Beyond Stone and Mortar

Preserving Indigenous presence within ancestral landscapes.

BY LYLE BALENQUAH

In the old days, I built a home myself. At that time there were no cinder blocks. We got everything from Mother Earth. Beams, stone, and clay — all these we gathered from her.

— Third Mesa Hopi Sand Clan Man

The following describes conservation projects that occurred at two Ancestral Pueblo sites located in southeastern Utah: River House, also known as Snake House, located along the San Juan River, and another site located in the general vicinity of the Bears Ears. This work occurred over three months, from May through July 2021, during five 8-day field sessions. These projects are the result of collaborative partnerships between federal agencies, archaeological consultants, and the nonprofit organization Friends of Cedar Mesa. The World Monuments Fund provided the financial backing for this work and we are grateful for that support. Partners involved in these current efforts include the United States Bureau of Land Management, the United States Forest Service, and the Ancestral Lands Conservation Corps, which sent Crew 640 and Crew 642 from Zuni Pueblo and Crew 613 from Albuquerque. The opinions and viewpoints expressed herein are strictly mine, based on my own experiences and observations as a member of the field crew, as well as my perspective as a Hopi archaeologist.

Cedar Mesa, Bears Ears National Monument. BOB WICK, BUREAU OF LAND MANAGEMENT

I’m lying in my tent in the predawn hours waiting for the signal for our day to begin. The birds are making their presence known, and during this time of the year they never seem to sleep, spinning off a repertoire of songs and calls throughout the night. However, that is not the sound I am waiting for. Off in the not-too-far distance, a sudden wave of laughter and voices announces that other crew members are up and about.

Soon enough, we all gather together to engage in the only formal ritual of the day. We are a small group, comprised of archaeologists, nonprofit staff, and the all-Indigenous Ancestral Lands Conservation Corps crew members who lead us through a set of stretching exercises and safety talk. This is their daily routine and we “professionals” have happily incorporated it into our own.

We will spend the entire day working in whatever elements the weather gods bring us — hot temperatures (well over 100 degrees some days), high winds (one of the Zuni crew remarked that a ceremony being held back at home was the cause) — and as the summer season progressed, we were blessed almost daily with the sight, sound, and smell of thunder, lightning, and monsoon rains moving in and through the canyon walls.

The work we are here to do goes by various names — stabilization, preservation, conservation — and I won’t try to differentiate among them as they have similar goals. When questioned by a sunblasted visitor to the site about the work, our rehearsed response would go something like this:

“We are actively working to conserve this site, which means we are filling cracks, voids, and other deteriorated sections of walls and architectural spaces with new mortar and stones. We are also building small sections of dry-laid masonry to buttress existing walls and, in some cases, to act as barriers to prevent access to fragile areas. We also backfill some room interiors with new soil material to protect intact, original floor deposits that are being exposed by natural erosion, but mostly by visitor traffic. By no means should any of this be considered ‘reconstruction’ of any portion of the site. We only work on what is deemed necessary and use materials that are similar to or compatible with what the original builders used.”

Conservation work at River House. LYLE BALENQUAH

We usually repeat some version of this at least a dozen times a day for visitors. For many of them, this is their first time interacting with actual Indigenous people. The Ancestral Lands Conservation Corps crew seizes this opportunity, sharing stories, posing for photos, and providing much-needed firsthand cultural education on the Indigenous connections that still remain with places like River House. This image is significant: Indigenous people caring for and preserving their own cultural histories on their own ancestral lands. This is an important precedent that must be implemented in other areas of cultural and natural resource management on all “public” lands, not just within the Bears Ears.

The conservation work is in direct response to increased visitation and impacts that many ancestral sites are experiencing within the Bears Ears region. Sites that were relatively unknown until recently now experience a steady influx of tourists year-round. The federal Bureau of Land Management estimates that 20,000 visitors walk through, over, and under the walls of River House annually. What once was a site only really accessible to river runners now has visitors accessing it from all sides, by river, hiking trails, and off-road vehicles and other motorized traffic.

As I work on the site and experience the incoming barrage of visitors, I often wonder if this place ever gets any peace and quiet. One only needs to spend a day at River House during peak tourist season to witness the impact of visitation. The grind of Vibram-soled shoes wears down the sandstone bedrock, shuffling feet kick walls, knocking stones loose, and oily spots on masonry walls show where thousands of visitors’ hands have reached for a hold. We caution some who lean on walls or try to climb into areas that are closed off, although the majority are respectful of these places and of our work. We encourage them to “Speak softly, tread lightly, and show much respect to the Indigenous presence.”

Both of the sites we worked on this summer have undergone previous archaeological excavations and stabilization work in the past, most notably in the 1970s and 80s. These initial efforts helped keep these structures upright, preserving portions of the original architecture and construction materials that are important elements of the sites’ overall integrity. Nonetheless, over 40 years have elapsed since these sites have received any conservation work. They need not only a minimal amount of treatment, but also updated condition assessments of the sites and the immediate surroundings.

This conservation work does not happen without a great deal of planning and outreach with numerous stakeholders. Formal government-to-government consultation occurs between federal agencies and tribes, through a process meant to inform tribal leadership and staff and gather any concerns or input. It is during this phase that federal land managers will learn about and need to consider tribal perspectives regarding the protection and preservation of Indigenous cultural history, including ancestral architecture.

TIM PETERSON

One Hopi perspective believes that our ancestral Hopi homes should be left to deteriorate through a natural process, eroding down to mounds of rubble and soil. This perspective acknowledges their unique “life cycle,” being borne of the earth, providing shelter for their human occupants, and then once their purpose is complete, allowed to gradually be reclaimed back into the earth. Yet even in their deteriorated conditions, these ancient homes and places of worship continue to serve as holy ground, where the spirits of ancestors dwell. With this Hopi perspective in mind, is there a way to reach a suitable compromise in preservation work?

To answer this question, I must look to other teachings from Hopi culture that state these sites are referred to as the “footprints” of the ancestors, physical proof of previous generations occupying vast tracts of the American Southwest and beyond. Included in this ideology of “footprints” is the material culture of Hopi ancestors: the villages, ceramics, lithics and ground stones (stone tools), textiles, and burials. 

River House is one example of how Hopi oral histories contain the memories and essence of Hopi ancestors. It is known in the Hopi language as Tsu’ki (Snake House) and received this name due to the presence of a large snake pictograph painted prominently along the back of the alcove wall. Some Hopi believe this is the setting for a well-known oral history that originates with the Snake Clan about a Hopi ancestor who was the first individual to raft what are now the San Juan and Colorado rivers. This is a uniquely Hopi story that belongs to the Snake Clan and their descendants, one that is reinforced through visitation of ancestral sites and experiencing the landscapes they are found on. 

The large snake pictograph at River House. TIM PETERSON

In addition, these projects increase the participation of Indigenous people in fieldwork that actively preserves aspects of their own cultural histories. One of the more meaningful experiences was working alongside other Indigenous individuals, teaching them preservation skills, introducing them to archaeological perspectives and the possibility of pursing this work as a future career. There was also much cross-cultural sharing among us, and we learned to appreciate the various tribal perspectives on these ancestral landscapes. The work we accomplished this past year enabled more than preservation of these unique structures; it also enabled the Indigenous crew members to reconnect with lands that have always been Indigenous lands. 

At the heart of this conservation work lies an inherent act of respect: maintaining our living culture, while honoring our ancestors of a long ago era. Today when a Hopi person visits ancestral villages, we don’t simply see the remnants of a bygone era, we see reflections of who we once were and what we have now become. We witness the artistic and technical accomplishments of Hopi ancestors, but we recall the spiritual accomplishments of our ancestors as well. 

The conservation process seeks to achieve not just practical goals of mitigating visitor impacts, but also to grant future generations of Hopi people the opportunity to follow their ancestors’ footprints across the landscape. We owe it to our ancestors who originally built and inhabited these places to respect their efforts, and therefore we must strive to present the truest form of their hard work and dedication. For if not by us, the people charged with their care, the Indigenous cultural preservationists, then by whom?

Lyle Balenquah works as an archaeologist and outdoor guide throughout the Southwest. Follow his work online at fte-studio.com.

EDITOR'S NOTE: The views expressed by Advocate contributors are solely their own and do not necessarily represent the views of the Grand Canyon Trust.