Dance of the Hummingbirds

unknown

ONE

American Southwest

Circa 1000 A.D.

A keening wail jostled Kai’s sleepy brain. Grief sliced the darkness. Summoning. Insisting. Demanding. Now, wracking sobs fill the earthen lodge and the young girl’s heart wrenches open, its molten fluid drenching her with sweat. Realization begins its doleful dirge upon her senses.

Wresting herself from her cozy nest she heard a whisper, Now, is the time. With vaporous senses propelling sluggish limbs, she repeated the murky words, questioning their truth. Gingerly placing one foot and then the other until still bent, still wobbling on legs refusing to wake, she reached the doeskin cover draped at the portal of her lodge. She tugged at the soft shroud shielding the family from the morning mist and an ethereal light entered, reverently.

The fire pit’s haze obscured her clarity, but Kai sensed the gently rocking shadows in the corner of their temporary mountain lodge – the corner where her grandmother slept. Yes, the time had come, it was now, and that all too familiar ache resumed its dull gnaw in the pit of her soul.

Grief began to wend its constricting tendrils through Kai’s heart nearly ten moons ago. It was then she had first noticed the ebb of her grandmother’s robust essence. Like the ancient saguaros that stood sentinel above the desert floor, her proud posture drooped, inching steadily toward the earth from which it had sprung. Keen eyes clouded with the rheum of age still sought Kai, but a sense of urgency had crept into the old woman’s teachings. It became difficult for Kai to concentrate on her grandmother’s words while a beautiful flower withered before her eyes.

Called Great Woman by the People, Grandmother’s patience and wise counsel had been a gift from the gods during the turmoil of the untimely death of the Siwan. It was rare for a female to become village leader, but the People had come to love this woman who stood so strongly beside her husband while he made the grave decisions upon which their survival depended.

When the Siwan fell victim to an errant arrow while hunting mule deer in the nearby mountains, the village was in the midst of a massive irrigation project. The project was his brainchild. It had taken every bit of his skill as a negotiator and compromiser to rally the People. If his idea were to work, every family must help to dig the canals that liberated the water from the river. It was a grueling commitment he finally extracted from the People, and he might not have accomplished such a lofty goal without the help of his wife. The idle conversations that took place among the women as they went about their daily chores became purposeful for the Siwan’s woman. She skillfully kept her husband’s goal at the forefront of the chatter fomenting positive aspects of the project which the women took home to their husbands.

Change is never easy, but now the little rivers meandered freely through the desert, drawing life blood from their mother nourishing the fields of corn, beans, squash, and agave. It was because of the Siwan, Kai’s grandfather, that the People were able to finally give up their nomadic lives and settle down to raise their children in a place where the food supply would be stable.

Your grandfather labored right beside his people to bring the water to the seeds. Kai’s grandmother pointed to the corner of the covered courtyard where they were grinding corn on large flat stones, "His digging stick, shaped by his own hand, reminds us of the hard work it took to bring the water to the desert.

There were many who argued about who should control the water when your grandfather left us behind. There are always people who can’t work, or won’t work, but they still need to eat. I listened to the People and we made a plan that pleased everyone."

Not Istaqa, Kai whispered furtively. She looked around to be sure the shaman wasn’t lurking at the edge of the women’s work area as he often did.

No, not Istaqa, Grandmother submitted with a sigh.

The question of who would lead them nearly fractured the village. And it was Istaqa who goaded the small group that was most vehemently opposed to the Siwan’s woman. Always a contrary force, he could be persuasive because of his position as the spiritual leader of the People. The shaman continually argued that although some of their neighbors allowed it, the People had never been led by a woman. Such an abomination, he argued, would most certainly bring the wrath of the gods.

Our traditions – the ways of our elders – must always be respected, he cautioned. The old ways have always worked for us. Why would we risk offending the spirits who watch over us?

As their shaman, Istaqa was the spiritual leader of the village, but the whining man with the craggy visage often went unheeded. He was tolerated only because the People had loved Istaqa’s father, a great shaman. Taught the secrets of the special herbs by his father, Istaqa had become a fair healer. He knew the plants that worked best for curing most of the common ailments, but his prophetic visions were frequently met with skepticism. The villagers knew he smoked the peyote alone in his lodge, and hoarded more of the sacred mushrooms than was necessary to aid his journeys into the spirit world.

Istaqa argued futilely that in many villages the chief and the shaman were the same man. In the end he was outnumbered by the villagers who respected the ways of the Siwan and his woman, and reluctantly Istaqa gave up his quest to be leader, but not his thirst for power. That, he indulged secretly. Patiently he waited for the life breath of the Great Woman to cease. It was then that he would seize his due.

From the day of Kai’s birth, the Great Woman had another plan. She groomed her granddaughter to lead the People and persuaded the Council of Elders that although young, and a woman, Kai was the one best suited to lead the People upon her death.

She is bright. See how quickly she learns. But, above all Kai possesses a knowing that can never be taught, counseled the Great Woman. Watch how the other children observe her and follow her example. Kai was born with the ability to lead us and I urge you to name her my successor.

Pleased with the governance of their leader, the Elders eventually acceded to the Great Woman’s wishes and at a very young age Kai was ordained the future leader of her People.

It was at the first inkling that her grandmother’s life was coming to an end, when the tendrils of anguish began to strangle Kai’s heart, that she knew it was time. Steeling herself to be the woman she was still yet becoming, Kai began to stand taller, walk more slowly, speak more restrainedly, and listen more carefully to the daily conversations of her people as they went about their tasks. Her new demeanor worked subtly. Gradually she noticed the People according her the respect they reserved only for their leader. With growing confidence, she bolstered the nerve to seek out Istaqa for advice on a subject that had been gnawing at her.

Istaqa was asleep in his lodge. It was the middle of the day and most of the People were away from the central courtyard maintaining the little rivers or tending to the harvest. The shaman depended on others to provide his food. His position as spiritual leader, and his physical infirmity, demanded it. As he went about his business outside of his lodge he leaned heavily on a stick, the rib of a strong saguaro, to aid a mutilated leg. His head hung over his shoulder to the left, a habit born of futiley trying to obscure the pitted, scarred remains of his cheek.

Many years ago the young Istaqa had wandered alone into the desert foraging for curing herbs to replenish his father’s cache. It was a hungry time for the animals, as it was for the People, and Istaqa was small for his age. His basket was nearly full of Larrea which would make some nice teas. He thought about his father and how proud he would be when he came back with such tender leaves. It was in the midst of his reverie that a pack of coyotes attacked the youngster. Only through the miracle of his father’s knowledge of medicine and his quick response to the damaged boy who staggered drunkenly toward the central courtyard that Istaqa survived. The many days when Istaqa’s life hung precariously between the two worlds were abysmal. The People loved the great shaman and his little son. While the People prayed, the shaman journeyed many times to the spirit world to seek advice.

In the old days when the People were still wandering the desert, no prayers or efforts of spiritual intervention would have been used to save Istaqa’s life. The small boy would have simply been meted a morsel of meat and a gourd of water and abandoned to the mercy of the great Earth Mother. It was not that the hearts of the People were hard; they loved their families and the members of their band. But they knew. They knew that such deeds were necessary for the survival of the People. A less than perfect child could mean death for the entire band, and though it was a grievous choice, they understood that nature was often merciless.

With the prayers and medicines of his people, Istaqa somehow survived the attack, but the carefree boy who had been a constant companion to his father on desert ventures to seek the precious healing herbs, the child who so eagerly embraced his father’s art and reveled in his affection, did not. Kai cautiously approached the lodge of a very bitter man. Sadly, Istaqa would never be loved by the People as his father was. Instead he was pitied. But he was also feared. No matter the man, the mysterious nature of his power commanded respect.

Kai waited cautiously as the frowning shaman limped from his lodge and stretched his lazy limbs. The stink of him assaulted her. She instinctively started to turn her head aside, but stopped herself not wanting to insult the man.

I’ve come to seek your advice, Istaqa, she began, standing up tall to bolster her confidence.

And what is it you need to know so urgently you would interrupt my communion with the spirits? The old man sniffed haughtily and looked down at her with disdain.

Kai was working diligently to command the respect of the villagers, but knew she may never be able to surmount Istaqa’s contempt. It was he alone who dissented when the decision was made to accept Kai as the Great Woman’s successor. He had ranted and raved, threatened the calamity of the gods, and finally stalked off to his lodge where he’d remained unseen for days.

As you know, Grandmother has become very frail, she continued despite the battle of wills manifesting between the two of them. I don’t think she can endure the trek up the mountain this year, so I would like to propose that we don’t make the journey this year.

There it was said, she thought.

Approaching the shaman with her concern had been a great test for Kai. Istaqa often advised the Great Woman when a decision of great importance must be made, but Kai feared him. Even though she was the next leader of the People, Istaqa always spoke to her with condescension. Now, his distorted visage became stormy and his good eye narrowed, piercing her self-confidence.

You are a foolish little girl coming to me with this. The Great Woman will never agree to abandon the mountain journey.

Goaded at being called a foolish girl, Kai set her chin higher and looked directly into his eye.

Istaqa, you yourself have predicted a good year for the People. The crops have been watered well by the rains and the little rivers. They have grown lush and the corn is tall. We will have a bountiful harvest.

Swallowing hard to contain her anger, Kai continued. Rabbit, javelina, and even the deer have been plentiful. Must we risk Grandmother’s already declining health? We certainly can’t leave her behind. None of her closest family would be here to care for her if her time comes while we are on the mountain?

Kai, Kai, Kai. Istaqa’s face now softened and his voice became fatherly. He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder, but Kai stepped back out of his reach.

Now glowering, Istaqa continued, The journey is part of our tradition, my young girl. As with all things – it is a beat in life’s rhythm. The Great Spirit who grants us our every breath expects us to come closer to him as the days grow longer. It is not only to gather berries and nuts that we go. It is also our time to contemplate the greatness of the Great Spirit’s creation.

Kai shifted from one foot to the other as he continued his lecture but kept her attention fixed firmly on her nemesis.

The Great Woman will never agree to your plan. No one person can set themselves above earth’s order. If during the journey her life is finished then it is what the Great Spirit deigned. It’s a part of the rhythm, and without the rhythm, there is no song.

Despite being called ‘young girl,’ Kai continued to model her mental image of Grandmother’s discussions with Istaqa, and she thought she was holding her own.

Your counsel is appreciated, she nodded. I value your advice, but I will bring my concern to grandmother’s attention.

Her confidence was growing, but she inside felt like a child as she left Istaqa’s lodge and walked slowly toward the family courtyard.

Rhythm, songs, drums. That’s all he thinks about, thought Kai. Ok, so my first attempt at leading the People failed. He’s right. I don’t want to anger the Great Spirit. If Grandmother thinks the journey is unnecessary, she will realize it herself.

Although she’d failed to discourage the journey, Kai’s spirits lifted. She had faced her fears and held a grown-up discussion with Istaqa. Young as she was, she understood the consequences her decisions would have and she would never make them lightly. Grandmother always sought counsel. She must too, even if the advisor was Istaqa.

Grandmother insisted on leading the People once again up the mountain slopes for the summer forage. She would not be carried. She would not ride a travois. She walked at the head of the file as she always did when they started out. The Great Woman was not yet ready to give up, but the trek took its toll. Step by step Kai watched her grandmother struggle for breath, then stop, waving them on ahead.

A small contingent from the village, made the journey each year. Not everyone in the village came along because there were still summer crops to plant and the little rivers to maintain. But, the families with the highest status always joined the Great Woman and the other members of Kai’s family.

I’ll catch up, said the Great Woman. I just need to rest a bit.

The group continued up the slope, but slowly, very slowly. Grandmother could never catch up to them, but they would never think of abandoning her as was the practice with some villages. When survival of the many means the loss of one, it makes it bearable to trek on, leaving the elders to die naturally. But this was not the way of Kai’s people. Because of the Great Woman’s wise leadership the village had never suffered hunger. She would be lovingly cared for until she breathed her last breath.

Following her instructions the small group continued slowly ahead, but stopped to wait once they were out of her sight. The Great Woman would finally catch up accompanied by Kai who was always by her side, patiently respecting her stubborn independence, but quick to help when she needed an arm to lean on.

The twosome had been inseparable companions for fifteen years. Her grandmother had never left Kai’s side from the moment she first screamed her arrival on the earth. Nurturing, guiding, teaching, her grandmother raised Kai as she did her own children with love and a sense of duty to the village. Kai’s mother died while giving her life; her father was lost to a hunting accident before her birth. Kai’s grandmother often t5old her it was best her mother had gone to find her father. Their love was so great; she would have never been a happy woman living in this world while her husband wandered alone in the other.

Now the tables had turned and it was Kai’s turn to keep vigil, but watching her grandmother’s tottering footfalls was excruciating. Kai felt her very essence derived from this great and kind woman.

I’m fine. Fine. You don’t have to coddle me like a child, Kai. You should be up ahead with the rest. They won’t know the way. You must lead them.

Kai smiled and thought to herself. They won’t know the way? They’ve been coming to these same seasonal grounds for generations. Each one of them could find their way walking with their eyes closed if necessary.

But, it was Grandmother’s role to lead the way.

No, I’ll have no trouble leading the way up the mountain. It’s the myriad other obligations that concerns me, thought Kai.She furrowed her small brow as she thought about the great role she would soon assume.

Grandmother could always tell when Kai was worried. If you always frown when you’re thinking, those two little lines will etch themselves permanently between your pretty black eyes. Grandmother smiled as she chided Kai. She knew the weight of the world was about to descend on the lithe beauty and there was nothing to be done about it. She used the words she always did to bolster Kai, to raise her flagging spirits.

"Remember to be patient with the People, Kai. Sometimes they’re like little children and must be gently guided, and reprimanded if necessary, to maintain the order of the village. Always listen carefully before you decide. And listening means being attentive to actions as well as the words. Many times a person’s actions will tell their story more clearly."

Kai had heard the same words over and over, but Grandmother was trying to embolden her by reminding her of what she already knew. She was reinforcing the knowledge to ensure their survival as a People. Kai listened.

The young woman was fully prepared to assume the role of village leader. Grandmother had been instructing her even before she had thoughts. But, how could she prepare herself for Grandmother’s death; for that time when Grandmother’s earthly role was complete and she left them all behind to meet the Great Spirit?

"Nooo! Fully awake now, Kai’s heart cried out and grief overwhelmed her. Not yet! Don’t leave me yet!"

Kai looked around for evidence that she wasn’t the only one who had succumbed to sleep during the watch. Her brother Ahote barely stirred on his palette. Another movement. Kai watched her older brother, Chuchip amble quickly toward the far corner of the lodge. The only sound now was the low moaning and sobbing of Aponi, sister to Kai's mother.

Eeeeaahhh. The mournful wail again. Slowly the keening spread anguish through the lodge, but more softly this time. Everyone was stirring now. Everyone except Grandmother, the Great Woman, Kai’s companion and mentor. She was still, peaceful. The long and difficult journey was now complete.

Stumbling from her palette Kai dropped to her knees, the ache in her heart tearing her apart.

Oh, Great Spirit, she prayed. Oh, dear Grandmother. Help me. Guide me. Don’t leave me yet, I’m not ready. How can I do this grand and wondrous thing you ask? I’m only me ― Kai. With those words her heart succumbed to grief and silent sobs wracked her small body.

Through the fog of misery, Grandmother’s spirit began to prod her. It’s time for you to be strong Kai. Your family needs you. The People need you. I am here within you now. The time has come for you to lead them. You must be strong now, for them. You are Kai – the willow. One who may bend in the wind, but will never break.

Kai looked around at her family gathered near Grandmother’s body and she stood. Her posture became erect and her eyes cleared. She walked slowly, purposefully toward her grieving kin. She whispered words of comfort as she hugged and touched each one. She was their leader now and her own sorrow must be put aside. Kai was no longer little Kai. She was now Great Woman and the People needed her.

TWO

Tucson Arizona

Present Day

Lillie sniffed the air. The smell of burning mesquite was powerful; its acrid pungency crept into her nose stinging her throat. She coughed and swallowed, then looked around expecting to see a homeless camper. No one. She was completely alone. Her heart began its familiar ache, a hollow sensation like the pain of grieving. The physical response always followed the smell of the smoke.

Shrugging it off, she returned to her task, carefully shaving the layers of soil with her trowel. Every once in a while Lillie was surprised by a lonely soul who happened by to check on her progress, or one merely seeking a secluded refuge to sleep off a drunk. The place was occasionally frequented by the city’s homeless, if by anyone at all. She usually felt safe working alone, but one could never be sure. As she worked, her thoughts wandered to the eviction of a nearby homeless camp several years ago. Originally a gathering place for the city’s down-and-out, the camp had grown to small town proportions at the base of Sentinel Peak – ‘A’ Mountain the locals called it. When neighbors began to complain that contemptible behavior was seeping from the confines of the tent commune, and human feces turned up in a taxpayer’s front yard, the camp had to go.

Piles of debris still remained from the eviction. The campers had dispersed all over the city ― under the bridges and along the dry river beds. The bitter cold of less favorable climates drove many of the country’s destitute to Tucson for the winter months, so the weeks after Christmas were especially rife with nomadic populations. Finding nowhere else to sleep, occasionally a camper would return to their former haunt, and Lillie would see, or smell, the small fires they made to cook a can of beans or to keep warm. But, not this time. The reek of smoke and the accompanying heat that seared her cheeks was a phantom sensation. It was not, however, a phenomenon she was a stranger to.

On her knees, Lillie continued scraping at the earth in the corner of a unit. She was excavating an ancient Hohokam site located along the Santa Cruz River. Earlier she had laid out the grid, mapping the area into one meter square units using spikes and strings. This particular unit was nearest to the river where she had found a concentration of artifacts during her surface collection. An unnatural decline closer to the river also piqued her interest.

This corner shows some promise, she had decided earlier. She plunked her bucket down, reached into her back right jeans pocket for her trowel, and started to work.

It was precise work. After clearing away some sparsely scattered brittle bush and chapparel, she slid her sharpened trowel across the surface soil shaving grains of sand. Every centimeter could hold a clue, and every exhumed level of earth was documented. A fragment of bone, remnant of a centuries-old dining experience, a coquina shell separated from an ancient necklace gifted by a lover – any bit could prove to be the key to an ancient puzzle. She was meticulous.

All around, the morning silence swaddled her as she worked. Too early for the swarm of traffic that would soon begin its drone. It was Sunday. Today, the whirr of motorized madness would begin later than usual. The sun began its ascent, radiating the divine delight of early morning and the mountains awoke. A gila woodpecker perched atop a saguaro. She was divining the expediency of this lone giant. Would it be a safe haven for her family? She hailed her mate, then swooped off down the roller coaster skyway to tell him of her decision.

Cool air spiked Lillie’s spirit and the smell of larrea wafted over her. Its scent was strongest in the early hours or just after a rain. The plant’s pungency spoke to her, reminding her that she, too, was part of the story – a tiny but integral particle in the vast cosmos.

This day held yet another promise of discovery for Lillie. To her, every day held such a promise. She was one of those few who perceived life in this way – one discovery after another. Blessed with an incomparable curiosity and a powerful desire to find the elusive answers to life’s big questions, Lillie started early every day. Life was a magnificent treasure hunt and today was no exception. She was already two hours into her thoughts and work by the time Al arrived. Al was one of Lillie’s volunteers.

Hey, gal! Find an answer to any of those grand questions yet this mornin’?

Al’s raspy voice shook Lillie from her thoughts and she waved a good morning.

"Nope, a few flakes. Some bones. Probably a rodent who decided to make its home in the loose soil. And a potsherd – red on buff – definitely Hohokam. Nothing exciting yet, but we’ll take everything back to the lab.

Hey Al, do you smell smoke? Like a campfire or something?" Lillie flipped up the brim of her hat, looking askance through round blue orbs.

God, she’s beautiful, thought Al. With those long limbs and knock-‘em dead smile, she should be a model. Why she spends her life muckin’ around here in the dirt is pure mystery to me.

Lillie did not see herself as beautiful, not even pretty really. Her self-image had long ago fixated on the gangly ugly duckling she’d become aware of during her middle school years. When she stared at her reflection in her parent’s bedroom mirror, a too-tall, too-skinny, knob-kneed girl stared back. Upon closer examination she had decided her mouth was too wide, her nose too snubbed, and her cheeks and arms too freckled from days spent fishing and swimming at the lake or canoeing down the river that languidly meandered through her small Midwest town. Finally, she stopped looking in the mirror. When other girls her age were developing full figures and becoming interested in boys, she was in the woods, hiking and looking for clues of lives lived long ago. Convinced she would never be able to compete with the prom queens in the dating scene she turned her attention to what would eventually become her life-long passion – archaeology.

Somewhere along the way, the ugly duckling became a swan. But she had missed it. Grounded solidly in her focus on the past, she paid no attention to the world of glitz and celebrity, nor to the future. There were plenty of male friends, but no boyfriends in the strict sense of the word. It would not have occurred to her to think about marrying and settling down with a family. That thought was too confining and she had a world to explore. Treasure to discover.

Al went through the pretense of sniffing the air. No, ma’am. Don’t smell a thing.

Lillie stepped over the string marking the outside boundary of the unit. Swatting off her hat she exposed a tangled mass of white blonde hair pulled together at her nape, held loosely together with a leather band. As they were liberated from their khaki bondage random strands escaped from one side and fell down her cheek giving a false, devil-may-care air. Her Nordic genes included fair skin that must be relentlessly slathered with sunscreen to forestall sunburn and the resultant freckles. As she reached for the bottle to give herself another dose of UV protection, Lillie grinned and shook her head.

I smelled it again, Al. It happens more frequently down here.

Al shrugged. He wasn’t sure what to think of Lillie Lisle’s episodes with the paranormal. He knew a little about her sixth sense, but checked it off to women’s intuition. However the episodes were happening more frequently since they’d begun work at this site and his concern was growing.

Women just sense some things men don’t. Probably something to do with the mothering instinct, he had speculated silently. But he wasn’t convinced. The last time Lillie asked him about her sensations, Al thought about stopping by the county library on his way home. Maybe some Internet research might turn up something.

I have to remember to do that, he thought, but quipped, You prob’ly have a better sense o’ smell than this ol’ cowboy. What with puffin’ at my ole friend here all these years, I’m lucky to have any sense o’ smell left at all.

Al patted his shirt pocket where he kept his pipe. The fabric was worn thin at the bottom where his pipe had been slid in and out so many times. He was not sure what he might turn up in his research, but he knew Lillie would never entertain an explanation that might be remotely mystical. Supernatural phenomena were too far removed from the empirical explanations in which Lillie was firmly entrenched.

Lillie had called Al’s bluff a long time ago. He charaded as a cowboy in his speech and dress in order to fit in with regular folk ─ to feel normal. In reality he was well above normal in every sense of the word. His keen but unchallenged intellect was the demon that drove him to drinking and doping. In the past, the pervasive sorrow that emanated from his perception of the world had found numbing solace at the bottom of a bottle.

Now, he soothed the torment by keeping himself occupied with artifacts. The one vice he had not given up however, his pipe, would eventually catch up with him. Al knew that. Continuing to puff away at the meerschaum had taken its toll. A lifetime of inhaling tobacco toxins had rendered his voice a grating croak that was sometimes difficult to understand, his teeth and skin had dulled to an amber patina. A mass of fine lines deepened when he smiled, which was often when he worked with Lillie. Her beauty and sharp mind were just what the old man needed to maintain his élan. He did not have much now in the way of material goods, having wasted away his productive years chasing drugs and booze, but he didn’t need much and intended to make the best of the time he had left. Lillie and archaeology gave him the impetus to get out of bed every day, and the strength to ignore that ceaseless urge to seek escape into the purple haze. Lillie’s lively spirit and curiosity were contagious and Al never missed a day at the dig during the archaeology season, which fell during the cooler months in Arizona.

Al was a volunteer. Never paid for his hours and days of work, his source of livelihood was a mystery to Lillie, but she never asked him about it. Excavations were hard work and Lillie valued the volunteers who showed up faithfully to carry on the research. Except for Al, she was never sure who would be there. Some were weekenders, and some came randomly during the week. There was the Tuesday-Wednesday group who called themselves Middle Earth, exploiting a number of double entendres. And then there were some who just materialized and then disappeared again, kind of like the Cheshire Cat. One never knew which days Lynne could be counted on, but she often appeared when Lillie most needed help and thought only Al would be available for the day.

Pip was another of Lillie’s stalwarts. Pip was Lillie’s kid sister, and while she did not exactly share Lillie’s passion for archaeology, she liked it well enough to show up regularly wherever Lillie was working. Except of course when she was in class at the university. Lillie hoped Pip would show up today after her morning classes.

This time of year, excavating in southern Arizona was a hot, dusty affair. The days were becoming longer and hotter as the season neared its end, and yesterday was no exception. By the time weekenders Mark and Mary arrived, the wind was gusting and the sifting screens, necessary to separate the artifacts from the chaff, scattered dust particles directly across the work area. In spite of kerchief-concealed countenances, the fine powder encroached, seeping insidiously into every orifice. The site became reminiscent of an old western – bandits on hands and knees digging for treasure. Why else would a sane person subject themselves to such arduous labor? Lillie