Grandi notizie per ZANBA: il primo lotto di campioni botanici per la mappatura isotopica della Sardegna centrale è in viaggio per Cardiff! Davide ha iniziato nel migliore dei modi il lavoro sul campo, avendo già raccolto i campioni da31 dei 137 punti totali.
Ciascuno dei 137 punti si trova all’interno di una particolare zona litologica, con le zone più grandi rappresentate da un numero maggiore di punti. Il campionamento consiste nel prelevare foglie da alberi e alti arbusti: questi campioni devono, quando possibile, provenire da tre specie diverse situate entro un raggio di 500 metri intorno ad ogni punto. Il prelievo di tre campioni per punto ci consente di eseguire un campionamento omogeneizzato: in questo tipo di campionamento, le foglie dei tre campioni vengono liofilizzate, macinate e accuratamente miscelate per creare un campione di laboratorio tale da rappresentare la variabilità nell’area intorno a ciascun punto. Il campionamento omogeneizzato ci aiuta inoltre a creare un isoscape più rappresentativo, che risulti quindi meno influenzato da eventuali anomalie relative ad uno dei campioni.
I campioni dovrebbero arrivare la prossima settimana: non vedo l’ora di entrare in laboratorio per iniziare a trattarli!
Great news for ZANBA – the first batch of botanical samples for isotope mapping central Sardinia is on its way to Cardiff! Davide has done an impressive job with the fieldwork, already collecting material for 31 of the 137 total points to be sampled.
Each of the 137 points is inside a particular lithological zone, with larger zones being represented by greater numbers of points. When Davide samples, he takes leaves from trees and large bushes: three different plants representing three different species (when possible) located within a 500 meter radius of each point. Taking multiple samples per point allows us to do homogenized sampling. In homogenized sampling, the leaves from the three samples will be freeze-dried, ground up, and carefully mixed to create a laboratory sample that captures the variability in the area around each point. Homogenized sampling helps us create a more representative isoscape – one that’s less negatively affected if any of the plants Davide samples happen to be outliers.
The samples should arrive sometime next week, and I can’t wait to get into the lab to start processing them!
È stata dura far decollare il progetto ZANBA nel bel mezzo di una pandemia, ma sono lieta di annunciare che le cose si stanno finalmente muovendo. È particolarmente emozionante accogliere nella squadra l’archeologo sardo Davide Schirru! La ricerca di Davide si è sinora svolta nell’area dello studio: questa vicinanza gli darà l’opportunità di raccogliere campioni vegetali provenienti da tutta la Sardegna centrale. Davide mi invierà questi campioni all’Università di Cardiff, dove li preparerò e analizzerò per studiarne i rapporti isotopici dello stronzio. Ancora una volta, l’importanza di un networkdi rapporti consolidato è dimostrata dalla sua capacità di rimuovere ostacoli e allo stesso tempo sostenere la nostra resilienza!
La precedente ricerca di Davide si è concentrata sull’archeologia del paesaggio di Sardegna nell’età del Bronzo. L’ottimo stato di conservazione dei paesaggi preistorici della Sardegna offre un’opportunità eccezionale per indagarne i sistemi insediativi e per condurre uno studio approfondito del rapporto uomo-ambiente. Davide è particolarmente interessato allo sviluppo di analisi in ambiente GIS (Geographical Information Systems, Sistemi Informativi Territoriali), così come di analisi statistiche e quantitative delle proprietà spaziali dei paesaggi archeologici, portandolo a sviluppare un parallelo interesse nei linguaggi di scripting e programmazione. Davide sta attualmente completando il suo dottorato di ricerca in archeologia preistorica presso l’Università La Sapienza di Roma.
It’s been tough getting ZANBA off the ground in the middle of a pandemic, but I’m delighted to announce that things are finally moving. It’s especially exciting to welcome Sardinian archaeologist Davide Schirru to the team! Davide’s ongoing research is based in the ZANBA study area, giving him the opportunity to collect plants from across the landscape of central Sardinia. Davide will send these plant samples to Cardiff University, where I will process them and analyze their strontium isotope ratios. Let’s hear it for the incredible power of networks to overcome obstacles and promote resilience!
Davide’s previous research has focused on landscape archaeology in Bronze Age Sardinia. The well-preserved prehistoric landscapes of Sardinia provide an exceptional opportunity to explore settlement systems and conduct a thorough study of the human-environment relationship. Davide is particularly interested in the development of GIS (Geographical Information Systems), statistical, and quantitative analyses of the spatial properties of archaeological landscapes, leading him to develop further interests in scripting and programming languages. Davide is currently completing his PhD in prehistoric archaeology at La Sapienza University of Rome.
This is my first post about my new research project ZANBA: zooarchaeology of the Nuragic Bronze Age. This isn’t the post I expected or wanted to write. But none of us are doing what we expected or wanted right now. Fighting the pandemic is rightly taking precedence over our plans. So these days I’m sitting on my couch or looking out my window at empty parking lots and wondering – how do I “do” archaeology in the Time of Coronavirus?
I expected to be in the field right now, getting ZANBA off the ground: meeting with the Soprintendenza, discussing permits, reestablishing lab access, taking a look at the bags of animal bones I haven’t touched since fall 2018. I was hoping to revisit some of the monuments where I work so I could finish an article that’s 90% written. I was going to see my friends. The trip was going to be low pressure and exciting. It was going to be fun.
Obviously, that trip has been cancelled. I’m still seeing my friends, but it’s for virtual cocktails over Zoom. Our conversations only occasionally touch on work. They focus on concern for each other’s safety and heavy doses of encouragement.
I arrived in Wales to begin my new project in early January, just days before the novel coronavirus was identified. In January, the feeling around me was of an emergency happening somewhere else. In February, the feeling was of a concern that would only seriously affect a few. In March, the feeling went from “this is probably overreacting, but…” to “this is a national health emergency” in a matter of days. On Friday, March 13, my university announced that in-person teaching would end after one more week. The following Monday morning, it announced that in-person teaching would end after Wednesday. By that Monday evening, in-person classes were cancelled and staff were encouraged not to return to the building on Tuesday. The world was changing fast.
The world is changing fast, and it can be hard to grasp what a slow-moving discipline like archaeology has to contribute in a crisis. The logistics of excavation and survey mean it can take years to gather our primary data. The constraints of collaborative research, shared labs, and intermittent funding mean it can be years again before we publish our findings. Most of our work investigates people who died a long time ago. Realistically, should the public care at all right now what the archaeologists have to say?
YES. Archaeologists can answer some of the most important questions people are worried about right now. Not about how to protect ourselves and our loved ones from the virus (stay home, wash your hands!) but about what things might look like after. How do societies respond to crises? How do crises differentially affect cities, towns, and rural settlements? What happens after a crisis? How do societies recover – or not? How long does recovery take?
Archaeologists have experience interpreting a global dataset that stretches back 250,000 years. We’ve studied how a lot of human systems have contracted and collapsed, as well as how they’ve adapted and been reinvented. It may feel like archaeological information can’t be comparable to what we’re going through today – ancient people didn’t have jets and stock exchanges and the internet. But most archaeologists will tell you that the roots of resilience in the past are the same as those in the present: maintaining the flow of accurate information, good decision-making, robust supply chains, and a willingness to do things differently when necessary.
Many archaeologists are trained in an anthropological framework that encourages us to see ancient people as culturally different, but cognitively and biologically the same as we are today. This perspective means that archaeologists can’t fall back on the comforting but false idea that real crises won’t happen to us because we’re too smart, scientifically advanced, or technologically capable. Archaeologists know that ancient people were just as smart as we are, and we’ve seen plenty of evidence that – no matter how smart we are – our human trajectory never goes endlessly up.
But we’ve also seen that dips in human trajectories vary widely in their aftermaths. Sometimes large-scale projects and long-distance communication all but disappear for centuries, but it doesn’t always happen that way. Sometimes people respond quickly and there’s a new period of growth. Sometimes the dissolution of sweeping hierarchies leads to more successful local systems. All kinds of outcomes are possible. Both individual and institutional responses matter, and adaptation is key.
The archaeologist who is my coauthor on the article that’s 90% finished is a specialist in photogrammetry. He’s currently adapting his skills to 3D print face shields for medical workers. We all have skills that can be adapted to the current moment. They may be as simple as the ability to keep ourselves entertained while staying inside, but these skills are saving lives.
We also have skills that will help us adapt to whatever future emerges from the current crisis. None of us knows right now how long this will last or what the long-term effects will be on our social networks, our economies, and our way of life. We’re taking this one day at a time. But as we move forward, consider talking to the archaeologists. Our case studies are different but relevant, and we’re trained to take the long view.
If you’ve ever Googled Sardinian archaeology, you’ve probably run across the idea that Sardinia was Atlantis. The idea is common on the island itself due to a popular work of pseudoarchaeology. The claim that Sardinia was Atlantis has now been picked up by English-language sources, including a recent National Geographic special.
Now there’s pretty much nowhere on earth that someone hasn’t claimed is Atlantis, so in that sense, Sardinia isn’t special. But in case there was any doubt in your mind, in case you thought maybe Sardinia was the one place on earth that really was Atlantis, let me just tell you:
Nevertheless, the idea that Sardinia was Atlantis is persistent, and it’s being actively promoted. There are many problematic layers to this misinformation, one of the most insidious being that it’s being promoted using a lot of gorgeous images of Sardinia’s real archaeology, which is genuinely mind-blowing.
How could you not be impressed by the cultural patrimony of an island that includes literally thousands of towers like Is Paras?
This juxtaposition of archaeological imagery with fantastic claims blurs the lines between reality and fiction and draws people into accepting the misinformation because it appears to be supported by evidence. Unfortunately, like most pseudoarchaeology, the links between the fantastic claim and the real archaeology are cherry-picked and superficial, and the evidence that proves the fantastic claim is wrong is never presented at all.
The claim that Sardinia is Atlantis has been well and thoroughly debunked by many Sardinian archaeologists, historians, and geologists and you can read their Italian-language response here. But if English is your thing, you can also listen to me discuss these issues on the podcast Archaeological Fantasies.
Many thanks to Sara Head, Jeb Card, and Ken Feder – the hosts of Archaeological Fantasies – for having me on the show! You can check out Ken’s work on frauds and myths in archaeology here and here, and Jeb’s work on pseudoarchaeology here.
It’s been a busy few months! I just wrapped up teaching an intense semester, and I have one day to pack and prep my apartment before I leave for the holidays and – immediately afterward – a month-long research trip to Paris. I plan to be blogging again soon, but in the meantime, I had the pleasure of being a guest on Paul Sutter‘s podcast Space Radio. Paul Sutter is an astrophysicist at The Ohio State University and a brilliant science communicator (definitely check out his new book if you’re interested in astronomy). He asked me to join him on Space Radio to explore how ancient cultures understood astronomy.
Yesterday was my first day back in the deposito, and I was delighted to find it in great shape: everything where I left it, the electronic equipment still working, no mold anywhere. There was barely a spider that had set up a web among the bags of pottery. While I’ve been away, the Comune even came and attached the plumbing, so whereas last year we constantly carried equipment to an outdoor tap to wash it, this year I have a functioning sink right in the lab. (Tante grazie al Comune di Siddi!)
There was one negative surprise, however. It turns out that the bones I was convinced were stored in the deposito are currently housed in a museum in another town about 5 km away. These bones are, of course, precisely the materials I came here to study.
It isn’t a major problem, and if it’s the worst thing that happens during the study, I’ll be in great shape. Still, archaeology is surrounded by bureaucracy in almost any country, and Italy is not an exception. Taking those four crates of bones, putting them in a vehicle, and driving them 5 km to the deposito will take days. There will be permit applications, calls to the Soprintendenza, organizing a day when we can use the Comune’s truck…
So when a friend asked me if I wanted to spend this morning helping him harvest his vineyard, I said sure!
I got up at 6am and dressed for fieldwork – my Northface pants, a long-sleeved shirt with a high spf rating, hiking boots, work gloves, sunscreen, a hat. Then we drove to the vineyard – a short distance outside the town – where we met five friends who were also lending a hand.
It’s a small vineyard divided between two Sardinian grapes – bovale and monica – with a row of table grapes as well. We started with the bovale, which was difficult to harvest. The grapes are small and the clusters grow in tangles with themselves, the branches of the vine, the wire trellises the vines are tied to, really anything they can wrap a tendril around. It was hard work just figuring out where to cut, and even then we had to untangle the grapes before they would fall into our large plastic baskets.
The monica was simpler. The grapes are slightly larger and the clusters tend to hang down one by one. It was easier to see the stems, to insert our shears among the leaves and branches, to gather the clusters once they were cut. All in all, the seven of us made short work of the harvest. We finished before 9am, when the air was still too cool for the wasps to come out, but late enough that we could tell today was going to break 37°C (100°F) again. Another hot day in a series of hot days in a series of dry weeks stretching back for months. The effect of the drought was clearly visible in the grapes, some of which appeared to be drying on the vine before they had even fully ripened.
The wine production takes places in my friend’s garage, and the first step was to turn our fresh grapes into must. We slowly poured each basket into an electric crusher, which spat out the stems – or most of them – and dropped the juice and crushed grapes into large plastic vats below. At the end, the vat of bovale was knee-high, and the vat of monica was only slightly lower. They told me it wasn’t much this year because of the drought, but it still looked impressive to me.
The must has to stand for a week to let the fermentation begin. We’ll go stir it a few times, then press it and bottle it. It seems almost too simple to result in the excellent wine I’m used to drinking at my friend’s table.
“È tutto?” I ask in some disbelief.
“È tutto,” they assure me.
We can’t resist tasting our work before we go. There’s a fine screen we press down on the must to let just the juice through, then we scoop up the juice in a plastic cup. Both are delicious. The bovale is intensely sweet and rich tasting, the monica slightly less sweet with a flavor closer to table grapes. Some complain that it’s too sweet, but it seems the intense sugar is expected in a drought year. Drought years produce little wine, they tell me, but the wine you get is very good. I’ll have to return next summer and see.