Have you ever felt overwhelmed in a good way? Well, that’s precisely the predicament I today find myself mired in as sit down to compose this weekly narrative aimed at local history and deep history matters.
Still focused on Edward Lenik’s 2002 “Picture Rocks” book, and what all the imagery means to the Connecticut Valley and its hills, and to further exploration of high, lonesome caves and crevices, gorges, rock shelters and distinctive boulders situated in our woodlands and along our remote watershed headwaters. Remember, those watersheds served as important thoroughfares and lifelines to our ancient pre-Columbian people.
Having read Lenik with care, and reread portions of his book about sites closest to home, I dug deeper into my library, seeking long-ago read sources pertaining to related sites of interest near and far. Then, of course, I went to my go-to archaeological/anthropological sources, credentialed experts who are always capable of supplying additional insights, context and personal anecdotes. Combined, this information sharpens understanding to fine-tuned status.
Then, out of nowhere, an intriguing email arrived Monday morning from a man who would rather not be named. I first met this articulate octogenarian a couple of years ago at a Massachusetts Archaeological Society meeting. He introduced himself, said he had read my column for years and told me he remembered my parents at Greenfield High School. I had at the time meant to connect with this man at some point because he had information that was right in my wheelhouse. Then, he got lost in the shuffle.
Long retired, this energetic man has devoted much time exploring local stone structures and had found fascinating, faded red pictographs, one of them located in our eastern Franklin County hills. A trained artist, illustrator and photographer, he brings a lot to the table and sadly has been ignored by the Pioneer Valley academics he’s reached out to — some of them long gone by now, with his findings and interpretations.
This man’s enticing, introductory email went like this:
“Hi Gary. After reading your Saturday article, I realized that I have some local pictographs to share with you. I know these are unknown to you. If it works for you, I could stop by this afternoon. Looking forward to talking with you.”
How could I not jump at such an offer? I didn’t catch the message until about 1:30 p.m., replied with a come-on-down answer, and greeted the man in my upper Greenfield Meadows driveway at 3 p.m. He was lugging a thick, green loose-leaf binder at his side. A book he put together a few years ago, the pages unnumbered, this unpublished work of 200 or more pages is titled “Stone Chambers of New England: Their Origins, Constructions and Use.” It is chock full of his own photography and detailed pen-and-ink sketches, including vivid photos and diagrams of the faded pictographs he found positioned on three interior walls of a turf-covered, stone-lined chamber that from afar looks like a forest mound topped with trees. Closer inspection reveals a small entryway, centered along the base, which can be entered on hands and knees.
Intrigued by the images I was viewing, I asked him what the other responses to his work had been, and he didn’t hesitate.
“They said, ‘Wow!’” he reported. “Please don’t go showing them around.”
Still, his sharp instincts told him that in fact these people were duly impressed but reluctant to admit it.
“Look,” he said me, sitting on a rickety birdcage Windsor chair he had placed next to my La-Z-Boy, “I’m not looking for publicity. I just want to share this with someone who appreciates it. I’d rather you don’t name me. I’d hate to have people calling and pestering me. You have my permission to use any of my photos or drawings. This will contribute to your discussion about ancient local rock art. The pictograph site should not be pinpointed for obvious reasons.”
So, it looks like I’ve got a lot of reading in front of me. Pleasurable reading at that. No problem. It’s a labor of love. In fact, I can’t wait to carve out a little time to start digging in once my weekly deadlines have passed. In the meantime, I’ll throw out an image or two accompanying this piece just to whet readers’ appetite for more. My source has had the red pigment analyzed and it is not, nor does it look like, red ochre — the red too bright. It has instead been identified as an organic pigment, probably berries or blood or a combination of the two. The man who went to such lengths to identify the paint on his own dime believes the rock art was executed before the Mayflower sailed, perhaps thousands of years before that.
We’ll see. It should be a fun little adventure. One of many. How exciting. Stay tuned.
Recorder sports editor Gary Sanderson is a senior-active member of the outdoor-writers associations of America and New England. Blog: www.tavernfare.com. Email: gsand53@outlook.com.