Originally published in Colorado Central Magazine
Some 12,000 years ago, in what is now White Sands National Park, a teenage girl left her footprints along the muddy edge of a playa. The prints show that she was carrying a small child on her hip, stopping from time to time to adjust her load. We don’t know where she was going or the purpose of her journey, but she was walking quickly, about 4 mph, in spite of her burden and small size. A few hours later she returned along the same path, apparently still carrying the child.
In the meantime, some large animals had crossed her trail, but her tracks show that she was not concerned about them; they weren’t predators. One was a giant ground sloth, the others were Columbian Mammoths, part of the megafauna that inhabited North America during the Ice Ages: woolly mammoths and rhinos, sloths, giant armadillos, and the humans who hunted them. Also giant wolves and saber-toothed cats… and the humans they hunted.
That little gal must have been tough, smart, and self-reliant, to have left no trace of concern about large predators in her neighborhood. But then, she didn’t have the internet and public media telling her about the dangers lurking around her, about how bad the situation was with global warming, and those other humans rumored to be moving into her clan’s hunting territory. “They’re different from us, they worship different gods, they won’t leave any game for us to hunt, and they wear funny clothes.” She trusted her own first-hand observations and her ability to interpret the signs, and she stuck to her mission with the baby.
Change is commonly seen as a threat. We get used to a way of thinking, or a way of earning a living, or of enjoying life, and when the situation changes, it’s damned uncomfortable. Since the new things aren’t familiar, we fall back on second-hand news to inform us, and fall in with our tribe’s opinions about things.
This sounds all too familiar here in the Upper Arkansas Valley, our little microcosm of the larger world. The racket from loud motorcycle exhausts, camping vehicles parked along country roadsides where they don’t belong, increased trash along roadsides, off-trail damage to sensitive ranchland, and the homeless camps in the hills around town; all these are part of the New American Rural Landscape. “They’re different than us, they’re ruining our playgrounds, and they wear funny clothes.”
The backdrop behind our new landscape is the short-fuse rage and intolerance visible in video coverage of very angry people, and the news media is too often the only beneficiary of the conflicts, (although gun and liquor sales are doing well too). Events are reported through a megaphone, and we are all trained to ridicule, blame and stereotype, and sadly, increasing numbers of us are ready to shoot those who don’t think the way we do.
The mountains offer relief from city heat, traffic frustration, and urban crime. But even living here in partial isolation from the issues, I find it difficult to take a deep breath and step back from whatever aggravation is in front of me, whether on a trailside, a news screen or a spam phone call, and think about what I actually know, versus what are only claims made from a biased viewpoint. The young woman carrying the child through dangerous territory didn’t worry about media reports of big carnivores that might eat her, even though campfire stories back then surely included exaggerations and over-simplifications, just like now. She could see for herself that the nearby animals were herbivores, and that they were not acting as if there were predators in the immediate area. She didn’t act frightened, but neither did she take one minute more than necessary away from her clan’s protection.
Living in Salida, I enjoy the community of my own clan, and I enjoy being in the surrounding countryside. Over the years here, my enjoyment has been increased by contributing something of value to the community, and for me, that means helping to preserve the countryside from damage by thoughtless human activity. Like that young woman, I have a brief mission that I need to focus on without being distracted by potential, but not present, dangers.
Like her, we are all members of clans that come together for support, understanding and protection against threats. Her threats were large, furry, and well-armed with teeth and claws. Our threats are more complex. Yes, we face some physical threats, largely due to our overproduction of bombs, plastic and, frankly, ourselves. But we also face non-physical threats: perhaps more dangerous than any of these. To paraphrase Lord Nelson: “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”
Maybe her tribe had a consumer culture like ours, and they spent all their energy building ever- bigger stone buildings they soon had to abandon because the forests had been cut down for construction materials, and the soil had been over-used for their crops. When the weather got hotter and drier, there was no fuel for cooking and no food to cook. Sound familiar?
Or maybe they had a weapons culture like ours, and the young woman had a stockpile of spears and extra stone points at home and would have carried as many as she could on her journey with the child. That would have slowed her down and would not have saved her and the child from being eaten by a very large critter attacking from behind with better weapons. Sound familiar?
Maybe we could learn some things from a small young woman carrying a child across dangerous territory 12,000 years ago: act on first-hand information, be skeptical of fireside stories, and stick to the business at hand. Even if it’s the business of enjoying the view, sipping a locally- fermented beverage (a stone-age invention) with your tribe.