islands, 4; Early and Middle Archaic period and, 168; Georgia coast Middle Archaic period and, 168; in North and South Carolina, 139, 140, 172, 173–74; Pleistocene, 172, 173–74; population density of, 270–71; Spartina alterniflora and, 139, 140 Basan, Paul, 183

282 · Index Bayesian modeling, 207 Bay of Fundy, 46, 48 Benjamin, Jonathan, 83 Beothuk: cultural extinction of, 35; disappearance of, 32; Dorset and, 28–29; economic patterns of, 29; Europeans and, 30–32, 35; on Funk Island, 30; whaling and, 30–31 Bernstein, David J., 7 Biscayne Bay, 246 Black, David W., 57 Blackbeard Island, 170, 181 Black Drink ritual, 215 Black earth middens, 242, 244, 251 Blanton, Dennis, 117, 183 Bliss Islands, 57 Block Island, 92–93 Blue Fish site, 124 Blue Ridge Mountains, 137 Bourque, Bruce, 7, 60, 64 Boylston Street fish weir site, 93 Braudel, Fernand, 262, 269 Brooks, Mark, 168, 170 Bullen, Ripley, 223 Burial mounds: L’Anse Amour Mound site in Labrador as, 17, 20–21, 51; in Florida Keys, 243; in Georgia coast Middle Woodland period, 180–81; Georgia coast Mississippian period and, 185, 188; in Mount Taylor period, 211; northeast Florida, 211, 221 Calusa, 7, 233, 237, 243, 247; Pineland Calusa project, 238 Canadian Maritime Provinces, 9 Cannon’s Point Marsh Ring, 173 Canoes: bark boats and, 95; in Florida Keys, 243; in Newfoundland and Labrador, 20; in New York Bight, 93, 94–95; NGOM and, 51, 53, 55, 64; in NGOM Woodland period, 64; in Northeastern Florida, 207; of Sewee Indians, 260; St. Johns River and, 207; in Terminal Late Archaic period, 55 Cape Canaveral, 200, 201, 204 Cape Cod, 264 Carnegie Institution, 235 Carolina Slate Belt, 137 Carteret County, North Carolina, 148 Ceramics and pottery: in Chesapeake Bay, 115; fiber-tempered pottery, 211–12, 246–47; in Fig Island shell ring complex, 144; in Florida

Keys, 246–47, 249, 251–52; in Georgia coast Early Woodland period, 176, 178–79; in Georgia coast Late Woodland period, 182; Hanover Complex ceramics, 148–49; North and South Carolina Woodland period and, 148–49; in northeast Florida, 211–12, 213, 215, 219, 220, 221; on St. Catherines Island, 174; St. Johns Check Stamped pottery, 220, 221, 249; St. Johns Plain pottery, 215; St. Johns pottery, 214; Thom’s Creek ceramics, 144, 145–46 Channel Islands, California, 250 Charlotte Harbor, 238 Chesapeake Bay, 4, 250, 263; Archaic period in, 115, 115–18, 126; ceramics in, 115; climate change in, 111, 112, 113, 128; Delmarva Peninsula and, 108, 110–11; environmental context of, 108–14; Europeans in, 107, 124, 125, 127– 28; Fairlee Neck Shell Midden in, 115, 115, 116; future research and, 116, 118; LIA in, 113, 120–21; lithic technology and, 116, 117; maize in, 121, 125, 264; maps of, 109, 110; marine resources in, 107, 117; maritime resources in, 126, 262; MCA in, 113, 120–21; Middle Holocene and, 111; modern challenges to, 128; NAO and, 108; Native Americans in, 124–25; oysters in, 118, 119–20, 121, 122, 126, 127, 264; paleosalinity in, 111; paleo-Susquehanna River bed in, 116; Patuxent River in, 116, 117; pollen and, 113; Potomac River valley in, 111, 116, 118, 119, 122, 123, 124–25; Rappahannock River valley in, 111, 116, 119; ritual monumentalism in, 118; shell middens in, 7, 115, 115, 116, 117, 120, 126; SLR and, 107, 111, 114, 116, 117, 120, 126; subsistence stability in, 124, 127; trade and, 117, 125. See also Protohistoric and Early Colonial period, in Chesapeake Bay; Woodland period, Early and Middle, Chesapeake Bay; Woodland period, Late, Chesapeake Bay Chesapeake Bay Archaeological Consortium, 128 Claassen, Cheryl, 148, 150 Climate change, Holocene, 270; in Chesapeake Bay, 111, 112, 113, 128; intense storms and global, 10; in Newfoundland and Labrador, 32, 33; shellfish populations and, 152; SLR and, 152 Climate variability, 4–5; Late Holocene, 121 Clupper site, 245

Index · 283 Cod, 16; moratorium (1992), 28, 36; in NGOM, 57, 63 Colaninno, Carol, 267 Colorinda phase, 219 Colquhoun, Donald, 168, 170 Creighton Island, 178 Crescent Beach site, 208, 210 CRM. See Cultural resource management Cuchiyaga, 244 Cultural resource management (CRM), 5, 81, 205, 244 Custer, Jay, 7–8, 115, 118, 120, 125–26 Death rituals: northeast Florida shallow water interment as, 205; in northeast Florida Woodland period, 219. See also Burial mounds Delmarva Peninsula, 108, 110–11 Deltaic areas, of Georgia coast, 166–67, 177, 182; central and southern coast, 173, 178; northern coast, 172–73, 176, 178 DePratter, Chester, 164, 170, 176 Deptford phase, 217 Descendant communities, in Chesapeake Bay, 129; Georgia coast and, 270; in New York Bight, 98 Devils Walkingstick site, 173 Dogan Point, 87–88 Donoghue, Joseph, 204 Dorset people, 24, 27; abandonment of southern Arctic and, 34–35; Beothuk and, 28–29; Port au Choix site and, 26; seals and, 25 Dry Tortugas, 235 East Africa, 272 Eastern oyster fishery, 7 Ecological diversity and climate variability, 4–5 Egypt, 272 Erosion of archaeological sites, 10; in Chesapeake Bay, 128; in Florida Keys, 252–53; in New York Bight, 99; in North and South Carolina, 152–53; in northeast Florida, 224–25 Europeans, 269; Beothuk and, 30–32, 35; in Chesapeake Bay, 107, 124, 125, 127–28; Florida Keys and, 243, 249, 252, 254; Georgia coast and, 189; in Newfoundland

and Labrador, 28–32, 35; in New York Bight, 90–91, 93–94, 96; in northeast Florida, 220, 222; Powhatan chiefdom and, 124 Everglades, 233–34, 238; middens in, 246; tree islands, 269 Extinction, 251; of great auk, 30, 36, 268–69; of monk seal, 269 Fairlee Neck Shell Midden, 115, 115, 116 Fiber-tempered pottery, 211–12, 246–47 Fig Island shell ring complex, 142; ceremonial feasting and, 144; lithic materials in, 143, 144; RSL and, 143; Thom’s Creek ceramics in, 144 Fishing Bay sites, 119 Fitzhugh, William, 7 Fitzpatrick, Scott, 232, 245 Florida, 1, 118, 263; Caloosahatchee region of, 242; Everglades, 233–34, 238, 246, 269; maize in, 247, 250; pollen analysis in, 203, 266; southern, 234, 239; Tequesta area in, 247. See also Northeast Florida Florida Current, 235 Florida Keys, 232, 263; agriculture and, 250; Archaic period and, 246–47; Biscayne Bay in, 246; black earth midden in, 242, 244, 251; burial mounds in, 243; Calusa and, 7, 233, 237–38, 243, 247; canoes in, 243; ceramics and pottery in, 246–47, 249, 251–52; climate, 235–37; ecology of, 241–42; Europeans and, 243, 249, 252, 254; Florida Bay and, 237, 246; freshwater lenses and, 236; future research on, 250, 251–54; geology of, 233–35; Glades Period and, 247–49; global coastal archeology and, 249–50; Holocene mud islands and, 235, 236; human-environment dynamics over time, 242–45; Key Largo in, 236, 244, 247, 248–49; Lake Okeechobee in, 246, 247; lithic tools in, 245, 249; Lower Keys, 236, 244; map of sites in, 234; MCA and, 240–41; modern environmental management issues in, 233; Native Americans in, 243–44; Paleoindian period and, 245–46; policy and, 253; preservation in, 252; rainwater cisterns in, 236–37; rock mounds in, 243, 248–49; salvaging in, 244–45, 251–52; Sands Key #2 in, 243; sea level curves and, 238; sea level temperatures in, 239–41; shell middens in, 242, 244, 246, 249; SLR and, 232, 237–41, 252; southern Florida and, 234; Ten Thousand

284 · Index

[128.104.46.206] Project MUSE (2024-03-01 04:39 GMT) UW-Madison Libraries

Florida Keys—continued Islands and, 234, 235, 241, 242; terrestrial mammals in, 241–42; trade and, 243, 249, 252; Upper Keys, 236, 244; Upper Matecumbe Key, 244, 245; year-round occupation and, 249 Florida Master Site File, 242 Florida Public Archeology Network (FPAN), 224 Frey, Robert, 183 Funk Island, 30 Future research, 1, 4, 8, 99; Chesapeake Bay and, 116, 118; on Florida Keys, 250, 251–54; North and South Carolina and, 152–53 Gallivan, Martin, 121, 129 Games, Alison, 261–62 Gayes, Paul, 168, 204 Georgetown County, South Carolina, 141 Georgia Bight, 201, 263 Georgia coast, 7, 118; activist archeology and, 164, 189–91; Blackbeard Island, 181; burial mounds in, 180–81, 185, 188; chronologies for, 166; defining area of, 164; deltaic areas of, 166–67, 172–73, 177, 178, 182; Early Woodland period in, 175–79, 190; Europeans and, 189; Late Archaic period and, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172–75, 191; Late Woodland period and, 181–82; lithic technology and, 168; maize in, 184, 185, 188, 189, 264; map of, 165; marshes and, 166; Middle Archaic period and, 167, 167–68, 169; Middle Woodland period and, 179–81; Mississippian period, 183–85, 186, 187, 188–89, 265; non-deltaic areas of, 166–67, 173–75; Pleistocene islands and, 166; sea level curve, 167; Shellfish utilization and, 174–75, 190; shell middens and, 172, 176, 180; shell rings on, 172, 173–74, 176; Silver Bluff shoreline, 166; SLR and, 166, 167, 167–68, 170, 175, 179, 181, 183; St. Catherines Island, 7, 173, 174, 178, 182; year-round settlement on, 168, 172, 182, 184, 188 Gilmore, Zackary, 213 Glades period: Glades III sites, 249; Glades II sites, 248; Glades I sites, 248; Goggin and, 247–48; Stock Island Midden in, 249 Goggin, John, 205, 244; Glades period and, 247–48 Graf, Maria-Theresia, 246

Grassy Island site, 88 Great auk: extinction of, 30, 36, 268–69; on Funk Island, 30 Great Neck site: degree of analysis at, 119; in Early and Middle Woodland period, 119; in Late Woodland period, 123–24 Greenfield Site No. 5, 217, 219 Griffin, John, 238 Guarungunbe, 244 Gulf of Maine, 7, 16, 263, 265; maize in, 264; Maritime Archaic people in, 3. See also Northern Gulf of Maine Gulf of Mexico curve, 204 Hammonasset Beach, 87 Hanover Complex ceramics, 148–49 Hard-shell clam. See Quahog clam Heide, Gregory, 145 Heritage Monitoring Scouts program, 224–25 Historical ecology, 268; contemporary issues and, 270; Georgia coast and, 189 Holocene: Newfoundland and Labrador in Early, 21; North and South Carolina and, 139, 140–41; Pleistocene-Holocene transition, 18, 50, 66, 83. See also Climate change, Holocene; Holocene, Middle Holocene, Late: climate variability of, 121; diet diversity in, 264; Northeast Florida and, 203, 204 Holocene, Middle, 3; Altithermal climate episode and, 205; Chesapeake Bay and, 111; Newfoundland and Labrador and, 21, 22, 33–34, 262; Northeast Florida and, 203 Holocene mud islands, 235, 236 Holocene Thermal Maximum, 19 Hopewell Interaction Sphere, 179, 181 Horry County, South Carolina, 141 Horvath, Elizabeth, 222 Howard, James, 170, 176 Human impacts on the environment, 268–69; in Chesapeake Bay, 126–28; Georgia coast and, 190; in Newfoundland and Labrador, 36 Hunter-gatherers: cultural complexity and, 271 Hurricane Matthew, 152–53 Hutchinson, Dale, 185 Innu, 27 Intermediate Indian tradition, 23 Inuit, 27–28

Index · 285 Island Field site, 119–20 James Island, 144 Jones, David, 150 Jones, Douglas, 224 Keegan, William, 232 Kelp Highway hypothesis, 5 Kenan Field site, 174 Kent County, Maryland, 115 “A Key into the Language of America” (Williams), 96–97 Key Largo, 244, 247; Key Largo Limestone, 236; Key Largo Rock Mound, 248–49; Newport #2 site in, 248 Kings Bay Site, 173 Kiskiak site, 121 Kruger, Harold, 70 Labrador, 1, 3, 7 Lake Okeechobee, 246, 247 Last Glacial Maximum, 3 Laurentide Ice Sheet: Middle Atlantic and, 118; Newfoundland and Labrador and, 18; North and South Carolina and, 141; RSL and, 3 Lawson, John, 260 Lefebvre, Michelle, 242 LIA. See Little Ice Age Liberty Island midden, 90 Lighthouse Point shell ring, 142, 144–45 Lithic technology, 22, 49; Chesapeake Bay and, 116, 117; in Fig Island shell ring complex, 143, 144; in Florida Keys, 245, 249; Georgia coast and, 168; New York Bight and, 85, 87, 88, 89, 90, 96; NGOM and, 53, 62, 65; in North and South Carolina, 137, 143, 144, 145, 146 Little Ice Age (LIA), 5, 183, 269; in Chesapeake Bay, 113, 120–21; in Newfoundland and Labrador, 20, 27, 28, 36; New York Bight and, 99; in NGOM, 48; pollen and, 113 Little River Inlet, 141 Little River Neck shell midden, 148–50 Little Sapelo Island, 174, 181 Louisiana, 214 Lowery, Darrin, 128 Luce Creek site, 119 MacArthur, Robert, 235 MacKenzie, Donald, 236

Maine to Greenland (Fitzhugh), 7 Maize: in Chesapeake Bay, 121, 125, 264; in Florida, 247, 250; Georgia coast and, 184, 185, 188, 189, 264; in Gulf of Maine, 264; New York Bight and, 264; in NGOM, 61; in Northeast Florida, 220, 222 Maps: of Chesapeake Bay, 109, 110; of Florida Keys sites, 234; of Georgia coast, 165; modern vegetation zones, 6; of Newfoundland and Labrador, 17; of New York Bight, 82; of NGOM, 45, 50; of North American east coast, 2; of North and South Carolina, 138; of northeast Florida, 202, 216 Maritime Archaic people: Gulf of Maine and, 3; in Newfoundland and Labrador, 3, 20–23, 34 Marquardt, William, 7, 238 marsh periwinkle, 149 Mary Hammock, 181, 182 Maryland Archaeological Conservation Laboratory, 115 Matecumbe, 244 Matecumbe Chiefdom Project, 244–45 Matthew, Betts, 65 MCA. See Medieval Climatic Anomaly McGundo Midden, 208 Medieval Climatic Anomaly (MCA), 5, 183; in Chesapeake Bay, 113, 120–21; Florida Keys and, 240–41; Newfoundland and Labrador and, 20, 34; NGOM and, 48, 66 Métis people, 28 Miami Limestone, 236 Michie, James, 146 Middle Atlantic: Laurentide Ice Sheet and, 118; SLR in, 3, 107, 110. See also Chesapeake Bay Middle Atlantic Bight, 138; Albemarle River in, 139; SLR in, 139 Mill Cove complex, 221 Millennium in Question (MIQ): Northeast Florida and, 213–14; Russo on, 213 Miller, Gerrit, 244 MIQ. See Millennium in Question Missimer, Thomas, 238 Mississippian cultures, 137; platform mounds and, 188–89 Mississippianization, 220 Mississippian Optimum, 240–41 Mississippian period, Georgia coast, 265; agriculture and, 185; archeology and, 185, 186, 187, 188–89; bald cypress dendrochronology

286 · Index Mississippian period—continued in, 183; burial mounds in, 185, 188; environment in, 183; ethnohistory of, 183–85; settlement hierarchy in, 185, 188 Mississippi period, northeast Florida: agriculture and, 220; Europeans in, 220, 222; Late Weeden Island ritual gatherings and, 220; map of sites in, 216; seasonal occupation in, 222; St. Johns II period, 221–22; year-round occupation in, 221 modern mean sea level (MSL), 108, 111 Modern vegetation zone map, 6 Moore, Clarence Bloomfield, 205 mosaic model, 65–66, 67 Moss, Madonna, 271 Mount Royal, 221 Mount Taylor period, 207–8, 209; burial mounds in, 211; catchment in, 210; social gathering in, 210–11 MSL. See modern mean sea level Murrells Inlet, 141 NAO. See North Atlantic Oscillation neo-evolution, 272 Nevin site, 53, 55, 59 Newfoundland and Labrador, 7, 9, 263; abandonment of, 22, 23, 29, 33, 34–35; Amerindians and, 26–27, 28, 34; L’Anse Amour Mound site in, 17, 20–21, 51; Archaic period in, 20; Beothuk in, 28–29, 30–32, 35; burial mounds in, 20–21; canoes in, 20; caribou and, 21, 23, 28, 33, 35; climate change and, 32, 33; colonization and, 16, 17, 18, 21, 33; Early Holocene and, 21; Europeans in, 28–32, 35; Funk Island and, 30; Holocene Thermal Maximum and, 19; human-environmental interaction in, 20–23; Innu in, 27; Intermediate Indian tradition in, 23; Inuit and, 27–28; isostatic rebound in, 21, 22; Laurentide Ice Sheet and, 18; LIA in, 20, 27, 28, 36; map of, 17; Maritime Archaic people in, 3, 20–23, 34; maritime resources in, 262; MCA and, 20, 34; Métis people and, 28; Middle Holocene and, 21, 22, 33–34, 262; Paleo-Inuit in, 23–26, 27, 28–29, 34–35; sea level curves in, 19; seals in, 24, 25, 26, 28, 29, 30, 31, 33, 34; SLR in, 22; trade in, 31; whaling in, 30–31 New York Bight, 10, 263; Algonquian people in, 81; Archaic period and, 86–87, 88–89, 93;

Block Island and, 92–93; Boylston Street fish weir site and, 93; canoes in, 93, 94–95; cultivated food and, 90; Dogan Point in, 87–88; Europeans in, 90–91, 93–94, 96; fishing technologies in, 93; floral patterns in, 83; Hammonasset Beach and, 87; human occupation chronology in, 84–91; hunter-gatherers in, 90, 97; intertidal sites and, 88–89; lithic technology and, 85, 87, 88, 89, 90, 96; Little Ice Age and, 99; maize in, 264; map, 82; marine mammal effigies in, 97, 98; maritime cultural landscapes and, 85, 91, 98; modern shore environment, 83–84; native adaptations to, 270; Native Americans in, 81, 90–91, 93–94, 98; North Cove site in, 88; Oaklawn quarry and, 96; Ochee Springs quarry and, 96; Paleoindian occupation and, 85–86; place-names and, 96; Pleistocene-Holocene transition and, 83; Pollen and, 83; RSL in, 82–83; salt marsh herbs in, 84; sea level curves and, 82–83; Shawnee-Minisink site in, 86; shellfish utilization in, 87, 91; shell middens in, 87–88, 90, 91–93, 99; SLR in, 91, 99; trade and, 85, 91, 96; watercraft and waterborne trade in, 94–96; whaling in, 94; Wisconsinan glacier in, 81–82; Woodland period and, 89–91, 93; year-round occupation and, 92, 97–98 NGOM. See Northern Gulf of Maine Nipmuc Nation’s Project Mishoon, 98 Non-deltaic areas, of Georgia coast, 166–67, 175; shell rings and, 173–74 North and South Carolina, 263; barrier islands in, 139, 140, 172, 173–74; Blue Ridge Mountains in, 137; Carolina Slate Belt in, 137; communication networks in, 138; future research and, 152–53; Georgetown County in, 141; Holocene and, 139, 140–41; Horry County in, 141; Late Archaic period and, 142–47, 152–53; Laurentide Ice Sheet and, 141; lithic technology in, 137, 143, 144, 145, 146; map of, 138; Middle Atlantic Bight in, 138; piedmont area in, 137; shellfish exploitation in, 148; shoreline mileage in, 137–38; SLR in Holocene in, 140–41, 147; South Atlantic Bight in, 138; tidal creek habitat in, 139–40; Woodland period in, 147–50, 152–53; year-round settlements in,

Index · 287 144, 145. See also Shell rings, in Late Archaic period, North and South Carolina North Atlantic Oscillation (NAO), 108 North Cove site, 88 Northeast Florida, 253; burial mounds in, 211, 221; canoes in, 207; Cape Canaveral, 200, 201, 204; ceramics and pottery in, 211–12, 213, 215, 219, 220, 221; cyclical gatherings in, 199–200; death rituals in, 205, 219; Europeans in, 220, 222; fisher-gatherer-hunters in, 199; maize in, 220, 222; map of, 202, 216; Middle and Late Holocene, 203, 204; Millennium in Question and, 213–14; Mississippi period and, 216, 220–22; overharvesting in, 224; oysters in, 201; physiography and environmental history of, 201, 203–4; radiocarbon dates in, 200–201; RSL in, 204; shell mounds in, 207–8; SLR in, 223, 224; social vulnerabilities in, 200; St. Johns River in, 199, 200, 203, 204; St. Marys region in, 200, 220; trade and, 213, 215; Woodland period in, 214–19, 220, 221, 224; year-round occupation in, 208, 214, 221, 223. See also Archaic period, northeast Florida Northern Gulf of Maine (NGOM): Bay of Fundy in, 46, 48; canoes in, 51, 53, 55, 64; coastal bedrock in, 46; cod in, 57, 63; cultural connections in, 53; Debert site in, 49, 50; defining, 44; in Early and Middle Archaic period, 50–52, 63; geophysical and climatic record of, 45–48, 47; hunter-gatherers in, 61, 65; interior sites of, 45; in Late Archaic period, 52–53, 59, 63; LIA in, 48; lithic technology and, 53, 62, 65; maize in, 61; map of, 45, 50; marine adaptations in, 51; MCA in, 48, 66; mosaic model in, 65–66, 67; Nevin site in, 53, 55, 59; oyster deposits in, 52; in Paleoindian period, 44, 49–50, 50, 62–63, 67; pine pollen in, 47–48; Pleistocene-Holocene transition and, 50, 66; Protohistoric period and, 45, 62; Quoddy Region in, 48, 56, 57, 62; Richardson’s Rule and, 48; RSL in, 47; Seabrook Marsh in, 53; Seasonal occupation and, 61; SLR in, 46, 51–52, 62, 67; subsistence patterns in, 51, 52, 53; Susquehanna sites and, 54–55, 63–64, 191; swordfish in, 52, 54; in Terminal Late Archaic period, 53–55, 66; tidal amplitude in, 46; trade in, 62; Turner Farm site in, 1, 52–53, 54–55, 59; year-round

occupation in, 60, 61, 64–65; Younger Dryas and, 47, 49. See also Woodland period, Northern Gulf of Maine Optically stimulated luminescence (OSL), 179 Orange period, 209; circular shell rings in, 212–13; fiber-tempered pottery and, 211–12; site types, 212 OSL. See Optically stimulated luminescence Ossabaw Island, 185, 188 Overharvesting, 128, 150–51; in northeast Florida, 224 Oysters: in Chesapeake Bay, 118, 119–20, 121, 122, 126, 127, 264; Eastern oyster fishery, 7; modern management of, 127; NGOM and, 52; in North and South Carolina Woodland period, 148, 149; in Northeast Florida, 201; tidal creek habitat and, 140 Pacific Northwest, 3, 267; ancient plant management practices and, 266 Paleoindian period, 45; Florida Keys and, 245–46; New York Bight and, 85–86; NGOM in, 44, 49–50, 50, 62–63, 67; RSL in, 3; Younger Dryas and, 49 Paleo-Inuit, in Newfoundland and Labrador: Dorset, 24–26, 27, 28–29, 34–35; Groswater Dorset, 24; Pre-Dorset, 23–24 Palmer Hydrological Drought Index (PHDI), 183 Papua New Guinea, 272 Pastore, Ralph T., 16 Patterson Island site, 174 Patuxent River, 116, 117 PHDI. See Palmer Hydrological Drought Index Pig Point site, 117, 119 Pilot’s Point site, 88–89 Pineland Calusa project, 238 Piscataway chiefdom, 125 Plant management practices, 266 Pleistocene-Holocene transition, 18; New York Bight and, 83; NGOM and, 50, 66 Plum Nelly site, 116–17 Pollen, 19, 20, 111, 114, 265; Chesapeake Bay and, 113; in Florida, 203, 266; LIA and, 113; New York Bight and, 83; NGOM and pine, 47–48 Posey site, 124, 125 Potomac River valley, 116, 118, 119, 122, 123, 124–25

288 · Index Potter, Stephen, 116, 125 Poverty Point, 214 Powhatan chiefdom, 125; European colonization and, 124 Protohistoric and Early Colonial period, in Chesapeake Bay: Awapantop site in, 124; Blue Fish site in, 124; Europeans in, 124, 125; Piscataway chiefdom in, 125; Posey site in, 124, 125; Powhatan chiefdom in, 124, 125; White Oak Point in, 124–25 Protohistoric period: NGOM and, 45, 62; SLR in, 62 Quahog clam, 92, 119, 148, 149, 201 Quitmyer, Irvy, 151, 224 Quoddy Region, 48, 56, 62; seals in, 57 Ramsden, Peter, 7 Rankin, Lisa, 7 Rappahannock River valley, 111, 116, 119 Reitz, Elizabeth, 224 Relative sea level (RSL), 107; Fig Island shell ring complex and, 143; for Georgia coast Late Archaic period, 170; Laurentide Ice Sheet and, 3; in New York Bight, 82–83; NGOM and, 47; northeast Florida and, 204; in Paleoindian period, 3 Rhode River sites, 118 Richardson’s Rule, 48 Ritchie, William, 92 Ritchison, Brandon, 188 Robinson, David, 88 Rock mounds: in Florida Keys, 243, 248–49; Key Largo Rock Mound, 248–49 Rolland, Vicki, 221 Roman Empire, 272 Roman Warm Period, 239 Ronald, Nash, 65 Ross Hammock site, 217 Rouse, Irving, 244 Rowley-Conwy, Peter, 271 RSL. See Relative sea level Russo, Michael, 145, 212; on MIQ, 213 Sanger, David, 44, 54, 58–59, 60, 65, 67, 271 Sapelo Island, 173–74 Sassaman, Kenneth E., 7 Saunders, Rebecca, 142, 143, 212, 213 Savage Neck site, 118–19

Scotian Shelf, 44 Seabrook Marsh, 53 Sea level curves, 46, 170; Chesapeake Bay, 110; Florida Keys and, 238; Georgia coast, 167; Gulf of Mexico curve, 204; in Newfoundland and Labrador, 19; New York Bight, 82–83; NGOM, 47 Sea level rise (SLR), 270; activist archeology and, 190, 191; Chesapeake Bay and, 107, 114, 116, 117, 120, 126; climate change and, 152; in Florida Keys, 232, 237–41, 252; Georgia coast and, 166, 167, 167–68, 170, 175, 179, 181, 183; legislation and, 190; in Middle Atlantic, 3, 107, 110; in Middle Atlantic Bight, 139; Newfoundland and, 22; in New York Bight, 91, 99; NGOM and, 46, 51–52, 62, 67; North and South Carolina, in Holocene, 140–41, 147; in northeast Florida, 223, 224; in Protohistoric period, 62; Silver Bluff shoreline and, 166 Seminoles, 266 Sewee Indians, 272; canoes of, 260 Sewee shell ring, 145–46 Shawnee-Minisink site, 86 Shell crescent sites, 172; A. Busch Krick shell crescent, 174 Shellfish utilization: climate change and, 152; Georgia coast and, 174–75, 190; harvesting impact and, 150, 151–52; in New York Bight, 87, 91; North and South Carolina, 148; overharvesting and, 128, 150–51, 224; reproduction and, 151 Shell middens, 1, 8, 269; in Chesapeake Bay, 7, 115, 115, 116, 117, 120, 126; Dogan Point, 87–88; in Everglades, 246; Fairlee Neck Shell Midden, 115, 115, 116; in Florida Keys, 242, 244, 246, 249; Georgia coast and, 172, 176, 180; Little River Neck shell midden, 148–50; in Mill Cove complex, 221; New York Bight, 87–88, 90, 91–93, 99; Savage Neck midden, 118–19; in southern Florida, 239; Spencers Midden, 208; Stock Island Midden, 249; Tuckerton mound, 91–92; Twin Mounds site, 215; Van der Kolk midden, 92 Shell mounds: hunter-gatherers and, 7; Mount Taylor period, 207–8, 209, 210–11; in northeast Florida, 207–8; Orange shell mound, 209, 211; Silver Glen Springs complex, 207, 213; Spanish Mount Point shell mound, 152–53

Index · 289 Shell rings, 3–4; Cannon’s Point Marsh Ring, 173; Georgia coast, 172, 173–74, 176; Grand Shell Ring in St. Johns II period, 221; lithic technology and, 143, 144; Orange period and circular, 212–13; Sewee shell ring, 145–46; single species, 212; St. Johns River, 212, 213, 221 Shell rings, in Late Archaic period, North and South Carolina, 118; Auld Shell Ring, 142; Barrows, 142; ceremonial purpose of, 145, 146; Coosaw Island Shell Ring, 142; Fig Island shell ring complex, 142, 143–44; Lighthouse Point, 142, 144–45; Patent, 142; planning and, 142–43; Sea Pines, 142; Sewee shell ring, 145–46; Skull Creek Shell Ring, 142; Spanish Mount, 142; St. Catherines shell ring, 144; as year-round settlements, 145 Shoreham site, 89 Silver Bluff shoreline, 166 Silver Glen Springs complex, 207, 213 Skiffes Creek site, 119 Sleight, Frederick, 223 SLR. See sea level rise Smith, John, 124 Snyder’s Mound, 222 Sommer, Frank, 244 South Atlantic Bight, 138 South Carolina. See North and South Carolina Spanish Mount Point shell mound, 152–53 Spartina alterniflora, 139, 140 Spencers Midden, 208 Spruce Swamp site, 89 Squires, Karl, 244 Stapor, Frank, 238 Starchy roots, 63, 266 St. Catherines Island, 173, 178, 182; ceramics on, 174; shell rings on, 144, 173; Thomas, D.H.T., on, 7 Steponaitis, Laurie, 116 Stirling, Matthew, 244, 247, 248 St. Johns Check Stamped pottery, 220, 221, 249 St. Johns II period: Grand Shell Ring in, 221; Mill Cove complex, 221; Mount Royal in, 221; Snyder’s Mound, 222; social history in, 221–22; St. Johns Check Stamped pottery and, 220, 221; Thursby Mound, 222 St. Johns I period, 215, 219, 220, 222, 224 St. Johns River, 199, 200, 203; canoes and, 207;

Floridan Aquifer output and, 204; shell rings on, 212, 213, 221; St. Johns Plain pottery, 215; Windover Pond site, 205; Woodland period and, 214–15, 217, 219 St. Marys region, 200, 220 Stock Island Midden, 249 Stony Brook Harbor site, 89 Subsistence technologies, 266–67; social change modeling and, 268. See also specific topics Superstorm Sandy, 99 Susquehanna people, 63, 191; seal hunting of, 64; at Turner Farm site, 54–55 Swift Creek phases, 218, 219 Tanner, William, 238, 241 Ten Thousand Islands, 234, 235, 241, 242 Thomas, David Hurst, 164, 178, 183, 184, 188; St. Catherines Island and, 7 Thompson, Gail, 115, 116 Thompson, Victor, 7, 245 Thom’s Creek ceramics: Fig Island shell ring complex and, 144; Sewee shell ring and, 145–46 Tidal amplitude, 46 Tidal creek habitat, 139; oysters and, 140 Timucuan Ecological Preserve, 208 Tooker, William Wallace, 96 Trade, 3, 260, 272; Chesapeake Bay and, 117, 125; Florida Keys and, 243, 249, 252; fur, 94; in Newfoundland and Labrador, 31; New York Bight and, 85, 91, 96; NGOM and, 62; Northeast Florida and, 213, 215 Transitional period. See Archaic period, Terminal Late Trinkley, Michael, 144–45, 150 Tuck, James, 7, 16 Tuckerton mound, 91–92 Turner, Frederick Jackson, 271 Turner Farm site, 1; invertebrates at, 52–53; Susquehanna at, 54–55; terrestrial mammals at, 59 Upper Matecumbe Key, 244; Clupper site in, 245 Van der Kolk midden, 92 Vaughn, T. Wayland, 235 Verrazzano, Giovanni, 96 Virginia, 128–29

290 · Index Walker, Karen, 7, 238, 241 Waselkov, Gregory, 116 Westerdahl, Christer, 85 Whaling: in Newfoundland and Labrador, 30–31; in New York Bight, 94 Whelk, 149 White Oak Point site: in Early and Middle Woodland period, 116, 118, 119, 123; in Late Woodland period, 122, 123; in Protohistoric and Early Colonial period, 124–25 Wilke, Steve, 115, 116 William, Belcher, 60 Williams, Roger, 96–97 Wilson, E. O., 235 Windover Pond site, 205 Wisconsinan glacier, 81–82 Wollaston Beach, Massachusetts, 97 Woodland period, Early, Georgia coast, 177, 190; archeology in, 175–76; ceramics in, 176, 178–79; environment in, 175; SLR and, 175 Woodland period, Early and Middle, Chesapeake Bay: Great Neck site, 119; Island Field site in, 119–20; Luce Creek site and, 119; oysters in, 118, 119–20, 126; Pig Point site in, 117, 119; Rhode River sites in, 118; Savage Neck site in, 118–19; Skiffes Creek site and, 119; SLR and, 120; subsistence system shift in, 120; terrestrial plant foods and, 119–20; White Oak Point and, 116, 118, 119, 123 Woodland period, Late, Chesapeake Bay, 107, 117; drought and, 121; Great Neck site in, 123–24; Kiskiak site in, 121; long-term, sustainable resource use in, 124, 127; maize in, 121; MCA, LIA in, 120–21; oysters in, 121, 122, 126; pottery styles in, 121; seasonal terrestrial and estuarine resources in, 122; White Oak Point site in, 122, 123 Woodland period, Late, Georgia coast: archeology on, 181–82; ceramics in, 182; environment and, 181; year-round settlement in, 182 Woodland period, Middle, Georgia coast:

archeology in, 179–81; burial mounds in, 180–81; environment and, 179; Hopewell Interaction Sphere and, 179, 181; shell middens and, 180 Woodland period, New York Bight, 89–91, 93 Woodland period, North and South Carolina: Hanover Complex ceramics, 148–49; Little River Neck shell midden (38Hr594) in, 148–50; oysters in, 148, 149; quahog clam and, 148, 149; seasonal resources in, 147–48; SLR in, 147; Spanish Mount Point shell mound in, 152–53 Woodland period, northeast Florida, 216; Black Drink ritual in, 215; Colorinda phase, 219; death rituals in, 219; Greenfield Site No. 5, 217, 219; phases in, 217; Ross Hammock site, 217; St. Johns I sites and, 215, 219, 220, 222, 224; St. Johns River and, 214–15, 217, 219; Swift Creek phases of, 218, 219; Twin Mounds site, 215; year-round resource exploitation in, 214 Woodland period, Northern Gulf of Maine, 45, 54, 62; black soil in, 57, 59–60; Bliss Islands in, 57; canoes in, 64; cod in, 57; economic plant use in, 61; foraging pattern in, 63, 64; horticulture in, 61; porpoises in, 58–59; seals in, 57, 58, 60; seasonal occupation in, 60–61; shellfish in, 56–57, 66, 67; terrestrial mammals in, 59–60 Worth, John, 7 Wrenn, Margaret, 213 Wyman, Jeffries, 205 Year-round occupation, 9; Florida Keys and, 249; Georgia coast and, 168, 172, 182, 184, 188; New York Bight and, 92, 97–98; in NGOM, 60, 61, 64–65; in North and South Carolina, 144, 145; in northeast Florida, 208, 214, 221, 223 Younger Dryas: NGOM and, 47, 49; Paleoindian period and, 49

Society and Ecology in Island and Coastal Archaeology Edited by Victor D. Thompson The settlement and occupation of islands, coastlines, and archipelagoes can be traced deep into the human past. From the voyaging and seafaring peoples of the Oceania to the Mesolithic fisher-hunter-gatherers of coastal Ireland, to coastal salt production among Maya traders, the range of variation found in these societies over time is boundless. Yet, they share a commonality that links them all together—their dependence upon seas, coasts, and estuaries for life and prosperity. Thus, in all these cultures there is a fundamental link between society and the ecology of islands and coasts. Books in this series explore the nature of humanity’s relationship to these environments from a global perspective. Topics in this series would range from edited volumes to single case studies covering the archaeology of initial migrations, seafaring, insularity, trade, societal complexity and collapse, early village life, aquaculture, and historical ecology, among others along islands and coasts. The Powhatan Landscape: An Archaeological History of the Algonquian Chesapeake, by Martin D. Gallivan (2016; first paperback edition, 2018) An Archaeology of Abundance: Reevaluating the Marginality of California’s Islands, edited by Kristina M. Gill, Mikael Fauvelle, and Jon M. Erlandson (2019) The Archaeology of Human-Environmental Dynamics on the North American Atlantic Coast, edited by Leslie Reeder-Myers, John A. Turck, and Torben Rick (2019)