Petroglyphs. What Do They Really Say?
Posted: Friday, August 19, 2011
by Octavia Hansen
Octavia Hansen
Across the Southwest United States, in canyons, among the rocks, on a lot of surfaces yet readable after thousands of years, indigenous people left marks labeled by paleontologists and anthropologists as petroglyphs. Some anthropologists think it had to do with the sun and stars, the moon, religious rites, or marking of the seasons. When life depended on the rain, the sun, migration of animals, planting and harvest, signs were not just decorative but necessary to survival.
The medium could sometimes be a problem. Without a telephone ringing or emails to spread the news, communication was limited to the elements at hand. Writing in the sand was good until a strong wind kicked up or some one or animal walked across it; smoke signals depended on something to burn and a calm enough day to catch the meaning of a cloud that was man-made -- sharp eyes were needed for this and more. There has always been graffiti, everyone wants to leave a mark, to be remembered. If it was written thousands of years ago, it's considered history; anything more recent is vandalism.
Caves in France from pre-historic times not only count the kills by the brave, stained permanently upon the walls to impress the ladies, but also a few miscellaneous hand prints. Artist's signature? Kids getting into dad's paints? In present day and more locally there are tunnels and overpasses proclaiming someone's undying love or possible parentage in the medium of spray paint or markers, from people seeking recognition, maybe a laugh, getting that all important social message to the masses.
To narrow the communication field, there are a lot of things that petroglyphs are NOT saying. Household chores were minimal, yard work wasn't part of the weekend, no game to watch, and peeking into a neighbors cave could cost you an eye, a goat or your life. But these pictographs can still have something to say, such as:
The lady of the cave's shopping list: Bring home a deer, a goat and a skin of water. Mother's coming.
With the return of the herds after the summer solstice: We're killing a cow, come by for the feast . . . and I have five eligible daughters.
Or the gripe of an wronged friend: Mr Long Bow does not pay his debts. He owes me a calf!
A social event under next month's full moon: Hand shadow entertainment by campfire light. Bring your own snacks.
A Winter's get together: Dance at the solstice bon fire, bring something to burn. Don't bring the kids.
Animal lover's special: New kittens, free to a good home. Good mousers. Great for snacks.
When the herd migrated and you had to follow: Moving sale. Every rock must go.
Even then, there were neighbors with noisy animals: Dogs shall not bark when the bright yellow disk comes up . . . or lunch will be early.
And perhaps a cautionary tale: After a recent hunting accident, Smiling Face will now be known as Lefty.
Not everything handed down through the millennium is profound wisdom or a religious rite.
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)I love it! "Smiling face will now be known as Lefty". You kill me. I think maybe the guy who could draw the best slipped in his own agenda. I agree with you. This is great stuff!
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