Interview with Seth Chagi (World of Paleoanthropology): Additional Commentary
My early childhood home was a traditional New England-style house, said to have been floated across Cape Cod Bay on barrels in 1750. It’s mind-boggling to imagine how challenging it must have been to keep a large, non-aerodynamic, and non-hydrodynamic two-story house on course as it made its way from Boston to Brewster. I’m sure the house was towed by a ship, but that’s still a lot of open water! If the wind picked up, they might have ended up in an entirely different town than where they had planned to reside.
Once they reached the shore, they likely used teams of horses and large wooden rollers to move the house to its final location, where it still stands today. Over the centuries, the house was expanded, and the property turned into a working farm. If only buildings could talk—the stories that house could tell! By the time my family lived there, it was no longer a farm, just an old, rambling home on a narrow country road. At various times, my grandparents, aunts, and uncles lived with us, making it a bright and lively place where we created many happy memories.
Back then, television reception on Cape Cod was practically non-existent, so we entertained ourselves the old-fashioned way—reading, doing crafts, playing music, and the like. I imagine my parents were relieved that none of us had access to bagpipes! Endless piano renditions of “I Love Coffee, I Love Tea” and “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on the violin were bad enough. (My sister eventually became a skilled violinist, even earning the position of second violinist with the Cape Cod Symphony.)
Some of my earliest memories are of walking through the woods with my father. He was an avid outdoorsman, and people often said that if they ever found themselves stranded on a deserted island, they’d choose him to be there with them. Walking through nature with Dad was never rushed. We’d stop and look at things, and he would explain what they were and what they could be used for. He taught me to observe, to listen, and to watch the sky and the animals around me. I also learned to see the outdoors as nature’s grocery store—if you knew where to look, you wouldn’t go hungry. These days, I find myself passing on these same lessons to my grandchildren.
Photo credit E. A. Meigs
I was an unusual child. Though I had friends, I often spent time alone, wandering the woodlands, marshes, and nearby beaches. I knew where several springs were hidden, offering a refreshing drink when I was thirsty. I built small huts from saplings and thick brush, weaving deadwood to form the walls. I also spent time gazing at nature, mentally taking notes that later inspired my writing. Even as a child, I wrote stories and illustrated them with my own drawings. My explorations often led me to collect treasures—rocks, pinecones, acorns, feathers, bugs, and other fun finds—that surprised my mother during laundry day.
When I was about nine or ten, I decided to build a makeshift tent using a tarp, bits of rope, clothespins, and sharpened sticks as stakes. I set it up across the stream from our house in a small clearing amid the trees. Over time, I gathered a decent camping kit, and eventually, I was given an old but sturdy canvas tent. It served me well until a family of mice took up residence during the winter, leaving my tent with much more “ventilation” than intended. By that point, I had saved enough from my afterschool job to buy a modern nylon tent. Little did I know, that small blue-and-yellow pup tent, along with my camping gear, would come in handy when I first set out on my own. When rentals were hard to find and/or too expensive, I occasionally lived in the woods.
I loved boondocking—that is, camping in the woods rather than in a campground. I’ve never liked campgrounds much, but I’d sometimes stay in them during the off-season. I was fortunate that we didn’t have dangerous wildlife like poisonous snakes or large predators, so I could enjoy nature without much worry. The worst I might encounter was a skunk. Now that I’ve worked for an employer like Fish and Wildlife and seen gruesomely graphic photographs and read the reports of the aftermath of grizzly bear attacks, etc., I am much more aware of the potential hazards. Some folks don’t seem to mind tent camping in bear country, but having seen half-eaten remains, I would only do it in a hard-sided RV. Motivated bears can get into almost anything, but at least an RV gives you a chance to start up the engine and drive away and thus oblige them to run for their dinner.
And that’s it for this entry. I’ll be adding more blogs to go with the Story of Us! podcast.
Be sure to check out World of Paleoanthropology for interviews, articles, book reviews, and much more! It is a veritable goldmine of paleoanthropological information!
To learn more about Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga check out these pages!
Dreamer Literary Productions is pleased to announce that The Dreamer VII ~ The Challenge Circle is now officially released, in Ebook, paperback, and hardcover formats!
The epic Ice Age adventure continues with this latest installment. Did you ever wonder what life was like for those who walked the Earth before us? Dreamer Books opens a literary portal to life during the last Glacial Maximum, what with all its challenges and drama, while simultaneously instilling an enduring sense of wonder at the resiliency and resourcefulness of our ancestors. The ongoing story celebrates the human spirit, and illustrates however much the settings may differ, people have little changed over the eons.
Seven years ago, my imagination opened a portal to an ancient landscape. Layers of time peeled away, and I was thrust into the consciousness of one who had lived in a time and place now lost to memory. This Neanderthal man and the epic adventures that make up his life’s story may be fictional, but as I write his experiences it feels as though I am recording actual history, rather than composing a literary work. Bringing to life the peoples and cultures of Ice Age Eurasia has enthralled and inspired me, and I can’t help but think I will miss being immersed in their world when the series is complete.
(Header image credits: book cover photo by Paula Kugerud Photography, Venus figurine pendant and lithics by Neanderthal Joe. Header photo and blog photo by E. A. Meigs)
Our scallop boat, referred to as a dragger, the Kathy Dick.
It’s 4AM and I’m standing on a dock. Harborside lights illuminate the crystal-clear water, where I can see small bait fish flit about, while a crab scuttles to hide in the shadows. At that moment, I am less interested in marine life than I am the depth of the water. I know we need at least a half-tide to make it over the creeping sandbars that continually infiltrate the channel. Many a morning was spent peering into the depths, awaiting the moment when we could depart.
My Dad was a commercial sea scallop fisherman. His boat was a thirty-foot long wooden dragger, built in 1931. She was a modest working vessel, with the well-worn, slightly dingy look that typified most fishing boats. A symphony of aromas accompanied her wherever she went: a pungent mixture of old fish, diesel exhaust, and paint. Her pilot house was outfitted with a compass, fathometer, VHF radio, and wind-up clock. Down below and forward, an old-fashioned cast iron stove, fold-down table/pantry, and a berth made for a cozy little cabin. A large coffee can served as the head (toilet) for anyone who did not wish to make their deposit over the gun’ale.
I accompanied Dad on these outings whenever possible. As a kid raised in a semi-famous “Sea Captain Town”, it was almost impossible to avoid at least some familiarity with the nautical world, but my childhood was well-steeped in it. And I was hooked from the start. I loved everything to do with boats and being on the water. Dad usually fished alone unless accompanied by a family member or friend, so when I was first invited to go out scalloping at age eight (after pleading to be allowed to go for some time), I was thrilled. The hours were long, but as a “day boat” that returned to harbor by nightfall, the trips were less onerous than those of bigger off-shore boats.
We left as soon as the tide permitted and I made bacon and eggs for our breakfast while we steamed to the grounds. The stove was probably intended to be fueled with wood, but as I recall, we most often used cans of ethanol gel for cooking. The stovetop had a clamp system called fiddles that kept pots and pans from suddenly levitating or taking flight across the cabin while we were underway. The fiddles also allowed the cook to use both hands when tending food, and sometimes, to brace against the carnival ride-like motion of the boat.
Painting the dragger’s bottom before the tide comes in!
Later, fortified by a hearty breakfast and still plunging along, we washed the dishes. The plates and silverware were washed in the shucking box, but most of our dinnerware had holes in it, so the skillet, ironstone coffee mugs, and spatula had a line run through the holes and after being tied-off, were thrown over the side to be scrubbed as we forged ahead to our destination. Following a period of being subjected to a saltwater-and-sand scouring, we hauled back on the rope and the sparkling-clean items were dried and stowed.
Sea scalloping involves towing a drag across the ocean floor in strategic areas. With luck, you will have found a few good scallop beds, and if you’re careful not to overfish them, you can alternate between these beds indefinitely. After the drag comes up, its contents are dumped onto the deck and the pile is culled for scallops, which are then shucked while the drag is returned to the water. This cycle of drag down/drag up goes on all day, but we must stop in time to steam back to the harbor to catch the evening tide.
Days worked on the water are unlike any day on land. It is almost as though you have been transported to another world. Time moves at its own speed, measured by the cadence of the waves, and the duration of each tow along the seafloor. On pleasant days, the breeze whispers softly in rigging and the moist salt air refreshes the skin. That said, there were many bitter cold days when the biting wind caused what we called “wind burn” and I envied my father his beard!
I was scalloping with Dad on a winter’s day when the snow began to fall fast and thick. The seas were relatively calm, but it was quite cold. As mentioned before, Dad had a full beard, and it was coated with frost, his mustache edged with icicles. The snow stuck to us as we worked, until we more closely resembled a pair of Yetis than a couple of humans. I may have been twelve or thirteen years old at the time, but I still vividly recall how thoroughly chilled I was, especially considering it was difficult to do that kind of work while wearing gloves. I knew Dad had to be cold as well.
“Dad,” I said, having had an epiphany, “Do you want a cup of hot chocolate?”
Dad and me (age 8), shucking scallops.
He answered with a decisive affirmative, so I was down below in a flash to boil water. These days, when I make hot chocolate, I cook it on the stovetop from individual ingredients. This was just instant cocoa, but the ironstone mugs made wonderful hand-warmers and it felt so luxurious to sip the piping-hot beverage as I thawed my fingers. There’s a great sense of camaraderie that comes from standing together on a gently heaving deck, listening to the engine labor as the boat leads the drag on yet another pass, silently enjoying a simple cup of cocoa. The drag would be hauled up shortly, but this few minutes’ respite was priceless as snow swirled around us; no one else was in sight – we were just two people on a little boat as it plowed across a vast expanse of green water.
Some part of me will always be a fisherman’s daughter: the kid who drew pictures of fishing boats in art class, while the other kids drew horses, cars, and houses; the kid who went to school with dried scallop guts and blood on my oil skins (raincoat).
I haven’t worked in the fishing industry for many years now, but it was an important part of my upbringing and it made my living for some decades. I am past the point in life where I would want to return to that occupation, but I still wax nostalgic on occasion for the smell of the ocean and freedom of riding the waves. I hope I have passed on this affinity to my children, who were exposed the ocean and boats literally from the time they were babies.
It was my fate that I should be drawn to two very different worlds: the call of the sea and the grounding effect of living a terrestrial life. And I harbor a deep and abiding love for both.
This plaque was mounted on a bulkhead in the dragger’s forward cabin.
Commercial fishing and working in boat yards has also influenced my writing, especially as it pertains to my current book series. Not only because I worked almost exclusively with men, but because of the insights gained from working with men who labored in one of the most physical and dangerous occupations known. Surely, our early ancestors would have shared at least some of their views on the pursuit of prey (whether fish, fowl, or mammal) and the risks involved with the less-than certain lifestyle, and empathized with the discomforts that come with exposure to the elements, no matter what form they may take. All such challenges are timeless.
My nephew wrote this about Dad: I can remember many times seeing him hanging upside down into the engine compartment battling with some rusty thing or other that wasn't cooperating, monkey climbing partway up the mast or rigging to untangle some unfortunate and uncooperative line that got tangled...
The sun has not yet crested the horizon, but a young Neanderthal woman named Soosha has already begun her day. It is still dark when her infant’s whimper reaches her ears, signaling that his belly is empty and nappy, full. Soosha retrieves the baby and removes a scrap of hide used as a diaper. Seeing that the absorbent cattail fluff within the diaper is soiled, she shakes it over their fire pit. The dirty fluff falls onto the red coals of a dying fire, where it sends up an acrid plume of smoke.
The now squalling and impatient infant is cleansed and his nappy is repacked with clean fluff. He calms as he is nursed, despite that his mother is simultaneously prodding the fire where the cattail fluff, even in it’s somewhat dampened state, has begun to burn. Soosha carefully adds fuel to the flames to bring both light and warmth to their little home. When the baby has dozed off again, Soosha tenderly kisses his forehead and he is put back to bed. She then builds up the fire so their small earthen dwelling will be warm by the time the family arises from their slumber.
Now that it is autumn, the clan has settled into their winter lodgings. Their earthen homes are dug into a hillside and then shored-up with sections of tree trunks or large branches. It is a cozy, if dark and somewhat claustrophobic place to wait out the coming days of sub-freezing temperatures and fierce winds. Some of the clan stay here year-round: those who are not able to make long journeys as the rest follow game, setting up open-air homes at each site. The ones left behind are the most fragile of the clan, primarily the elderly and the injured. They keep animals at bay who might want to steal food stores, or invade the temporarily unoccupied homes. The use of fire and marking their borders with urine discourages most animals from venturing too close.
Throughout the warmer months, the rest of the clan occasionally stops in from their travels to drop off meat, hides, and animal by-products. This adds to what the permanent residents have been able to forage. The in-ground homes have the benefit of being cool in the summer, as well as warm in the winter. While the near-constant temperature of 50 to 55 degrees may be quite a bit warmer than outdoor winter temperatures, it can feel chilly during summer. Sometimes a low fire is maintained even on hot days to take the edge off the chill and for humidity control. After years-long occupation of this site, most of the easily scavenged wood has already been burned. Other than deadwood that sometimes falls from the trees, they must make short hikes to hew firewood with axes hafted with knapped-stone axe heads. In addition to keeping fire pits fueled, the chimney holes must be kept clear of obstructions, such as brush that might catch fire, or snow accumulation during and after each snowstorm.
Neanderthal mother and her children start their day. (Illustration: E. A. Meigs)
For now, all is quiet. Soosha is grateful the baby did not awaken his older siblings. She slips back into the nest of bedding she shares with her mate, Killek. She snuggles contentedly against him, placing an arm around his warm back, and she is soon fast asleep.
It will not be not long before they will start their day. Killek and his older brother Tonk are going hunting and they must be away as early as possible. When Soosha feels Killek rouse, she rises as well, and they both pull on various articles of clothing in the semi-darkness. They have a few lamps made from horns of a young aurochs, that they filled with fat and fitted with a twisted plant-fiber wick. The lamps are used sparingly to conserve precious fuel, but Soosha lights one now to illuminate the chamber as they prepare for the day’s activities.
While Killek ducks through the low, hide-covered doorway to retrieve an armload of wood, Soosha makes a simple breakfast of fresh berries and slivers of roast venison, leftover from their previous night’s meal. These foods are washed down with water, served in cups made from dried gourds. After breaking their fast, man and woman work together in companionable silence to collect the things Killek will need to carry, although today he will be traveling light. Ice Age winters meant bundling up in layers of clothing, but for now they can still venture out unencumbered by heavy animal skin coats, head coverings, mittens, and boots.
The hunters have been keeping an eye out for tree trunks sporting fresh scars from bucks that have been scraping them with their antlers. Such a place would be a good spot to ambush a buck, who generally returns each morning to see if does have visited in his absence. Soosha is relieved that this will be a relatively routine hunt. Any outing has the potential to be dangerous, but an encounter with a deer, even a buck during the rut, is no where near as perilous as an encounter with larger animals, such as aurochs, wisents, woolly rhinos, or worse still, woolly mammoths.
Woolly Rhino (Illustration credit: Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga, by E. A. Meigs)
Soosha, on the other hand, is small, but she is also strong. Her daily chores are numerous, and often they require much strenuous labor, albeit, not as extreme as her mate’s. The bones and muscle attachments on Neanderthal women’s arms were about equal, indicating that most Neanderthal men and women were specializing in different tasks. (For more on sexual dimorphism: Scroll to pg. 129)
After Killek leaves with his brother, the children awaken, one by one. The toddler is not yet fully weaned, and as mother and children settle by the fire, the tot climbs onto his mother’s lap to nurse. When all the children are fed, she adds fuel to the fire and, infant on her hip, she then slings their empty water bag over her shoulder. The family walks down to the stream, where Soosha places the baby in the arms of her six year old daughter, and bends to refill the bag in the rushing water.
As they stand at the stream, others from their clan also converge on the rivulet to replenish their water supply. Most of the clan consists of related individuals. They discuss plans to forage for various foods that day. It is vitally important to harvest and preserve as many foodstuffs as they can for the coming winter. Many of their chores involve working hides, processing plant fibers to make baskets or twine, or sewing clothing, footwear, sacks, and backpacks, but much of that will have to wait for the time when the last of autumn’s bounty has been collected. As the season grows colder and bad weather often keeps them housebound, that will be the time to create the many things each family uses in their day-to-day lives.
European Cave Lion (Illustration credit: Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga, by E. A. Meigs)
Hunts may take place year-round, but spring and fall are an especially active time due to seasonal migrations and the annual ruts. Spring hunts often take place on the faraway plains. Game is abundant there, but so too are large predators, such as the cave lion. The grasslands are a very dangerous place, not only because of threats posed by predators, but also because the prey animals themselves can be downright huge. If a serious injury is to occur, this is often where it happens. Fossilized remains of Neanderthal men show signs of a very rough life (scroll down to “Fractures“). Their injuries are compared to those of rodeo riders, and amputations were not unknown. Even smaller prey such as fallow deer or ibex still have the potential to gore or kick a hunter.
Fallow deer (Illustration credit: Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga, by E. A. Meigs)
While the clan goes about their day, Killek and Tonk march steadily through the forest. The air is absolutely still. There is no wind to whisper among the tree branches or rustle the leaf-littered trail. Despite their efforts to walk as quietly as possible, each step produces a slight but audible crunch. Tonk and Killek continue until they reach the place where the buck has left his marks. Bucks not only scrape their antlers on trees to rid themselves of the putrid shreds of velvet as it is slowly rotting off, but it is also a way of attracting does. Between the antler scrapes and scrapes the buck has dug into the ground, does can pick up their scent and then decide if this buck is a potential mate or not. Bucks renew their scrapes every day and stop to sniff at them, in hopes that they might include the aroma of a receptive doe. With luck, the hunters will be able to find this buck as it makes its daily rounds. However, if the buck picks up human scent, there is a chance he will not approach at all. The men could only conceal themselves in the nearby brush and hope for the best.
The sun rises higher. Killek and Tonk remain absolutely motionless. They have done this often enough over the years that they do not need to formulate a plan. They simply await their prey and assuming he appears, dart out from their hiding places and lance him behind his forelegs with their spears, where they might hit the heart and lungs. Birds and insects flit around them. Even squirrels come to scamper nearby as though the two men were just another part of the forest. At long last they hear the sounds of snapping twigs. Something is coming. The buck’s musky odor becomes more apparent as he closes in on them. He is a young fallow deer with a modest set of antlers, but he appears well-nourished. His tongue is out, as he tastes the air for the scent of does. A few bits of miscellaneous foliage decorate his antlers.
Roe deer (Illustration credit: Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga, by E. A. Meigs)
The buck pauses to freshen the rut where he has pawed the earth with his hoofs and then deposits a stream of urine into the shallow trench. There, he does a brief dance, splashing the muddy liquid onto his forelegs. Next, he steps up to the mark he has carved into the tree and sniffs, upper lip raised and pink tongue still protruding. The buck positions himself to enlarge the scrape on the tree and at that moment Killek saw Tonk lift one finger very slightly. This is the signal to strike.
After the buck is ambushed, has expired, and is gutted, he is carried back to their collection of earthen dwellings, where he is skinned and butchered. The buck is small in size, but nevertheless, clan members are pleased to see that the first hunt of the rutting season has been a success.
As the day winds down, the clan assembles around a central firepit to enjoy the fruits of their harvests in their evening sup. The meat and organs of the buck are consumed in their entirety during this hearty meal, and his antlers and bones will be repurposed into tools, his sinews into threads, his hide into clothing. Little goes to waste; in fact, every slain animal contributes many valuable resources to the clan’s welfare.
Afterwards, the group relaxes around the fire, enjoying conversation until it is time for the nightly story. Soosha’s mate Killek is a Keeper of Stories, a role he inherited from his father. Often he is asked to tell one of their traditional tales, one that has been retold for many generations. This evening he recounts a story of The People of the Wolves. When the fire has burned low and Killek’s tale is complete, the families bid one another good night. Soon, winter will be upon them and it will be too cold for these outdoor gatherings, but for now, they are an important part of the day. They reinforce the bonds between those in the clan and add a pleasant diversion to what is often a harsh existence.
Ibex (Illustration credit: Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga, by E. A. Meigs)
This blog is less a story and more of an informational piece (unlike my books, which are stories – although I make every attempt to make them as scientifically accurate as possible ). It contains some scientific data, but also considerable conjecture derived from many decades of reading scientific papers, books, and articles (and personal experience and formal study). Early humans left scant evidence to tell us about their lives, so we are left to speculate on tantalizing clues. Theories change frequently and some theories directly contradict each other, making it challenging to draw an accurate picture of life during prehistoric times. I strive to collect data from many sources and collate that which I feel is the most probable into a coherent hypothesis that includes not only paleoanthropology, but also zoology, climatology, and ancient survival tactics.
As you may have guessed, I have endowed my Neanderthal characters with the intelligence and skills needed to survive in an Eurasian Ice Age setting. I believe they would have needed winter shelters that can withstand extreme weather, and temporary open air shelters to be used when following game during warmer seasons. Also, they required a means of heating and lighting their homes throughout long winters, ample ability to hunt and forage a wide variety of foods and materials, and manufacture fitted (although perhaps not terribly stylish by our standards) clothing, footwear, and outerwear.
The Neanderthal endured through some of the most inhospitable conditions mankind has ever faced for over 200,000 years(longer, if you include the proto-Neanderthal). Out of necessity, they would have been master outdoorsmen and owned comprehensive knowledge on how to leverage every resource to its utmost advantage. I eagerly await each new discovery as science continues to explore historical clues left by our early human ancestors, and bring more of their legacy to light.
Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga brings to life an era that is well known for its megafauna and brutal climate, and peopled it with those who must wrest a livelihood from a fierce wilderness. Their harrowing adventures help to strengthen families and forge powerful friendships. Then, as now, it is survival and the preservation and continuation of our clans that drives us.
The Dreamer is a series of novels that follows the life of a young Neanderthal man, Tris (the Dreamer), his father Tor, and their Cro-Magnon friend and neighbor, Black Wolf. At the time of the Earth’s last Great Glacial Period, Europe was inhabited by at least two peoples: the Neanderthal and the Cro-Magnon. Although this primitive world was filled with a harsh and stunning beauty, it was also a brutally difficult period in mankind’s history. Humans struggled to survive against the dangers posed by an inhospitable climate and their perilous position within nature’s food chain. As the story unfolds, Tris’s dreams figure prominently, but it is really an ongoing adventure that revolves around family, friendship, love, social conflict and endurance against the odds.
A new Dreamer book will be released each fall until the saga has reached its conclusion. At this writing, a minimum of six books are planned, but there will likely be many more.
The Dreamer: Just before dawn on a cold spring morning, a young Neanderthal man awakens from a strange and frightening dream that will change his life forever…
