Today we continue the series in which
award-winning nonfiction authors discuss the joys and challenges of the
research process with an essay by Pamela S. Turner. Thank you, Pamela.
No matter what subject
I’m writing about, I always feel an urge to flee the keyboard and do something
related to my project, whether it’s travelling around Japan or raising orphaned
baby crows and ravens. But when I decided to write How to Build a Human: In Seven
Evolutionary Steps I was stumped. I couldn’t expect to show up at an archeological
dig just in time to witness a fossil discovery.
Visiting museums was an
option, and you shouldn’t miss the Hall of Human Origins at the Smithsonian in
Washington, D.C., which features recreations of human ancestors by paleoartist
John Gurche, who illustrated How to Build a Human.
But I wanted
something hands-on. So I signed up for a flint-knapping class taught by preservation
archeologist Allen Denoyer of Archaeology Southwest in Tucson, Arizona. (Check
out a video of Allen in
action.)
Our mixed group of men
and women included a father and his middle-school-aged son. The boy’s presence
probably muted the expression of the natural vocabulary of clumsy amateurs
smashing rocks together with their bare hands: &%$@#&%!!!!!
Allen let everybody
select their hammer stone as well as their core stone. I learned that not every
type of stone can be fractured: the core stone must contain high amounts of
silica.
The idea is to strike
the core stone with the hammer stone, knocking off chunks until you get one
about the right size and shape for your intended use—spear, arrow, knife blade,
whatever. But you can’t simply hit the core stone in the middle. No, that would
be way too easy. You have to strategically strike the core stone at a place
where two faces of the stone meet at less than 90 degrees.
I chose an obsidian
core stone. Obsidian is beautiful but sharp as glass. In fact, obsidian IS glass. I should have brought
Band-Aids.
&%$@#&%!!!!!
After much whacking and
smashing and some minor blood-letting, we all managed to knock a rough flake or
two off our core stone. Next Allen taught us to use a nubby tool made of antler
to shape our flake. By “pressure
flaking” (snapping off small bits all around the edges), and working both
sides, you can create a symmetrical shape with a cutting edge. In other words,
a useable stone tool.
One scientist determined
that it takes about 300 hours of practice to become a competent stone-knapper.
Let’s do the math: my 1.5-hour lesson ÷ 300 hours = uh-oh.
Nevertheless, I persisted.
I pressure-flaked the
edges of my obsidian, but each time I got close to a decent shape, I
accidentally broke off a piece that was too large or too crooked, and then had
to flake off more to make the sides match. My spear point got smaller and
smaller. I imagined a mammoth laughing hysterically as I brandished it.
Allen finally took pity
on me. He “borrowed” my obsidian tool and with a few deft moves fixed the worst
of its quirks. Yahoo!
I now had something
resembling an arrowhead, and it was rather pretty to boot. But could I do
something appropriately prehistoric with it?
When I got home, I surveyed
the roadkill roundup in my freezer. I’m a volunteer wildlife rehabilitator, and
at the time had three orphaned crows in my small aviary and nine ravens in my
big one. Before my birds can be successfully re-released into the wild, they
need to learn what natural prey items look like and how to eat them. I rummaged
past Ziplock bags of mice, quail, a gopher, and a frozen garter snake. And
there it was: my bag o’ rats!
I removed one and let
it thaw. Eventually my ravens would figure out how to tear open a rat (or
squirrel, or whatever) without any help from me, but at that point they were
still too young.
I put on a pair of plastic
gloves (hey, I wasn’t going full cavewoman)
and got busy with my obsidian tool. Thanks to those sharp, glassy edges I
sliced the rat open. But in Han Solo’s immortal words: “Ugh…I thought they
smelled bad on the OUTSIDE.”
My messy experiment
gave me a real appreciation for how stone tool-making helped our ancient
ancestors survive by allowing them to quickly cut open carcasses they scavenged
or hunted. But honestly, once was enough. I went back to using meat scissors. And
as for the young ravens, if they could’ve given me a YELP review, I think that
rat would’ve gotten five stars.
Pamla S. Turner is the author of
award-winning books for young readers, including Samurai Rising, a YALSA
Excellence in Nonfiction finalist, as well as Crow Smarts and The
Frog Scientist, winners of the AAAS/Subaru SB&F Prize for Excellence in
Science Books. Her newest title, How to Build a Human: In Seven Evolutionary
Steps, tackles the origin of Homo sapiens. Learn more, follow,
and sign up for her newsletter at www.pamelasturner.com.
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3 Responses
Wonderful glimpse behind the scenes of your research! How to Build a Human has knocked my socks off. A brilliant and highly entertaining book by a gifted author. Thanks for sharing your work with us, Pam!
I love this story! And also, knapping takes skill! I think about the tools our ancestors fashioned, and am amazed at how much they could do with stone and wood.
Love this hands-on (& stinky!) research story, Pamela. Excited to read this book! Congrats! I LOVED Crow Smarts as well as your dolphin book.