AP3A-15_C1-C4 02/10/06 9:56 PM Page 1

Baxter, Editor
Children in Action: Perspectives on
the Archaeology of Childhood

Jane Eva Baxter, Editor

Contributions by

Jane Eva Baxter

Flordeliz T. Bugarin

Children in Action: Perspectives on the Archaeology of Childhood

Kathryn A. Kamp
Kathryn Keith
Robert W. Park
Megan A. Perry
Helen B. Schwartzman
Patricia E. Smith
Kelly Thomas

AP3A No. 15

2005
Archeological Papers of the
ISSN 1551-823X American Anthropological Association, Number 15
Children in Action: Perspectives on
the Archaeology of Childhood

Jane Eva Baxter, Editor

Contributions by

Jane Eva Baxter

Flordeliz T. Bugarin
Kathryn A. Kamp
Kathryn Keith
Robert W. Park
Megan A. Perry
Helen B. Schwartzman
Patricia E. Smith
Kelly Thomas

2005
Archeological Papers of the
American Anthropological Association, Number 15
About the editor ...
Jane Eva Baxter is an Assistant Professor in the Department of An-
thropology at DePaul University. She authored her dissertation on
the archaeology of children in nineteenth-century America at the
University of Michigan and recently published The Archaeology of
Childhood: Children, Gender, and Material Culture (AltaMira Press,
2005). Her current fieldwork projects are at the Historic Pullman
Community in Chicago and San Salvador, Bahamas.

On the Cover: Two dolls from the Thule culture site of RbJr-1 on
Devon Island, Nunavut. The site is at least 700 years old. The fig-
ure on the right with the legs spread apart (the larger of the two,
approximately 9.5 cm tall), is made of baleen. It is essentially just
a silhouette. The smaller figure on the left (approximately 4.75 cm
tall) is made of wood and is a typical Thule doll in that the arms are
just indicated by the protuberances, the feet are just hinted at, and the
face is featureless. See Chapter 4 for a discussion of such figurines.
Photographs by Robert W. Park (reproduced approximately, but not
exactly to scale).
 Children in Action: Perspectives on the Archaeology
of Childhood
Jane Eva Baxter, Editor

Table of Contents p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p iii

Introduction: The Archaeology of Childhood in Context p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p 1

Jane Eva Baxter

SECTION I: ETHNOGRAPHIC AND ETHNOARCHAEOLOGICAL

APPROACHES TO CHILDHOOD IN ARCHAEOLOGY
Chapter 1. Constructing an Archaeology of Children: Studying Children and Child Material Culture
from the African Past p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p 13
Flordeliz T. Bugarin
Chapter 2. Childhood Learning and the Distribution of Knowledge in Foraging Societies p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p 27
Kathryn Keith
Chapter 3. The “Nature” of Childhood: Ethnography as a Tool in Approaching Children in Archaeology p p p p p p 41
Kelly Thomas

SECTION II: CHILDREN AND MATERIAL CULTURE: IDENTIFYING

CHILDREN IN THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL RECORD
Chapter 4. Growing Up North: Exploring the Archaeology of Childhood in the Thule and Dorset
Cultures of Arctic Canada p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p 53
Robert W. Park
Chapter 5. Children and Ceramic Innovation: A Study in the Archaeology of Children p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p 65
Patricia E. Smith
Chapter 6. Making Space for Children in Archaeological Interpretations p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p 77
Jane Eva Baxter
Chapter 7. Redefining Childhood through Bioarchaeology: Toward an Archaeological and
Biological Understanding of Children in Antiquity p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p 89
Megan A. Perry
SECTION III: COMMENTARY
Chapter 8. Dominant Discourses; Lived Experiences: Studying the Archaeology of Children
and Childhood p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p 115
Kathryn A. Kamp
Chapter 9. Materializing Children: Challenges for the Archaeology of Childhood p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p 123
Helen B. Schwartzman

List of Contributors p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p 133

iii
 Introduction
The Archaeology of Childhood in Context
Jane Eva Baxter
DePaul University

ABSTRACT
This introductory chapter contextualizes the volume contents within broader themes and histories in the archaeolog-
ical and anthropological study of childhood. Some of these broader issues include how archaeologists have situated
childhood studies within the discipline, how archaeologists have identified children through the archaeological record,
and how the archaeological study of childhood leads to interdisciplinary conversations across the subfields.
Keywords: children, childhood, history, methods, interdisciplinary study

I n 1989, Grete Lillehammer wrote what many would con-

sider to be the first work in what is now an ever-growing
body of literature devoted to the archaeology of childhood.
This seminal article defined “the child’s world” as children’s
relationships with the environment, with adults, and with
one another, and it pointed out that archaeology had made
only limited contributions toward understanding the child’s
world (Lillehammer 1989:90).
Twelve years later in her review article presenting differ-
ent avenues of inquiry in the archaeological study of child-
hood, Kathryn Kamp (2001) asked the question, “Where
have all the children gone?” Literature on the archaeology of
childhood had grown substantially in those intervening years
and has continued to grow to include works that develop ap-
proaches and rationales for the archaeology of childhood,
as well as studies of children in the archaeological record
(e.g., Baxter 2000, 2005; Kamp 2002; Moore and Scott 1997;
Park 1998; Sofaer Derevenski 2000; Sofaer Derevenski, ed.
1994). The title of Kamp’s (2001) article, however, indicates
that archaeologists are still a long way from regularly inte-
grating the child’s world into our interpretations of the past.
The literature on the archaeology of childhood con-
sistently critiques the discipline’s traditional treatment of
children in archaeological interpretations. The most obvi-
ous critique is the tendency of archaeologists to ignore chil-
dren completely, despite the fact that individuals defined as
children were undoubtedly present in most prehistoric and
historic communities. Similarly, when children are included
in archaeological interpretations, they are often depicted in
stereotypical ways that cast them in peripheral roles to the
social, economic, religious, and political spheres considered
important in archaeological research.
Different authors have offered diverse approaches for
the inclusion of children and childhood in archaeological
interpretations. Underlying all of these diverse approaches
is an almost universal call for archaeologists to consider
children as cultural actors capable of making significant de-
cisions in their own upbringing and making substantial con-
tributions to their families, communities, and societies.
The articles that make up this volume detail studies that
use diverse data sources and analytical approaches to under-
stand the child’s world. Each of these studies treats children
as actors, and together they demonstrate a wide variety of
activities and contributions that may be attributed to children
in different cultural settings.
These studies also clearly reveal that the study of chil-
dren is not isolated from our understanding of other aspects
of culture. The definition of the child’s world (Lillehammer
1989:90) focuses not on children but on the relationships
children have with adults, other children, and the environ-
ment. Each chapter in this volume centers the study of chil-
dren in the relationships they have with other people and/or
with the world around them. These studies all emphasize that
the archaeology of childhood should not be considered an

Archeological Papers of the American Anthropological Association, Vol. 15, pp. 1–9, ISBN 1-931303-20-7.  C 2006 by the American Anthro-

pological Association. All rights reserved. Permissions to photocopy or reproduce article content via www.ucpress.edu/journals/rights.htm.
2 Jane Eva Baxter
endeavor that is isolated or compartmentalized as a separate
sphere of analysis but rather is a way to enrich and enhance
our understanding of communities and cultures as a whole.
The Archaeology of Childhood: It’s for
Everyone
For archaeologists studying children, the importance of
engaging questions about children and childhood is very
clear. When the contributors to this volume met as partici-
pants in a session at the 2001 American Anthropological As-
sociation meetings,1 everyone, participants and attendants
alike, spoke with a passion and excitement about conduct-
ing archaeological research on children. At the same time,
there was a nearly universal lament that the archaeology of
childhood was not “catching on.” Our work was seen as an
interesting specialization within the discipline but not as a
new perspective toward understanding the past that could and
should be incorporated into archaeological analyses wher-
ever possible.
The tone of our discussions was characteristic of most
published literature on the archaeology of childhood and is
also reflected in many contributions to this volume. Virtu-
ally every publication to date contains a section in which
the author or editor justifies his or her interest in studying
children and presents evidence to demonstrate that children
really are important in archaeological research. These seg-
ments are designed to dispel two main views that archae-
ologists have traditionally held about children. The first is
that children are not really important because their activities
do not make significant contributions to communities and
societies as a whole. Second is the view that children are
unknowable through the archaeological record because their
behavior leaves few material traces, with the exception of
child burials.
The notion that children are unimportant or peripheral
in relation to “real” issues of archaeological interest is de-
rived from our own culturally constructed ideas of childhood,
which often deny the diverse contributions and roles of chil-
dren in different cultural settings (Baxter 2005; Bugarin,
this volume; Kamp 2001; Sofaer Derevenski 1994a, 1994b,
1997, 2000). Equally important to this critique is that de-
spite demonstrated cross-cultural variation in the definitions,
roles, and meanings of “child” and “childhood,” individuals
identified as children are present in all documented human
social groups.
If children are present in all human social groups, it
should be expected that they also were responsible for cre-
ating portions of the archaeological record (Chamberlain
1997). The current tendency to omit children in archaeolog-
ical research can be likened to the exclusion of women from
archaeological interpretations prior to the introduction of
feminist critiques and gender studies in archaeology (Baker
1997; Baxter 2005; Kamp 2001; Lillehammer 1989, 2000;
Rothschild 2002; Sofaer Derevenski 1994a, 1994b, 1997,
2000). Feminist critiques were considered by many a call to
action and have led to a large and diverse body of literature
devoted to the roles and activities of women in the past. The
application of gender-based approaches to the archaeolog-
ical record also has greatly enhanced our understanding of
how families and communities were organized in the past
(Nelson 1997). This same line of argument can be used to
advocate for the incorporation of children into archaeologi-
cal inquiry (Kamp, this volume). The relationships between
children and the material world and their contributions to the
archaeological record are an essential component of all ar-
chaeological analyses if we hope to create a more complete
and dynamic picture of past communities and societies.
The archaeology of childhood has far more potential
than merely providing better understanding of material as-
semblages and site formation. Archaeological interpreta-
tions that include children can make important contributions
to “real” issues of anthropological significance. Archaeol-
ogists have long recognized that issues relating to children
such as birth spacing, labor divisions, mobility, and resource
scheduling are variables that affect adult decision-making
(Kelly 1995). When archaeologists alter their point of view
and consider children as cultural actors instead of as vari-
ables, children emerge as making significant cultural con-
tributions in areas considered important by anthropologists
(Baxter 2005; Bird and Bliege-Bird 2000; Deetz 1993; Kamp
2001; Wilkie 2000).
These archaeological studies are supported by research
in other disciplines. Cross-cultural studies of children have
documented children foraging and cultivating essential sub-
sistence goods, working as apprentices in crafting work-
shops, laboring in factories and on farms, and participating
in religious and secular rituals (Bugarin, this volume; Kamp
2001). In these contexts, children are active participants in
economic, social, political, and religious systems, and their
activities are not peripheral but rather essential to the suc-
cess of these systems and the societies in which they operate.
These types of observations are beyond most of our own per-
sonal childhood experiences and outside our experience of
childhood generally. Recent historical research has shown,
however, that American children participated in many sim-
ilar activities in significant numbers as recently as 70 years
ago (Mintz 2004).
Childhood is also significant for archaeological research
because it is a stage in the human life cycle when children
are taught to be members of their society as a whole. The
cultural construction of children and the means and agents
used in their socialization can be very telling about a com-
munity (Baxter 2005). Children are the future of all human
The Archaeology of Childhood in Context
social groups, and the perpetuation of a group rests upon the
successful training and adaptation of each new generation
(Belsky et al. 1984:19; Sofaer Derevenski 1994a). The pro-
cess of teaching and learning between adults and children
is also an essential component of the development, mainte-
nance, and evolution of other social categories such as gender
and ethnicity. The archaeology of childhood, therefore, en-
ables the study of change and continuity across generations
(see Smith, this volume), particularly in the perpetuation
of important principles of social organization. The study of
mechanisms associated with cultural change and continuity
on the smaller scales of family and community also are im-
portant for developing an understanding of culture change
on a broader scale.
As Schwartzman notes in her commentary to this vol-
ume, it is also important and acceptable to study children as
children in their own right (see also Thomas, this volume).
One of the fundamental premises underlying the anthropo-
logical endeavor is that there exists a differential distribu-
tion of knowledge both within and among cultures. On the
largest scale, anthropologists seek to understand the nature
of humanness through documenting the diversity of the hu-
man experience across cultures. Within any defined cultural
group there is also recognition that different members of that
group possess unique sets of knowledge. Childhood is one
of the many ways that knowledge and experience become
bounded within cultural groups, and therefore anthropolog-
ical studies of childhood and of children are intimately tied
to the anthropological endeavor as a whole.
Children in Action: Making Children Visible
in the Archaeological Record beyond
Mortuary Studies
Even if archaeologists recognize that children are im-
portant cultural actors who were present at most archaeolog-
ical sites, the question of how to identify their activities still
remains. It is this very difficulty of identifying children’s
activities and material culture that has caused archaeologists
to consider children unknowable or invisible in most non-
mortuary contexts. Children’s play often involves found or
discarded artifacts, and artifacts attributable solely to chil-
dren are rare, if not absent, from most archaeological as-
semblages. Children involved in tasks and activities shared
by adults may not leave distinct traces in the archaeological
record and therefore their activities become amalgamated
with those of adults.
The archaeology of childhood was for decades relegated
to the study of child burials because of these difficulties.
Recent literature on the archaeology of children, however,
has called into question the relative ease of identifying chil-
3
dren in mortuary contexts that was often assumed by ar-
chaeologists. The simple equation of a biologically subadult
skeleton to a culturally defined stage such as childhood is,
in fact, loaded with complex assumptions and problems
(Baxter 2005; Kamp 2001; Perry, this volume). The
presumed visibility of children in mortuary populations
(Whittlesey 2002) has become less clear and calls into
question many traditional approaches to studying children
archaeologically.
Looking for children in the archaeological record re-
quires a different type of awareness about the nature of child-
hood, including both the diverse possibilities of what a child
can be and the unique physical and cognitive abilities of chil-
dren. Such an outlook requires attentiveness to the variation
of documented childhood experiences that might serve as
useful analogs for a particular archaeological case. Simulta-
neously, such a perspective requires the knowledge of how
children’s experiences are shaped by the patterns in cognitive
and motor development that characterize human ontogeny.
Several studies, including some in this volume, incorporate
such perspectives and demonstrate that children are identifi-
able archaeologically, specifically in nonmortuary contexts.
The chapter in this volume by Perry, which does take a bioar-
chaeological approach toward the archaeology of children,
refocuses the mortuary analysis of “subadult” skeletons to-
ward an understanding of children’s lives rather than toward
seeing them as variables in demographic and social analyses
of mortuary populations.
The archaeology of childhood, therefore, does not nec-
essarily require new methodological approaches to the ar-
chaeological record but rather demands alternative ways of
understanding how people of different ages and age groups
lived in the past. This is reflected in current research in the
archaeology of children and childhood. These studies may
be aptly characterized by the diversity in approaches that
have been implemented to successfully identify and study
children through the archaeological record. These studies in-
dicate that the presence of children in the past is reflected in
a variety of types of archaeological evidence and not merely
a few child-specific artifacts. The chapters in this volume
expand upon existing approaches to the study of children—
and also offer new ways of making children visible in the
archaeological record.
Archaeological studies of children and childhood, not
unlike other foci of archaeological inquiry, are heavily
couched in contextual information, whether historical, eth-
nohistoric, or ethnographic. This contextual information is
an essential component in the exploration of the culturally
constructed nature of childhood. The very basic question of
which individuals were considered to be children (or infants
or toddlers or adolescents or other categories of personhood)
as well as how the roles and expectations of those categories
4 Jane Eva Baxter
were constructed may best be understood when informed by
these types of sources. Many previous studies have used ar-
chaeological data in combination with such sources to exam-
ine how children were defined, raised, and living their lives
in particular cultural contexts (Hawcroft and Dennell 2000;
Park 1998; Piper 2002; Sillar 1994; Wilkie 2000). Such stud-
ies have been effective in increasing our understanding of the
definitions, roles, behaviors, and artifacts that help to create
the concept of childhood in diverse temporal and geographic
settings.
The essays in this volume similarly engage the ethno-
graphic and historical records in their attempts to illuminate
children’s lives in the past. The first two chapters reevaluate
ethnographic literature on hunter-gatherer populations and
find a wealth of information about children that may be used
to increase our understanding of the archaeological record.
Bugarin’s contribution focuses on African hunter-gatherer
groups and identifies unique economic and subsistence ac-
tivities performed solely by children. She uses this informa-
tion to develop a series of unique behavioral and material
markers of children that may be identified archaeologically.
The chapter by Keith uses ethnographic literature to compare
gender-based strategies in the transfer of cultural knowl-
edge between adults and children in three hunter-gatherer
societies. She presents evidence for a strong, demonstra-
ble relationship between strategies used to socialize chil-
dren, differential distributions of knowledge, and patterns
of decision-making in each of these societies.
The chapter by Thomas describes original ethnographic
research on children and nature in a contemporary urban
setting. Ethnographic fieldwork on children’s interactions
within a culturally specified type of place (nature) aptly
demonstrates how the cultural constructions of childhood
and environment that operate in a particular time and place
shape and constrain children’s behavior and interactions with
the material world and one another. Such a demonstration
of the relationship between cultural knowledge, social be-
havior and discourse, space and place, and material culture
forms essential underpinnings for many approaches to the
archaeology of childhood.
Other studies in this volume are more centrally engaged
with the archaeological record but also rely heavily on ethno-
graphic and historical sources. These studies all share the
central concern of adding children’s lives into an archaeo-
logical understanding of a particular time and place.
Robert Park’s contribution to this volume employs the
direct historic approach in his study of childhood in the Thule
and Dorset cultures of Arctic Canada. His work with ethno-
graphic accounts of childhood in Inuit societies suggests
that children were conceptualized as miniature adults. This
particular construction of childhood may be viewed archae-
ologically through the rich and varied miniaturized material
culture encountered at Thule and Dorset sites. Through a
comprehensive comparison of miniature and full-sized ar-
tifact categories in light of this ethnographic record, Park
is able to make compelling inferences about the changing
nature of childhood and society in two distinct periods of
Arctic prehistory.
Another common avenue of research in the archaeology
of childhood is made up of studies of labor, craft production,
and the acquisition of technological competence (Bagwell
2002; Crown 2002; Finlay 1997; Greenfield 2000; Grimm
2000; Hayden and Cannon 1984; Kamp 2002; Kamp et al.
1999; Pigeot 1990). These studies are all informed by an
awareness of the potential economic contributions of chil-
dren, both as accomplished laborers and as students learning
to perform adult tasks. Many of these studies reassess assem-
blages of artifacts that have been interpreted previously as
reflecting only adult activities, and the studies uncover arti-
facts and behavioral patterns that are most likely the work of
children in different stages of apprenticeship and learning.
Smith’s chapter in this volume studies children’s roles
in pottery production and pushes this field of inquiry in new
directions. Her research compares stylistic differences in ju-
venile and adult vessels found in prehistoric Huron contexts.
This study demonstrates that children played an active role in
an intergenerational network of potters that produced stylis-
tic changes in decorative motifs over a period of several
hundred years. The study emphasizes children as partici-
pants in learning and production communities and points to
the importance of children in such contexts.
Research on children has also included the study of
children’s activities and behaviors and their implications for
archaeological site formation (Baxter 2000; Bird and Bliege-
Bird 2000). These types of studies recognize that children’s
physical and cognitive relationships with the world are fun-
damentally different from those of adults and attempt to un-
derstand how children’s interactions with the environment
are shaped and developed in different cultural settings. One
goal of these types of studies is to demonstrate conclusively
that an inclusion of children’s activities is essential in order
to understand and interpret the composition and distribution
of artifacts at archaeological sites.
The contribution to this volume by Baxter outlines an
approach to identifying children’s behaviors through the
archaeological record. This study uses archaeological evi-
dence from five 19th-century domestic sites to demonstrate
the presence of patterning in children’s artifacts in the ar-
chaeological record and therefore their visibility in non-
mortuary contexts. Historical sources are used to identify
artifact types that may be categorized as “child specific”
and to interpret patterns in artifact distributions. Perry’s
The Archaeology of Childhood in Context
contribution on bioarchaeological approaches to childhood
couches the understanding of biologically immature human
skeletal remains in the broader context of ethnographically
documented rites of passage that commonly mark transitions
in culturally defined stages of personhood. Her work pro-
vides a useful toolkit for archaeologists wishing to rethink
the meaning of “childhood” in mortuary analyses. The types
of methods commonly used to assess variables of health, diet,
and labor (among others) may also be associated with cul-
turally defined stages of personhood. The application of the
approach advocated by Perry may assist archaeologists in
revealing cultural constructions of personhood in the past
rather than analytical typologies in the present.
Each of the contributions to this volume has a distinct
primary research emphasis. Yet, it is easy to see that every
contribution addresses aspects of the cultural construction of
children, children’s labor and/or production, and children’s
behavior and contributions to site formation. These com-
monalities result from the approach taken by each author
that situates children as cultural actors and in “the child’s
world.” The methods used to interrogate the ethnographic,
archaeological, and historical records are not unfamiliar and
underscore the fact that children were integral parts of past
social groups and are integral to understanding the archaeo-
logical record. The commentaries by Kamp from an archae-
ological perspective and Schwartzman through the lens of
cultural anthropology further unite these themes and high-
light the contributions of these essays to broader discourses
within anthropology.
Give and Take: Interdisciplinarity and the
Archaeology of Childhood
The essays in this volume also share a heavy reliance
on theories, methods, and data from other disciplines to in-
terpret the remains of children and their activities in the
archaeological record. As noted above, archaeologists en-
gaged in the study of childhood are often directly reliant
upon nonarchaeological sources for their analyses, includ-
ing ethnographic, ethnohistoric, and historical sources. The
reliance on these sources stems from the need to create new
sets of analogies that extend our comprehension of childhood
beyond our own experiences and conceptions. Most archae-
ologists live and were raised in a cultural setting in which
children are perceived as having little economic value or so-
cial influence, in which multiple agents within and beyond
the nuclear family conduct children’s education and training,
and in which children are considered largely peripheral to
the arenas in which “important” activities and decisions are
undertaken. These other types of sources allow us to expand
5
our imagination of what it means to be a child and the im-
portant contributions children can and do make in human
communities.
There are cultures that treat children as miniature adults
and try to minimize rather than emphasize differences be-
tween older and younger members of their communities
(Keith, this volume; Mintz 2004). Even within such cultural
constructions there exist several biological factors that have
a profound impact on how physically immature humans in-
teract with the world around them. Most adults, including
those who work as archaeologists, do not recall how they
experienced the world as a child. Therefore, archaeologists
studying childhood need to employ information from other
fields such as developmental psychology, pediatrics, biology,
and urban planning to understand children’s perceptions and
interactions with the world around them.
The archaeology of childhood, therefore, requires re-
searchers to take a different perspective toward the archaeo-
logical record in order to search for the child’s world. Each of
the contributions to this volume is an example of this need,
as each reaches outside of the discipline of archaeology to
construct an appropriate vantage point to study the remains
of children in the archaeological record. It is an important as-
pect of this volume that all essays rely on ethnographic and/or
historical data regardless of the specific approach taken to-
ward the material record. Each chapter also uses data, theory,
or methods from at least one additional discipline. Clearly,
studying children archaeologically is an inherently interdis-
ciplinary endeavor.
Each contribution to this volume uses the intersection of
cultural constructions of children and the biological and psy-
chological stages of human development to study children
archaeologically. The topic of childhood is one that straddles
the traditional dualism of nature and nurture, and each essay
in this volume creates a unique balance in its treatment of
the ontological and the cultural. These contributions illus-
trate that one cannot propose to study children as tabulae
rasae on which infinitely diverse meanings can be inscribed,
but neither can one view children simply as beings at a par-
ticular stage in the human life cycle (Midgley 1995:3–4;
Sofaer Derevenski 2000). These essays demonstrate that it
is essential to approach this intersection of biology and cul-
ture with a consideration “that physique and meaning grow
simultaneously—an evolved body developing in an histori-
cal context” (Robertson 1996:598–599).
The intersection of biology and culture and the in-
terdisciplinary nature of inquiry in this volume point to
a place where archaeology may have important conversa-
tions with other subfields in the discipline of anthropol-
ogy (Schwartzman 2001). Linguistic anthropology (e.g.,
Schieffelin 1990; Schieffelin and Ochs 1986) and
6 Jane Eva Baxter
sociocultural anthropology (Boyden 1990; Field 1995;
Ginsburg and Rapp 1995; Nieuwenhuys 1996; Stephens
1993, 1995) have a long history of research involving chil-
dren. This research addresses the place of children in dif-
ferent societies; the importance of children in economic,
social, and political arenas; and the perpetuation of culture
across generations. Biological anthropologists, through inte-
grating biological and cultural information, have recognized
that children are not just components of larger demographic
studies but rather are often important indicators of how suc-
cessfully human populations are faring in particular environ-
ments (Goodman and Armelagos 1989; Goodman, Lallo,
et al. 1984; Goodman, Martin, et al. 1984). All of these
questions are intimately related to concerns of archaeolo-
gists studying childhood and firmly embed the archaeology
of childhood within the broader discipline of anthropology.
Archaeologists have much to add to these conversations.
First, archaeologists can add to a broader anthropological
understanding of the nature of childhood through illuminat-
ing the experiences of childhood in the past. Definitions of
what it means to be a child, for a child and as a child, is
of central concern in anthropological discussions of child-
hood (Hirschfeld 2002; Schwartzman 2001, this volume).
Documenting childhood experiences in the past becomes an
essential contribution to understanding childhood as a social
construction. A related aspect is the ability to call into ques-
tion and break down contemporary Western ideas of child-
hood that have been normalized and universalized in many
academic and popular discussions of childhood (Thomas,
this volume). Because archaeologists often study cultures
linked by local and regional interactions rather than broader
“globalized” contacts, the ability to gain a more nuanced
understanding of childhood may derive from archaeological
explorations of childhood.
A second critical contribution from archaeology stems
from its unique perspective to understanding the process of
socialization (Keith, Park, Baxter, Smith, this volume). The
transfer of cultural knowledge is achieved both across and
within generations and is often directly related to material
culture and social behaviors. Archaeology’s diachronic per-
spective on culture and culture change provides an important
approach toward understanding the processes of socializa-
tion (Baxter 2005).
Embracing Children in Action
This volume is an important contribution to the grow-
ing body of literature on the archaeology of childhood. Each
essay in this volume builds on existing theoretical literature
to create new approaches to identifying children in the ar-
chaeological record. These diverse approaches are unified
by their treatment of children as actors who make important
contributions to their communities.
It is hoped that the array of approaches toward the ar-
chaeology of childhood presented in this volume will demon-
strate to archaeologists that the study of childhood is not only
necessary but feasible as well. The archaeology of childhood
is not a specialty and is not just about children. The archaeol-
ogy of childhood is about relationships between children and
the communities of which they are a part, and it is therefore
a topic integral to questions traditionally considered impor-
tant by archaeologists. Out of this exploration of childhood
comes the understanding that children and childhood are as
diverse and complex as any other social group or category.
The need to consider the biological and the cultural aspects
of childhood also ties the archaeology of childhood to im-
portant conversations being held within and across different
subfields of anthropology.
Note
1. This volume comprises papers from a session held at
the 2001 American Anthropological Association Meetings
in Washington, DC. The original panel contained papers by
Douglas Bird and Rissa Trachman, who were not able to
contribute to this volume. The chapters by Kelly Thomas
and Megan Perry and the commentaries by Kathryn Kamp
and Helen Schwartzman were added to this volume and were
not part of the original symposium.
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 1
Constructing an Archaeology of Children:
Studying Children and Child Material Culture
from the African Past
Flordeliz T. Bugarin
George Washington University

ABSTRACT
This chapter addresses the implications of an archaeology that includes studies of children and their material
environment. Focusing on examples of African populations, it offers models that contribute to theories about child
behavior. The construction of an archaeology of children is feasible and important for furthering our understanding
of the past. Through ethnoarchaeological approaches, we have the opportunity to begin a discourse on children and
to set a foundation for future studies on what the children left behind.
Keywords: ethnoarchaeology, subsistence strategies, Africa

A rchaeologists have long neglected children in their stud-

ies of the past, and the implications of such neglect
have been well documented in recent literature on the ar-
chaeology of childhood (Baxter, introduction, this volume;
Kamp 2001). Redressing such limitations in archaeological
interpretations has linked the archaeology of childhood to
broader discussions of agency and identity in the archaeo-
logical record (Kamp, this volume).
This perspective aligns the archaeology of childhood
to a long history of archaeologists demanding that greater
attention be paid to populations underrepresented in
archaeological and historical research (Deagan 1991; Deetz
1996; Lightfoot 1995; Schmidt and Patterson 1995). Deetz
claimed: “Archaeology’s prime value to history lies in its
promise to take into account large numbers of people in
the past who either were not included in the written record
or, if they were, were included in a biased or minimal way”
(Deetz 1993:12).
Research from similar perspectives includes inquiries
into the lives of slaves (Ferguson 1991, 1992; Singleton
1985), maroons (Agorsah 1993; Weik 2002), women
(Conkey and Gero 1991; Wylie 1991), people subjected to
relationships of inequality (McGuire and Paynter 1991), and
indigenous people at contact period sites (Bugarin 2002;
Schrire 1992, 1996). The archaeology of such populations,
however, is often fraught with difficulties because of the un-
equal “visibility” of certain categories of individuals in his-
torical, and to a lesser degree, ethnographic evidence. These
sources are often essential to enrich archaeological interpre-
tations of the past, and this deficit has long been noted. For
example, archaeologists agree that there are problems with
primary historical documents, often consisting of diaries and
travelers’ accounts. Kent Lightfoot states: “Unfortunately,
most colonial accounts were written from the perspective
of affluent European men who documented little about the
lifeways of lower class laborers and their relations with local
native men, women, and children” (Lightfoot 1995:201).
Some diaries and autobiographies do provide the voices
of children (e.g., Ntantala 1993); however, they are few in
number and they carry with them a degree of subjective bias.
Archaeology offers scholars access to specific types of ma-
terial data that may provide the information missing from
historical documents concerning the everyday lives of chil-
dren from the past. Creating strategies to combine multiple
lines of evidence are essential to understanding experiences
of childhood in the past and in the present.

Archeological Papers of the American Anthropological Association, Vol. 15, pp. 13–26, ISBN 1-931303-20-7. C 2006 by the American Anthro-

pological Association. All rights reserved. Permissions to photocopy or reproduce article content via www.ucpress.edu/journals/rights.htm.
14
From ethnographies and written historical records, we
can construct hypotheses that specifically investigate the
roles of children within communities that have differ-
ent subsistence strategies. We can also apply the insights
from ethnographies to further archaeological questions and
hypotheses. The testing of hypotheses such as the following
may launch discussions pertaining to the directions most
suitable for an archaeology of children.
1. We can use a cross-cultural perspective by comparing
hunting and gathering societies to settled pastoral com-
munities. If a community has a small population, is highly
mobile, and relies mainly on hunting and gathering, the
children within that community will expend more time
and energy doing chores, working without the supervi-
sion of adults, and making contributions to their dietary
needs. Conversely, if a community is larger, more perma-
nently settled, and relies on domestic animals and agri-
culture, the children within that community will spend
more time creating material culture that mimics objects
in the world around them, imitates adult behavior, and
provides a means to practice the skills needed to carry
them through the socialization process into adulthood.
2. The distribution of archaeological activity areas asso-
ciated with child behavior directly correlates with the
subsistence strategies of their society. Archaeological
sites associated with children from hunting and gather-
ing societies will include clusters of smaller weapons and
processing tools and accumulations of small-animal rem-
nants. Archaeological sites associated with communi-
ties reliant on agriculture and pastoral practices will
include the foundations of structures built for children
and more concentrated activity areas associated with chil-
dren’s chores and games. The more a community is per-
manently settled, the more space across the landscape
will reflect how the activity areas of children are divided
across age-sets and gender lines.
To expound upon these proposed hypotheses, this chap-
ter discusses information gleaned from ethnographies that
are organized by the subsistence strategies of each commu-
nity. Through the ethnographies, similarities and differences
become apparent within the patterns of child behavior.
Reconceptualizing Childhood in Archaeology
From ethnographic and historical studies, we know that
while there is much cross-cultural variability in the behavior
of children, children of all ages and from different countries
work to support their communities. Many Xhosa children in
South Africa start working at the age of six (Child 1969:165).
In some Haitian communities, children spend many hours
getting water. The tasks relegated to these Haitian children
Flordeliz T. Bugarin
allow adults to devote their energies to other activities. Re-
search in a sample of Javanese villages showed that 12- to
14-year-old boys on average contribute 33 hours of valu-
able labor per week while 9- to 11-year-old girls contribute
38 hours (Harris 1993:226). According to Harris (1993), Ja-
vanese children altogether provide approximately half of all
work performed by household members. Moni Nag et al.
(1978) and Benjamin White (1982) have noted similar con-
tributions from Nepalese children.
Children in many countries often make handicrafts, en-
gage in trade, and process foods for themselves as well as
for sale. Some also perform the tasks needed to care for
themselves as well as their siblings. These contributions free
mothers and fathers for more income-producing tasks or en-
sure that only a small amount of time is needed to maintain
the welfare of their children (Harris 1993:227).
Alison Wylie (1991) pointed out that one of the bi-
ases challenging feminist archaeologists is that the roles
and statuses of women are archaeologically inaccessible.
Similarly, biases that disregard these ethnographically doc-
umented contributions of children result in a dismissal of
questions and interpretations that highlight child activity in
the past. For example, there are documented instances in
which children used “adult” material culture to create pecu-
liar associations and deposits (Bonnichsen 1973; Hammond
and Hammond 1981; Wilk and Schiffer 1979). Some archae-
ologists (Baxter, Chapter 6, this volume; Deal 1985; Hayden
and Cannon 1983; Watson 1979) notice that child play re-
sults in a disturbance of the “adult” landscape, enlargements
of “adult” artifact scatters, and the transportation of “adult”
artifacts from one area to another. An archaeology that does
not recognize the potential presence of children could erase
actual traces of children from archaeological interpretations
by focusing solely on the “adult” artifacts in the assemblage.
An example of an archaeology that is inclusive of the
possibility of children can be seen in an interpretation offered
from a Virginia plantation. In the archaeological record at
this site, Jim Deetz (1993) found spoons that were oddly
bent at the handle. Unable to explain their meaning, he set
them aside until he realized that their existence could be at-
tributed to child behavior. Children may have bent the spoons
while using them as digging tools or play items. Such arti-
facts demonstrate an archaeological form that is associated
with the behavior of children from the past and with how
children learn to interact with their environment apart from
adults. This example illustrates how a consideration of child
behavior can influence archaeological interpretation.
Redefining the Child’s World
The first question that occurs to archaeologists when
confronted with the possibilities of including populations
Children and Child Material Culture from the African Past
of children in archaeological studies is whether we can
discretely outline a study of children. That is, can we de-
fine the archaeological variables involved in a child’s world?
This process involves addressing a series of questions:
(1) What is a child and how do we define childhood?
(2) How do we define a child’s world? and (3) How can
we use ethnographic data and ethnoarchaeological research
as a means for understanding how the domain of children is
represented in the archaeological record?
The Child
Most people recognize an early biological stage some-
where between birth and adolescence as the period of child-
hood. Some scholars (Hiner and Hawes 1991; Reynolds
1990) view childhood as a social construction and as a so-
cial status that is under continuous reconstruction and varies
in time and space. The range of ages within this stage also
varies from one culture to the next, among socioeconomic
classes, and between historical periods (Haag 1988).
Pamela Reynolds (1990) argues that most definitions
of the child emphasize dependence, innocence, and obedi-
ence. She claims that although children are seen as passive,
vulnerable objects requiring supervision, nourishment, pro-
tection, and training (see Schildkrout 1978:109), most chil-
dren around the world do not represent this model (see Aries
1962). Scholars are thus challenged to rethink popular per-
ceptions of the child. Enid Schildkrout (1978) supports the
notion that children play active roles in society. She notes
that some scholars have received criticism for considering
childhood as simply a socialization phase in which children
learn to be adults. She describes this perspective as the “tradi-
tional socialization approach” and states: “While there has
been an increasing concern with childhood as something
distinct from adulthood, the emphasis on socialization has
trivialized childhood as a social status. Children rarely enter
descriptions of social systems, any more than they enter the
system of production (although they do, of course, enter
the economic system in an important sense, as consumers)”
(Schildkrout 1978:110).
By looking at the child as an active participant in so-
ciety, we can start to focus on the relationships between
child behaviors, the impact of this behavior on the environ-
ment, and the physical material world that is created through
childhood.
Childhood and the Child’s World
The “child’s world” and a “child’s culture” refer to the
social environment of childhood (Lesnik-Oberstein 1998;
Mouritsen and Qvortrup 2002; Olwig and Gulløv 2003).
15
They raise questions concerning how society is constituted
in the child’s eye, how culture is passed on to children, and
what strategies children develop apart from the influences of
adults. Using these terms, Schildkrout (1978:109) focuses on
the relationships among children and adults, the autonomy
of the child’s world, and the differences between cultural and
socioeconomic factors of childhood. Sigsgaard (1979:128),
an archaeologist, defines the child’s world in three different
ways:
1. The culture that arises from the children themselves and
their engagement in the surrounding world,
2. The culture that is transferred to children from adults,
and
3. The culture that is transferred from child to child without
any adult mediator.
Although Enid E. Haag’s (1988) definition of child-
hood is based on the premise that many societies consis-
tently agree that childhood is the period between birth and
age 13, perhaps a constructive conceptual tool would be to
define childhood as the realm of a distinct but nonetheless
integrated group in society. With this construct, we can iden-
tify children by means of variable indicators such as income
production, political activity, education, and access to re-
sources. As seen within these parameters the definition of
the child is extended beyond the positions relegated to bio-
logical factors (see Perry, this volume). This definition be-
gins to include how different societies organize their social
environment and control of certain behaviors, motivated by
their aspirations for the future. We can see how this defi-
nition becomes useful when studying children in societies
such as the South African Xhosa.
Among the Xhosa, individuals usually maintain the sta-
tus of a child until they pass through ritual stages. Regard-
less of biological age, males typically remain children until
they go through circumcision rites (Soga 1931). During the
Mineral Revolution in the early 19th century, several Xhosa
males left their homes to work in the mines or in urban areas,
yet the majority of them returned to their villages specifically
to take their places in the circumcision ceremonies. If a male
failed to participate in this ritual, he most likely remained a
child. With this status, he could never traditionally marry or
speak in public. His children would be labeled the children of
a child and assigned a lower status even if they participated
in their own circumcision rituals. In some societies, certain
individuals remain children all their lives (Haag 1988).
An alternative conceptual tool to viewing childhood
as a social class is the perspective that childhood can be
seen as a culture. The culture of childhood (Goodman 1970;
Mouritsen and Qvortrup 2002) seemingly entails all of the
conditions within a class of childhood (as discussed above),
yet at the same time it also implies that there are universal
16
characteristics of childhood apart from the culture of society
as a whole. While Burns (1994) argues that anthropologists
must recognize that children have their own culture, others
such as Roberts and Akinsanya (1976) claim that childhood,
as among the Hausa, is qualitatively different from adult-
hood because children are not held responsible for many of
the rules that guide the behavior of adults.
Apart from adults, children have their own material
culture, folklore, games, stories, and rhymes (Burns 1994;
Calvert 1992; Nwankwo 1993). From his study of children in
Florida, Burns (1994) suggests that they also have their own
social and moral taboos. From observations of masquerad-
ing schoolboys in Sierra Leone, Cannizzo (1979) points out
that boys create a world of their own that is autonomous
from adults and independent of ethnic origin, status, rank,
and religion. Through studies of socialization among the
Ijaw children in Nigeria, Cannizzo (1979) demonstrates that
children construct a specific child culture. He argues that
adults perceive their children as individuals or independent
agents free of parental control.
Some scholars see childhood as a means of socialization
(see Schildkrout 1978:109), which refers to the process in
which children are learning how to be adults or full-fledged
members of adult society. People with this perspective have
often been criticized for trivializing childhood (Schildkrout
1978). A response to this assessment lies in viewing so-
cialization as a process in which children, on their own, are
learning how to satisfy their needs as well as the needs of their
society. A child’s culture, childhood, or a child’s world can be
seen as a cross-cultural phenomenon if it is defined as a so-
cialization process in which the child learns how to respond
to her or his environment. On the other hand, the socialization
process that all children experience varies cross-culturally
depending on time, space, and parental social beliefs.
To explore the cross-cultural differences and similari-
ties of children, Beatrice and John Whiting (1975) conducted
research on children from six different cultures. Within this
study, they noted that there are two theoretical perspectives
concerning studies of children from various societies, both of
which if taken to the extreme are false. One side supports the
notion that because children are human, all of them experi-
ence the same development processes and stages. Those tak-
ing this perspective concede that there are differences in the
rates of development of children from various cultures, yet
they assign little importance to those differences. In contrast,
others argue that cultural influences profoundly impact the
stages of development, thus children from different cultures
are not comparable. Integrating these two views, archaeol-
ogists can draw generalizations about a universal childhood
while they also delve into the historical context behind the
material culture of specific children.
Flordeliz T. Bugarin
The Whitings note that typologies based on children’s
social behavior seem to relate to and are perhaps accounted
for by socioeconomic and domestic variables. These factors
include living arrangements, roles assigned to children, and
daily routines (Whiting and Whiting 1975:174–175). The
results of the Whiting’s experiments seem to imply that chil-
dren brought up in similar types of societies, or societies
that rely on comparable types of subsistence strategies, will
behave in generally indistinguishable ways. Conversely, chil-
dren from societies that depend on dissimilar types of subsis-
tence strategies will exhibit significantly different behaviors.
In this chapter, I take a cross-cultural comparative look
at children from African communities that rely on different
subsistence strategies. To outline the broad generalizations
of a universal childhood, investigate the diverging behavioral
patterns of children from each community, and explore the
implications of the earlier mentioned hypotheses, this chap-
ter organizes the ethnographic information by the types of
subsistence practices of each society. Ethnographies within
Africa present good opportunities to investigate the simi-
larities and differences of children from different types of
communities with a wide range of subsistence practices from
hunting and gathering to more settled pastoralists.
Ethnographies and Ethnoarchaeological
Research
Although ethnographers have contributed significantly
to possible archaeological research strategies by providing
the contextual information on children in different societies,
their work often lacks the pertinent details needed to ask
particular archaeological questions about child life in the
past. More significantly, most ethnographies lack detailed
information about the material world of children, the effects
of child behavior on the environment, and the areas of child
activities within and around houses and settlements. This
knowledge is needed to construct ethnographic analogies
that are useful for uncovering the role of children in the past
as well as learning more about past childhood.
By constructing pertinent analogies, we can gain in-
sights into the dynamic processes that formed the static ar-
chaeological record. We can also build models that take into
account the meaning and social relations behind dynamic
processes. This approach to archaeological research will al-
low us to envision the faces behind our artifacts. As Ruth
Tringham (1991) claims, we cannot think of the people be-
hind our artifacts as really human entities with ideological,
social, political, and economic lives until we envision gender.
The same applies to age distinctions. Middle-range theory,
ethnoarchaeological perspectives, inferential reasoning, and
Children and Child Material Culture from the African Past
analogies provide the conceptual tools for placing the faces
of children behind the material culture.
Recognizing the advantages of ethnographies that are
tailored specifically for archaeological purposes, archaeolo-
gists (e.g., Kramer 1979; Yellen 1977) have constructed their
own ethnographies. Carol Kramer states that
Observations of contemporary behavior can facilitate the
development and refinement of insights into past behav-
iors, particularly when strong similarities can be shown
to exist between the environments and technologies of
the past and the contemporary sociocultural systems be-
ing compared. Ethnoarchaeological research investigates
aspects of contemporary sociocultural behavior from an
archaeological perspective; ethnoarchaeologists attempt
to systematically define relationships between behavior
and material culture not often explored by ethnologists,
and to ascertain how certain features of observable be-
havior may be reflected in remains which archaeologists
may find. [Kramer 1979:1]
As a result of the limited amount of archaeological at-
tention placed on childhood, few one-to-one archaeological
correlates of child behavior can be currently distinguished
apart from those associated with adult behavior. Ethnoar-
chaeological approaches are thus necessary for the construc-
tion of an archaeology of children. Using these approaches,
we can locate present-day areas of child activity and note
their associated material patterns on the landscape. We can
also establish a pattern that links child behavior with cur-
rent environmental conditions, dietary patterns, subsistence
practices, settlement occupation, spatial organization within
communities, ritual areas, and patterns of discard.
An ethnoarchaeological approach to these variables has
been used to create analogues within interpretations of the
past, which are employed to interpret archaeological re-
mains. An analysis of these relationships coupled with spe-
cific ethnographic models should allow us to make infer-
ences about the past behavior of children. These inferences
in turn can be tested through new reformulated hypotheses.
This reasoning involves a series of linking principles that, as
Alison Wylie (1991:33) argues, are needed in order to use
archaeological data to understand sociocultural phenomena.
In general, almost all archaeological interpretations involve
linking principles. Wylie claims that without these theoreti-
cal tools, archaeology would be confined to the descriptive
phase and questions of sociocultural dynamics would not be
addressed. If we are going to address new and different topics
and thus expand the discipline of archaeology, archaeologists
must start asking questions related to children. The next step
in developing an archaeology of children is to extract infor-
mation from existing ethnographies, while still recognizing
17
the need to create new ethnographies that specifically assist
archaeological endeavors.
One limitation in using existing ethnographies is that
they provide normative and often seemingly static descrip-
tions of cultural groups that cannot be used to address pat-
terns of temporal change or intracultural variation. The ac-
counts of the foraging societies of the Hadza and San peoples
and of the nonforaging Maasai, Ngoni, and Xhosa are all
presented in the often critiqued voice of the “ethnographic
present.” The limitations of this presentation are noted, but
it also must be recognized that such a voice is necessitated
by the use of existing ethnographic literature.
Ethnographies on Children of Foraging
Societies: The Hadza and San Peoples
The Hadza and Their Children
The Hadza live near Lake Eyasi in northern Tanzania
and generally divide labor according to age and gender sets.
Most Hadza adult men hunt in the mornings, evenings, and
at night, and many Hadza women gather wild plants daily
(Blurton Jones 1993). Like their parents, Hadza children
often hunt and forage off and on throughout the day. Their
foraging patterns have been studied and described by several
researchers (Blurton Jones et al. 1989, 1997; Blurton Jones
et al. 1994b; Hawkes et al. 1989, 1995, 1997, 2001a, 2001b).
Nicholas Blurton Jones (1993) observed that although Hadza
children between the ages of three and eight seldom go on
adult gathering excursions, children over eight may occa-
sionally accompany their mothers. Children who follow their
mothers on gathering excursions are usually asked to take
care of toddlers or infants. When children travel with their
mothers, they typically go in large groups to gather plant
foods such as tubers, berries, baobab, and honey (Blurton
Jones et al. 1997; Hawkes et al. 2001b). Hawkes et al. (2001a)
noticed that when children over the age of five forage on their
own, most of their acquired resources consist of plants.
The younger children are frequently left at the base
camp, unsupervised and free to leave the camp. According
to Blurton Jones (1993), these children spend roughly two
hours each day collecting and processing food without adult
supervision. They travel in mixed-age groups and spend time
in areas such as water holes and favored play spots. Most
of the time, Hadza children gather food independently from
women. Their returns are high enough to provide half of their
caloric requirements (Blurton Jones et al. 1989; Hawkes et al.
1997). When older children forage with adult women, they
actually have much lower foraging returns than when they
forage with other children apart from adults.
18 Flordeliz T. Bugarin

In studies on how a sample of children use their time, ods in which adults were not directly imposing or transfer-
researchers (Hawkes et al. 1997) found that boys spend more ring culture to children. Children were learning from each
time foraging than girls. Girls, however, carry home extra other and from their interaction with the environment. These
provisions and allocate additional time for collecting food ethnographies demonstrated the social roles of children as
over other activities. Boys occasionally hunt for small game contributors to culture.
and eat what they collect before returning to camp. They
also go back to the camp less often than do girls, as hunting
The San and Their Children
activities are bonding experiences that are embedded within
boys’ socialization processes (Hawkes et al. 2001b). When
Although we can see much variation in the ways that
they hunt with men, they scavenge small amounts of meat
San children interacted within their community, we know
and fat from the kills of their adult counterparts (Hawkes
that like the children of the Hadza, many San children have
et al. 1997).
often foraged alone, created their own space, and made their
Scholars have measured the productivity of some Hadza
own material culture. In early ethnographies of San soci-
children and studied their foraging patterns over several field
eties, Fourie (1960) pointed out that once children were old
seasons (Blurton Jones 1993; Blurton Jones et al. 1997).
enough they took care of themselves without adult supervi-
As a result of their observations, they reported dry-season
sion. While infants and young children frequently accompa-
returns and noted that those children do just as well during
nied their mothers on foraging trips, older children learned
wet seasons. In these foraging groups, children as young as
from their peers and various appointed elders.
three years old participate in the activities. They often dig
Many also went on gathering and hunting expeditions
and pick up baobab pods, which are usually taken back to
with other children (Schapera 1930). Boys usually practiced
camp where they are processed with the use of rocks and
shooting from the time they began to walk (Doke 1937;
pounding stones. Instead of being winnowed, the piths are
Marshall 1976). To hunt small birds and reptiles, they made
dampened with water and hammered. Children then suck the
diminutive bows and arrows until they reached approxi-
mush and replace the residue for further hammering until
mately 8 to 12 years old. At that age, they often received
only seed-shell fragments are left (Blurton Jones 1993).
full-sized weapons to hunt larger game (Schapera 1930). On
Behaviors such as these most likely leave definitive ma-
occasion, they also joined their fathers on adult hunting trips
terial markers and archaeological evidence of such specific
(Marshall 1976). Girls, however, were allowed to gather at
activity areas. They are also significant because they reflect
the age of 9 or 10. Labor contributions were typically di-
the degree of a child’s participation in subsistence practices.
vided along gender lines and were dependant on environ-
Hadza children are given many errands and tasks, such as
mental conditions, yet most children over the age of eight
those described above, which cost them time and energy and
contributed to the dietary requirements of their community
expose them to certain dangers within the natural environ-
by cracking their own rations of mongongo nuts (Lee 1979).
ment (Blurton Jones 1993).
From these early ethnographies of San children, we
Beyond working, Hadza children generally fill their
learn that children of foraging societies regularly take on
lives with play, imaginative games, and imitations of adult
specific tasks that separate their daily routines from those
dancers, dangerous animals, and foreigners such as other
of adults. We can see that there are differences between the
Hadza or Datoga herders (Blurton Jones 1993:316). Chil-
material culture of these children and that of their adult coun-
dren also play formalized games, gather for target practice,
terparts (e.g., the diminutive bows and arrows). These issues
and sing and dance. Some play with dolls that are made of
are significant because although some of these insights seem
rags and clay.
to be universal characteristics of childhood, as seen in the
The information gained from the studies of Hadza chil-
following examples, other characteristics demonstrate the
dren shows that we can associate the behaviors of children
wide variability of child behavior.
with specific demographic and ecological circumstances,
thus allowing us to make inferences from available archae-
ological material. In addition, we can perhaps gain insights More on San Children: Children of the Ju/’hoansi
into likely areas that reveal how child behavior transformed
the landscape in the past. Although most Ju/’hoansi peoples, formerly known as
Foremost, these studies demonstrate that typically some the !Kung, no longer pursue full-time hunting and gather-
children do contribute to subsistence strategies on an au- ing (Draper and Kranichfeld 1990), in the past, nomadic
tonomous level. In these cases, children were left for long Ju/’hoansi differed in many ways from the more sedentary
periods of time without constant adult supervision, peri- Ju/’hoansi (Barnard 1992; Draper 1975, 1976; Draper and
Children and Child Material Culture from the African Past
Cashdan 1988). In comparison with children from more no-
madic bands, children raised in a sedentary environment usu-
ally did more work and were a regular part of the labor pool.
They often traveled farther from their homes and interacted
more with those of similar sex and age and less with op-
posite sexes or with those not in their age-set (Draper and
Kranichfeld 1990). Among the sedentary Ju/’hoansi, adults
on average spent less time with their children in comparison
with the time spent by adults of nomadic groups. In addition,
interaction between Ju/’hoansi children themselves tended
to be less in care-taking and more in peer-group activities
(Barnard 1992; Draper 1975, 1976; Draper and Cashdan
1988).
Lorna Marshall (1976) observed that although the
Ju/’hoansi children of Nyae Nyae gathered wild plants, they
did so spontaneously and sporadically. They seldom foraged
when they accompanied adults on gathering excursions, yet
they learned to recognize most of the edible plants (Blurton
Jones et al. 1994b).
Few opportunities arose for children to work as much
as Hadza children (Blurton Jones et al. 1994a, 1994b), thus
Ju/’hoansi children frequently spent much of their time play-
ing. Play was just as important as work for the maintenance
of their society. Through play, children responded to their
environment by imitating each other. They also forged re-
lationships that enabled them to collaborate as adults and
thus to maximize their labor efforts when they started to
leave the camp on hunting excursions. Marshall (1976) ob-
served that in the Ju/’hoansi encampments of 1952 to 1953,
children played in the cleared areas of the dance circles,
around water holes, near the edges of the pan, and close to
baobab trees. Ju/’hoansi children of all ages never went far
from the encampment.
Patricia Draper (1975) points out that among the /Du/da
(the most isolated group among the Ju/’hoansi) the average
number of children per band was five girls and seven boys
ranging in age from infancy to 14 years old. Within this
group, children were limited in the availability of age mates
and consequently limited in the various relationships they
formed. Band size and mobility patterns (recoverable vari-
ables in the archaeological record) may have had determining
influences on child behavior.
The archaeological record allows us to determine band
or settlement size, environmental conditions, and subsis-
tence patterns, thus allowing us to draw generalizations about
the structures of age-mate classes of foraging groups from
the past. If we can assume that smallness of group size (as
in the Ju/’hoansi) is a constraint on fertility levels, is an indi-
cator of child spacing, and ensures that several age-mates are
not available, we can infer the behavior of certain children
within different communities.
19
A significant question to address through the archaeo-
logical record is whether children within smaller bands in the
past experienced few instances in which they were left un-
supervised. Conversely, within larger foraging bands, were
most children left for periods in which they participated in
autonomous activities apart from adult supervision? Does
population size stimulate a relationship between age differ-
entiation and allocated labor tasks? Perhaps we can distin-
guish patterns of child behavior and activity areas by analyz-
ing the relationship between settlement patterns, population
sizes, and subsistence patterns.
As seen among the Hadza and the San, many children
from foraging societies have definitive autonomous roles
apart from adults. They often offer significant contribu-
tions to subsistence and labor strategies, and their childhood
demonstrates how their society carries out socialization pro-
cesses (Schildkrout 1978; Whiting and Whiting 1975).
Children from Nonforaging Communities:
Maasai, Ngoni, and the Xhosa
The Maasai and Their Children
Most of the Maasai are seminomadic pastoralists who
live in various regions of Kenya and Tanzania. For their chil-
dren, increasing mobility and age usually symbolize more re-
sponsibility. While the youngest children are assigned chores
that may resemble games (Fedders and Salvadori 1973), chil-
dren from the age of five or six are expected to do useful jobs
in the community (Sassi 1979). They typically carry out
small domestic tasks and watch over animals such as goats,
sheep, and calves. They also collect wild berries, fruits, and
nuts.
Uncircumcised shepherd boys (Ilaiyok) are often re-
sponsible for herding the cattle, a skill they learn from their
friends and brothers when they turn seven (Sharman 1979).
They must know the optimal places for grazing, how to prop-
erly look after calves and lambs, and how to recognize their
family’s cows. According to Fedders and Salvadori (1973),
when a boy turns four or five, the stage when his incisors
are removed, he is usually given the responsibility of taking
care of the lambs, kids, and very young calves. Between the
ages of five and seven, at the stage when he gets the tops of
his ears pierced, he may care for slightly older animals and
assist in the herding of cattle. When boys get the lobes of
their ears pierced, they are normally ready to look after fully
grown animals and to lead them from pasture to pasture.
Uncircumcised young girls, Intoyie, often form social
groups that are independent of adults and have their own
rules of behavior (Mitzlaff 1993). With little or no adult
20
supervision, they may perform many tasks associated with a
pastoral lifestyle. Their work load generally consists of tend-
ing goats and sheep, milking cows, and fetching water and
firewood. They look after small children and are responsible
for the maintenance of the household (Fedders and Salvadori
1973:38). They also make and process material culture, as
described below, that is specific to the chores and duties they
perform within their community.
Specific material culture corresponds with all age-sets
of both Maasai boys and girls. Within the infant and tod-
dler stages of childhood, rituals mark the existence of chil-
dren. When a child learns to walk, the women of the family
kill and eat a small ram as they give the child a new name
(Sharman 1979:21). The first toys of a child are simply every-
day household items (Fedders and Salvadori 1973:38). When
children turn four years old, they have their two lower front
teeth removed and their ears pierced (Sharman 1979:10).
Neck and ankle amulets, symbols of good luck, decorate a
young child until the weaning process begins (Fedders and
Salvadori 1973:38). Young girls play with clay dolls, and un-
circumcised older girls make milk calabashes, scrape and
sew skins, and string beaded jewelry (Sharman 1979:11).
Although they are seminomadic, the Maasai children
share similar qualities with the children of the Hadza and San
peoples. They maintain autonomous roles within their soci-
ety and they create material markers that symbolize a divi-
sion of labor and the difference between age-sets (e.g., neck
and ankle amulets of young children). In addition, the la-
bor outputs of the Maasai children demonstrate the potential
children have to contribute toward the maintenance of their
society. As a complement, the ethnographies of the Ngoni
children provide examples of how children contribute toward
the body of material culture specific to their communities.
The Ngoni and Their Children
For the most part, the Ngoni people live in Malawi and
Zambia. Like the children of the Hadza, San, and Maasai,
many of the Ngoni children carry out chores without adult
supervision when they reach a certain age. The Ngoni mark
the difference in age-sets by the period in which their chil-
dren lose their first teeth and acquire their second (Read
1968). During this stage of development, most of them ex-
perience the ear-piercing ceremony that is considered a test
of courage and a symbol of Ngoni identity. Older boys may
enter the second-teeth stage at approximately six and a half
years old or older, and older girls often enter this stage when
they turn roughly seven years old. Until this stage of devel-
opment, younger children normally remain under constant
supervision of nurse girls or mothers, while older children
Flordeliz T. Bugarin
take on the responsibilities and work associated with a pas-
toralist lifestyle.
According to Read (1968), the difference in age-sets and
gender roles associated with the allocation of labor is often
marked physically across the landscape. Unlike second-teeth
girls, many boys live with their peers in separate quarters or
dormitories that surround the cattle kraal. In the boys’ huts,
boys typically gain autonomy from adults and organize the
tasks of caring for livestock. Herding cattle is generally the
duty of older boys when they become approximately 10 or
11 years old. These designated herders milk the cows, lead
the cattle to the rivers, and graze the herd in the afternoon.
In the dormitories, the boys also prepare for war, learn
about wildlife and their environment, and create tools and
weapons for subsistence activities (Read 1968). For hunt-
ing, boys create their own catapults, axes, and knobkerries
(clubs with knobs on one end). Others make fiber hats that
they wear while herding animals. They use scraps of iron or
miscellaneous materials for hand axes, knives, and various
tools. In addition, boys spend hours replicating their envi-
ronment by making clay figures of men, cattle, monkeys,
and dogs.
Younger children and girls of all ages also have space
on the landscape that is defined by their activities, material
culture, and specific roles in a pastoral society (Read 1968).
Within a settlement, the youngest children play in the areas
around their family’s hut and inside the village fence. During
the harvest season, five- and six-year-olds construct play
houses out of maize stalks. They also engage in stick fighting
with rods or single sticks. Occasionally, older girls take the
younger ones to the outskirts of the village where they meet,
thread beads, and socialize.
Almost all of the Ngoni children create specific sets of
material goods uniquely distinguishable from adult material
culture and made from resources of their natural environment
(Read 1968). Older girls make dolls from a bundle of reeds
and a hard round fruit shell. The reeds are tied together and
the shell is painted with eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Other
children produce their own musical instruments, including
shepherd’s pipes, one-stringed lyres, and hand pianos. Still
others build models of trucks and airplanes. They make toys
such as windmills from maize sheaths, hoops of bamboo,
and wooden wheels.
The information gleaned from the Ngoni ethnography
is significant for three reasons. The first is that the behav-
ior of Ngoni children is tied to the changes of the seasons.
Second, there are specific places within a settlement that are
relegated to child activities and that are separated according
to age divisions. Finally, children make many types of mate-
rial items such as clay figurines, which eventually enter the
archaeological record. Most likely, clay toys are related to
Children and Child Material Culture from the African Past
pastoral societies. We can investigate whether clay figurines
found in the archaeological record are a reflection of the re-
sources in a child’s immediate environment, a reflection of
a culture’s subsistence strategy, or simply an imitation of the
toys made by children from other cultures in the area.
As with Ngoni children, Xhosa children also make clay
figurines. The following section explores ethnographies of
Xhosa children to illustrate more insights about the cultural
practices of children in agricultural communities.
The Xhosa and Their Children
Prior to the Industrial Revolution in South Africa (Peires
1982; Thompson 1990), many of the Xhosa people were
primarily sedentary pastoralists who considered cattle the
central element of their social economy. The material culture
and work practices of most of the Xhosa children during
that time thus reflected the importance of cattle and their
agricultural subsistence practices. By the age of 10 or 12,
boys usually started to herd their father’s cattle. As they grew
older, their fathers would often give them cows that would
eventually pay for lobola or bridewealth. Cattle symbolized
economic currency, wealth, and a boy’s potential for future
success in terms of sustaining his own nuclear family.
Reflecting their responsibilities in terms of cattle and
their natural environment, children made their own mate-
rial culture (Child 1969). Four- or five-year-olds collected
knuckle bones that represented cattle. From river-bank clay,
they made other miniature animals. Little boys would lead
their clay bulls to battle, moving the figures in mock attacks.
These toys were the tools they made in order to teach them-
selves the roles of participating in the Xhosa economic sys-
tem, a system intimately tied with the value of cattle and
defined along gender lines.
Unlike the Xhosa boys, the girls took on the chores as-
sociated with domestic space and agriculture. Girls looked
after younger children and fed them, and they gathered fire-
wood, collected wild spinach, swept the huts, processed corn,
cooked, and brewed beer. By the time girls turned approxi-
mately 12 years old, they were expected to do all the house-
work expected of an adult woman.
Throughout childhood, both girls and boys made spe-
cific material culture as a part of their socialization process.
They recreated their surroundings and made tools to carry
out their chores. Often, they used materials readily acces-
sible to them in the natural environment. Girls made straw
dolls. Babies wore shells, seeds, and animal-bone charms.
Babies and young children wore bracelets, armlets, and an-
klets, and children of all ages wore pieces of bark, root or
bone, or animal claws. Most of the jewelry was made out of
21
beads, shells, or ornamental seeds, and many of the charms
represented specific protective amulets. Resources of the
natural environment were essential for making straw dolls,
clay bulls, and baby shell and seed jewelry.
In the process of creating their own toys, Xhosa chil-
dren imitated adult culture. They made miniature models of
important elements within the Xhosa pastoral subsistence
strategy. By doing so, they captured their society’s economic,
ideological, and cultural traditions. They created a replica of
the adult world in which they could practice and experiment
before taking on the full responsibilities of adults.
Conclusion
In the construction of an archaeology of children, the
formulation of hypotheses requires that we recognize the
types of archaeological and ethnographic data that are avail-
able to answer archaeological questions. The artifacts, ac-
tivity areas, or specific behavioral patterns of past children
can be best identified when we take into account age-sets,
different genders, and the subsistence practices of each soci-
ety. Recognizing the behavioral patterns of children through
ethnographic materials can help archaeologists reconstruct
the different kinds of experiences of children in the past.
French argues that
Yet to be achieved is a careful historical treatment of
ancient childhood, an investigation of how and why child-
rearing practices either persisted or changed over time
. . . Finally, once a historical study is in place, historians
can turn their attention to tracing, where possible, the
effects of changes in child-rearing practices on the larger
society. [French 1991:23]
We have gained insights from historical documents
about child-rearing paraphernalia, including cribs, cradles,
infant feeding bottles, and training chairs. We have infor-
mation about clothing, swaddling materials, jewelry, and
footwear (French 1991:23). Many sources provide informa-
tion about toys such as marbles, dolls, toy soldiers, and clay
oxen. Histories and ethnographies describe rituals surround-
ing births, deaths, and initiation ceremonies. Other sources
document the materials used in educational settings such as
desks, chairs, and blackboards (Gulliford 1984). Archaeo-
logical perspectives may provide an understanding of how
these types of material culture fit into the material world of
past societies altogether and what they meant or represented
in regard to a child’s niche within society.
Existing ethnographies have shown that an assessment
of past environmental conditions, spatial analysis of settle-
ments, and an understanding of the seasonal occupation of
sites will allow archaeologists to determine whether children
22
lived in separate structures or houses apart from adults. We
should also be able to recognize archaeological evidence
of specific tasks that are relegated to different age-sets. If
we can isolate youth huts as individual structures through
spatial analysis, environmental studies, patterns of discard,
and a task differentiation framework (see Spector 1991:390),
we can start to address questions of sociocultural processes
within the communities of children. The understanding of
the role of special-purpose structures such as youth huts,
schools, and orphanages is significant for our interpretations
of communities as a whole.
The contributions of children have direct bearing on
archaeological interpretations of the past. The division of
labor according to age-sets is an integral part of the success
of all types of communities and thus must be included in the
interpretations of any archaeological research. In much of
the information provided by ethnographies, we can see that
some children lead autonomous lives apart from the influ-
ences of adults. Thus, the activity areas that we do discover
in the archaeological record may be direct archaeological re-
flections of child behavior and not adult behavior, heretofore
the leading assumption of many archaeologists.
Ethnographic descriptions of specific material culture
sets are important for the analyses of archaeological re-
mains, since we know that these materials often enter the
archaeological record. Small clay bracelets like the ones
worn by South African Xhosa babies have been found in
the archaeological record in Ghana. York (1973) discov-
ered circular clay bands or what he called “rings.” They
were associated with three human skeletal remains belong-
ing to children. In his interpretations, York argues that the
rings were bracelets that may have been worn by children
and could only have been used as arm rings by very small
babies.
Archaeologists can glean information from archaeolog-
ical remnants that may not be offered in historical accounts.
Through child material culture, they can observe how one
generation transfers to the next generation their rules guid-
ing behavioral norms, ideological values, symbolic systems,
and other cultural traditions. Did children play, fight, or par-
ticipate in society in roles similar to adults? If children did
play, what kinds of toys did they play with and why? What
other roles of children can archaeologists identify in the
archaeological record? What material markers can archae-
ologists use to gain insights about children from different
cultures?
These questions are especially pertinent for archaeol-
ogists interested in populations within Africa. There is an
obvious danger of assuming that all children are represented
by Western colonial materials. We should not assume that
if we are failing to recognize child-related remnants of the
Flordeliz T. Bugarin
past that children were passive, inactive members of society,
were absent in a settlement, or were nonessential elements
of cultural process.
These issues call for a more thorough understanding
of the roles of children. For archaeologists, this means ex-
amining and creating ethnographies with specific questions
about the material culture of children associated with be-
havioral patterns. More ethnoarchaeological research perti-
nent to solving interpretive problems should be conducted
to determine patterns of discard, understand relationships
between age groups, define material assemblages, and ex-
plain the behavior of children. Ethnographies geared toward
such archaeological concerns may also help us define the ar-
chaeological indices associated with the special task-related
activities of children. With insight about these relationships,
archaeologists will be able to say more about the nature of
community life, the production of material culture, and cul-
tural change.
From archaeological ethnographies, we will eventually
be able to devise conceptual models about children in the
past. This will move us closer to understanding past chil-
dren, their social status, and the active contributions they
made as economic producers as well as consumers. We will
learn more about their roles in past societies, their interac-
tions with adults, their effects on adults, and the processes of
socialization. Insights gained from this understanding will
help us avoid scholarship that inadvertently erases certain
segments and populations of the past. By incorporating ar-
chaeological questions about children and child behavior, we
can fill in the specific gaps within the historical record while
offering new explanations about culture as understood from
an archaeological perspective.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Peter Schmidt, Kathleen Deagan,
John Mason, and Ken Mease for reading drafts of this essay,
offering productive comments, and giving their guidance.
Many drafts were written when I was still at the University
of Florida. My thanks go to the department and my peers
who created an exciting and challenging atmosphere and
encouraged me to pursue this topic. I am also grateful to Jane
Baxter for organizing this volume and providing guiding
suggestions for this chapter. I am especially thankful to my
family for their emotional and financial support. Although
this chapter has benefited from the input of many friends and
colleagues, any errors in interpretation and presentation are
my own.
The final draft of this essay was made possible by the
support of a Richard Carley Hunt Postdoctoral Fellowship
Children and Child Material Culture from the African Past
under the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological
Research and in affiliation with the Anthropology Depart-
ment at George Washington University.
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 2
Childhood Learning and the Distribution of
Knowledge in Foraging Societies
Kathryn Keith
Pierce College

ABSTRACT
A differential distribution of knowledge is characteristic of all human societies, and in relatively egalitarian foraging
societies, in which age and gender tend to structure the few distinct social roles available, the distribution of cultural
knowledge is also expected to occur along these lines. In this chapter, I consider the relationship between child-rearing
practices and the distribution of cultural knowledge across social roles. In particular, I look at gendered patterns
of knowledge and decision-making, drawing upon foraging societies in three different environmental zones as case
studies for comparison: the !Kung San of the Kalahari Desert, the Aka Pygmies of the central African forests, and
the Utku and Nunamiut Eskimo of northern Alaska and Canada. Child-rearing practices vary among the three
groups considered here and are found to relate to the distribution of knowledge and skills across gender roles. This,
in turn, may be among the factors influencing group decision-making patterns.
Keywords: children, distribution of knowledge, decision-making, socialization, gender, hunter-gatherers

T his chapter considers the relationship between the distri-

bution of knowledge and child-rearing practices in for-
aging societies as they relate to gendered patterns of activity
and decision-making. A division of labor allows a group as a
whole not only to exploit a wider range of resources but also
to collect a correspondingly larger amount of information
regarding the environment in general and food resources in
particular. With a division of labor according to sex, men and
women collect different information about their immediate
situation in the course of their daily activities. They may
also require somewhat different sets of skills and knowledge
to carry out their tasks. Since “even the simplest culture
contains more information than could be learned by any in-
dividual in a lifetime” (Hutchins 1991:306), a differential
distribution of knowledge is characteristic of all human so-
cieties. In relatively egalitarian foraging societies, in which
age and gender tend to structure the few distinct social roles
available, the distribution of cultural knowledge would be
expected to occur along these same lines. Effective problem-
solving and decision-making rely in part on the quality of
information available, and mechanisms exist in every society
for the pooling of information gained from both immediate
experience and traditional knowledge.
Patterns of learning in childhood, such that one gen-
der is excluded to varying degrees from the domains of
knowledge and skill of the other, influence both the ac-
quisition of gender roles and adult patterns of differential
knowledge distribution. The degree of rigidity in the sep-
aration of men’s and women’s spheres of daily activity not
only affects the distribution of more immediate informa-
tion but also influences patterns of child care and social-
ization. Differential patterns of learning, knowledge, and
information along gender lines influence patterns of
decision-making within the group. In groups in which the do-
mains of knowledge for men and women are less rigidly sep-
arated, relatively equal participation in the decision-making
process would be expected. Where male and female spheres
are more sharply separated, such that distinct domains of
knowledge exist, the relative importance and participation of
men and women in decision-making processes would depend
in part on the relative access of each gender to the other’s
knowledge. For example, if women were excluded from

Archeological Papers of the American Anthropological Association, Vol. 15, pp. 27–40, ISBN 1-931303-20-7.
C 2006 by the American Anthro-

pological Association. All rights reserved. Permissions to photocopy or reproduce article content via www.ucpress.edu/journals/rights.htm.
28
typically male domains of knowledge, while men had access
to knowledge in female domains, corresponding differences
in influence and participation in decision-making would be
expected.
Patterns of Decision-Making
Compared with those in more complex societies, the re-
lations between men and women in band societies in general
are relatively egalitarian (Leacock 1978). Even with a divi-
sion of labor, men and women may have much knowledge
in common and “many overlapping activities and spheres of
influence” (Draper 1976a:77). The interest here, however,
is not in the contrast between mobile hunter-gatherers and
more complex societies but rather in the variation among
foraging societies. Foraging societies differ in the degree of
gender egalitarianism that characterizes them (Kent 1999).
Such differences would be expected to both affect and be re-
flected in the decision-making processes of the group, with
women having more or less influence in decisions that affect
the group as a whole.
Root (1983) suggests that equal access to information
is necessary for the maintenance of egalitarian relations. But
not every member of a group is involved in every decision.
Some decisions involve only individuals, others involve sub-
groups within the band, and still others involve the band as
a whole. Consensus would have to be reached among those
involved in a given activity (Leacock 1978). For example,
among the Nunivak Eskimo, women are responsible for the
family’s food stores and make decisions about what and how
much the family should eat (Lantis 1946). Not every member
of the band has to agree on the use of a particular household’s
resources.
The differential distribution of knowledge within a
group is not absolute. Different domains of knowledge may
be distributed differently, with some domains available to ev-
eryone and others distributed more variably (Boster 1991).
Individuals may differ in ability, experience, or interest such
that even within, for example, a domain of knowledge associ-
ated with men there could be considerable variation. Blurton
Jones and Konner (1976) point out that !Kung hunters are
careful observers of animal behavior and seem to note more
detail in a given situation than may be immediately needed
for hunting success. That knowledge may, however, be useful
in the future in different circumstances. Most of this knowl-
edge is acquired by individuals through direct experience.
Since individual experience differs, the specific knowledge
held by individuals also differs. At the same time, “there
seems to be relatively little transmission of information from
one man to another, even from old to young” (Blurton Jones
and Konner 1976:344). Instead, individual experience and
Kathryn Keith
knowledge about animal behavior is applied in actual hunt-
ing situations, when men offer and evaluate interpretations
of animal spoor and discuss the best course of action.
Johnson (1982) discusses constraints on the number of
individuals who can effectively participate in making a given
decision. He notes that studies in the field of sociology and
in related disciplines have found that, in problem-solving
groups, there is an organizational threshold in groups of six
members. When problem-solving groups exceed this num-
ber, they experience scalar stress, such that the quality of
decisions tends to decrease, resulting in a lack of consen-
sus, an increase in disputes, and often the development of
hierarchical organization to resolve these problems.
Johnson goes on to discuss !Kung social organization
as composed of basal units: “adults are considered to be
the basal units of nuclear families and social units. Nuclear
families are the basal units of both rainy-season camps and
extended families, while extended families are the basal units
of large dry-season camps” (Johnson 1982:398). Decision-
making in larger aggregations takes place through a sequen-
tial hierarchy, whereby “if consensus were achieved first
within nuclear families, then within extended families, a
group decision would only require consensus among ex-
tended families” (Johnson 1982:403).
In a sequential process of decision-making, the entire
extended family would not be involved in the decision at
the last stage, but an individual member would represent the
family. In the process of making the decision, new infor-
mation would need to be considered. Johnson (1982:403)
suggests that “discussion at the extended-family level . . .
might often require new consensus to be reached at lower
levels, and the whole process is likely to be often lengthy.”
But consensus (in the sense of everyone having to agree
before a decision goes forward) is not an adequate descrip-
tion of most decision-making in foraging societies. Hewlett
(1991:28) notes, for example, that autonomy is a core value
among the Aka of the western Congo Basin rain forests, and
“decision-making is the reserved prerogative of the individ-
ual.” Some decisions involve smaller groups within a large
aggregation and do not necessarily fall along kinship lines.
For example, if enough boys of the right age are present in
the large group, it might be decided to conduct a male initi-
ation camp. This decision would not involve every adult or
even every family. Only the families with eligible youths and
other prospective participants in the initiation might need to
be involved in the decision. Even among the interested par-
ties, complete agreement might not be necessary; if enough
of those eligible decided to participate, the initiation could
proceed even if others elected not to join.
Even in decisions involving the entire group, a formal
consensus might not be necessary. A !Kung Giraffe dance is
a healing dance that involves the whole village. In this dance,
Knowledge in Foraging Societies
women clap and sing while (primarily) men dance around
them, entering the state of kia, a trance state in which they
can effect healings (Katz 1976, 1982). The decision to start
a dance may be made by only a few members of the group.
Katz (1982:122) describes how a group of women, or even
better an old woman, would start a fire for the dance. They
would start to sing and gradually people would join them,
singing and dancing. No formal decision to have a dance was
made by the group as a whole or by particular representatives
of families within it. A few people started a dance, and others
joined as they wished.
Thus, consensus by potential participants does not need
to be reached—and may not be expected—for an action to
go forward. The individual initiation of activity and au-
tonomous decisions regarding participation are forms of
decision-making for which models, such as Johnson’s (1982)
discussions of scalar stress, are not applicable. The lack of
complete consensus in such cases is not symptomatic of
some kind of scalar stress but is rather an expected feature
of independent decision-making.
Whether decisions are made by consensus or indepen-
dently, the distribution of cultural knowledge would be an
important factor. It would affect how people view the deci-
sions others are making and might influence whether they
choose to join them or not. But, as with the examples of the
Giraffe dance and the male initiation ceremony, complete
agreement by all potential participants might not be needed
even for activities in which a number of group members are
eligible to participate.
Boster (1991) notes that in groups with differential dis-
tributions of knowledge, some individuals may tend to agree
with each other more often. These seem to be individuals
who regularly associate with each other, who “learn from
one another, sharing numerous privileged opportunities to
agree” (Boster 1991:206). Lantis (1946:247) lists “close-
ness to group opinion and standards” as one of several bases
for prestige and influence among the Nunivak. Where in-
dividual differences do arise, those individuals closest to
group opinion may tend to have more influence in decision-
making. Among the !Kung, people who have lived in an area
for many years would have a long history of association with
each other and with the families and visitors who periodi-
cally joined them. This may be a factor in their influence.
Hutchins (1991) points out the importance of persua-
siveness as a factor in decision-making. Knowledge in a
society is distributed according to socially determined pat-
terns. Not all members of a group are recognized as possess-
ing authoritative knowledge in every domain. Moore (1983)
suggests that since both good and misleading information
can be easily replicated, it is vital that information be val-
idated. One way this is accomplished is by validating the
source. An example might be the tattoos received by young
29
!Kung men after killing their first adult male and female big
game animals (Lee 1979). The tattoos mark the man as a
successful hunter and would tend to validate him as a source
of hunting knowledge. Among the !Kung, until a young man
has received the tattoos of the “first buck” ceremony, he is
not considered an adult and is therefore not eligible to marry
(Howell 1979). Among small-scale groups, in which adults
are in close daily contact with each other, such overt mark-
ers of an individual’s knowledge and capabilities may not be
necessary. In the course of daily interaction and observation
of each other’s activities, individuals who represent more or
less reliable sources for particular categories of knowledge
would be commonly known.
A division of labor on the basis of age and gender struc-
tures the distribution and flow of information in a society. It
also provides mechanisms for the evaluation of information
sources. In !Kung, Inuit, and Aka Pygmy groups, young chil-
dren (up to age four or five) are said to lack sense, while older
children lack knowledge. Neither of these age groups con-
tributes substantially to subsistence, and the knowledge and
immediate information they possess would tend to be less
highly evaluated than that of more experienced age groups.
Young adults have more knowledge but still lack experience.
The oldest members of the group have much experience, but
if they are not actively participating in subsistence activi-
ties, they may lack more immediate information. The age
group with sufficient experience, skill, and knowledge, as
well as access to immediate information, is that of the mature
adults. This age group is likely, then, to be more influential
in decisions that affect the group as a whole, in which both
knowledge and the valuation of immediate information are
important. This would include decisions about movement
and resource utilization.
Hatano and Inagaki (1991) discuss horizontal and verti-
cal patterns of interaction that affect the flow of information
and decision-making in a group. Several situations in for-
aging groups may be characterized by vertical interactions
(interactions in which one participant is thought more capa-
ble than the other). In such interactions, the knowledge of
the more capable individual is not challenged as much as it
is in horizontal interactions. Given the small size of foraging
groups, most children (over age four or five) spend their time
in multiage play groups. Biesele (1976) notes that it is the
older !Kung who tell stories, whereas younger storytellers
are more rare. Although stories are generally told by older
individuals for the amusement of their peers, children and
young adults are often among the listeners. In each of these
situations, more experienced individuals interact with less
experienced ones, offering the potential for vertical interac-
tions to take place.
Horizontal interactions, characterized by more discus-
sion and elaboration of ideas, would tend to occur with
30
individuals of similar knowledge and experience. A group
of men hunting together or a group of women gathering
together might make decisions characterized by horizontal
interaction, if all members of the group had similar experi-
ence. Where men and women interact in decision-making,
the character of that interaction would depend on the distri-
bution of relevant knowledge and information.
Early Childhood and Learning
“By describing the pattern of intracultural variation as
a consequence of the quantity, quality, and distribution of
learning opportunities,” Boster (1991:207) writes, “the prob-
lem of explaining the distribution of knowledge in a commu-
nity is transformed into one of explaining the distribution of
learning opportunities.” Even in small-scale egalitarian so-
cieties, the opportunities to learn differ somewhat according
to age and sex.
Among the Aka, Inuit, and !Kung, infants and toddlers
spend most of their time being carried by their mothers
(Briggs 1970; Chance 1966; Draper 1972; Hewlett 1991;
Konner 1976, 1977; Lantis 1946). This allows breast-feeding
on demand without restricting the mother’s subsistence or
other activities. It also exposes young children of both sexes
to the kinds of tasks associated with women. It allows them
to closely observe the work their mothers do and to hear
groups of women working together as they discuss and solve
the problems encountered in their daily activities.
Infants and toddlers are actively engaged in the process
of learning as they interact with others and with their phys-
ical and social environment (Gelman et al. 1991; Pitman
et al. 1989; Valsiner 1989). They regulate those interactions,
including initiating or curtailing them, through their own
actions and verbalizations. Children’s acquisition of culture
begins at birth and involves multiple sensory modalities.
Multiple associations are important in learning and include
not only visual and aural information but tactile and kines-
thetic modes as well. Both the physiological context of in-
formation and experiential and environmental redundancy
are factors in learning and memory (Pitman et al. 1989).
When infants or toddlers are carried by their mothers
in the course of the mothers’ regular activities, they receive
information through several sensory modes. As active learn-
ers, they are able to select and attune to that information
which, in developmental terms, they are ready to learn. Both
Aka and !Kung infants are carried in slings that allow them
to freely move their arms and legs. Carried on the mother’s
hip, infants have constant access to the mother’s breast and
can more readily regulate nursing. In this position, they also
have a close view of the mother’s hands and access to any
adornments she may be wearing, as well as an eye-level view
Kathryn Keith
of other children in the immediate vicinity (Konner 1977).
By about 12 weeks of age, infants begin to be increasingly
involved with the objects and people within several feet of
their bodies (Trevarthen 1988). Even while being carried,
they can easily regulate their own activity and their interac-
tion with objects and people around them, according to their
own needs and desires.
Infants are not carried all of the time; they may also
spend time in the care of a father, grandmother, aunt, older
siblings, or other members of the group. The amount of time
spent with others and who these other caretakers are vary
from group to group and according to the age of the child.
By about 10 months, children develop secondary
intersubjectivity (Trevarthen 1988), becoming more aware
of how others act and feel about them and the objects around
them. Rosenblum and Sunderland (1982) note the ability of
14-month-old infants to follow their mother’s pointing
behavior.
By the age of two, children cross-culturally are capa-
ble of taking social roles and using objects appropriately,
within the limitations of their physical skills and cognitive
development. Trevarthen (1988:55) suggests that “human
intelligence is an innate strategy for picking up the skills
of human social life, and it causes the child to deliberately
learn to become a person who has a role in the commu-
nity.” In egalitarian groups, the roles available for children
to identify with and internalize are based primarily on age
and gender.
By age three to five, the child is weaned from both the
breast and the back. This typically occurs with the birth
of a younger sibling. How and where children spend their
time from early childhood to adolescence and the patterns
of interaction they have with adults in the group vary from
group to group and will be explored in more detail below.
One commonality, however, is that in such small groups,
a child will rarely find a cohort of playmates of the same
age and gender with whom to associate. Instead, children
typically play in multiage groups that may include both boys
and girls.
Much of the activity of childhood involves imaginative
play, in which children try on different roles and identities.
Such imaginative play is, in a sense, the work of childhood.
Nisa, a !Kung woman, describes the play village she and
her playmates constructed next to their actual village, where
they spent much of their time pretending to hunt, gather,
and prepare food (Shostak 1981). In the process of their
interaction, they negotiated and practiced aspects of gender
identity, drawing on the examples of their parents and other
adults to structure their play.
Another activity of childhood involves games of skill.
These are not necessarily related directly to adult work, but
Knowledge in Foraging Societies
rather involve tossing, running, jumping, and other physical
activities through which children develop their coordina-
tion and motor skills. The degree of competitiveness in
such games varies from group to group, but in all cases
aggressive competitiveness is condemned. Adults among
the Aka, Inuit, and !Kung groups discourage and intervene
in aggressive interactions among children.
Lave notes that “developing an identity as a member of
a community and becoming knowledgeably skillful are part
of the same process, with the former motivating, shaping,
and giving meaning to the latter” (Lave 1991:65). In many
foraging societies, cultural knowledge is not formally taught.
Children learn primarily through observation and individual
practice without much direct instruction from adults. Since
“those who know the social rules of a group or a culture
display this knowledge repeatedly in their everyday activ-
ities . . . expert knowers perforce generate examples of the
pertinent data bases all the time” (Gelman et al. 1991:250).
Thus, for example, even though !Kung children may not be
explicitly told how boys and girls should do things (Draper
1985), the fact that men and women, as gender role models,
are doing different things and interacting in different ways
is sufficient for children to learn the appropriate roles.
In the sections below, I discuss child-rearing and
decision-making patterns in three different foraging groups:
Aka Pygmies, Inuit, and !Kung. An important factor in the
selection of these particular groups for comparison is the rel-
ative amount of information available on their traditional (as
far as possible) child-rearing and decision-making patterns.
These groups were also selected in part because of the con-
trasting environmental contexts in which they live. The Aka
have a tropical forest adaptation; the Inuit are Arctic peoples,
and the !Kung hunt and gather in the Kalahari Desert. As dis-
cussed below, the societies differ somewhat in their degree
of gender egalitarianism as well as in the age at which boys
and girls begin to engage regularly in gender-specific tasks.
Interrelated factors that may affect these patterns include
the complexity of technology and related skills, the degree
to which tasks involve cooperative work between men and
women, and the spatial separation of gendered tasks (and
associated periods of absence).
These three sections rely on previously published ethno-
graphic accounts that present research findings in a nor-
mative ethnographic present. While it is acknowledged that
such accounts make it virtually impossible to consider cul-
tural changes over time and intercultural variations, these ac-
counts are still useful for understanding patterns of decision-
making and childhood socialization. Citations embedded
within the text for each cultural group are useful ways for
the reader to discern when the “ethnographic present” was
actually being recorded for each group.
31
Aka Pygmies
The Aka are foragers living in the tropical rain forests of
the western Congo Basin (the information in this section was
drawn from Hewlett 1991 and 1992). While the forest offers
a large variety of plant and animal species, the distribution is
relatively sparse, such that there are no large concentrations
of a given species in a given area.
Men and women cooperate extensively in their daily ac-
tivities and share many domains of knowledge and skill. Al-
though men and women have defined roles in the division of
labor, in practice they often assist one another and have very
similar capabilities. House-building, most of the gathering,
cooking, and the primary responsibility for child care are
associated with women. Men also do some gathering, par-
ticularly of honey, and are highly involved with child care.
Hunting with the crossbow, the trapping of medium-sized
game, and spear-hunting of wild pig and elephant are associ-
ated with men. Women participate occasionally in crossbow
hunting and trapping but never spear hunt. Both women and
men trap small game and net hunt. The distribution of gath-
ered and hunted foods is generally carried out by whoever
obtained them.
Net hunting is a cooperative activity conducted most
of the year. Sometimes men chase the animals into the net,
where women kill them, and other times the roles are re-
versed. Husbands and wives sometimes cooperate in other
tasks and sometimes work in separate male and female
groups. Men and women contribute similar amounts to the
diet, although this varies with the location of the camp. Aka
spend most of their time in forest camps but move to village
camps for three or four months of the year. In the forest, men
tend to contribute more to the diet. In village camps, how-
ever, women work in the fields of Ngandu villagers to obtain
manioc and other goods, while men do little work at all.
Hewlett (1991:43) comments that “the Aka are proba-
bly as egalitarian as human societies get.” Women actively
participate in all kinds of decisions, including those that af-
fect the group as a whole. They also carry out most of the
trade that takes place with the Ngandu villagers. Women
tend to be younger than their husbands and therefore often
outlive them. It is not uncommon for these older widows to
be influential and outspoken members of their group.
While the few named status positions are held by men,
Hewlett (1991:40) notes that “these men hold no absolute
power.” These positions include a healer, a liaison with
the Ngandu farmers, and a spear hunt leader who also has
responsibilities for some rituals. Men have a secret soci-
ety, which implies some exclusive domain of knowledge,
but women also have their own ritual roles, songs, and
dances.
32
Patterns of child care among the Aka allow both boys
and girls ample opportunities to observe the work of both
men and women. In camp, infants are held almost constantly,
mostly by their mothers, less by their fathers, and sometimes
by other adults. They usually accompany their parents on net
hunts, and outside of camp they are carried in a sling on the
mother’s hip most of the time. Since husbands and wives
are within view of each other nearly half the time while net
hunting (Hewlett 1991:38), the young child would be able
to observe not only the mother’s roles in the hunt but many
of the father’s activities as well. Given that these roles are
also often reversed, the child by the age of three or four,
when weaning occurs, will have had repeated opportunities
to observe all aspects of net hunting.
Between ages three and seven, children usually play in
or near camp rather than accompanying their parents on net
hunts. Children at that age are too big to carry but not yet
old enough to keep up. After age seven, they can usually
begin to accompany their parents again. While in the forest,
children may follow their mothers at times and at other times
their fathers, so that over time they observe the activities of
both.
At about age 10, girls and boys may move out of their
parents’ house. A small group of boys may make and share a
lean-to in the camp, while a girl would make her own house
near her parents. Older children tend to associate in same-
sex groups, with girls sometimes gathering together and boys
hunting small game. Neither boys nor girls work regularly
on subsistence tasks, however, until they reach adulthood.
The patterns that Hewlett (1991) observes among the
Aka tend to support the model offered here. There is little
strict separation in either the domains of knowledge or the
activities associated with male and female roles. Husbands
and wives often assist each other in subsistence and other
tasks and so are often in relatively close proximity to one
another. Boys and girls, as infants and in later childhood, have
ample opportunity to observe the activities of both parents.
The regular inclusion of both genders in a variety of contexts,
where the tasks of men and women are being carried out,
provides them with similar learning opportunities. The major
exception is the exclusion of girls from the men’s secret
society.
It was suggested above that if there is no rigid separa-
tion of men’s and women’s spheres of knowledge, both sexes
would be expected to actively participate in making deci-
sions that affect the group as a whole. For the Aka, this does
seem to be the case. Aka men do have access to named status
positions that are unavailable to women. Aka women, how-
ever, “challenge men’s authority on a regular basis and are
influential actors in all kinds of decision making” (Hewlett
1991:40).
Kathryn Keith
Inuit
In this section, much of the information involves the
Utkuhikhalingmiut (abbreviated Utku) and the Nunamiut
(although other Inuit groups will also be mentioned). While
there are some differences between them, both of these
groups share what Lantis (1946:257) calls generic Eskimo
traits. These include a lack of attachment to a particular lo-
cality, a lack of land ownership, leadership associated with
wealthy hunters, and early marriage of girls. These groups
also seem to share some general patterns in child care and
the division of labor.
The Utku and the Nunamiut both live in Arctic environ-
ments. The Nunamiut live in northern Alaska, occupying the
Anaktuvuk Pass area in the central Brooks Range (Gubser
1965). The Utku occupy an approximately 35,000-square-
mile area in the Canadian Northwest Territories (Briggs
1970). While the Nunamiut rely primarily on caribou for
food, fish is now the primary food of the Utku, supplemented
by seals and caribou. Berries and some greens and roots pro-
vide variety in both diets. Rabbits and ptarmigan and other
birds are also eaten. Several other animals provide a supple-
ment to the Nunamiut diet, including mountain sheep, bear,
moose, and beaver (Gubser 1965; Nelson 1969).
There is some variation in gender roles among various
Inuit groups. In some groups, for example, tool-making is
the responsibility of men, while in others it is not a gendered
activity and individuals make their own tools. Fishing may
be associated mainly with men, with women, or with both.
Caribou hunting among inland groups is a cooperative ac-
tivity; whale-hunting among coastal groups is mainly a male
activity, though women sometimes participate. The degree of
flexibility and overlap in subsistence-related roles can vary
as well (D’Anglure 1984; Graburn 1969; Lantis 1984).
Among the Utku and Nunamiut, the division of labor
seems to be relatively rigid. In general, men hunt, trap, and
make and repair travel equipment and tools, while women
sew, prepare food, and do whatever gathering needs to be
done. Men contribute by far the major portion of the diet,
while women process the food, hides, sinews, and other ma-
terials. The collection of firewood and water (or ice) usually
falls to women. Women are also responsible for cooking,
feeding the dogs, cleaning the house, and looking after the
children. Women rely on men for the tools they need to carry
out their work, while men rely on women for the clothing
that keeps them warm and dry during the hunt.
There are two named status positions in Inuit society:
the shaman and the umialik. Female shamans are known,
but it is uncertain whether they are common. Lantis (1946)
asserts that while shamans have exclusive access to some
kinds of ritual and spiritual knowledge, their influence in
Knowledge in Foraging Societies
political spheres may be minimal. In part, this is due to their
ambiguous position in the community, where their powers
may make them generally feared and avoided.
The umialik is, literally, someone who owns an umiak
(a kind of boat), though umialiks are found among both
whale-hunting and caribou-hunting groups. The term refers
to someone who organizes and leads a hunt; the status is
based primarily on an individual’s wealth (in the form of
boats and equipment) and generosity. Wealth, among the
Inuit, derives from hunting and trapping activities, so an
umialik is by definition a successful hunter (Lantis 1972).
The role, then, is limited to men. The umialik has no formal
authority in the group, and his influence is limited primarily
to decisions related to the hunting activity. The umialik’s
wife also has responsibilities related to the hunt, including
organizing the making of clothing for the crew and behaving
in a way that will attract the whale to the hunters. Like her
husband, she gains prestige for her role in a successful hunt
(Bodenhorn 1993).
Many Inuit communities have a men’s house, though
the functions it serves can vary considerably from group to
group. Among the Nunivak, men and boys live in the men’s
house (called the kashim), while women live in their own
separate households with their daughters and very young
sons. A woman brings meals to her husband in the kashim,
however, and a man stores some possessions and spends
time at his wife’s house (Lantis 1984). In the past, men
in Nunamiut society spent much of their time in the men’s
house (called a karigi). There, men would make and repair
tools and equipment, discuss and experiment with new tech-
niques, and benefit from the experience and skill of their
elders (Gubser 1965). Hunting and traditional lore were dis-
cussed there, as were more immediate political concerns.
Legal disputes might also be decided in the karigi. In other
words, much of the decision-making process itself, particu-
larly regarding issues that affected the group as a whole,
took place in an exclusively male domain. Women were
not strictly barred from the karigi; they would come there
for dances, festivals, or to bring their husbands and sons a
meal. But women’s work, involving cooking, cleaning, child
care, and other household chores, required their presence at
home.
Child care is mainly a female responsibility. Infants are
carried by their mothers and nursed on demand for their
first two to three years. Mothers are the primary caregivers
but may have some assistance from female relatives. Both
mothers and fathers treat young children with affection and
indulgence. With the birth of a younger sibling, the older
child is weaned from the breast and the back, and it is at this
point that the child begins to be socialized for restraint and
emotional self-control (Briggs 1970).
33
After reaching four to five years of age, children are less
restricted in their activities. As they grow older, they tend to
associate more with same-sex peers. They spend their time
visiting and playing in and around the village, as well as
performing chores for the family such as getting water or
firewood. Hard work, generosity, and self-control are valued
in both boys and girls.
In traditional Inuit society, young children are not re-
ferred to by gender-specific terms (Condon 1988:55). Be-
tween ages 10 and 13, they begin making the transition from
childhood to adulthood and are referred to with sex-specific
terms. They are also instructed in more gender-specific tasks
(Briggs 1970). Girls begin sewing and boys begin hunting at
about age 10. Older boys also begin learning how to make
and repair tools. Among the Netsilik, girls and boys regularly
accompany their parents and assist them with gender-related
tasks, with girls having somewhat more demands placed
on their time than boys. Both boys and girls, however, de-
velop close working relationships with the same-sex parent
(Balikci 1970).
Tool-making and sewing are complicated tasks that re-
quire knowledge, skill, and experience. Gubser (1965:111)
notes, for example, that “the full range of Nunamiut clothing
is so complex that a woman is often 30 or 35 before she can
be considered an accomplished seamstress.” Hunting and
tool-making skills take a similar amount of time and expe-
rience for boys to master. These domains of knowledge and
skill were both vital, however, for survival in the harsh Arc-
tic environment. Condon (1996:81) points out, for example,
that “the sophistication of Copper Inuit hunting equipment
was matched only by the efficiency and technological so-
phistication of Inuit skin clothing . . . A man’s ability to hunt
was clearly related to his wife’s ability to sew the warm, dry,
comfortable clothing.”
Inuit culture, like Aka culture, has a strong value on
autonomy, and both boys and girls learn the skills they need
to survive in the Arctic environment. Chance (1966) notes
that members of either gender know and can perform the
skills associated with each other’s roles. Though hunting
in traditional Inuit society was considered, in general, to be
men’s work, women often accompanied the men (Bodenhorn
1993). Condon (1996:85) notes a similar flexibility among
the Copper Inuit, such that “an individual of one sex could
perform activities of the opposite sex without incurring so-
cial scorn or condemnation.” Park (this volume) also notes
that, while harpoons were associated mainly with Inuit boys,
girls (as well as boys) had access to bows and perhaps other
hunting equipment.
But the existence of a degree of overlap and flexibility
in gender-associated activities does not mean that men and
women can perform the entire range of each other’s tasks
34
with the same degree of expertise. Even though boys and
girls would be aware of the different tasks that both men and
women perform, and even have some practice with them,
they would not have expert mastery. Knowledge can be in-
ternalized through a process of repeated exposure, but skills
require repeated direct experience to master. Simply observ-
ing a skill is not enough. Young boys may observe their
mothers sewing and may well develop the necessary skill to
sew or repair a simple garment. But they would not have the
long years of experience and practice to develop the degree
of expertise that women eventually master. Young children
do not accompany their fathers hunting, and older girls (in-
volved more often in sewing activities) may be excluded to a
degree from that domain. In the past, when men worked and
talked in the men’s house, girls did not have the opportunity
to observe most of the tasks (such as making and repairing
tools) or discussions that took place there.
Decisions tend to be made by individuals most directly
involved in an activity. Men’s knowledge and skills involve
the immediate conditions of the environment, expected pat-
terns of animal behavior, and the technological means to
take the best advantage of both. Men also tend to be more
influential in decisions regarding group movement. Women’s
areas of specialized knowledge and responsibility relate to
the operation of the household and the processing of raw ma-
terials. The decisions in which a woman’s knowledge would
be relevant would probably not involve the group as a whole
but would involve the running of her own house. Nunivak
women control the use and distribution of the family’s food
stores (Lantis 1946). Nunamiut women are responsible for
distributing food not only within the immediate family but
as gifts to others as well (Gubser 1965).
While Inuit cultures have some tendencies toward male
dominance, this is balanced by a general value on auton-
omy and the mutual dependence of men and women in their
respective areas of specialized knowledge and skill. In addi-
tion, while expertise in these domains may fall along gender
lines as a result of different expectations and learning op-
portunities in childhood, they are not exclusive domains of
one gender or the other. Boys and girls are both expected to
learn the skills needed to survive. Both men and women can
perform the tasks associated with the other gender, even if
not with the same degree of mastery.
!Kung
The !Kung San occupy an area at the northern edge of
the Kalahari Desert on either side of the Botswana-Namibia
border (Lee 1979). The environment provides an abundant
and varied supply of vegetable foods and a relatively scarce
Kathryn Keith
and unpredictable supply of game animals. The main limit-
ing factor for the !Kung is the scarcity and sparse distribution
of standing water. The availability of water affects !Kung set-
tlement patterns, such that people tend to aggregate around
permanent waterholes during the April to September dry sea-
son and to disperse during the rainy season from November
to April.
Of the over two hundred named plant varieties known
to the !Kung, at Dobe 105 are considered edible. The major
plant food is the mongongo, which provides both a fruit and a
nut, but the !Kung do not absolutely rely on that one source.
The variety of other available foods is such that a group
could survive even a poor mongongo harvest (Lee 1979).
The !Kung hunt six major species of large antelope, giraffe,
and several species of smaller game. Meat provides an av-
erage of about 40 percent of the calories in the !Kung diet.
Together, the plant and animal foods provide the !Kung with
a nutritionally adequate diet (Truswell and Hansen 1976).
Draper (1976a:82) describes the excitement of the chil-
dren as the women return from gathering; Shostak (1981)
notes similar reactions when the men return with meat. Al-
though vegetable foods are the major component of the
!Kung diet, both men and women tend to value meat more,
describing gathered foods (with the exception of the mon-
gongo nut) as “things comparable to nothing” (Shostak
1981:218). Meat, on the other hand, is sometimes used as
a synonym for food. When Nisa, a !Kung woman who was
perfectly capable of gathering her own vegetable foods and
capturing her own game, ran away from her husband, her
brother told her, “Isn’t a husband like a father? He helps you
live and gives you food. If you refuse to marry, where do you
think you’ll find food to eat?” (Shostak 1981:141).
Tasks normally associated with women include gather-
ing food, drawing water, cooking, building huts, and caring
for children. Men, however, participate in each of these ac-
tivities to varying degrees. Men contribute about a fifth of
the total gathered food (Lee 1979) and in fact are as knowl-
edgeable as women about plant resources (Shostak 1981).
An unmarried man is able to make his own hut and cook his
own food (Howell 1979). Though women are responsible for
the major portion of child care, while in camp, fathers often
hold their infants (Katz and Konner 1981), and both men and
women maintain an awareness of children’s activities when
they spend the day in camp (Draper 1972). Men and children
also sometimes assist in getting the daily water supply.
Tasks normally associated with men include hunting
and healing. Men also make most of the tools and carrying
devices that both men and women use. !Kung women do not
hunt large game, but they can recognize animal tracks and
report any promising spoor they find as they go about their
regular activities. They may also hunt smaller game. In the
Knowledge in Foraging Societies
Giraffe healing dance, women typically clap and sing while
men dance and heal. About 10 percent of women are able to
heal, but these are mostly older women. The !Kung believe
that the energy (num) they take in in order to perform healing
is dangerous to an unborn child, and women usually have that
energy removed by a master healer when they are pregnant.
It is difficult for women to develop their healing skills with
such an interruption every four to five years (Katz 1982).
Both men and women gather mongongo fruit and nuts
throughout the year. Both often walk some distance from
camp in the course of their subsistence activities. Men fol-
lowing a large game animal may be absent for a few days
at a time, while women when gathering return to camp the
same day. Men may carry loads of meat or gathered foods
back to camp; women carry gathered foods and their young
children. Women control the distribution of the food they
gather, while generally men distribute the meat. Since it is
not the killer of the animal but the owner of the arrow who
distributes the meat, women sometimes take that role (Lee
1979). They might, for example, obtain an arrow from one of
the hxaro (reciprocal obligation) partners (Wiessner 1982)
and give it to one of the hunters to use.
Draper (1976a:87) notes significant gender flexibility in
task performance but suggests that men seem willing to cross
gender lines more often than women. That may be related
to the differential distribution of knowledge. The main do-
main of male activity is hunting. Both hunting and trapping
require knowledge, skill, and experience for success. When
hunters are tracking an animal, they may use bird whistles or
hand gestures to communicate. Their ability to interpret the
animal spoor depends on much previous experience (with
hunting, as well as with each other) and a detailed knowl-
edge of animal behavior. Even snaring requires a thorough
knowledge of animal tracks and practice in setting the trigger
(Lee 1979). The manufacture and effective use of hunting
tools requires skill and practice as well. Women snare, trap,
and otherwise hunt small and medium-sized game but are
excluded from much of this knowledge as it relates to large
game. Further, a prohibition against women handling hunt-
ing implements in some !Kung groups effectively bars them
from gaining that knowledge (Shostak 1981). Knowledge of
edible plant varieties, their likely locations, and the ability to
recognize them at different stages of growth are categories
of knowledge possessed by both men and women, since both
sexes gather plant foods. Because men possess domains of
knowledge from which women are, to an extent, excluded,
it is logical that men would tend to perform women’s tasks
more often than the other way around.
Both !Kung women and men make decisions about their
own activities. Women decide what and where to gather, and
men decide whether and where to hunt. When together, they
35
may offer information that pertains to the others’ activities,
but just because women, for example, tell men about animal
tracks they observed does not mean that women participate
in making the decision of what to do about them. Lee (1979)
points out that women’s participation in making decisions
that affect both sexes is not equal to men’s. Men do twice as
much talking as women in discussions that involve both, an
observation confirmed by Marshall (1976).
!Kung infants are carried in a sling at their mother’s
hip while she is out gathering. The infants nurse, on the av-
erage, for two minutes every 15 minutes (Hamilton 1985).
Children continue to nurse, with less frequency as they grow
older, and are usually weaned at the age of four or five years
with the birth of a younger sibling. If there is no younger
sibling, a child may continue nursing from time to time af-
ter the age of five (Konner 1977). A variety of other foods
begin to supplement the infant’s diet from about six months
on.
Older children are encouraged to stay in camp while
their parents are out foraging. The long distances and lack
of water make it difficult for children to accompany their
mothers on gathering expeditions, and noisy and inexpe-
rienced children would only hinder men’s hunting efforts.
Children, until adolescence, do not participate substantially
in subsistence work and in fact do very little work of any
sort (Draper 1972). Children between the ages of 3 and 10
spend most of their time in camp, while older children may
make use of the areas outside the village as well (Draper
1976b). They rarely accompany adults on gathering or hunt-
ing expeditions both because they prefer not to and because
they tend to slow down the adults. Their days are, instead,
spent in multiage play groups or watching adult activities,
such as tool-making or hide preparation, in camp. While
children are closely supervised, their activities are not di-
rected or generally interrupted. They have access to the entire
camp area and are not discouraged from observing the activ-
ities of either men or women. Some of the play that occurs
involves pretending to hunt, gather, prepare, and eat food.
Children actually do gather berries or kill and eat small birds
in the course of this play. In multiage groups, older, more
knowledgeable children play alongside younger children,
providing information and role models from which younger
children can learn, but they do not generally have responsi-
bility for supervising them.
Draper (1976b) found that girls were absent from camp
in only 8 of 76 spot observations. In seven of those instances,
the girls were with women gathering; all but one of those girls
was three years old or younger. Boys were absent from camp
in 18 out of 93 observations. In seven cases, the boys were
hunting with the men; all but one was 11 or older. In an-
other seven cases, mostly young boys were with the women
36
gathering. Draper observed no instance of a girl going hunt-
ing with the men.
Boys start to accompany men on hunting trips at about
age 12, and by 15 to 18 years of age they are themselves ac-
tively hunting (Konner 1977). A boy must prove himself as a
hunter by killing his first large antelope before he is consid-
ered an adult. Girls do not contribute regularly to subsistence
until they are around 14 years old, by which time they may
already be married (Draper 1976b). Even then, they may not
take on the primary responsibility.
Learning patterns among the !Kung result in a differ-
ential distribution of knowledge. Boys and girls are exposed
to the knowledge and skills required for gathering plants
and hunting small game, but boys develop much greater ex-
pertise in hunting. Blurton Jones and Konner (1976) found
that adult hunters do not tend to discuss animal behavior
much among themselves. Rather, that information is trans-
mitted indirectly in the process of tracking animals, as young
hunters listen to more experienced hunters debating the evi-
dence and their interpretations. This knowledge is reinforced
through the direct experience the young hunter himself ob-
tains in tracking and observing animals. Since girls do not
generally accompany hunters, they are excluded from that
domain of knowledge.
At the same time, neither boys nor girls regularly go on
gathering expeditions after the age of about three years. Un-
til they reach their mid-teens, !Kung children are relatively
free of responsibilities. While they may regularly play at
gathering, hunting, and other activities, much of the knowl-
edge, skill, and experience they gain for survival in the bush,
on hunting or gathering expeditions, is developed largely in
late childhood and early adulthood as they learn alongside
more experienced adults. Because older boys more often ac-
company groups of men hunting and older girls more often
accompany groups of women gathering, they tend to de-
velop some specialized expertise along with more general
bush skills. Early childhood patterns, in this case, do not con-
tribute to what differential knowledge there is among adults
as much as do the adult patterns of interaction themselves.
The development of healing skills is similarly linked to adult
patterns of activity and beliefs about the effects of num on
unborn children. Because women during childbearing years
are limited in their ability to develop their healing skills,
healers tend to be predominantly male.
As for other skills, such as the processing of foods and
other materials to make tools, clothing, huts, and items of
adornment, children in camp are free to observe and even try
out any of those activities that interest them. As noted above,
while some tasks may generally be associated more with
one gender than the other, in practice there is considerable
overlap and flexibility in men’s and women’s activities.
Kathryn Keith
Men’s and women’s roles among the !Kung are less
rigidly separated than those among the Inuit, but they do
not overlap as much as among the Aka. The distribution of
knowledge between the sexes is asymmetrical; men have ac-
cess to the knowledge required to carry out women’s tasks,
but women are excluded to a degree from male domains. As
expected, there is a similar asymmetry in decision-making
patterns. Both men and women make decisions in regard to
their own activities, but in decisions that affect both sexes,
while women participate, men tend to predominate.
Discussion
The above comparison of Aka, Inuit, and !Kung foragers
suggests that learning patterns in childhood are related to the
distribution of knowledge among adults and that patterns of
decision-making for the group as a whole may be influenced,
in part, by the way in which relevant knowledge is distributed
among social roles.
All three groups considered here are characterized by a
relatively long and unencumbered childhood, with little gen-
der separation. Children are weaned between three and five
years of age in each group and spend much of their infancy
and early childhood being carried by their mothers in order
to have ready access to the breast. As noted above, children
by the age of two are attuning to social roles and the appro-
priate use of objects; by the time they are weaned, children
are already well aware of gender-related roles and expecta-
tions. They have had ample opportunity to observe firsthand
the regular activities in which women engage, as well as
many of the activities assigned to men. Areas in which they
would have little direct experience include gendered activi-
ties that are spatially separated, such as large-game hunting
that may involve a few days’ travel away from camp (as
among the !Kung) or tool-making activities that take place
in the men’s house among some Inuit groups. Where men’s
and women’s activities are frequently cooperative and over-
lapping, as among the Aka, related areas of knowledge are
less specialized and children have regular exposure to both.
In all three groups, after they are weaned children tend
to spend much of their time in or near camp, rather than ac-
companying adults during subsistence activities. They spend
much of their time in same-sex multiage play groups, playing
games of skill and role-playing based on the adult models
they have already internalized. Older children may influence
the play of younger children with their own understandings
of adult roles they take on in their pretend play. While adults
tend to maintain a constant awareness of children’s location,
in and outside of camp, they do not directly supervise or
organize their activities.
Knowledge in Foraging Societies
Early and middle childhood is important in the inter-
nalization of gender role models and in their negotiation
and practice in multiage play groups. The development and
practice of some related skills also occurs during this period.
However, childhood appears less important in the differen-
tial distribution of knowledge and skills in foraging societies
than the period of transition to adulthood. Children are aware
of gender roles and may tend to enact the appropriate roles
in their pretend play. At the same time, however, they are
neither discouraged nor ridiculed for crossing culturally de-
fined gender lines in their play activities. Children may not
have direct exposure to some male realms of knowledge in
early and middle childhood, but it is in the transition to adult-
hood when girls and boys begin developing their own more
gender-specific bodies of knowledge and skill.
Among the Inuit, where the technology and related skills
are more complex than among the Aka or the !Kung, this pe-
riod of transition starts somewhat earlier, with children being
assigned more clearly gendered tasks starting at about the
age of 10. The significant degree of overlap and cooperation
among adults in Aka society is seen, as well, in the flexibil-
ity Aka children of all ages have in the activities in which
they choose to engage. While the !Kung, too, have signifi-
cant overlap and flexibility in gendered activities, the differ-
entiation that does exist is associated in part with different
learning opportunities and expectations during the transition
period to adulthood in the mid to late teens. Boys (and not
girls) begin accompanying hunters and have the opportunity
to learn from experienced hunters and to develop their own
skills through direct experience.
A potentially useful observation for archaeologists is
the relationship between environment, technology, and gen-
der roles noted for the Inuit. The relative complexity of the
technology and the associated skills in its maintenance and
use may be a factor in the degree of separation between
male and female domains. Among the Inuit, both men and
women needed to master not only the appropriate knowledge
for their roles but complex skills as well. Since skill acquisi-
tion requires not simply exposure but also practice, it may be
related to earlier gendered task assignment and more formal
teaching. In contrast, neither the Aka nor the !Kung had a
complex technology for the accomplishment of subsistence
activities. Children in both groups were free from tasks until
adolescence, and neither group was characterized by formal
teaching.
Another distinction among the three groups considered
here is the relative spatial separation of gendered tasks.
Among Inuit groups in which men and older boys spend
much of their time in a men’s house while women and
younger children live in a separate residence, there is a spa-
tial separation of gendered tasks, with older children being
37
exposed more regularly to the tasks and related knowledge
of the appropriate gender model. Among the !Kung, many
adult activities take place in the general area of the camp
where children are free to observe them. But there is a de-
gree of spatial separation in gendered activities. Men as well
as women gather plant foods, but large-game hunting tends
to take place well away from camp, sometimes over several
days, and involves only men and older boys. In contrast,
many activities among the Aka take place in camp or in the
surrounding forest and often involve the cooperative work
of men and women.
Both child-rearing patterns and differential knowledge
are influenced by the degree of spatial separation or overlap
in men’s and women’s tasks. Archaeologically, the environ-
ment and the types of game and other foods available to the
group, as well as their distribution in the environment rela-
tive to camp location, would provide clues as to the likely
spatial distribution of tasks. Detailed studies of the relative
distributions of both tools and related toys could also give
information as to the degree of spatial separation or overlap
of various tasks. For example, we would expect to see little
spatial differentiation of specific tool types among the Aka;
they would be distributed, instead, on the basis of individual
ownership. We would expect to see a different pattern among
some Inuit groups, however, with certain types of finished
tools found in the men’s house and others found in the home.
Finally, the complexity of the technology and skills required
for adult activities can also be a factor in the degree of overlap
in men’s and women’s areas of expertise. A more complex
technology that requires more practice for skill mastery is
more likely to be associated with gender-specific realms of
expertise and perhaps also a slightly earlier assignment of
gendered tasks.
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 3
The “Nature” of Childhood: Ethnography as a
Tool in Approaching Children in Archaeology
Kelly Thomas
DePaul University

ABSTRACT
Studying contemporary children in the United States might seem like an odd place to seek information that can
help inform the archaeology of childhood. It is our very familiarity with this cultural construct of childhood, as
former children and as contemporary parents, aunts, uncles, or friends of children, that often draws criticism from
scholars of childhood in archaeology and anthropology. An ethnographic study of four-year-old children from a
Chicago neighborhood taking part in an outdoor camp demonstrates, however, that looking beyond the familiar
is indeed possible and certainly fruitful for archaeologists wishing to study children in the past. Particularly, this
research takes a historical approach to contemporary constructions of childhood and looks at how contemporary
ideals affect children’s behavior through adult input and the built environment. Exploring this relationship between
cultural ideals and children’s behavior and the ways they are mediated provides insight into how particularistic
cultural constructions of children and childhood may be represented through the behavioral traces of them in the
archaeological record.
Keywords: nature, children, Chicago, behavior, built environment, adult input

H ow can contemporary ethnography of local children

contribute to the archaeology of childhood? Many
might argue that there is no common ground to build an
analogy between contemporary children and those in the his-
torical and prehistoric past. Contemporary childhood in the
United States is globalized and particularly constructed in
time and space. In fact, many authors have critiqued archae-
ologists for relying too heavily on what they think they know
about children based on their own experiences of them in the
United States (Baxter 2005 and introduction, this volume).
I argue here that ethnographic investigation of modern-
day children has the potential to make significant contri-
butions to the archeological study of children, particularly
concerning those very constructions of childhood that ar-
chaeologists have relied on for so long. To begin with, such
work can illuminate the complex processes and dimensions
of the cultural construction of children and childhood in con-
temporary urban America. Exploring this facet of childhood
ethnographically can then help break down the tendency
to naturalize or universalize childhood (Park, this volume).
Ethnographic research offers an opportunity to understand
how children are defined in specific cultural contexts, which
enables the research of children as children, instead of as
small adults or passive, inactive members of society (Baxter
2005; Goodwin 1997; Schwartzman 2001).
Moreover, ethnographic research is useful for the explo-
ration of children’s relationships with the physical and mate-
rial world. Viewing these relationships within specific cul-
tural, geographic, and historic contexts, we can discern how
children create meaningful experiences out of the spaces,
places, and objects in their lives (Baxter, chapter 6, this
volume; Theis 2001). Finally, ethnography can examine the
lived relationships and dialogs between children and adults
and among children themselves; it is these social ties that ul-
timately render material experiences meaningful. Once ar-
chaeologists reposition study of children’s worlds around
the processes that link children and adults as active social
agents, we can better explore the dynamic between societal

Archeological Papers of the American Anthropological Association, Vol. 15, pp. 41–50, ISBN 1-931303-20-7.
C 2006 by the American Anthro-

pological Association. All rights reserved. Permissions to photocopy or reproduce article content via www.ucpress.edu/journals/rights.htm.
42
influences, children’s responses to these influences, and their
material and behavioral expressions (Smith, this volume).
In this project, I explore the relationships among young
children, adults, and the natural world through the behavior
of young children in outdoor settings. Tracking the concur-
rent evolution of the modern concepts of nature and child-
hood through the Romantic Movement makes the culturally
constructed nature of both concepts explicit. Through analy-
sis of children’s daily activities outside, this project explores
how these concepts are manifested in the socialization of
children in outdoor settings and, at the same time, the re-
sponses of children in those settings. Driving my research
were the following questions: How do children utilize their
built and natural surroundings in play? What is the dialog
between the adults who structure and influence children’s
play and the children who use these spaces? How can obser-
vations of modern Western children in play spaces be used to
learn more about children in the past? Through these ques-
tions, I examine the experiences of present-day urban chil-
dren through their interactions with other children, through
the dialog between children and adults, and through their
interactions with their surroundings.
The Nature of Nature; The Nature of
Childhood
As the authors in this volume show, children and child-
hood are conceived of and acted upon in vastly different ways
depending on the specific social situations of the groups un-
der study. However, because most researchers grew up or
studied in a modern Western environment, they inevitably
will bring their expectations and assumptions to a research
site. It is these biases that make the archaeological study of
children and childhood problematic and deterring for many
(Baxter, introduction, this volume). It is important, there-
fore, to have at least a basic evolutionary understanding of
the related concepts of nature and childhood to realize the
assumptions under which many in anthropology and archae-
ology are working today. In other words, “the nature we
study must become less natural and more cultural” (Cronon
1996a:35–36).
Ideas held today about wilderness and nature, while per-
petuated unquestioningly and assumed to be the “natural”
way of thinking, were formulated and popularized during the
Romantic Movement. Prior to that time, in the early years
of American exploration and settlement by Europeans, na-
ture was portrayed as both a real threat to survival and a
symbol of evil and chaos against which pioneers fought
a moral battle (Nash 1982:24). By the time the Roman-
tic Movement gained popularity in the nineteenth century,
most Americans lived in urbanized areas, out of convenient
Kelly Thomas
reach of wild nature. The glorification of wilderness, then,
occurred in cities and was popularized by writers, artists,
and scientists—people who “did not face wilderness from
the pioneer’s perspective” (Nash 1982:44, 51). For these ur-
banites, nature became a unique and exciting destination
for adventure (Nash 1982:57) or a respite from civilization
where the sublimity of a higher power could be felt (Cronon
1996b:73; Nash 1982:45).
The shift in conceptions of nature created parallels be-
tween the rhetoric of the “nature” of nature and the “nature”
of childhood. This parallel is most obvious in the concurrent
evolution of these concepts and the continued ambivalence
concerning both. Throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, children were seen—especially within Puritan
communities—as amoral or even evil creatures (Aitken
2001a:32). Not until the mid-eighteenth century, when Jean-
Jacques Rousseau’s Emile argued that children possessed an
innate moral goodness from which adults could benefit, did
it become popular in the Western world to consider children
and childhood in a positive light (Aitken 2001a:31).
Out of this evolution emerged a continued ambivalence
about both the nature of wilderness and the nature of child-
hood. Wilderness exists in a liminal position, wherein the
boundaries between the human and inhuman—between the
natural and the civilized—are blurred (Cronon 1996b:73).
Wilderness has been perceived, often simultaneously, as both
the aesthetically pleasing and the sublimely terrible, as both
a respite from civilization and a threat to it.
Likewise, children are often described as innocent, pure,
and in possession of primitive knowledge and innate good-
ness (Wilson 1997:8). At the same time, a certain anxiety
remains concerning children’s seeming animal-like instincts
(Aitken 2001a:31; Sofaer Derevenski 2000:7). In this way,
both wilderness and childhood are forced into a liminal po-
sition between uncontrollable nature and civilized society.
As a result, the domestication of wild nature and children
is a continued debate. As will be explored in this chapter,
children and adults are engaged in a continual negotiating
process, balancing the experience of children between learn-
ing to be responsible adults and maintaining the freedom and
carefree attitude expected of modern, upper-class children
in the United States.
Play in Modern America
This tension in contemporary constructions of child-
hood should have direct implications for how children are
raised in contemporary society. Adult influences on how
children should behave in particular social settings (in-
cluding the types of material culture provided to chil-
dren and when and how they should be used) and on the
Ethnography as a Tool
creation of built environments that shape behaviors and
meanings of place are direct correlates to the types of ev-
idence encountered by archaeologists. Similarly, how chil-
dren react to these objects, environments, and instructions
would also help to shape patterns and assemblages seen ar-
chaeologically. For the purposes of this study, I turn to one
arena in which children’s behavior can be observed and con-
textualized: play.
The fields of child development and education provide
excellent sources to illustrate the construction of children’s
play in modern America. Overwhelmingly, researchers from
these disciplines agree that play experience in nature is a cru-
cial aspect of childhood. Especially valued is the opportunity
for play in natural areas of unspecified use, sometimes called
“rough ground,” which allow nature to be “entertainment”
in itself (Trimble 1994:27; Wals 1994:185). Environments
deemed “unstructured” foster a child’s use of imagination
and creativity to build their own niches in nature and, thus,
to feel a sense of ownership and empowerment in one’s own
creations (Crain 1997:43; Sobel 1990:10; Trimble 1994:27).
Natural areas can also provide a quiet place for children to
reflect (Wals 1994:188). A child’s opportunity to take refuge
in a nearby natural area is thought to act as a buffer to stresses
they may be experiencing at home or in school, as evident
in studies that show that children with the most access to
nature experience the least amount of psychological distress
(Wells and Evans 2003:320). Direct experience with nature
during childhood is considered crucial to the development
of a child’s knowledge, sense of curiosity, responsibility, and
respect for the environment, along with a lifelong sense of
place and belonging (Bodner and Sampson 1999:23; Crain
1997:42; Nabhan 1994:82; Sobel 1990:12).
Despite the touted advantages of children’s direct ex-
periences in nature, the opportunity for unstructured play is
diminishing. That is, “the freedom to be unsupervised and do
nothing is becoming less and less a possibility for children”
(Aitken 2001a:16). Parental concern is often considered the
most significant factor in a child’s access to unstructured
outdoor play (Valentine and McKendrick 1997). Adult care-
givers who were interviewed about children’s play expressed
strong concerns about the dangers of unsupervised play, such
as traffic accidents, abduction by strangers, and involvement
in violence or other illicit behavior instigated by older chil-
dren (Valentine and McKendrick 1997:223, 231). Dissatis-
fied with the lack of appropriate play opportunities within
their neighborhoods, parents often rectified this deficiency
by placing their children in more structured, institutionalized
arenas for play (Valentine and McKendrick 1997:224, 229).
Furthermore, advocates for children having experiences
with nature express concerns about how children learn about
nature in the face of dwindling opportunity for direct expe-
rience. Mass media in the form of books, magazines, tele-
43
vision shows, and films about environmental issues, along
with conversations with family members at home, can have
a powerful influence on children’s ideas about nature and,
consequently, how they will behave in the natural envi-
ronment (Aitken 2001a:36; Eagles and Demare 1999:34;
Kahn and Friedman 1995:1409; Nabhan 1994:88). In other
words, concepts of spaces that have been culturally defined
as “nature” or “natural” are imbued with meaning even be-
fore a child experiences them directly (Baxter, chapter 6, this
volume).
The effects of adult input and influence on children’s
experiences and attitudes toward nature also have been ex-
amined. Such studies about the perceptions and emotions
children hold regarding nature reveal surprising and con-
tradictory conclusions. This was especially true for many
urban children, who often express uneasiness and fear about
natural areas (Simmons 1994; Wals 1994). When presented
with pictures of various outdoor play spaces, urban chil-
dren in one study overwhelmingly preferred spaces with
built play equipment, such as city playgrounds. These chil-
dren expressed increased ambivalence and concern toward
less developed play spaces. The sentiment that nature was
a threat to personal safety has been documented by several
researchers in the context of urban children’s perceptions of
nature. For example, children simultaneously regarded the
presence of trees and tall grass as a fun opportunity to ex-
plore, hide, and climb and as a threat in the form of falling
trees and attacking animals (Simmons 1994:199–200). Most
interestingly, children interviewed in Chicago, Detroit, and
Houston all voiced strong fears of the threat of dangerous
people in natural areas, citing the possibility of being kid-
napped, raped, or killed in wooded areas (Kahn and Friedman
1995:1414; Simmons 1994:200; Wals 1994:191).
The studies discussed above illustrate how children in-
ternalize social meanings attached to culturally categorized
spaces even if they have never directly experienced them.
When children enter into such spaces, even to undertake play
behaviors deemed child-specific, they approach them with
a series of meanings and expectations that will shape their
interactions with that space and with one another. As shown
by Kahn and Friedman, children connected play to much
broader social issues, particularly crime, and how they see
themselves within these processes (as potential victims).
Conducting Fieldwork in Children’s Worlds
How can adult ethnographers study contemporary chil-
dren? Just as adult archaeologists often express concern
about the unique challenges of accessing children archae-
ologically (Baxter, introduction, this volume; Bugarin, this
volume; Kamp, this volume), ethnographers must also
44
consider the unique complexities of researching children in
the present. The question of how to situate oneself among
children in a way that allows for an observation of children’s
own culture, rather than interactions directly shaped by one’s
own adult presence, is of paramount concern for ethnogra-
phers studying childhood (Schwartzman 2001). Given the
unique nature of this type of fieldwork, some methodologi-
cal explanation is necessary.
I conducted ethnographic research over six weeks as a
staff member in the Outdoor Kids Camp program, an out-
door summer day-camp program for preschool-aged chil-
dren. The camp was organized through the Near North
Nursery School in the affluent Lincoln Park neighborhood of
Chicago. The neighborhood, even in its urban location, main-
tains a relative abundance of “nature” in the form of mature
trees, small yards, and neighborhood parks. The camp group
consisted of 22 four-year-olds, most of whom live in Lincoln
Park or a nearby neighborhood. Daily activities included
walking trips to different neighborhood parks, bus trips to
water parks and nature centers, and beach trips. The program
was centered around “free play”; thus, campers were respon-
sible for initiating play activities. A small ratio of children
to supervisors (3:1), made it easy to learn most campers’
preferences and idiosyncrasies and to develop rapport with
them on an individual level.
Conducting anthropological research in “children’s
worlds” involves unique issues that do not need to be con-
sidered in fieldwork with adults (Lillehammer 2000). Be-
cause of the delicate nature of this type of fieldwork, most
researchers avoid it altogether. However, to grasp what is im-
portant in children’s lives and to study children as children, it
is important to frame children as the primary informants of
their lives, thus positioning them not as passive subadults but
as active participants in society (Baxter 2005; Schwartzman
2001; Theis 2001). In light of these issues, a less structured
approach to research than has been traditionally followed is
necessary (Aitken 2001b; Holmes 1998). In contrast with
projects with children based on interviews, questionnaires,
map-making, or other structured activities, simply “hang-
ing out with kids” is in many cases the best way to grasp
what is important to the children one is studying (Aitken
2001b:502). When working with children, “we need to be in
the field in a different kind of way, a less structured way, a
more serendipitous way, a less contrived way, a more playful
way” (Aitken 2001b:502).
In keeping with this approach to fieldwork with chil-
dren, research for this project was conducted entirely through
participant observation. The data are largely composed of
the verbal and nonverbal responses of the campers to na-
ture, as opposed to data in the form of activity maps
or interviews. This approach seemed most appropriate to
Kelly Thomas
handle the delicate nature of research with children and to
gather as much unprompted information from the campers
in their activities as possible. In this way, fieldwork and
analysis took a phenomenological approach in describ-
ing specific events and finding meaning in these experi-
ences. The children, camp program, and school involved
in this project have been given pseudonyms to respect
their anonymity and to conform to Internal Review Board
guidelines.
Children, Adults, and Nature in Play
From participating in everyday activities at the Outdoor
Kids Camp, I drew out three observations that made ex-
plicit the negotiation between children and adults in play.
The first was the structure of the camp in general, includ-
ing how children behaved in free play settings, the schedul-
ing and definition of “play time” versus “non-play time,”
and how these parameters reflected adult expectations and
shaped children’s experiences. Second was the recognition
that children’s behavior and activities changed in different
play settings and that these changes were directly influenced
by the built environment and by expectations conveyed by
adults both in the moment and in more abstract forms. The
last was the observation that campers used imaginative play
as a mechanism to form a world to their liking yet at the
same time maintained the metacommunication necessary in
play. In all these ways, we can see how “children conform or
diverge from the adult world” as a means of continually ne-
gotiating their place within society (Lillehammer 2000:21;
Schwartzman 2001).
“Play Time” and “Non-Play Time”
The Outdoor Kids Camp program was focused on the
concept of “free play.” Much of the literature on children
and the outdoors emphasizes the importance of opportuni-
ties for children to explore and play in unstructured settings
or “rough ground.” Likewise, archaeological research en-
deavors to find evidence of children’s activities apart from
the realm of adults (Lillehammer 2000). Free play is in-
deed considered an important learning and developmental
opportunity by educators, parents, and researchers. The in-
explicit assumption here is that free play is activity with-
out constraints. However, if we accept the premise that all
play is socially constructed to some degree, we must look
further into what cultural expectations are attached to free
play.
As explained to the staff of the Outdoor Kids Camp, free
play meant that adults would not organize structured games
Ethnography as a Tool
or activities or have any overt influence on what activities
the campers participated in. Free play was time for children
to act “as children.” The staff was told that this time would
allow children to use their imaginations and be active. Free
play was not without rules, however. Rule 1: Toys from home
were not allowed during free play, a rule designed to encour-
age campers to utilize the play equipment available in each
environment and to use their imaginations. Rule 2: Campers
were expected to share playground equipment and toys (such
as beach toys) provided by the camp or the facility. Rule 3:
Campers were also expected to use the existing playground
equipment as it was built to be used without the possibility
of improvisation. Frequently, for example, the staff had to
stop campers from climbing up the slide to prevent collisions
with children coming down the slide. In other words, alter-
native imaginative scenarios were possible, while alternative
behaviors were not.
Within these bounds, children used the built and natural
environment in various ways. In most cases, campers used
natural objects as props for imaginary natural objects. Most
often, these natural objects were transformed into slightly
modified or even magical versions of what they really were.
Additionally, the campers would transform themselves into
nonhuman characters. At a park, Bailey showed me a small
twig and told me she was going to plant and water it at
home to grow it into a tree, while James often used properly
shaped sticks as guns. While playing magician at the beach,
Hannah used a mixture of lake water and sand to perform
tricks with the resulting “magic dust.” At a water park, Noah,
Jennifer, and Grace searched the sandbox for buried treasure
(rocks and sticks), and Noah had me join in the search as his
sidekick dog. At a park with much playground equipment,
one boy dove under a slide and pretended to eat wood chips
like a squirrel.
The children also played in their natural surroundings in
nonimaginative ways. Ben and Noah tried to climb a tree at a
park, an activity Ben soon abandoned to play hide-and-seek
with Paul among the bushes and other free plant growth.
At the Nature Center, Sylvie and Anna found a bird feather
along the trail and broke away from the group to touch and
talk about it. Before leaving the feather to catch up with the
group, the two girls buried the feather in wood chips on the
side of the trail so it would stay safe and hidden.
Just as it is interesting to make explicit what is expected
and experienced during free play, it is helpful also to make
explicit what adult staff did not accept as free play. When
a camper was sitting alone and seemed not to be interact-
ing with other children or the surroundings, a staff member
asked the camper what was wrong and suggested a few play
activities. Concern arose when children were content to sit
aside and observe peer interactions or be quietly alone. For
45
example, at a water park Noah sat on a lounge chair while
the other campers splashed in the water or played in the
sandbox. A few staff members came over to Noah and asked
why he was not playing in the water. After some coaxing
he joined other campers in the sandbox, yet while in the
chair he seemed content to sit back and watch the other chil-
dren playing. Here, then, we see the interaction between the
child and the built play environment with which he is ex-
pected to interact and the infringement of adult ideals on
children’s “unstructured” time. In free play situations, the
campers were expected to behave as children—that is, to
play. Staff expressed concern and routinely intervened when
a camper behaved in a more “adult” way by taking a more
passive role within the play environment.
Whereas play was strongly encouraged during free play
time, the staff also held high expectations that campers
should be able to recognize when play behaviors were not
appropriate. For example, on a typical walk the entire group
assembled outside the nursery school, gathered their back-
packs, and followed the staff leader. Other staff members
walked at different intervals in the group to supervise the
campers. While walking to a park, the campers were fre-
quently reminded to walk along the inside of the sidewalk,
stay with the group, and pay attention to where they were go-
ing. When the group reached an intersection, each camper
had to hold another’s hand and cross the street quickly and
safely. It was made very clear to the campers that walking
trips were not times to play, yet some of the campers contin-
ued their play during these times. Suzie and Liz often me-
owed and nuzzled each other as kittens during walking trips,
causing them to walk off the sidewalk and fall behind the
group. On one trip, Anna picked a dandelion from the grass
and became very upset when James immediately blew off
the white seedpods. In these cases, the campers who would
not act appropriately had to hold a staff member’s hand for
the remainder of the trip. Conversely, campers who followed
all the rules of the walking trip were commended for being
good leaders.
During such typical walking trips at camp, it was in-
triguing to see that in some times and places, children were
expected to act as “small adults” who had learned or should
be learning how to act “responsibly” and appropriately. At
other times, such as described above, there was concern
expressed when children did not initiate childlike behav-
iors, act as carefree children, and play freely. At four years
old, children were continually negotiating their own status
between learning to be a responsible adult and maintain-
ing what our society deems to be appropriate child be-
havior, knowledge, and attitudes. These negotiations were
met with strong reactions of approval or disapproval from
adults, as these two different elements of child behaviors
46
reflect the inherent tensions in contemporary ideas of
childhood.
Play Setting
Clearly, the structure of the camp activities (or perceived
lack thereof) and the cultural parameters of “play time” and
“non-play time” shaped children’s experiences both socially
and behaviorally. Another observation was that campers’ be-
havior varied depending on the specific play setting. The
Outdoor Kids Camp program was structured around the idea
of free play, and after arriving at a park, water park, or beach,
the children were allowed/encouraged to disperse and create
their own activities. Each specific setting itself communi-
cated quite strongly what kinds of activities were appropri-
ate and not appropriate independent of adult suggestions
and more subtle cues. For example, Supera Park’s spider-
web climber and pirate-ship jungle gym inspired many chil-
dren to play games in which they took on the roles of spi-
ders and pirates. Likewise, the plastic shovels and buckets
we took to the beach encouraged digging and sandcastle
building.
The cultural creation of space even for children who
had limited experience with new environments could be seen
most drastically as campers altered their behavior depending
on the relative “wildness” of the place. The differences in
attitudes and behaviors were expressed most obviously in the
campers’ reactions to insects in different play environments.
Interactions with bugs, such as ants, spiders, biting flies,
and lightning bugs, triggered varying responses from the
children based on the individual child and animal involved.
In instances of insect encounters, almost half of the children
in our group responded to the animals in some combination
of screaming, flailing their arms, and dashing away from the
insects or, alternatively, by stomping on them. These reac-
tions shifted, however, according to context. For example,
during one of our beach visits, James told me in a very seri-
ous tone that he was “afraid of bugs.” On the other hand, at
a playground he stood examining a lightning bug on a slide
and became quite upset when another camper smashed it.
The most dramatic and widespread changes in behavior
toward insects came from two distinct environments: in front
of the Near North Nursery School, a brick building with
a few mature trees in front, and at the North Park Nature
Center, a 46-acre nature preserve (City of Chicago 2003).
The most striking example of this contrast could be seen
in the case of ants. When confronted with a trail of ants
along the sidewalks outside the nursery school and on the
way to parks, the campers responded with a combination of
screams and stomps. However, during lunch at the Nature
Kelly Thomas
Center, Anna, Sylvie, and Ben—all of whom had exhibited
either screaming or stomping elsewhere—crouched together
under one of the picnic tables for over five minutes tracking
the progress of what they called a “giant ant.” This marked
change in behavior between the Nature Center and the urban
school setting is quite intriguing and points to relationships
between social space, attitudes, and behaviors.
The question arises, what accounts for such a change in
behavior? Is it possible that, at four years old, these children
have already constructed a qualitative difference between
the built city and the relative wild of the nature preserve and
extrapolated appropriate responses and behaviors? To under-
stand how such a change could happen, we must examine
the behavior of the adults and children at the Nature Center
or, in other words, place these environmental settings into a
cultural context.
On one particular outing, our group set out on a short
walk along the wood-chip-covered trails of the nature pre-
serve. The hike was more relaxed than our usual walking
trips since we did not need to pay attention to traffic or cross
busy streets. During the walk and our frequent stops along
the way, the adults encouraged the campers to visually take
in their surroundings, either by drawing attention to points
of interest or by explicitly asking the campers what they saw
or heard. Moreover, the adults specifically encouraged the
group to be quiet and to try to spot a deer. The children picked
up on the cues from the adults and actively searched for and
identified interesting animals or plants and were relatively
quiet and less rambunctious during the hike than during reg-
ular walking trips in the city.
This experience demonstrates the construction of na-
ture and appropriate nature experiences by adults and how
those values are expressed to children. On our walk, the main
activity was to visually observe one’s surroundings and iden-
tify interesting and exciting new finds while maintaining a
specified level of calm and quiet. Such an experience con-
trasted both environmentally (e.g., wood-chip path versus
paved street) and socially (e.g., quiet exploration versus reg-
ulated movements) with our walks in the city. After being
exposed to the proper attitudes and behaviors in the more
natural setting, it is not surprising that three of the campers
would express such intense interest in an ant similar to those
that repulsed them in an urban environment.
Equally interesting was the fantastic identification of
the insect as a “giant” ant. The ant was larger than those
typically encountered on the steps of the school and it is
very possible that the children had never seen an ant of that
size. It is also possible that the mood set by the adults and
the experience of a “natural” environment led the campers to
believe that the nature preserve was a place in which special
or magical creatures not found in their urban environment
Ethnography as a Tool
could be found and experienced. Either of these factors, or a
combination of both, could have prompted such a reaction.
The group’s time at the North Park Nature Center is an
example of how the influences of adults and play settings
work together. First of all, the Nature Center was unique
compared with the other places we visited in its lack of in-
dication as to what activities were appropriate: the preserve
contained no play equipment or toys. The children noticed
that their adult leaders were encouraging them to walk, look,
and maintain a relatively low level of noise. Thus, the stage
was set to instruct children on how time should be spent in
a natural area.
These anecdotes point to two strong influences on the
campers’ behavior: direct and indirect influence from adults
and the structure of the play setting. These factors cannot
be extricated from one another easily and it is best to con-
sider how they worked both independently and interactively.
One salient example is the case of the children’s positive
reaction to mealworms and extremely negative reaction to
earthworms. Inside the North Park Nature Center, most of
the children were quite excited to hold, pet, and even name
mealworms, making exclamations like Liz, who cried, “Oh!
They’re so cute! What should we name him?” In the midst
of this excitement about the “cute” mealworms, a volun-
teer brought out a few earthworms for the campers to hold.
The children immediately screamed and tried to escape from
the earthworm-bearing volunteer. In contrast to the cute and
petlike mealworms they were holding, the earthworms were
described as “gross” and addressed with many loud excla-
mations of “ewwwww!”
Perhaps the children had never interacted with or even
seen mealworms before; however, it can be assumed, from
the ubiquity of earthworms in the Chicago area, that they had
had contact with earthworms before. It is possible that they
had learned previously from adults that earthworms were un-
desirable creatures to be avoided. Having never seen meal-
worms before, though, the children could have approached
them with fewer clues on appropriate reactions.
Pretend Play
Subtle cues as well as overt instruction and correction
from adults and the powerful forces of the built environment
do not negate children’s abilities to act independently and
experience spaces on their own terms. One place where I
observed this form of independent action and child-specific
experience was in the realm of pretend play. Pretend play
is a means through which children can take what they find
within their environments and transform objects and spaces
into whatever they want them to be. Even in the context of
47
pretend play, however, the campers often broke from their
pretend play to show that they were knowledgeable about
the make-believe status of their pretend world or to assure
adults that they understood the difference between pretend
play and the real world.
Campers frequently used their imaginations with nat-
ural objects in play. For example, campers identified many
bones we encountered, especially during our trip to the North
Park Nature Center, as dinosaur bones. With this in mind, I
suggested on a subsequent trip to a park that we might find di-
nosaur bones in the sandbox. However, a few campers were
quick to inform me that I would not find dinosaur bones
because “we’re not in Jurassic times.” At other times, I in-
terrupted the campers’ pretend play because I felt I needed
to warn them of potential dangers. For instance, outside the
nursery school, Joy and Sylvia were picking berries off a tree
for their imagined household, and I cautioned them not to eat
the berries. The girls immediately said “we’re just pretend-
ing!” and assured me that they knew not to eat the berries.
In addition, campers transformed themselves (and oth-
ers) into natural objects, usually into animals. Simon became
a spider while climbing on the spider-web climber at a play-
ground and told me to be the bug he would trap and eat. As
Simon was making noises and actions that told me he was
entangling me in a spider web, he stopped the game to tell
me “dung beetles live in Africa.” Likewise, Suzie was almost
continuously meowing or nuzzling in character as either a
kitten or a puppy. On the bus, during walking trips, while
eating, and at our play destinations, she acted the part of a
small furry pet, while at the same time saying “I’m a kitten,”
a behavior a real kitten would obviously not exhibit.
One of the most intriguing instances of maintaining re-
ality during pretend play was Anna and her beaver dam. On
a rainy day, when we had to move our activities inside the
nursery school, Anna built a small shelter out of foam blocks,
a chair, and blankets. I asked her what she was doing and
she said she was a beaver building a dam. She told me it was
made out of sticks, and when it was finished, she climbed
in and asked me to cover the top of the dam with a pink
blanket. Once snuggled inside her dam, she curled up and
sucked her thumb until the dam collapsed, at which point she
became quite frustrated but tried to rebuild it. In this case I
was very eager to ask Anna more about her pretend world at
the moment. I thought that if I asked her where the dam was
located she would tell me it was in a stream or in another
area with water. Yet, when I asked her where the dam was
she told me it was “right here,” meaning on the floor in the
classroom. Here, then, we see how the campers simultane-
ously live in their real and pretend worlds and how spatial
behaviors that are adult “approved” become transformed into
child-centered imaginative experiences of spaces and places.
48
Discussion: Ethnography and the Archaeology
of Childhood
The data from this project create several points of dis-
cussion between ethnography and archaeology, specifically
regarding how, within the boundaries of their specific so-
cieties, children use play to negotiate their place within a
particular culture.
Play is often theorized as imitation of adult behavior—a
way for children to practice being adults (Bugarin, this
volume; Schwartzman 1976:297 and this volume). Play
is, however, much more complicated than simple mimicry
(Fortes 1970; see Schwartzman 1976:298 and this volume).
When, for instance, Joy and Sylvia collected berries from
a tree for their pretend home and when Suzie meowed
and purred in character as a kitten, they were not merely
imitating what they saw adults doing at the time, nor is it
probable that they were reenacting scenarios they had seen
adults in at another time.
One way to construct play more broadly is to see it as
a mechanism through which children gain knowledge and
understanding of their environment (Baxter, chapter 6, this
volume). Their environment includes adults, and often chil-
dren did imitate adults in their lives. But their worlds are
much more than the adults who teach them. In pretending
to be a spider or a kitten, children are making sense of their
surroundings more broadly. Even during pretend play, chil-
dren are demonstrating that they know how to play in ways
adults can comprehend. When Joy and Sylvia told me that
they knew not to eat berries and were “just pretending” they
were telling me as an adult that they understood the appro-
priate boundaries between pretend and reality. This instance
illustrates the metacommunication necessary in play: “in or-
der to understand an action as play it must be framed by the
message ‘this is play’” (Schwartzman 1976:302; see also
Bateson 1971, 1972).
Also significant in this work with contemporary chil-
dren is the fact that they are exposed to a wider range of
adult behavior than that of their parents or other caretakers.
As noted previously, much of what the children act out in play
could be directly linked to TV shows, movies, and books that
the children had read or seen. For example, Simon frequently
pretended to be a spider because a movie about Spiderman
had been released around that time. Simon displayed his in-
terest in Spiderman in his Spiderman backpack, in conversa-
tions about the character, and in his pretend play as a spider.
Likewise, Anna knew that I would not find dinosaur bones
in the sandbox because of a new computer game she had at
home about dinosaurs. Negotiating information beyond im-
mediate adult influence and contacts is not unique to contem-
porary childhood. Hadzabe children have been reported as
Kelly Thomas
imitating dancers, predators, and foreigners in their pretend
play (Blurton Jones 1993:316; see Bugarin, this volume).
Archaeologically, this element of pretend play is significant
in that children probably imitated not only adults directly in-
volved in their lives but also characters from stories, songs,
plays, dances, books, and other “media” of their time.
Overall, this study suggests that children’s behaviors
are altered significantly depending upon cues and instruc-
tion gained from adults and the built environment. Campers
picked flowers and destroyed flowers; flailed at bugs and
stood entranced by them; refused to get their feet wet and
rolled naked in the sand. The same abstract ideals that in-
fluenced how adults presented particular settings and pre-
scripted and proscripted behaviors within those spaces were
reinforced by a landscape shaped by those same ideals.
The influence of adults or the media seemed stronger in
some children than in others and some engaged in pretend
play much more than others. Despite individual variation,
patterns in observed behaviors suggest that the guidelines
for play, adult attitudes and messages about space and be-
havior, and built environments create observable patterns in
children’s behavior with objects and spaces. Campers were
able to readily find natural props or to construct pretend nat-
ural objects for play, while at the same time taking advantage
of structured jungle gyms and plastic sand toys. At four years
old, these children have learned how to distinguish play at
a neighborhood park, a water park, a school, a beach, and a
nature preserve through the influence of adults and through
their own imaginations. This point supports Simmons’s
(1994) study, in which children could easily list the activities
appropriate in different play settings based on photographs.
The dialog between the agency of children and the
influence of adults is also made explicit during times
when play is not allowed. Children are expected to learn
at an early age when and where it is appropriate to
play, eat, and sleep (Baxter, chapter 6, this volume). By
analyzing non-play situations, such as walking trips, and
contrasting them with play situations, it is possible to see
the way all of these diverse elements are linked. Cultural
tensions about the nature of childhood directly affect
childhood experiences. Children are expected and trained
to be children as “children” or to play in ways that are
recognizable, at least superficially, to adults at certain
times and in particular places. Simultaneously, children
are expected to behave as “small adults” in other times
and places. These “small adults” are not like those in Inuit
culture (Keith, this volume; Park, this volume) in which
children possess adult knowledge at birth that must be
brought out in its own time. “Small adults” in contemporary
culture are being weaned from their animal-like, nonhuman
selves through the active teaching and reinforcement of what
Ethnography as a Tool
behavior is appropriate at certain times. In order to under-
stand patterns in children’s play behavior, we must take into
account the broader society and the children’s place within
that society and look deeper into why play was allowed at
certain places and not others. Until we explore the dialog
between children and adults in terms of play and socializa-
tion, the remains of children’s play will continue to appear
unknowable both ethnographically and archaeologically.
Just as childhood and nature are socially constructed
specifically within modern American culture, so is play.
Echoing a cornerstone of anthropological research, the his-
torical, geographic, cultural, and socioeconomic context of
society must be taken into account in reconstructing the lives
of children in the past. In this sense, children’s play is not
random and unknowable, as emphasized by many archaeol-
ogists. On the contrary, “children’s behaviors should demon-
strate regularities and patterning that reflect the social norms
and guidelines for children’s behavior and use of space in a
particular cultural setting” (Baxter, chapter 6, this volume).
This research demonstrates that play is not a randomizing or
a distorting factor, nor is it simply a socialization tool or an
opportunity for adult mimicry.
Instead, play is a process by which children negotiate
their space and position within the larger society of other
children, adults, and natural surroundings. These elemen-
tal relationships are those that define and shape the child’s
world, and their expression through play creates a behavioral
link to the archaeological record. Taking into account the his-
torical and cultural contexts, ethnography can make explicit
the processes and dimensions involved in the cultural con-
struction of children and childhood. By breaking down the
notion that childhood is a natural or universal concept, we
can study children as children and as active members of their
societies. Once we frame children as active agents, we can
better acknowledge and analyze how children create mean-
ingful experiences in the spaces of their lives and with objects
in those spaces. Finally, by accepting the first two points—
that childhood is culturally constructed and that children use
space and objects in meaningful ways—we can examine the
influence of adult society and the built environment on chil-
dren’s use of space and children’s resulting experiences.
Acknowledgments
This is by no means my project alone, and I owe many
people thanks for making this project such a great experi-
ence. Research was possible through a grant from the College
of Liberal Arts and Sciences at DePaul University. Thank
yous go to Dr. Jane Baxter for encouragement to explore
this topic and for continued advice throughout the project
49
and to Dr. Robert Rotenberg and Dr. Nina Hewitt for advis-
ing the initial version of this piece. The support of my family
and friends is greatly appreciated. My greatest thanks goes
to the 22 children directly involved in this project: it would
not have been possible without you.
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Redefining Childhood through Bioarchaeology:
Toward an Archaeological and Biological
Understanding of Children in Antiquity
Megan A. Perry
East Carolina University

ABSTRACT
Many critiques surrounding the archaeology of childhood have addressed the disparate social and biological identifi-
cations of children. Bioarchaeological information can elucidate the lives of children and the meaning of childhood in
antiquity. Bioanthropological techniques additionally can identify biological developmental stages of childhood that
may link to socially defined age grades. This chapter presents and critically evaluates the diverse techniques that may
be used to illuminate relationships between biological evidence and social interpretations in the archaeological study
of children and childhood. A brief example from the Byzantine Near East illustrates the utility of bioarchaeology in
the study of ancient children.
Keywords: bioarchaeology, skeletal age, migration, health, diet, lifestyle, childhood

C hildren actively participated in creating the archaeolog-

ical record alongside adults, but they have tradition-
ally been neglected in archaeological interpretations. Even
when children are considered, who “children” were and what
“childhood” entailed in ancient societies are taken out of
cultural context (Baxter 2005; Sofaer Derevenski 2000:11).
On the other hand, children from past societies tradition-
ally have been more visible to bioarchaeologists than to
archaeologists. Bioarchaeologists can estimate the skeletal
age of deceased individuals and identify “subadults,” that
is, individuals under approximately 18 years of age, in a
cemetery sample. Should these researchers consider all of
these individuals “children,” however? Similar to archae-
ology, biological anthropology primarily uses Western no-
tions of childhood development based on chronological age
when considering deceased inhabitants of ancient communi-
ties. These biologically derived ages in many societies may
not correspond to culture-bound age grades of “infancy,”
“childhood,” or “adulthood” (Chamberlain 1997:250; Kamp
2001:3; Sofaer Derevenski 2000:9–10). As noted by So-
faer Derevenski, however, these two elements—the cor-
poreal, biological “child data” and the sociocultural “data
child”—may be linked through careful consideration of how
body changes in children correspond with alterations in
their social and cultural identity (Sofaer Derevenski 1997,
2000:9–11).
Delineating culturally appropriate age grades in
skeletal samples may assist archaeologists and biological
anthropologists in identifying children and understanding
childhood in the past. This chapter addresses methodolog-
ical and conceptual issues that must be considered during
bioarchaeological research on children and childhood. When
properly constructed, bioarchaeological investigations can
provide further information on the lives of past children,
including health and quality of life, childhood residence,
and the presence of violence against children including
child abuse, infanticide, and sacrifice. Investigations of
“subadult” populations, that is, individuals under 18 years
of age, often are hindered by inaccurate age estimation tech-
niques, sampling bias due to mortuary practices and skeletal
preservation, and problems understanding childhood mor-
bidity and mortality from samples of deceased, not living,

Archeological Papers of the American Anthropological Association, Vol. 15, pp. 89–111, ISBN 1-931303-20-7. C 2006 by the American Anthro-

pological Association. All rights reserved. Permissions to photocopy or reproduce article content via www.ucpress.edu/journals/rights.htm.
90
individuals. Additionally, as noted above, bioarchaeologists
should consider how accurately their age categories reflect
reality within a particular cultural or temporal context. Crit-
ically engaging these biological data with material cultural,
textual, and ethnohistorical evidence allows archaeologists
to better understand the role of children in ancient societies.
Understanding Children from a
Mortuary Context
Many factors influence the accuracy of studying chil-
dren in a living community using subadult skeletons from a
cemetery sample. These include methodological problems
as well as issues related to sampling bias. Many bioan-
thropologists have discussed problems estimating adult age
at death from skeletal remains due to concerns with ref-
erence population selection and intra-individual variation
in the aging process (Bocquet-Appel 1986; Bocquet-Appel
and Masset 1982, 1985, 1996; Buikstra 1997; Buikstra and
Konigsberg 1985; Konigsberg and Frankenberg 1992, 1994;
Konigsberg et al. 1997; Müller et al. 2002; Van Gerven and
Armelagos 1983). Biological anthropologists use different
techniques to estimate the age of subadults versus adults be-
cause these methods are based on developmental changes
due to growth versus skeletal degeneration, respectively.
Subadult age-estimation methods generally are considered
less problematic than adult techniques because of the rel-
atively short intervals between stages of growth versus the
pattern of adult skeletal degeneration (Saunders 2000:141).
Subadult skeletal aging techniques, however, reflect devel-
opmental age, not chronological age. Additionally, a number
of methodological issues described below can create error
in subadult age estimation. Thus, use of these methods must
be coupled with recognition of their limitations.
Subadult age estimates generally derive from noting
stages of dental development (Moorrees et al. 1963a, 1963b;
Ubelaker 1989a, 1989b) and epiphyseal union (Krogman
and İşcan 1986; McKern and Stewart 1957; Redfield 1970;
Suchey et al. 1984; Ubelaker 1989a, 1989b) in addition
to long bone length (Fasekas and Kósa 1978; Olivier
and Pineau 1960; Scheuer et al. 1980; Ubelaker 1989a,
1989b). Sexual, environmental, and genetic variability in
human growth and development, however, influences the
efficacy of these techniques (Ubelaker 1989b:55). For
example, Moorrees et al. (1963a, 1963b) and Ubelaker
(1989a, 1989b) used samples of “white” and “native” North
American children to establish standards of dental devel-
opment, which may be inaccurate for genetically different
populations (Saunders 1992:7, 2000:143–144). Addition-
ally, long bone length (Johnston and Zimmer 1989:16–17;
Saunders 2000:141, 146) and perhaps epiphyseal union
Megan A. Perry
(Krogman and İşcan 1986; Johnston and Zimmer 1989:15)
are affected by nutrition and other environmental stressors,
producing error in age estimates. Researchers generally
agree, however, that environment least affects dental age,
and thus this indicator stands as the most useful estimator
of chronological age (Johnston and Zimmer 1989:14;
Saunders 2000:142; Scheuer and Black 2004:16–17).
Controlling for one potentially confounding variable re-
mains difficult, however. Sex of a child influences growth
patterns, particularly epiphyseal union, in addition to dental
eruption (Saunders 1992:11, 2000:146). Presently, few re-
liable techniques exist for estimating sex of preadolescent
skeletal individuals (see Saunders 2000:138–141). Earlier
attempts to estimate sex using bone chemistry, particularly
citrate analysis (Dennison 1979; Gibbs 1991), and skele-
tal morphology (e.g., Choi and Trotter 1970; Holcomb and
Konigsberg 1995; Hunt and Gleiser 1955; Sundick 1977)
were not particularly successful. Promising results in studies
using ancient DNA to distinguish between X and Y chromo-
somes suggest that determining the sex of subadults is a fu-
ture possibility (Faerman et al. 1995; Hummel and Herrmann
1994; Saunders and Yang 1999; Stone and Stoneking 1999;
Stone et al. 1996; Yang et al. 1998). Rarely are subadult
skeletal remains preserved sufficiently for extraction of an-
cient DNA and the possibility of contamination remains
a problem (Saunders and Yang 1999), although continued
advances in molecular anthropology may alleviate these
concerns.
The representativeness of a sample derived from de-
ceased children in order to understand living ones also con-
cerns bioarchaeologists. Multiple levels of selection shape
the creation of a skeletal sample. Both ethnographic and
archaeological evidence suggest mortuary rituals and politi-
cal, economic, and cultural variables influence the final rest-
ing place of the deceased. Mourners in many cultures bury
children, for example those who perish before their naming
ceremony, apart from adults, sometimes in a separate ceme-
tery (Kamp 1998; Saunders and Spence 1986; Scott 1997,
1999; see Kamp 2001:6–7). Differential burial can likewise
stem from the sex of the individual, social standing or po-
litical affiliation of their immediate family, or even mobility
of the community (e.g., Binford 1971; Bloch 1971; Brown
1971; Goody 1962; Hodder 1982; Humphreys 1983; Kan
1989; Kligman 1988; Middleton 1960; Saxe 1970). Archae-
ologists must have awareness of a culture’s burial program
in order to compensate for the impact of spatial segregation
or they must randomly sample excavation areas within the
cemetery to lessen the effect of sampling bias.
Furthermore, differential preservation of subadult ver-
sus adult burials may result in fewer than expected juvenile
and child skeletons in ancient cemeteries. Taphonomic stud-
ies have suggested that the unmineralized nature of subadult
Redefining Childhood through Bioarchaeology
bones results in poorer preservation than that of adult
skeletons in situations with marginal skeletal preservation
(Gordon and Buikstra 1981; Guy et al. 1997; Henderson
1987; Johnston and Zimmer 1989; Walker et al. 1988). Addi-
tionally, poor preservation levels may mean age estimation of
these individuals is difficult, if not impossible (see Scheuer
and Black 2004:18–19). Other researchers, however, iden-
tify poor excavation methods rather than poor preservation
as the cause for the lower than anticipated number of ageable
infant and child skeletons (Saunders 2000; Sundick 1978).
Saunders (2000:138) discovered that 98 percent of subadult
skeletons from a carefully excavated historic cemetery in
Ontario (n = 282) were preserved well enough for age esti-
mation. Additionally, I was able to estimate age using either
dental development, epiphyseal union, or a combination of
these indicators in 100 percent of subadults from Rehovot-
in-the-Negev in Israel (n = 24) and 100 percent from the
cemeteries at Aila (n = 17) and Zabayir (n = 13) in Jordan
(Perry 2002:93). Thus, careful excavation and the ability to
recognize partially developed deciduous dentition or epiphy-
ses enable accurate age estimation of subadult individuals
within a sample.
Another source of bias stems from the nature of ceme-
tery samples themselves. Because cemeteries only contain
a sample of deceased individuals, they cannot represent the
living population, some of whom may or may not be under-
going stress. Johnston (1962) and later Buikstra and Cook
(1980) suggested that this leads to a “mortality bias” in the
analysis of health and disease in ancient populations. Wood
et al. (1992) outlined in detail the problems this “osteolog-
ical paradox” poses for understanding a living population
from mortuary samples. Interpreting the health of a com-
munity from a cemetery sample fails to consider the indi-
viduals’ relative risk of death or how they (particularly the
living population) varied in terms of frailty or liability toward
death (the population’s “hidden heterogeneity”). On the other
hand, extrinsic sources of bias outlined above likely eclipse
the effects of differential selection or hidden heterogene-
ity. Saunders and Hoppa (1993) discovered that inaccurate
age estimation techniques, poor preservation of burials, and
age-related differential burial practices, rather than hidden
heterogeneity or relative risk of death, more strongly affected
inferences of population health in a historic cemetery sample
from Ontario.
The caveats outlined by Wood and colleagues did lead
some biological anthropologists to rethink how they interpret
pathological lesions and mortality patterns in skeletal sam-
ples. Greater importance is given to differentiating between
active and healed lesions in order to distinguish between in-
dividuals who may have survived an episode of stress and
those who did not. Most bioanthropologists have called for
a multivariate assessment of stress in addition to a better
91
comprehension of the biological processes leading to stress-
related lesions in order to fully understand the health of
past populations (e.g., Armelagos 1969; Buikstra and Cook
1980; Cohen and Armelagos 1984; Cook 1984; Goodman
et al. 1983; Goodman, Lallo, et al. 1984; Goodman, Martin,
et al. 1984; Lambert 2000; Larsen 1997). Additionally, new
chemical, molecular, and analytical techniques have been
developed to address particular concerns of the osteological
paradox (see Wright and Yoder 2003).
Finally, the fact that most populations are demographi-
cally unstable also skews assessment of children in a ceme-
tery sample. In unstable populations, fertility or migration
rates, rather than the number of deaths in the population,
more directly affect computation of mortality variables such
as the average age of death, in addition to the overall age-
at-death distribution of the sample (Buikstra et al. 1986;
Johannson and Horowitz 1986; Milner et al. 2000; Paine
1997; Sattenspiel and Harpending 1983; Storey and Hirth
1997). The chance of having a certain number of deceased
individuals within an age category in a cemetery reflects
the number of living individuals at risk of death in that cat-
egory (Milner et al. 2000; Paine 1997; Storey and Hirth
1997). Frequently, researchers attribute a high frequency of
infant deaths to increased community stress (Angel 1975;
Lallo et al. 1978; Lovejoy et al. 1977) or changes in burial
practices (Houby-Nielsen 2000). However, an increase in
population fertility rates or the immigration of families with
infants into the community may also explain a larger than
expected number of infant deaths.
Paleodemographers studying infant mortality have at-
tempted to correct for the instability of ancient populations
by comparing the number of weaning age (1–5 years) deaths
with deaths of children 1–10 years (see Cook 1976, 1979).
Investigations of modern juvenile mortality patterns have
discovered that populations with high levels of childhood
mortality tend to have a high rate of weaning-age deaths
(Wills and Waterlow 1958). Additionally, hazard models
used to calculate the risk of death in each age category
have been used to create age-at-death distributions in an-
cient populations that take into account nonstationarity (e.g.,
a change in migration or fertility rates) and age estimation
errors (Gage 1989, 1990, 1991, 1994; Siler 1979, 1983).
Thus, interpretations of health, mortality, and well-being in
children in antiquity must consider the effects of the above
intrinsic and extrinsic sources of bias.
Redefining “Childhood” from a
Bioarchaeological Viewpoint
Despite these potential biases, bioarchaeology can pro-
vide a critical element to research on past children. Using
92
bioarchaeology, researchers may identify biological markers
of stages in childhood social development such as weaning
or puberty and can elucidate the treatment of children in
antiquity. Identifying “children” in an ancient society with
biological and nonbiological markers must begin any study
of children and childhood. For paleodemographic research,
individuals within a skeletal sample are usually identified
as “subadults” (children) or “adults” based on whether or
not the individual has completed skeletal growth, eruption
of the dentition, and fusion of the epiphyses. In many cul-
tures, however, the culturally bound definitions of a “child”
or an “adult” may not necessarily correspond with biologi-
cal age categories (Kamp 2001:3; Rothschild 2002:2). Yet,
establishing biological age categories and searching for bi-
ological markers of childhood social development can sup-
plement ethnohistorical or material cultural investigations
of children’s sociocultural identification in ancient com-
munities. The developmental stages of weaning and ado-
lescence may leave identifiable indicators on the human
skeleton, which may in turn categorize a transition from
one socially defined age grade to another. For example,
the biological stages of weaning and puberty in many so-
cieties are linked with rituals marking the transition from
infant to child or child to adult (La Fontaine 1985; see
also Kamp 2001:5–6). As noted by Kamp (2001:4), non-
literate societies frequently categorize children based on
stages of maturation rather than chronological age (see also
Fortes 1984). In the Muslim Middle East, for instance,
weaning marks the beginning of childhood socialization
regarding gender roles, cultural values, and gender-based
division of labor (Fernea 1995:7). Thus, focusing on evi-
dence for these stages in skeletal development is a more
fruitful exercise than focusing on skeletal or chronological
age.
Furthermore, as noted by Bugarin in this volume, in-
termediate stages of childhood can be identified through
other characteristics, such as the development of perma-
nent dentition among the Ngori of Malawi or ear piercing
and other forms of body modification. As discussed below,
many bioanthropological techniques can identify important
socially proscribed age grades in ancient societies, although
not all forms of age-related body modifications may be iden-
tifiable in the bioarchaeological or archaeological record.
Additionally, it is important to remember that, as pointed
out by Bugarin in this volume, if the rites have not occurred,
a person may still culturally be a child even though bio-
logically he or she is an adult. Thus it remains essential to
reflect on possible missing or invisible markers in addition
to those present in textual, archaeological, and biological
evidence.
Megan A. Perry
Identifying Age Grades through Biological Indicators
As they grow, children usually pass through a number
of physiological stages that may correspond with social age
grades such as weaning or adolescence. Juvenile growth pat-
terns have remained unchanged since antiquity (Saunders
1992). Children encounter two major growth spurts, the
first experienced during infancy, lasting from the second
month after birth until weaning (often around three years
old), and the second during adolescence, lasting five to eight
years after the onset of puberty (Bogin 1999:55). Comparing
long bone lengths with dental development or the results of
other research on longitudinal growth can identify whether
growth spurts or chronic growth disruptions have occurred
(Armelagos et al. 1972; Cohen and Armelagos 1984; Hum-
mert 1983; Hummert and Van Gerven 1983; Johnston and
Zimmer 1989; Lovejoy et al. 1990; Maresh 1970; Mensforth
1985; Owsley and Jantz 1985; Saunders et al. 1993; Storey
1986).
As noted above, childhood growth is profoundly af-
fected by environmental and physiological factors. The age
that childhood growth spurts may occur varies as a re-
sult of the health and well-being of the child (Eveleth and
Tanner 1990; Hoppa and FitzGerald 1999; Huss-Ashmore
and Johnston 1985). Bioarchaeologists investigating growth
and development usually implicate chronic malnutrition and
infectious disease as the primary causes of growth dis-
ruption (Bogin 1999; Eveleth and Tanner 1990; Hoppa
and FitzGerald 1999; Huss-Ashmore and Johnston 1985;
Huss-Ashmore et al. 1982; Martorell et al. 1977). Growth
rates similarly are affected by a combination of genetic fac-
tors, including sex of the child, hormonal abnormalities,
and environmental influences, such as climate (Bogin 1999;
Eveleth and Tanner 1990; Hoppa and FitzGerald 1999; Huss-
Ashmore and Johnston 1985; Huss-Ashmore et al. 1982;
Martorell et al. 1977). The multifactoral nature of slowed
growth means that bioanthropologists must consider all fac-
tors that can influence growth patterns and rates.
Additionally, although weaning may mark the end of
a growth spurt, it may also result in a physiological re-
sponse to a change in diet, particularly to less nutritious
foods like maize, and in a decreased immune system (see
Larsen 1997:11). This response to weaning, in addition to
any acute physiological or even psychological or emotional
stress experienced during childhood, may result in slowing or
cessation of normal growth expressed as dental enamel hy-
poplasias (DEHs) and/or Harris lines, in addition to shorter
than expected long bones. Furthermore, weaning or other re-
lated stress may be indicated by infection, poor nutrition, or
a multitude of other factors experienced during childhood,
Redefining Childhood through Bioarchaeology
indicated by periosteal reactions or porotic hyperostosis in
the skeleton.
Acute stressful episodes may result in episodic ces-
sation of dental enamel deposition or long bone growth.
DEHs develop when stress occurs during enamel deposi-
tion in deciduous or permanent teeth, lasting from the sec-
ond trimester in utero until approximately 10 years of age
(Goodman and Rose 1990:61). The fact that over a hun-
dred different stressors may cause a DEH to form makes
its exact etiology hard to determine (Cuttress and Suckling
1982:117). Modern case studies have established a strong
link between socioeconomic, environmental, and emotional
stress and DEH development (Alcorn and Goodman 1987;
Goodman et al. 1991; Sarnat and Schour 1941; Sweeney et
al. 1971). Additionally, Harris lines, radiographically visi-
ble transverse lines in long bones, develop because of ces-
sation and resumption of bone growth (Harris 1931, 1933).
Similar to DEHs, Harris lines develop in response to ill-
ness or poor health (Garn et al. 1968; Harris 1931, 1933).
These indicators of acute cessation in skeletal and dental
growth frequently remain observable in adult skeletons. Den-
tal enamel does not remodel once formed during childhood,
thus DEHs in permanent teeth could be observed in an
adult. Long bones, however, repeatedly remodel through-
out an individual’s lifetime and thus evidence of Harris
lines may be obliterated by middle age (Harris 1933; Maat
1984).
Evidence of porotic hyperostosis and periostitis in
subadult skeletons provides further information on health
and nutrition of children and may identify weaning-related
stress. Periostitis is a reaction of the periosteum, the outer
membrane of bone, to infection of the underlying bony
matrix (see Aufderheide and Rodrı́guez-Martı́n 1998:179;
Larsen 1997:82–83; Ortner and Putschar 1985:129–132).
Bioarchaeologists often use periostitis frequency as a re-
flection of the infectious disease load in ancient populations
(e.g., Angel 1984; Armelagos 1990; Cook 1984; Goodman,
Martin, et al. 1984; Katzenberg 1992; Lambert 1993; Larsen
1982, 1984; Larsen and Harn 1994; Larsen and Hutchinson
1999; Martin et al. 1991; Powell 1988; Ubelaker 1984; see
also Larsen 1997:84–91). On the other hand, porotic hyper-
ostosis develops in the calvaria and eye orbits (where it is
also referred to as “cribra orbitalia”) in response to a num-
ber of anemic conditions, such as iron deficiency anemia
and congenital anemias (e.g., sickle-cell anemia and tha-
lassemia) (Aufderheide and Rodrı́guez-Martı́n 1998:346–
351; Ortner and Putschar 1985:251–263). Children younger
than five years primarily develop porotic hyperostosis due to
weanling diarrhea, disease, parasitism, or, to a lesser extent,
malnutrition due to an iron-poor diet or ingestion of foods
that reduce iron uptake (Aufderheide and Rodrı́guez-Martı́n
93
1998:346–347; Cook 1984; El-Najjar et al. 1976; Lambert
1994; Mensforth et al. 1978; Walker 1985). Porotic hyper-
ostosis likewise can result from infectious disease due to
the synergism between poor nutrition and infection (Carlson
et al. 1974; Cohen and Armelagos 1984; King and Ulijaszek
1999; Klepinger 1992; Larson et al. 1992; Mensforth et al.
1978; Stuart-Macadam 1987; Walker 1985). Individuals can
frequently survive many years with active porotic hyperos-
tosis, or overcome stress and display healed lesions, making
it important to distinguish between healed and active lesions
in a sample (Goodman 1993; Huss-Ashmore et al. 1982;
Stuart-Macadam 1989).
The pathologies related to porotic hyperostosis and
cribra orbitalia can be confused with metabolic conditions
that likewise result from chronic malnutrition, although not
necessarily from weaning-related stress. Infantile scurvy
caused by a vitamin C deficiency may mimic cribra orbitalia,
although in the case of scurvy the outer table of the orbits
remains intact with no expansion of the diploë (Ortner and
Putschar 1985:263). Rickets results from a vitamin D defi-
ciency and similarly may parallel porotic hyperostosis, al-
though as noted by Ortner and Putschar (1985:263) cranial
pores associated with rickets appear finer than those due to
porotic hyperostosis.
Bioarchaeologists have attempted with varied success to
determine whether DEHs and Harris lines occurred due to
weaning. Identifying the age at which these pathologies de-
veloped can suggest whether weaning-related stress played
a role in their development. Environmental perturbations
usually do not affect the timing of dental enamel deposi-
tion. Thus, researchers can determine the age that stress
episodes occurred by measuring the distance of a DEH
from the cemento-enamel junction (Ensor and Irish 1995;
Goodman et al. 1980; Goodman and Song 1999; Massler
et al. 1941; Sarnat and Schour 1941; Swärstedt 1966). On
the other hand, environmental stress strongly affects long
bone growth, creating difficulty for determining the age that
Harris lines developed. Some researchers have compared
the ages that Harris lines and DEHs formed within skele-
tal individuals, however, and discovered they probably re-
sulted from the same stressful episodes (Cassidy 1980; Cook
and Buikstra 1979; Maat 1984). Thus DEHs more accu-
rately can be linked with a weaning-related stress than Harris
lines.
Nonspecific indicators of stress other than DEHs, Harris
lines, and long bone growth similarly can identify the occur-
rence of weaning-related stress. Investigators of growth and
development have discovered a decreased rate of long bone
growth from six months to four years in some prehistoric
populations, possibly corresponding with weaning-related
metabolic disruption or infection (Bogin 1999; Lovejoy
94
et al. 1990; Mensforth 1985). These slowed growth rates
are coupled with high frequencies of periostitis in children
who perished during the weaning period (Mensforth 1985),
and older children and adult individuals display DEHs and
Harris lines that developed at this age (Clarke 1980; Clarke
and Gindhart 1981; Cook and Buikstra 1979; Corruccini
et al. 1985; Goodman et al. 1987; Lillie 1996; Ogilvie et al.
1989; Powell 1988; Simpson et al. 1990; Ubelaker 1992). Yet
many associations between weaning and skeletal patholo-
gies remain tenuous (Katzenberg et al. 1996). Researchers
such as Blakey et al. (1994) discount weaning as a primary
cause of DEHs in young children. In enslaved populations
in the mid-Atlantic United States, they found that DEHs
developed after weaning occurred, thus implying that other
stressors related to enslavement caused enamel disruption.
Additionally, based on his own research, Larsen discovered
that while weaning may lead to poor enamel development,
the association between DEHs and weaning is occasionally
“coincidental rather than real” (Larsen 1997:49).
Stable nitrogen isotopes, on the other hand, can pro-
vide more definitive evidence for weaning in ancient chil-
dren. Chemical investigation of human enamel, dentine, and
bone can present a well-preserved record of diet or feed-
ing practices. Stable nitrogen isotopes (δ 15 N) vary accord-
ing to the trophic level of a plant or animal in the food chain
(DeNiro and Epstein 1981; Katzenberg 2000:315; Minagawa
and Wada 1984; Schoeninger and DeNiro 1984). Thus, these
values can reflect whether an organism is primarily a herbi-
vore, carnivore, or omnivore. Additionally, δ 15 N values can
also be used to identify whether weaning has occurred in a
child by indicating a shift in trophic level that occurs when
the child receives food directly rather than through its mother
(Fogel et al. 1989, 1997; Herring et al. 1998; Katzenberg et al.
1996; Schurr 1998; White 2004).
Many studies have documented a shift in δ 15 N val-
ues in infants changing from breast-feeding to the con-
sumption of solid foods (Fogel et al. 1989, 1997; Herring
et al. 1998; Katzenberg 1991, 1993; Katzenberg and Pfeiffer
1995; Katzenberg et al. 1996; Reed 1994; Schurr 1998;
Tuross and Fogel 1994; White and Schwarcz 1994). A nurs-
ing infant has a higher trophic level in the food chain, and
thus a higher δ 15 N value, than the mother or non-nursing
child. These results also can be compared with carbon iso-
tope values, which can reflect the introduction of solid foods
(such as maize) into the diet, and oxygen isotope values,
which indicate whether an infant is ingesting breast milk
versus other water sources (see Wright and Schwarcz 1998).
Additionally, Reed (1994) discovered that a change in δ 15 N
values occurs alongside increased frequencies of nonspecific
stress indicators, supporting the hypothesis that weaning may
result in heightened physiological disruption.
Megan A. Perry
Determining the age of weaning has implications for
identifying decreased dependency of an infant on its mother
and dietary availability, as well as timing of births within a
society. In a complex paleodemographic study, Buikstra et al.
(1986) theorized that a shift to early weaning in prehistoric
North American groups was tied to the increased availabil-
ity of high-carbohydrate resources that could be processed
into “weaning gruel.” This eventually stimulated decreased
birth-spacing intervals and increased fertility, resulting in
population growth. Thus, weaning in agricultural societies
occurred earlier than in nonagricultural groups as a result of
the availability of these resources. The discovery of earlier
weaning ages in ancient agricultural societies was confirmed
through analysis of stable nitrogen isotopes and investiga-
tions of weaning in modern populations (Fogel et al. 1989,
1997).
Puberty is another stage of childhood biological and
social development identifiable in skeletal individuals. The
beginning of adolescence marks the second of two major
growth spurts in a growing child (Bogin 1999:85). This pe-
riod likewise signals the development of secondary sexual
characteristics, including outward physical changes to the
body in addition to the beginning of menstruation and sem-
inal emission (Bogin 1999:90). In many societies, the ap-
pearance of these secondary sexual characteristics marks the
beginning of a prolonged transitional phase in between child-
hood and adulthood during which the individual remains in
biological and social limbo (Bernardi 1985). The beginning
of this period may be identified within some skeletal samples
through initiation of the adolescent growth spurt at the onset
of puberty. Skeletal growth, as described above, is not only
affected by genetic differences between populations but also
by environmental effects such as malnutrition and disease
(Bogin 1999:228–232, 235–239). Since as noted above and
in other chapters of this volume many cultures use biological
and social rather than chronological age to indicate an age-
grade transition, and because skeletal growth varies greatly
between individuals, this may be a more accurate indicator
than strict chronological age. It will then vary slightly be-
tween and even within populations, making it an important
factor to assess if in fact adulthood coincides with sexual ma-
turity and the adolescent growth spurt in a society. Addition-
ally, archaeological or skeletal evidence of puberty-related
body modification can establish whether an individual began
the transition to adulthood before he or she perished.
The Significance of Childhood and Treatment of Children
Similar to identifying culturally defined “children” in
the archaeological record, bioanthropological techniques can
Redefining Childhood through Bioarchaeology
elucidate the treatment of children and meaning of childhood
in ancient societies. General patterns of skeletal trauma in a
sample can identify “subadult” involvement in “adult” activ-
ities such as warfare or violent acts on children. Additionally,
many researchers have focused on unique child-specific vi-
olence such as child abuse or infanticide through analysis
of skeletal material. Skeletal evidence can likewise indicate
whether a child moved from one region to another either
during childhood or between childhood and adulthood.
Trauma to the skeleton can result in bone fractures,
joint dislocation, disruption in nerve and/or blood supply,
compression or crushing injuries, and posttraumatic de-
formities (Aufderheide and Rodrı́guez-Martı́n 1998:19–50;
Jurmain 1999:185–186; Ortner and Putschar 1985:55;
Steinbock 1976:17). Involvement in warfare frequently may
identify a transition from childhood to adulthood. For in-
stance, the Latin term for a young adult used in ancient
Rome, iuvenis, derives from an individual’s ability to help
in community defense (Wiedemann 1989:19). Thus, recog-
nizing warfare- or conflict-related traumatic pathologies can
provide insight into the transition to adulthood in many soci-
eties. Assessing trauma on a population level along with ar-
chaeological and ethnohistoric data reveals patterns that may
indicate whether these pathologies resulted from violent or
accidental circumstances (Milner 1995; Milner et al. 1991;
Owsley et al. 1977; Willey 1990; Willey and Emerson 1993;
see Larsen 1997:154–159; Perry 2002:121–124). Clinical
and forensic studies may help specify the cause of skele-
tal fractures or joint dislocation by identifying joints or
skeletal elements involved on either an individual or pop-
ulation level (Boström 1997; Danielson et al. 1989; Dobyns
and Linscheid 1984; Galloway 1999; Rogers 1992; Smith
and Sage 1957; see Jurmain 1999:215–222). For example,
clinical investigations have discovered that aggressive acts
frequently involve the craniofacial region (Boström 1997;
Danielson et al. 1989). Additionally, the presence of un-
healed trauma or bodily mutilation may point to signs of
violence (see Larsen 1997:154–159).
Biological anthropologists likewise consider the demo-
graphic profile of trauma victims to better understand the
nature of interpersonal violence that occurred and the in-
volvement of children in these acts (see Larsen 1997:120–
154). For example, investigation of violent trauma at the
prehistoric site of Norris Farms in Illinois discovered that
among the numerous adult attack victims, only two were
younger than 15 years old (Milner 1995; Milner et al. 1991).
Demographic assessment of victims buried within a mass
grave at the prehistoric site of Crow Creek and at the historic
site of Larson Village in South Dakota similarly discovered
few individuals younger than age 15 (Owsley et al. 1977;
Owsley 1994; Willey and Emerson 1993). Depression frac-
95
tures in frontal bones of Easter Island skeletons were likewise
much more frequent in adults than in individuals less than
15 years old (Gill and Owsley 1993; Owsley et al. 1994).
Demographic patterning of cranial trauma at a prehistoric
site near Santa Barbara discovered many more adolescents
had vault depression fractures as compared with children
under the age of 10 (Lambert 1994, 1997). These results
may indicate which individuals in these societies reached
“adulthood” and engaged in (or were victims of) small-scale
combat during early adolescence, assuming these societies
would have treated children differently during warfare.
Furthermore, older adolescents (more than 15 years old)
occasionally engaged in warfare according to bioanthropo-
logical evidence. Burials associated with the historic site of
Battle of Snake Hill, Ontario, included many young adult
males aged 15–24 years old (Owsley et al. 1991; Thomas
and Williamson 1991). European sites from the Middle Ages
likewise display evidence of biologically categorized chil-
dren engaging in warfare. Common graves presumably con-
taining victims of the Battle of Wisby (Denmark) in 1361
included adolescent males who perhaps defended the city
against attack (Ingelmark 1939).
Childhood violence and other bioanthropological indi-
cators not only can identify stages in childhood social devel-
opment but also can elucidate the treatment of children and
meaningfulness of childhood in antiquity. Investigations of
non-warfare-related childhood violence have generally fol-
lowed three lines of investigation: child abuse, ritual sac-
rifice, and infanticide. In the North American Arctic and
U.S. Southwest, individuals under the age of 18 were appar-
ently victims of dismemberment and mutilation after death.
Skeletal samples from the site of Saunaktuk and sites on Ko-
diak Island contain bones of juveniles and adult females that
display evidence of disarticulation, defleshing, and longitu-
dinal fracturing indicative of cannibalism (Hrdlička 1944;
Melbye and Fairgrieve 1994). Remains from the Four Cor-
ners region of the southwest United States likewise may
show signs of cannibalism of juveniles in addition to adult
individuals (Turner 1993; Turner and Turner 1995; White
1992). Age-based patterns of ritualized killing have also
been discovered in northern Peru (Faulkner 1986; Verano
1986, 1995) and at Teotihuacan in Mexico (Cabrera Castro
1993; Cabrera Castro et al. 1991; Serrano Sánchez 1993).
These data demonstrate the ritualized significance of chil-
dren resulting in violent acts.
As opposed to acute trauma associated with warfare
or sacrifice, long-term child abuse or infanticide should
leave a different signature in subadult skeletal remains in
the archaeological record. Forensic anthropologists study-
ing child abuse victims have discovered that they dis-
play multiple localized periosteal reactions due to different
96
incidents of trauma, perimortem fractures, and craniofacial
trauma (Walker 1997; Walker et al. 1997). A cursory inves-
tigation of juveniles in ancient communities, however, failed
to identify early victims of child abuse at prehistoric sites
(Larsen 1997:157; Walker 1997).
Investigations of infanticide in the bioarchaeological
record remain difficult because of inherent biases of bioan-
thropological and archaeological data. Distinguishing post-
natal from prenatal or perinatal death in skeletal remains is
almost impossible (Saunders and Barrans 1999:185–186).
An obvious indicator of perinatal death would be the pres-
ence of fetal skeletal remains in the birth canal of an adult
skeleton (e.g., Hawkes and Wells 1975; Malgosa et al. 2004).
Otherwise, age-at-death indicators at present are too impre-
cise to provide gestational age of a fetus, which could help
distinguish between premature infants and newborns. One
identifier may be the “neonatal” line in the dentition, a DEH
that develops as a result of the stress of birth (Skinner and
Dupras 1993). This would indicate an infant survived the
birth, whereas if the infant died shortly afterward, no line
would form (Saunders and Barrans 1999:186).
Historical or archaeological data may supplement as-
sessments of infanticide based on biological information.
Many descriptions of infanticide exist in historical records
(see Scrimshaw 1984:439–440). Archaeology may also un-
cover burial patterns suggestive of infanticide (see Scott
1999). The social implications of infanticide may result in
burial of the infant separate from the rest of the community
(Scott 2001:3). However, infants perishing from a disease
epidemic similarly may be buried distant from adults (Soren
2003). In certain instances, the context of the remains may
suggest infanticide was occurring, such as the disposal of in-
fants in a Roman-period sewer at Ashkelon, Israel (Smith and
Kahila 1992) or the jar burials of infant sacrificial victims
at Carthage (Brown 1991; Lee 1996). Evidence of targeted
infanticide of either male or female children could surface
in a dearth of either males or females in a skeletal sample
(Scott 2001), although other factors could lead to this de-
mographic pattern. Generally the presence of a larger than
expected number of neonates in a cemetery alone is not ev-
idence for infanticide (Weiss 1973). As outlined above, it
may merely indicate increased fertility, which would result
in a larger than usual number of infant deaths (see also Scott
2001). As noted by Scott (2001), the reasons for infanticide
vary greatly from society to society, and thus identifying its
patterns in a cemetery sample remains a thorny issue.
Finally, analysis of stable strontium isotope ratios
(87 Sr/86 Sr) derived from human dentition may identify move-
ment during childhood. Stable Sr ratios vary according to the
local geology (Dasch 1969; Faure 1986; Faure and Powell
1972; Graustein 1989; Hurst and Davis 1981). Most applica-
Megan A. Perry
tions of 87 Sr/86 Sr values to study human migration have con-
centrated on identifying whether individuals changed resi-
dence between childhood and adulthood (Bentley et al. 2002;
Buikstra et al. 2004; Ericson 1989; Ezzo et al. 1997; Knudson
et al. 2004; Price, Grupe, et al. 1994; Price, Johnson, et al.
1994; Price et al. 1998; Price et al. 2000; Price et al.
2001; Price et al. 2002; Sealy et al. 1991, 1995). As men-
tioned above, dental enamel does not remodel after it has
formed. Thus, 87 Sr/86 Sr ratios in the enamel reflect the locale
where an individual lived during childhood while the enamel
formed. This value can be compared with either long bone
or other enamel values from the same individual or 87 Sr/86 Sr
values from local fauna to identify patterns of childhood
mobility.
Stable strontium isotopes have the potential to indi-
cate movement during childhood in addition to migration
between childhood and adulthood. Recent investigations of
animal dentition have compared multiple samples from one
tooth to assess seasonal mobility patterns of prehistoric pas-
toral nomads (Balasse et al. 2002). Comparing samples of
human dental enamel from single teeth similarly may re-
flect movement during childhood. For example, the crowns
of the canines develop from about birth to seven years and
crowns of the third molars from about 7 to 16 years (although
the latter varies considerably; see Hillson 1996:123). Thus,
carefully sampling striae from these teeth or comparing teeth
within the dental arcade may reflect movement of children
from one geological location to another during enamel depo-
sition and narrow down the age this occurred (White 2004).
Stable strontium isotope ratios provide many future possi-
bilities for understanding childhood migration in antiquity.
A Brief Case Study: Childhood in the
Byzantine Near East
Examining childhood among agrarian villagers living in
the 4th–6th century A.D. Near East provides an example of
integrating the bioarchaeological record with archaeological
and historical data. The Byzantine-period site of Rehovot-
in-the-Negev typified many agricultural communities within
the Negev desert of southern Israel. The site likely served
as a waystation on a trade and Christian pilgrimage route,
as well as a local agricultural and service economic cen-
ter (Rubin 1996; Shereshevski 1991; Tsafrir 1988, 1996).
Ancient sources suggest that, like many Byzantine villages,
Rehovot had a hereditary-based class and labor structure,
with many tenant farmers working the land under con-
tracts passed down from generation to generation (Garnsey
1998:102–103; Schaefer 1979:58–59). At what age were
children expected to undertake their role within the class
Redefining Childhood through Bioarchaeology 97

structure? Did active economic participation identify the at- during the lifespan and contains the fewest deceased in a
tainment of adulthood? cemetery sample (Coale and Demeny 1983; Weiss 1973).
Distinctions between childhood and adulthood in the As noted above, historical evidence indicates marriage and
Byzantine Near East were influenced by Greco-Roman ide- childbirth in Near Eastern agricultural communities began
als, early Christianity, and local cultural mores. For male around 13–15 years (Dauphin 1998:381–384, 397; Hopkins
Roman citizens, the path to adulthood frequently began with 1965:309, 319). Therefore, late childhood and adolescence
the toga-donning ceremony and ended approximately two likely marked a period of self-sufficiency possibly linked
years later when they could serve in the Roman military at with increased physiological stress (Nagar 1999:iii; Perry
17 years of age (Wiedemann 1989:113–116). Women on the 2002:270). Increased independence likely coincided with
other hand were usually identified as adults based on mar- increased childhood labor, putting older children and young
riage (Wiedemann 1989:115). Under Christian Byzantine adolescents at risk for disease or occupational hazards (see
rule, however, children were considered equal to adults under Bogin 1999:388–390). Thus, archaeological, documentary,
the eyes of God and thus were not necessarily considered a and biological evidence point to 13–15 years as the age a
separate age grade (Wiedemann 1989:105). In later antiquity, child reached “adulthood” in the Byzantine Near East. Those
donning the toga ceased to play a major role and instead pu- strictly adhering to Western biological age categories, how-
berty served as the defining factor of the attainment of adult- ever, would identify these married, independent adults as
hood for males (Wiedemann 1989:139). Marriage addition- “subadults.”
ally marked the transition from childhood for both males and
females, particularly among the peasant classes (Wiedemann
Conclusion
1989:191). In the ancient Near East, having children identi-
fied the young married couple even more as full-functioning
Many critiques surrounding the archaeology of child-
members of their society (Fernea 1995:5–6).
hood have addressed the disparate social and biological
The Byzantine Empire had established legal codes
identifications of children. Bioarchaeological information
defining the ages at which an individual could marry and
can elucidate the lives of children and the meaning of
thus progress on the path to adulthood. Sixth-century A.D.
childhood in antiquity. Bioanthropological investigations of
Byzantine law established the minimum age of marriage as
warfare-related violence in children may indicate when chil-
13 years for girls and 15 years for boys (Dauphin 1998:381–
dren became involved in this “adult” activity. Investigating
384; Hopkins 1965:309, 319). A comprehensive survey of
childhood migration can additionally contextualize the lives
funerary inscriptions from the Byzantine Near East suggests
of ancient children. Furthermore, bioanthropology can ex-
that imperial subjects married slightly after they reached el-
plore the cosmological and ritual significance of childhood
igibility, with marriage ages ranging from 13–15 years for
through assessment of infanticide, child abuse, and sacrifice.
pagans and 15–18 years for Christians (Dauphin 1998:384).
Bioanthropological techniques can identify biological
These ages in fact correspond with a change in health and
developmental stages of childhood that may link to socially
disease experiences at Byzantine Rehovot. Compared with
defined age grades. The age at which weaning occurs, for ex-
individuals from a Roman period pastoral nomadic com-
ample, has implications for the patterning of mother-child
munity and a Byzantine period urban trading center, the
dependence in early childhood. The skeletal growth spurt
sample from Rehovot contained a high number of deceased
associated with puberty similarly may be associated with
older children and young adolescents (7–15 years), most
a child’s culturally prescribed rite of passage into adult-
of whom perished while actively suffering from conditions
hood. These indicators, along with archaeological, textual,
leading to nonspecific indicators of stress such as periostitis
and ethnohistoric data, can assist in identifying children in
and porotic hyperostosis (Perry 2002:269). Younger indi-
a cemetery sample. Thus, freeing notions of childhood and
viduals in the sample rarely displayed active pathological
children from Western or biologically based definitions and
conditions, although analysis of DEHs, reflections of acute
the “child/adult” dichotomy using bioarchaeological data en-
stressful periods experienced during childhood, did indicate
ables archaeologists to better assess the younger members
a decline in DEH-causing stressful episodes from 3.5 years
of an ancient community.
of age onward (Perry 2002:229). No significant difference
in DEH frequency exists between adults and subadults in
the sample (Perry 2002:228), suggesting that DEH-related Acknowledgments
stress during early childhood cannot predict whether an indi-
vidual perished before reaching adulthood. Older childhood I would like to thank Jane Baxter and Jane Buikstra for
and young adolescence generally mark the healthiest period commenting on earlier versions of this chapter; all errors and
98
omissions are my own, however. I am also indebted to Israel
Hershkovitz for providing access to the Rehovot skeletons
held at Tel Aviv University.
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 8
Dominant Discourses; Lived Experiences:
Studying the Archaeology of Children
and Childhood
W hile childhood as a stage and children as individuals
have largely been ignored by archaeologists, as the
studies in this volume demonstrate, research recently has be-
gun to redress this situation. This movement toward archaeo-
logical investigation of children and childhood has occurred,
not coincidentally, in conjunction with greater archaeologi-
cal interest in issues of identity, the individual, and the role
of agency. If we wish to populate the past with humans ex-
hibiting agency, rather than simply abstract social systems,
in other words, to put a “face” on the past (Tringham 1991),
a consideration of the varying aspects of identity including
gender, ethnicity, marital status, organizational affiliation,
and, obviously, age is necessary.
As Baxter (introduction, this volume) notes, children of-
ten comprise a large proportion of the population. The logical
inference from this is that whether or not we consciously ac-
knowledge it, they are affecting the material culture and its
distribution in distinct and definite ways. In the past some ar-
chaeologists have treated children’s effects on the landscape
as merely a confusing or distorting element (Hammond and
Hammond 1981; Schiffer 1987; see Baxter, chapter 6, this
volume, for additional references). This writes children out
of prehistory by assuming that only the actions of adults are
of interest. Many other archaeologists merely define adults
as the norm and ignore the impact of children or assume,
usually implicitly, that children’s actions are controlled by
or should mirror those of adults.
Long ago Willey and Phillips argued that “American
archaeology is anthropology or it is nothing” (Willey and
Phillips 1958:2), a sentiment later echoed by Binford (1962).
Similarly, it can be argued that archaeology is the archaeol-
ogy of all people or it is the archaeology of no one. Just as
everyone, regardless of class, ethnicity, gender, or age had
roles to play in society, every individual and every type of
Archeological Papers of the American Anthropological Association, Vol. 15, pp. 115–122, ISBN 1-931303-20-7.

thropological Association. All rights reserved. Permissions to photocopy or reproduce article content via www.ucpress.edu/journals/rights.htm.
Kathryn A. Kamp
Grinnell College
individual has affected the material culture and its distri-
bution. How can we deceive ourselves into believing that a
substantial portion of the population is not affecting both ar-
chitectural, artifact, and feature frequencies and their distri-
bution? Why should children de facto have less of an impact
on the archaeological record than adults? As archaeologists
we delude ourselves if we suggest that children are invisi-
ble. Women were never invisible, merely ignored by scholars
who tended to view men as the generic gender, representing
what was important in a society. Similarly, there is no reason
to believe that children do not have a large impact on the ar-
chaeological record. While children and adults may not have
identical ways of using either space or artifacts, to consider
the adult usage normal and the child’s behaviors simply a
distorting “formation process” is to effectively disinherit a
large proportion of the population.
As social constructs, the stages of childhood vary across
both time and space. Similarly, patterns in the experiences of
children differ both spatially and temporally and, of course,
show considerable variation within a single society. A num-
ber of principles are important for the continuing study of
children: (1) it is important to differentiate between child-
hood and its stages as a cultural construct and the realities of
particular children’s lives, (2) the lived experiences of chil-
dren may well not mirror perfectly the cultural definitions of
the ideal or “normal” childhood, (3) like adults, children are
neither completely autonomous agents nor totally controlled
by others, (4) childhood tends to be a gendered construct
and children’s experiences are usually gendered as well, and
(5) children are active social agents, constantly negotiating
their situation with adults and peers and a potential force
for social transformation. These patterns, which are demon-
strated and elaborated by the chapters in this volume, lead to
the inevitable conclusion that childhood is not only a viable
C 2006 by the American An-
116
but also an important topic for archaeological study. Perhaps
even more critical, as we become more and more cognizant
of children as an important group in society, is the need to
begin to turn our attention away from the issue of children
as an isolated group for investigation and toward the more
general variable of age, including the entire spectrum of vari-
ation as an important variable for study. Thus, I encourage
future research to explicitly explore not just the young but
also the full range of ages and the importance of age as a
variable in structuring social interactions.
“Childhood” as Opposed to “The Child”
An important distinction needs to be made between
“childhood” and the individual or collective experiences of
“children,” and several chapters in this volume allude to this
distinction (see Baxter and Smith, especially). “Childhood”
is a culturally defined stage in the life cycle. In fact, the term
childhood itself potentially encompasses multiple life cycle
stages that are or are not conflated. Today in the United States
a number of categories such as newborn, infant, baby, tod-
dler, schoolchild, adolescent, teenager, and young adult are
sometimes differentiated and sometimes combined in vari-
ous ways or into a general category of “children.” The no-
tion that any particular culture will entertain a dichotomous
age distinction, child/adult, is risky at best. Furthermore,
multiple age classifications may simultaneously apply and
be selectively used depending upon the exact circumstances
and connotations of use.
It is useful to conceptualize views on childhood by not-
ing that culturally defined notions of childhood are part
of a “dominant discourse,” recognized by all members of
the group (Baumann 1996). The definitions of life-cycle
stages, the ways in which they are linguistically denoted and
culturally marked, whether the demarcations are biological
changes such as the onset of menarche or cultural ones such
as marriage, a vision, or a first successful hunt, and the im-
plications for role and status tend to be part of this dominant
discourse. The dominant discourse is generally controlled
primarily by adults. Each society has a definition or defini-
tions of a “normal” life cycle trajectory and conceptions of
what children and adults are like as they go through these
life stages. The dominant discourse may be useful for regu-
lating ceremonial occasions and setting up expectations for
children and child-raising, but it may not describe the ex-
periences of individual children or adults very accurately.
Furthermore, most people are aware that the dominant dis-
course is not a perfect description of social reality. For some
it may be an ideal, others may contest the desirability of por-
Kathryn Kamp
tions of it, but all tend to realize that it is at best a convenient
generalization, not a veracious reporting of social reality.
In Europe and the United States, for example, the dom-
inant discourse about the nature of childhood has changed
considerably over time (Aries 1962; Hendrick 1990; Hughes
1991; Loucks 1981; Qvortrup 1985). Children have gone
from being stereotyped as intrinsically sinful to being ide-
alized as innately good. Ideas about appropriate children’s
activities have also changed. As children’s economic contri-
bution declined and formal schooling became more ubiqui-
tous, a normal childhood came to be seen as a time of play
and learning. Neither the dominant discourse about the na-
ture of children nor popular conceptions of appropriate chil-
dren’s activities may reflect reality. As Thomas (this volume)
shows in her study of a group of four-year-olds, even very
young children are already highly cultural beings whose in-
teractions with the natural world vary greatly, since they have
already been shaped by previous experience, a finding that
contrasts with the Romantic idea of the close relationship be-
tween children and nature and with modern discourses that
derive from it. Even the dominant discourse about the actual
lives of children may not be accurate. In the 19th century at
a time when a life of play and learning was seen by many as
the ideal childhood for the “innocent child,” many children
were active participants in the labor force, often under hor-
rendous conditions, and some even turned to a life of crime.
At times this disjunction between the ideal and the real can
be a catalyst for change, as evidenced by the child labor re-
formers who fought for their vision of what came to be seen
as a “normal” childhood, through the establishment of both
new laws and institutions such as public schools. The bat-
tles over economics and ideology that ensued as these laws
were being formulated highlight the possibility of multiple
coexisting “dominant” discourses and the importance of the
distribution of power for determining the eventual course of
culture. A similar situation exists today when agencies work-
ing in developing countries strive to eliminate child labor in
regions where children have traditionally been viewed as an
integral part of the labor force (Boyden 1990).
Several of the chapters in this volume (especially
Bugarin and Perry) discuss the societal definition of child-
hood stages, in other words, the dominant discourse of what
childhood means and how it can be meaningfully divided.
For this, several types of evidence are available, including
the analysis of burial patterns, art, architecture, and artifacts.
As with gender, “childhood” is a social identity com-
plicated by biological factors. Because of this, bioarchaeol-
ogists have a long history of superficial engagement with
children. A routine part of a skeletal analysis is to estimate
age at death. As Perry (this volume) notes, all too often
bioarchaeologists have simply assumed Western notions of
Dominant Discourses; Lived Experiences
age categories when they reported data and have used basic
“adult” and “subadult” categories, based upon the comple-
tion of skeletal maturation. This can be especially counter-
productive, because later archaeologists frequently rely on
the biological data for additional analyses and are thus lim-
ited by the categories already used. There are also a number
of complications in discerning age from skeletal remains (see
Perry, this volume, for a review of this literature). Neverthe-
less, the bioarchaeological data, despite their weaknesses and
ambiguities, provide one of the best avenues for establishing
culturally significant age categories.
Turning age estimates into interpretations of the life cy-
cle requires a consideration of grave goods, burial contexts,
and other supporting cultural evidence, both architectural
and artifactual, in addition to detailed study of the skele-
ton. Ideally, clear patterns in mortuary contexts and grave
goods will correspond to age groupings, and several archae-
ologists have made arguments about age categories based
upon such regularities (Joyce 1999; Lucy 1994; Palkovich
1980; Skeates 1991; Whittlesey 2002), but cultures are of-
ten not this straightforward. Perry (this volume) suggests that
we should be particularly aware of biocultural events with
particular potential for having significance as demarcations
of age stages. Weaning is one good example. The process
of weaning by its very nature implies a change in the rela-
tionship between adult and child, the age and circumstances
of the change are culturally determined, and the event may
also have considerable importance, both symbolically and
in terms of actual roles. The onset of puberty is another
phenomenon that frequently attains a cultural significance
and can be determined through a study of adolescent growth
spurts.
Other avenues for the analysis of childhood and its
meaning include artistic depictions, ceremonial architecture,
and the special mortuary category of child sacrifice. Initi-
ation rites often, but not invariably, mark changes in the
life cycle. Artistic depictions (Hayes-Gilpin 2002; Janssen
and Janssen 1990; Joyce 2000; Serwint 1993) of changes
in apparel, hairstyles, and even physical anatomy may mark
changes in status and some figurines (Cyphers Guillén 1993)
or architecture may have been used in the rites themselves
(Roodt 1992). As Bugarin (this volume) points out, children
at various life stages may also be allotted separate living
space, and other features such as small furnishings (Park, this
volume) may reflect spaces designed especially for children.
Children’s Life Stories
A study of the life stories of children and their lived
experiences of childhood is different from an investigation
117
of the general phenomenon of the stage or stages of “child-
hood,” and we must be careful to differentiate in our discus-
sions and analyses between an attempt to identify a dominant
discourse of life-cycle stages and the reality of lived experi-
ences. Further complicating study is a need to differentiate
between individual biographies and cultural patterns. Dis-
cerning the ill health, physical trauma, or lavish toys of one
child is biography. Discovering a pattern of disease, physical
child abuse, or toys among all or a segment of individuals of
particular ages leads to more general statements about the
experiences of children in a particular time and place.
Bioarchaeological analyses can be useful in understand-
ing life histories as well as cultural definitions of life stages.
In particular, they provide a means of attack for issues of
children’s diet, health, and motor patterns. Of special inter-
est may be the issue of the ages at which individuals marry,
become combatants in conflicts, and participate in the la-
bor force in a variety of capacities. The prevalence of the
violence against children that today would be categorized
as child abuse can be ascertained by an examination of pat-
terns of skeletal trauma. Perry (this volume) provides a useful
summary and evaluation of the current methods for deter-
mining age, health, and growth and activity patterns.
As noted above, in general the rhetoric of childhood (or
more likely multiple stages of childhood) tends to be con-
trolled by adults. Individual experiences of childhood are
certainly strongly affected by adults and by societal expec-
tations, but they are also in the hands of juvenile peers. In ad-
dition, children have some control over their own destiny and
experiences. Words like innovative, creative, experimental,
and contesting are common in archaeological discussions of
childhood.
Socialization, Agency, and the Influence
of Adults
Children have agency, but as with everyone their au-
tonomy is limited and the limits to autonomy are cultur-
ally defined. Adults structure children’s lives in a variety of
ways, sometimes as a part of a socialization process, at other
times in order to control economic production, for politi-
cal motives, and sometimes even for their own convenience.
As most of the articles in this volume stress, socialization
processes vary greatly cross-culturally. Some entail overt at-
tempts at socialization via material culture, organizational
structures aimed at imparting specific values, various types
of propaganda, and sometimes coercion. Others seem to pay
little direct attention to teaching children but rely primarily
on more subtle social pressures from adults and peers. Un-
derstanding the nature of the adult-child relationship is vital
118
to understanding both the nature of the dominant discourse
about childhood and to envisioning the actual experiences
of children.
The use of space is one of the keys to the study of
children’s autonomy or lack of it (Baxter, chapter 6, this
volume). It can be argued that in the West the emphasis on
structured age groups has increased over time, particularly
with the rise of formal schooling (Chudacoff 1989). This
age segregation enhances adult opportunities for teaching
and indoctrination directed explicitly at the young. Thus,
Thomas (this volume) notes that in the day camp she studied
there was little opportunity for children to be free of adult
supervision. In other cultures, however, children may have
much more freedom and spend large amounts of time in
peer groups free from adult intervention (Keith, this volume;
Bugarin, this volume). In Africa it is not unusual for children
to spend a portion of their pre-adult years in gender and
age-segregated spaces, working and learning together and
creating a network of strong peer relationships (Bugarin,
this volume). To a greater or lesser extent, children may
escape to their own spaces and create their own working and
play environment. At the Felton Farmhouse, the distribution
of child-related artifacts observed in Baxter’s study (2005,
this volume) confirms the idea that children may combine
play with assigned tasks, thus allowing them to conform
to adult expectations while simultaneously pursuing their
own agendas. A concentration of children’s artifacts in a
remote location, apparently not used by adults and not readily
observable from either the house itself or areas of the yard
habitually used by adults, appears to reflect an attempt by
children to carve out their own space.
At least since the 19th century middle-class British
have been very concerned with raising children, establishing
schools, hiring tutors and nannies, and even writing books of
advice. The nursery and the schoolroom both created chil-
dren’s spaces but ones in which a supervisory adult presence
was common (Flanders 2003). Adult-fashioned toys are an-
other means of attempting to influence children’s develop-
ment. In recent Western culture adult-designed and manu-
factured games and toys are the norm and there is often active
discussion about whether the messages they impart are ap-
propriate or inappropriate. Children’s literature also often
attempts to impart morals and values. Thus children’s books
in Victorian-era Britain touted the virtues of honor, chivalry,
bravery, public service, and heritage (Bratton 1986) and re-
inforced the contemporary political ideals of militarism and
social Darwinism that bolstered imperial ideals (Chancellor
1970). Similarly, in the 1930s British feature films that af-
firmed the values of empire by depicting the romance of ex-
ploration, construction, and profit were produced by adults
and watched by all ages but appealed especially to young
Kathryn Kamp
boys (Richards 1986). At about the same time, from 1908
on, the Boy Scout and Girl Guide movements provided so-
cial structures that, among other things, reinforced empire-
associated values to British youth (Warren 1986). The first
handbook for the Girl Guides, published in 1912, was even
entitled The Handbook for Girl Guides or How Girls Can
Help Build the Empire (Baden-Powell 1912).
In the African examples discussed by Bugarin (this vol-
ume) children fashion many of their own playthings, and
the potential implication is that they are allowed more lee-
way to develop with their own agendas. Mitigating this view,
however, is the children’s active participation in work. In still
other cultural circumstances, adult attempts to structure chil-
dren’s experiences may be more muted but are still evident
in material culture. Based upon ethnographic parallels and
an analysis of artifacts, Park (1998, this volume) argues that
prehistoric Arctic children of the Thule and perhaps Dorset
cultures may have been viewed as the returned spirits of their
ancestors, implying that adults needed merely to guide rather
than teach them. Much of their childhood appears to have
been spent in play, often mimicking adult activities, and Park
has identified a class of miniature objects found in domes-
tic refuse that he believes are generally toys. Some of the
playthings, such as snow houses, were primarily made by
the children themselves; nevertheless, some adult or at least
older child participation appears likely in light of the fine
quality of some of the miniatures potentially identified as
toys. Thus, it is not unlikely that adults attempted to gently
structure the activities of children by providing them with
the toys seen as appropriate, for example, perhaps provid-
ing dolls for girls and harpoons for boys in a conscious or
unconscious attempt to socialize appropriate gender roles. It
may not be coincidental that at least one of the activities en-
gaged in by both girls and boys—playing house—involves
children themselves constructing the play space.
Culturally standardized games may provide a similar sit-
uation in which adults provide the material implements for
play and maybe even the instructions, but children may ma-
nipulate them to their own ends. Maya adults played patolli
using gameboards etched on room floors (Trachman and
Valdez 2001). Trachman and Valdez argue that since the
boards were readily available in domestic contexts, children
probably played as well. Clearly there were rules for the
game and by adulthood children would be expected to mas-
ter them. If Maya children manipulated the rules of games
as modern U.S. children do, in the interim they may well
have sometimes devised their own rules and perhaps even
transformed the setting into a playing realm of the imagi-
nation quite divorced from anything the adults would even
identify as a game. Thus, the dominant discourse of adults
may define a prescribed behavior pattern associated with a
Dominant Discourses; Lived Experiences
set of material objects, but children may or may not use them
in the manner envisioned by adults.
Coercive adult actions may be both a part of the dom-
inant discourse and part of children’s lived experience and
so need to be investigated by archaeologists. As noted ear-
lier, physical traces of violence directed against children may
be observed in skeletal remains if they are severe enough,
but most types of adult discipline do not leave observable
evidence, except in documents or artwork. Thus, the Codex
Mendoza (Berdan and Anawalt 1992; Calnek 1992) suggests
the Aztecs used punishments such as waking the child in the
middle of the night, beating, and smoking (holding the child
over a fire into which chilies have been placed), with more
severe measures used as the child becomes more mature.
The extent to which these punishments describe reality is
disputed, however. While Clendinnen (1991:192) believes
that the harsh discipline may be fairly accurate and reflects
the Aztecs’ need to prepare children, especially males, for
a harsh and demanding world, Calnek (1992:86) argues that
the depictions are propagandistic, describing an ideal of vir-
tuous conduct.
Agency and Change
Archaeology, with its emphasis on the distributions of
goods rather than documents, is particularly well suited to
the study of less powerful groups that do not have as ready
access to more controlled media such as art, architecture, or
documents. Thus, the ways that children contest adult def-
initions of the stages of childhood and attempts by adults
to control their behaviors is one of the important avenues
for study in archaeology. In some instances, children’s inno-
vation may actually result in cultural change, accessible to
archaeological research with its emphasis on time depth.
The interaction between biology, adult expectations and
attempts to influence children of a particular age, and chil-
dren’s own initiative is an important area for study. Smith
(2003, this volume), for example, suggests social pressure on
Huron children to learn ceramic skills at a young age, noting
the importance of this skill for adulthood and the desirability
of practice as juveniles. Her evidence argues that children
were able to conceptualize Huron ceramic forms and de-
signs before they were able to produce them. She suggests
that the small size of the vessels she believes are produced by
children is partially a function of smaller amounts of clay al-
lotted to them by adults. In their creation of vessels children
are influenced by the adults around them (the parental and
grandparental generations in Smith’s model), but they are
also creative and may have carried some of their innovations
into their adult styles. Thus adult roles, in this case embodied
119
in ceramic styles, are not simply learned but are interpreted
and adapted, as children create their own identities.
Socialization processes may reflect both the dominant
discourse about the nature of childhood and social and eco-
nomic circumstances. Thus, in the 19th-century Romantic
conceptions of childhood, schooling movements, child-labor
reforms, and an economic situation leading to less need for
child labor all occurred together and the causal factors are
hard to disentangle.
Children as Gendered Beings
The ethnographic literature points to a gendering of ex-
perience beginning at young ages, and gender difference
often forms part of the dominant discourse about life stages
as well as influences actual life experiences. As children
grow they acquire the skills of adulthood, including an un-
derstanding of the social arena. It is up to the child to gain an
understanding of the available social roles and of his or her
position in them. Thus the dominant discourse of relevant
social categories and roles is learned, perhaps contested in
various ways, but nevertheless internalized. Learning may
be done through actual instruction, observation, encourage-
ment, ridicule, or any of a number of other means and is
influenced by everyone with whom the child interacts, in-
cluding individuals of all ages. Since gender is an important
social construct, the socialization process is gendered.
Essentially every type of archaeological study of chil-
dren can and should take gender into account. Ethnographic
and historic accounts show that gender is one of the impor-
tant structuring principles not only in terms of actual roles
but also symbolically. Male and female children may differ
in their clothing styles, bodily modification, tasks, toys, and
games (Keith, this volume; Park, this volume). Space use
is often gendered and an important part of the socialization
process is alerting children to the appropriate ordering of the
physical world and the use of space (Baxter, chapter 6, this
volume). Gender may be one of the factors that determine
not only activity patterns but also the type of foods seen as
necessary or appropriate, the health care received, and sus-
ceptibility to physical violence. Although sexing juvenile
skeletal remains is problematic, the traces of these differ-
ences may sometimes be observed on adult skeletons (Perry,
this volume). Rituals, too, are an important part of the social-
ization process, both as indications of changes in personal
status and as mechanisms to transmit important cultural val-
ues. They are frequently gendered, with girls and boys not
only participating in somewhat different ceremonies but also
experiencing slightly different temporal sequencing (Keith,
this volume).
120
Keith (this volume) reminds us that children, even very
young ones, are active social participants in foraging soci-
eties, observing, practicing, and learning. She points out that
the extent to which this participation is gendered in child-
hood will lead to distinct differences in adult competence.
Since among foragers group decisions are usually influenced
most by those who command the most knowledge, the indi-
viduals with the broadest knowledge base will ultimately be
more powerful than those with more limited access. Thus,
when boys and girls both gather with the women, but only
boys are encouraged to hunt with the men, as adults, men
will have a better understanding of the entire subsistence
base. This analysis is particularly interesting, as it suggests
that gendered power differences arise from basic childhood
behavior patterns.
The “Child’s World”
Archaeologists interested in children have written of the
“child’s world” (Lillehammer 1989; Bugarin, this volume;
Smith, this volume); in reality the world of children is not
restricted to those elements, if any, that are unique to it nor
are adults excluded like in a Peanuts cartoon. The essays in
this volume continually remind us of the presence of adults
and children of a variety of ages. Work and play, sickness and
health, joy and sorrow all shape the experiences of children
and adults alike and are often shared experiences. Children
do not live in isolation; nor do adults. The two categories
and all of their nuances are symbiotic and must be studied
as part of a single system.
Park (this volume) points out that miniatures belong-
ing to a shaman or used as offerings in graves or in other
ritual contexts may be confused with children’s playthings.
It should not be forgotten, however, that adults too use toys
and other objects that may be classified as “belonging” to
children. Adults utilize toys to demonstrate their own status
through their children’s belongings, attempt to bond with
or coerce children via gifts, use toys to encourage desired
behaviors in children, and even play with toys themselves.
Adults in all cultures engage in a variety of dances, games,
contests, and other types of recreation, not only for enjoy-
ment but also to forge desired social relationships. Some of
these pursuits entail the use of objects that might well be con-
sidered “adult” toys and may well be identical to “children’s”
toys.
The logical consequence of the final observation is that
children should not and, in fact, cannot be studied in isolation
from other age groups. This means that we should progress
beyond an archaeology of children and childhood into one
where age is one focus of study. Smith (this volume), for ex-
Kathryn Kamp
ample, speaks of the necessity of considering the impact of
multiple hypothetical generations of potters and their learn-
ing environments in order to really understand the processes
of ceramic innovation and change. That time depth automat-
ically implies the participation of multiple generations is an
important point that archaeologists should not forget.
In the future, archaeologies of children and childhood
need consciously to be transformed to consider age as a
general variable and to make the life cycle the focus of in-
vestigation. The stage or stages of childhood cannot really be
understood unless viewed within the full spectrum of ages.
The parallels with gender are obvious. While gender archae-
ology at first struggled to put women into the picture, it soon
became clear that without a consideration of the full range
of gender definitions—however many categories that might
entail in a given situation—and analysis of their interactions,
an understanding of women’s position was incomplete and
perhaps even dangerously skewed. If “finding” women (or
men or third or fourth genders) is often difficult, then dealing
with the complexities of a functioning gendered social sys-
tem with multiple interacting gender roles may seem daunt-
ing. Gender archaeology is still grappling with this problem
and too many of the current studies still concentrate on a sin-
gle gender, generally women. To complicate things further,
age interacts with other factors such as class, gender, and
ethnicity to help in determining individuals’ social status,
the roles they assume, and their life experiences.
Conclusions
Archaeology, like anthropology, is currently grappling
with issues of identity and the individual. We have gotten
away from merely viewing culture as a mechanized, organic
entity and have begun to acknowledge the importance of
agency and of individual identities in structuring agency.
This volume demonstrates the importance and feasibility of
making age a component of the discussion of identity. The
next stage in the development of the topic of childhood and
children as an integral part of archaeological research is to
go beyond isolating any age group and start to view age
as simply one more vital socially constructed variable. This
means that the life cycle will become more of a focus in ar-
chaeological scholarship and that rather than being isolated
in separate case studies, a more full range of social identi-
ties, including gender, class, ethnicity, profession, and age,
will become integral to our discussions of the past (for an
interesting full-length monograph that does this, see Meskell
1999). In the past 20 years considerable strides have been
made in the study of gender and it is becoming as central
Dominant Discourses; Lived Experiences
to archaeological study as class and ethnicity; there is no
reason not to envision a similar trajectory for age.
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 9
Materializing Children: Challenges for the
Archaeology of Childhood
“What is this?” he said at last. “This is a
child!” Haigha relied eagerly, coming in
front of Alice to introduce her, and spread-
ing out both of his hands toward her in an
Anglo-Saxon attitude. “We only found it
today. It’s as large as life, and twice as natural!”
—Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass
and What Alice Found There
R ecently it has become almost fashionable to lament the
marginalization of children in anthropological research.
In a 2002 article in American Anthropologist, Lawrence
Hirschfeld asks the provocative question, “Why Don’t An-
thropologists Like Children?” Two years before this in An-
thropological Quarterly, Alma Gottleib wanted to know,
“Where Have All the Babies Gone?” and as early as 1973
Charlotte Hardman wondered, “Can There Be an Anthro-
pology of Children?”1 Now archaeologists are beginning
to ask themselves some of the same questions (see Kamp
2001), causing one researcher to suggest that “dogs have
been studied with greater archaeological attention than chil-
dren” (Rothschild 2002:1; see Moore 1997).
This volume, Children in Action: Perspectives on the
Archaeology of Childhood, is an important example of how
archaeologists have begun to correct this tradition of ne-
glect in their field, and it follows significant work on the
anthropology of children and childhood by researchers in
the discipline’s three other subfields. In fact, it is now possi-
ble to suggest that the anthropology of children may finally
be “coming of age” and so it is exciting to see studies that
(1) challenge conventional frameworks and constructs for
understanding and defining children and youth, (2) reexam-
ine the role of children in history and prehistory, (3) use
innovative frameworks that intersect biological, psycholog-
ical, and cultural concerns, (4) recognize that children live,
work, and play in multiple worlds that are simultaneously
Archeological Papers of the American Anthropological Association, Vol. 15, pp. 123–131, ISBN 1-931303-20-7.

thropological Association. All rights reserved. Permissions to photocopy or reproduce article content via www.ucpress.edu/journals/rights.htm.
Helen B. Schwartzman
Northwestern University
local and global, and, finally, (5) listen to what children have
to say themselves by examining their perspectives, actions,
and agency in the world.
In this chapter I draw on my interest in the anthropo-
logical study of children to comment on all of the essays in
this volume. My comments are organized in terms of what
seem to be the challenges that archaeologists face as they
attempt to “materialize children.” The first, and most impor-
tant, challenge is recognizing that children and childhood
are, in fact, legitimate topics of research in archaeology. In
conjunction with this there is the challenge of developing
a framework for the interpretation of children’s behavior
and relationships as this information might appear in the
archaeological record. This leads directly to the challenge
of using this framework to reinterpret material evidence that
has already been collected as well as to discover new ev-
idence of children and childhoods in the past. As a final
challenge I encourage researchers to think critically about
some of their assumptions about children’s behavior, es-
pecially assumptions about children’s play (which figures
prominently in this area of research) and what it may mean
to children as well as how it may be materialized. I be-
gin with a discussion of what might be called the focus
challenge.
Children as Topics not Tools
The first challenge for archaeologists is to recognize
that children and childhood are important research topics
to pursue in their own right.2 The importance of making
this shift in focus is discussed by all of the contributors
in this volume, but Robert Park’s anecdotes at the beginning
of his chapter nicely illustrate the kind of shift that must be
made. He states that in thinking about all of his years of
training in archaeology he can only remember three times
C 2006 by the American An-
124
when children were mentioned. Most significantly in each
case,
children and childhood were never the focus of the ar-
chaeologist’s interest. Instead, in the first case, children’s
graves were a means to learn about the (adult) political
organization of a society; in the second case children
were seen as a site-formation process affecting the ma-
terial culture produced by adults; and in the third case
children were invoked as a means of separating out seem-
ingly aberrant potsherds so that they would not confuse
the stylistic and other kinds of analyses that were being
applied to the remaining “adult” potsherds.
In other words children, from this perspective, were
“tools” to be used for investigating the “really important”
topics of interest, that is, adult political organization and
adult material culture. Fortunately, a number of archaeolo-
gists have begun to shift their focus from using children as
tools of research to making children and childhood the topic
of their study.3 In this effort they follow the successful work
of a number of researchers who have made the study of gen-
der a necessary and important topic for all archaeologists
to consider (e.g., Brumfiel 1992; Conkey and Gero 1997;
Gilchrist 1999; Joyce 2000a). Although the study of gen-
der did not automatically lead to the study of children and
childhood, it did create an important context for researchers
such as Kathryn Kamp (2001), and earlier Sofaer Derevenski
(1994), to ask the question “Where Are the Children?” in
archaeological investigations. This volume, Children in Ac-
tion, is noteworthy for showing us the difficulty as well as
the importance of examining “where the children are” in
specific areas and regions in the world. Here we have stud-
ies of children and childhood in the Thule and Dorset cul-
tures of Arctic Canada (Park), children and site-formation
processes in 19th-century America (Baxter, chapter 6),
and ceramic innovation among Huron children in southern
Ontario (Smith). This volume is also significant because it
shows us the value of using ethnographic, ethnohistorical,
and bioarchaeological material to generate ideas about how
children may be revealed in the archaeological record. Al-
though all of the chapters touch on this issue in one way
or another there are specific chapters that survey bioarchae-
ological methods and their relevance to the archaeological
study of children (Perry), explore the relationship between
childhood learning and gendered patterns of knowledge and
decision-making in foraging societies (Keith), discuss how
descriptions of children’s material culture in ethnographies
of present-day African societies may be used to help recon-
struct the lifeways of African children in the past (Bugarin),
and illustrate what an ethnographic study of contemporary
American middle-class children (in this case in Chicago) can
tell us about how adults may influence children’s use of space
Helen B. Schwartzman
as well as their experience of “nature” and “wilderness”
(Thomas). The importance of understanding how children
have been associated with nature in the history of Western
conceptions of children and childhood and how this may in-
fluence our archaeological interpretations is also suggested
in this chapter.
Developing a Framework for “Finding the
Child’s World”
Grete Lillehammer is generally credited with bringing
the archaeology of children into the world with her article
“A Child Is Born” (1989), which focuses on the importance
of investigating “the child’s world from an archaeological
point of view” (Lillehammer 1989:89). She suggests that
the problem is “finding the child’s world” in the archaeo-
logical record, but she also notes that this is not a problem
that is restricted to researchers concerned with the study of
children; “it is a general problem which concerns the charac-
ter of the archaeological record” (Lillehammer 1989:96). In
Lillehammer’s view the child’s world is composed of three
important factors: “the child’s relationship to the environ-
ment, its relationship to adults, and its relationship to other
children” (Lillehammer 1989:90). In her conclusion she out-
lines a more detailed orientation for “finding the child’s
world” that stresses the idea that
the search for an ancient child’s world is full of possibil-
ities and unsolved questions, depending on the methods
chosen in tracing the child’s world in the archaeologi-
cal record. Both direct and indirect methods are needed
to get hold of the evidence. Direct proof of children is
represented in burials and in similar finds which contain
skeletal remains. Other evidence is reached indirectly by
use of analogical methods in relation to general histori-
cal, medical, and ethno-cultural knowledge of children’s
learning and play, their health and living conditions, and
position in the adult world. These methods do not dif-
fer from those used in more traditional research areas of
archaeology. What differs is the approach and the ques-
tions which arise from it. The relationship between the
adult world and the world of children, in which play func-
tions as a leading factor, is here of central importance.
[Lillehammer 1989:103]
Since Lillehammer’s article appeared in 1989 archae-
ologists have taken cues from researchers in cultural an-
thropology, sociology, history, and psychology to begin
to develop a framework for understanding and interpret-
ing children’s behavior and relationships. The use and
continued development of this framework is evident in
all of the chapters in this volume. This framework may
Materializing Children
be characterized by a series of common assumptions
about the following:
1. the nature of children (as active, not passive, participants
in social life) and the variety of their experiences and op-
portunities (as these are influenced by gender, age, class,
and race/ethnicity differences),
2. socialization as a process of negotiation and interpreta-
tion between children and adults as well as children and
children,
3. the relationship between local and global worlds (specif-
ically the idea that children can never be separated from
broader social, political, and economic contexts and
forces),
4. the idea that the Western understanding of childhood is
only one among many ideas and ideals that societies have
produced about childhood,
5. the importance of examining how the researcher’s under-
standing of childhood may influence his/her interpreta-
tion of the meaning of childhood in other cultures, and
6. the value of working across subfields in anthropology
as well as with other disciplines (e.g., combining ethno-
graphic and ethnohistoric material with archaeological
records) to help reveal the role of children in historic and
prehistoric communities.
What is particularly exciting about this framework is
that it is similar to approaches being used by researchers in
all of the subfields of anthropology.4 This research is char-
acterized by attention to three interrelated themes: (1) the
intersection of agency and structure (a recurring theme in
all of the chapters), (2) a recognition that this intersection
can best be understood by investigating specific practices (or
routines) that are part of a child’s everyday life, and (3) an
understanding that participation in practices (routines) “has
consequences” and must be related to issues of power and
the way that cultural systems are produced and reproduced
(Miller and Goodnow 1995:10, 13).
Most significantly this approach questions what until
recently has been the dominant account of children in the
literature—the idea that development is a natural and more
or less uniform, continuous, and directional process that
manifests itself in an orderly sequence of stages (see Nisbet
1969:7). As described in their landmark critique of “devel-
opmental” accounts of children and childhood, Construct-
ing and Reconstructing Childhood, Allison James and Alan
Prout (1990), note that
The concept of “development” inextricably links the bi-
ological facts of immaturity, such as dependence, to the
social aspects of childhood . . . [This dominant approach]
is based on the idea of natural growth . . . [and it is] a
self-sustaining model whose features can be crudely de-
125
lineated as follows: rationality is the universal mark of
adulthood with childhood representing the period of ap-
prenticeship for its development. Childhood is therefore
important to study as a presocial period of difference,
a biologically determined stage on the path to full hu-
man status, i.e., adulthood. The naturalness of children
both governs and is governed by their universality. It is
essentially an evolutionary model: the child developing
into an adult represents a progression from simplicity
to complexity of thought, from irrational to rational be-
havior . . . children’s activities—their language, play and
interactions—are significant as symbolic markers of de-
velopmental progress. As activities they are seen to pre-
figure the child’s future participation in the adult world.
[Prout and James 1990:10–11]
Prout and James suggest that this developmental model
is particularly influential because it supports an ideology
of childhood that suggests that it is a natural, biological,
and universal period of life. In other words this is an espe-
cially powerful and effective ideology because it appears as
if it is not an ideology—because it is, after all, natural and
universal.
The importance of examining ideology “as a source of
social power” and the various ways that it may be “material-
ized” and therefore subject to archaeological interpretation
has recently been discussed by DeMarrais et al. (1996). In
proposing an approach for examining the materialization of
ideology and its role in the development of complex soci-
eties, they suggest that
ideology is as much the material means to communi-
cate and manipulate ideas as it is the ideas themselves.
Ideology has, therefore, both a material and a symbolic
component. Because symbols are material objects, their
distributions and associations, preserved in the archaeo-
logical record, reflect broader patterns of social, political,
and economic activity. These patterns inform archaeol-
ogists about unequal access to symbols of status or au-
thority, the efforts of one social segment to promote its
ideology over others, and the effects of these strategic
activities on the dynamics of social power. [DeMarrais
et al. 1996:16]
Although DeMarrais, Castillo, and Earle do not apply
this model of materialization to the study of childhood ide-
ologies, it would seem to be quite applicable to this topic.
If the child is “always revealing of the grounds of social
control” (Jenks 1996:80) then the materialization of ideolo-
gies of childhood (through ceremonies, objects, artwork, and
other manifestations) should be of interest to all archaeolo-
gists concerned with the study of power strategies and so-
ciopolitical systems. The fact that we do not typically think
about children when examining these issues may be more
a statement about our own ideology of childhood than of
what the important dynamics of social power may be on the
126
ground in other social systems.5 One has only to think about
Aztec, Inca, and Maya practices of child sacrifice (see Kamp
2001:22–23) to see how children may reveal the “grounds
of social control” and therefore why the meaning of chil-
dren may be important to understand in all archaeological
contexts.
Finding the Child’s World: New
Interpretations and Reinterpretations
In order to find the child’s world in previously collected
material or in new studies specifically focused on children
and childhood, Grete Lillehammer (1989:96) suggests, one
of the most important shifts that must occur is to increase
the number of questions asked regarding age and age distinc-
tions. Bioarchaeologists may lead the way here because, as
Megan Perry shows in her informative chapter, they have de-
veloped a number of important techniques for estimating the
age of adult and “subadult” (under 18 years old) populations.
However, bioarchaeologists can do much more than this to
contribute to the study of children and childhood. Perry’s
useful chapter shows how bioarchaeological research can
provide information on the health, diet, and quality of life
of children (including the presence of violence against chil-
dren, child abuse, infanticide, and child sacrifice) as well as
childhood residence and activity patterns. Along with this,
skeletal morphology (e.g., patterns of osteoarthritis) can pro-
vide information on a variety of activities including labor
practices; and studies of growth and development as well
as chemical analysis (stable nitrogen isotopes) can be used
to provide information on when weaning occurs in partic-
ular populations. All of the analytic techniques that Perry
reviews would seem to be valuable for reinterpreting mate-
rial already collected as well as for developing new studies
specifically focused on children and childhood.
Patricia Smith’s chapter is a good example of what can
be learned from reinterpreting specific artifacts that may
have been collected for other purposes. In this case she fo-
cuses on juvenile and adult pots in Huron culture and is
able to show how children “were active participants in a net-
work of intergenerational learning/teaching interactions and
in the process of creating stylistic change.” She does this by
developing a very ingenious micro-scale analysis of motif el-
ements on both the juvenile and adult pots. I believe that this
chapter illustrates the most complete use of the framework
described above for examining children in the archaeolog-
ical record. Smith consistently presents a view of children
as active and also creative participants in a network of im-
portant relationships and she combines ethnographic, eth-
noarchaeological, and archaeological material to show how
Helen B. Schwartzman
socialization occurs as both an interactive and interpretive
process in this context.6
In “Growing Up North” Robert Park shows us the value
of critically examining the assumption that miniature ar-
tifacts are always children’s artifacts. Here he uses ethno-
graphic sources, as well as his own excavations, to examine
the nature and extent of children’s activities in the Thule and
Dorset cultures of Arctic Canada. In the case of Thule cul-
ture, miniaturized objects (such as harpoons, small carvings
of human figures, and others) were quite numerous but they
were also part of the paraphernalia of shamans and they were
also used as grave offerings. In order to investigate whether
miniature objects could in fact say something about chil-
dren’s activities, Park examined the frequency of full-sized
material culture used by adults in relation to the miniature
material in specific categories (such as harpooning, archery,
women’s and household activities). After what seems like
an exhaustive analysis of the patterned relationship of full-
sized to miniaturized material culture, he concludes that a
wide range of miniature material culture was used by Thule
children as they “did indeed carry out, in miniature, the tasks
they would come to perform when they grew up.” However,
in the case of Dorset culture the miniaturized material ap-
pears to have been material, for the most part, that is associ-
ated with shamans.
Jane Baxter’s chapter is important because it chal-
lenges previous assumptions about the role of children in
site-formation processes. The idea that children’s behavior
is unpatterned (and therefore unknowable) or that it has a
randomizing and distorting effect on artifact distributions
has deterred many researchers from examining children
and childhood. To counter this approach Baxter argues that
“children’s behavior should produce patterned distributions
of artifacts in the archaeological record that reflect cultural
norms, beliefs, and practices.” She examines this view by
using data from five sites representing a variety of domestic
settings in the United States that were occupied between
1820 and 1900. The sites are in Nevada, Louisiana, Indiana,
Michigan, and New York. She suggests that “clear evidence
for the patterning of children’s artifacts did emerge at . . .
three sites [Indiana, Michigan, and New York], as well as in
the area around the domestic structure at Orange Grove Plan-
tation [Louisiana].” This is a particularly intriguing example
of what the use of space can tell us about children’s everyday
behavior and socialization practices in household contexts.
The Challenge of Not Repeating the Past
It is not uncommon and, in fact, is part of the history
of studies of children and childhood that researchers have
Materializing Children
sought to legitimate their topic (e.g., play) by emphasizing
all of the ways that it is functional for individuals and groups.
In justifying the study of children to a sometimes skeptical
audience archaeologists may also feel pressured to replace
the nonexistent child with what might be called the “over-
socialized child.” I do note this tendency in some of the
chapters in this volume, where on the one hand researchers
present a view of children as active participants in social
life and yet when interpreting specific behaviors, especially
play behavior, they seem to embrace the very common but
also very problematic interpretation of play as simple imi-
tation and preparation for adult life. As I have mentioned,
this tendency to oversocialize a topic is part of the history
of studies of children and childhood, but it is a part of this
history that archaeologists do not need to repeat and so I am
calling attention to it here.
There are a number of ways to challenge this “over-
socialized” perspective, especially when it comes to inter-
preting children’s play. It is certainly the case that imitation
interpretations of children’s play have been the most com-
mon explanations for this activity in the past and still are in
the present to some extent. However, even in early ethno-
graphies of socialization and education, the dominance of
the play-as-imitation perspective was challenged by some
researchers. Here is Meyer Fortes in 1938 describing play as
“the paramount educational exercise” of Tallensi children:
In his play the child rehearses his interests, skills, and
obligations, and makes experiments in social living with-
out having to pay the penalty for mistakes. Hence there is
already a phase of play in the evolution of any schema pre-
ceding its full emergence into practical life. Play, there-
fore, is often mimetic in content and expresses the child’s
identifications. But the Tale child’s play mimesis is never
simple and mechanical reproduction; it is always imag-
inative construction based on the themes of adult life
and of the life of older children. He or she adapts natural
objects and other materials, often with great ingenuity,
which never occur in the adult activities copied, and re-
arranges adult functions to fit the specific logical and
affective configuration of play. [Fortes 1970:58–59, em-
phasis added]
Another early critic of the imitation perspective was
Otto Raum, who suggests in Chaga Childhood (1940) that
so-called childish imitativeness is directed not so much “to
making the copy exact, but toward caricaturing the pattern”
(Raum 1940:257). This interest in caricature is revealed, ac-
cording to Raum, when one looks closely at the selection
process used by children in their presumably “imitative”
representations. In these events, the process “tends more
and more to stress aspects which make adults appear to be
ridiculous” (Raum 1940:257).
127
It is important, I think, for archaeologists to recognize
that even though children’s play may reproduce features
of adult roles and activities, the intent may have been
to mock, make fun of, and even challenge the social
order. For children in all cultures the social order is most
obviously symbolized by adult figures, who represent the
existing power and authority structure of society (i.e., as
parents, teachers, religious figures, etc.). There is a strong
tradition of “anti-authoritarian” themes in English-speaking
children’s games and rhymes as reported by folklorists such
as Roger Abrahams (see 1969) and Iona and Peter Opie
(see 1959). The anthropological literature also suggests that
interest in parodying and subverting adult authority figures
in play is evident in many cultures (see Schwartzman
1978:124–134 for a more extensive discussion). Although
it is very difficult to recover intent in the archaeological
record I think that it is important to be aware of the satirizing
as well as socializing possibilities of children’s play.
Conclusion
One of the important things that I learned reading the
chapters in this volume is how much cultural anthropolo-
gists take for granted the ability to talk to as well as observe
our informants in everyday interactions and encounters. In
contrast, archaeologists have to work extremely hard to al-
low their material to “speak” to them and this is impres-
sively demonstrated in this volume by all of the contributors.
The researchers who focus on ethnographic, ethnohistoric,
or bioarchaeological material work hard to make this mate-
rial “speak” to archaeologists interested in studying children
and childhood. The investigators reporting the results of ar-
chaeological fieldwork also work hard to bring this subject
of study to the attention of all archaeologists and to use their
material to understand and interpret the child’s world as it ex-
isted in specific time periods in particular cultural settings.
I feel very fortunate to have had the opportunity to listen
in on what the archaeological record has begun to say, with
the help of all of the researchers represented in this volume,
about the lives of children in the past.
Notes
1. In a survey of one hundred years of research as re-
ported in American Anthropologist I found that only about 4
percent of articles published during this time period included
any significant information about children (Schwartzman
2001). Lawrence Hirschfeld (2002) found only three arti-
cles related to children in a search of articles in American
Anthropologist published between 1986 and 2001.
128
2. In discussing the importance of viewing children
as topics not tools I draw on research by ethnomethodol-
ogists such as Matthew Speier (1976) and Zimmerman and
Pollner (1970), who call attention to the confusion in most
social science research (including anthropology) between
using the everyday world as a resource for research in con-
trast to making the everyday world a topic of investigation.
In Zimmerman and Pollner’s (1970:80–81) view everyday
concepts are utilized and intermingled with social science
theories in a multitude of ways, but this has left the everyday
world (as a topic) relatively unexplored by investigators.
3. The chapters in this volume follow a number of re-
cent studies and here I mention just a few of the works that
have been published since 2000. This research includes stud-
ies of children in the prehistoric puebloan Southwest (Kamp
2002), theoretical and methodological issues in the study of
children and material culture (Sofaer Derevenski 2000), is-
sues in the study of children, gender, and material culture
(Baxter 2005), the archaeology of mothering (Wilkie 2003),
life-cycle rituals and the development of distinct gender and
labor roles in Mesoamerica (Joyce 2000b), children’s play
and historical archaeology (Wilkie 2000), Zinacantec chil-
dren, weaving, and historical change (Greenfield 2000), and
early Anglo-Saxon burial rites (Stoodley 2000).
4. A number of studies could be cited here, in-
cluding work in biological anthropology (see Crooks
1997; Goodman and Leatherman 1998; McDade 2002;
Panter-Brick 1998; Panter-Brick and Smith 2000), cultural
anthropology (see Chin 2001; Hecht 1998; Hansen 2003;
Morton 1996; Nieuwenhuys 1994; Scheper-Hughes and
Sargent 1998; Stephens 1995), and linguistic anthropology
(see Goldman 1998; Goodwin 1990; Schieffelin 1990).
Also see Schwartzman, ed. (2001), which includes chapters
related to the anthropological study of children from
researchers in all four subfields.
5. Following the work of J. Donzelot (see 1986), Chris
Jenks suggests that “the child has become the meeting place
of the political contract and the psychological complex. . . .
The contemporary political state no longer addresses the
polity as a whole but rather treats the family as its basic
unit of control. All ideas and practices concerning the care
of, justice for, and protection of the child can be seen to be
instrumental in the ideological network that preserves the
status quo” (Jenks 1996:80).
6. In my survey of articles in American Anthropologist
related to children (see Schwartzman 2001) I found a very
early report by J. Walter Fewkes (1923) on a collection of
clay figurines (small images modeled in clay representing
domestic animals such as sheep, goats, horses, and also men,
women, and babies as well as a few objects such as a saddle,
a cup, and a baby carriage). These articles were actually
Helen B. Schwartzman
collected by W. H. Spinks of the U.S. Medical Service of the
Bureau of Indian Affairs, but what is significant about them,
in my view, is that this is one of the first articles (and, in
fact, one of the very few articles in all of the ones reviewed
for my survey) that called attention to something produced
by children rather than something produced for children or
done to children. Fewkes remarked,
The objects in this collection were said to be made by
a Navaho child four years-old, on her own initiative and
without aid from any one. As they are so cleverly done
the author regards them as worthy of short notice. The
average white child of the same age certainly rarely
equals them and I have thought them deserving of
illustration before they were transmitted by the Bureau
[Bureau of American Ethnology] to the U.S. Natural
History Museum. [Fewkes 1923:559]
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 List of Contributors

Jane Eva Baxter Megan A. Perry

DePaul University Department of Anthropology
Department of Anthropology East Carolina University
2343 North Racine Greenville, NC 27858
Chicago, IL 60614 perrym@mail.ecu.edu
jbaxter@depaul.edu
Helen B. Schwartzman
Flordeliz T. Bugarin Northwestern University
332 N. Piedmont St. #4 Department of Anthropology
Arlington, VA 22203 1810 Hinman, #103
florieb@hotmail.com Evanston, IL 60208-1310
hsjsls@northwestern.edu
Kathryn A. Kamp
Department of Anthropology Patricia E. Smith
Grinnell College Department of Anthropology
Grinnell, IA 50112 McMaster University
Kamp@Grinnell.edu Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, L8S 4L9
smithpe@mcmaster.ca
Kathryn Keith
Pierce College, Puyallup Kelly Thomas
1601 39th Ave SE 8843 Villa La Jolla Dr. 6
Puyallup, WA 98374 La Jolla, CA 92037
kkeith@pierce.ctc.edu kellyjthomas@gmail.com
Robert W. Park
University of Waterloo
Department of Anthropology
Waterloo, Ontario, Canada, N2L 3G1
rwpark@watarts.uwaterloo.ca

133
 Procedure for Acceptance and Production of AP3A Volumes
(revised: 1/2005)

Acceptance:

1. The editor(s) or author(s) should discuss the volume with the Series Editor, who evaluates its suitability for the series. The
proposal is either declined or passes on to step 2.

2. If the proposed volume is an edited collection of papers, the editor(s) will prepare a detailed prospectus consisting of a statement
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3. If the proposed volume is an authored study, the author(s) should prepare a similar prospectus consisting of a statement of
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chapter. Entire book or chapter manuscripts are not needed at this stage.

4. The prospectus should be sent, preferably in electronic form, to the Series Editor who distributes it to the members of the
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5. The Series Editor and the rest of the Executive Board rank the candidate prospectuses in order of preference for publication; the
final selection of one prospectus rests with the Executive Board in consultation with the Series Editor. Based on the prospectus,
a volume is given provisional acceptance subject to final acceptance after receipt of the full manuscript (see below).

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to the Series Editor who distributes it to the members of the Archeology Division Editorial Review Committee, which normally
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2. The Review Committee members review the draft manuscript. Comments from the Review Committee members are collated
and summarized by the Series Editor, who communicates with the volume editor(s) or volume author(s). At this stage, in the rare
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or deletions, which are to be made to the satisfaction of the Series Editor. The volume editor(s) may add their own suggestions
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 ARCHEOLOGICAL PAPERS
OF THE AMERICAN ANTHROPOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION

1. Alternative Approaches to Lithic Analysis, Donald O. Henry and George H. Odell, eds. (1989). xi + 259 pp., 72 figs., 46
tables, preface, bibliography. Out of print.

2. Powers of Observation: Alternative Views in Archeology, Sarah M. Nelson and Alice B. Kehoe, eds. (1990). viii + 115
pp., 19 figs., 3 tables, 1 plate, preface, introduction, bibliography.

3. Lords of the Southeast: Social Inequality and the Native Elites of Southeastern North America, Alex W. Barker and
Timothy R. Pauketat, eds. (1992). vii + 197 pp., 26 figs., 13 tables, preface, introduction, bibliography.

4. Hunting and Animal Exploitation in the Later Paleolithic and Mesolithic of Eurasia, Gail Larsen Peterkin, Harvey
M. Bricker, and Paul Mellars, eds. (1993). viii + 248 pp., 100 figs., 58 tables, 5 plates, introduction, bibliography.

5. Equity Issues for Women in Archeology, Margaret C. Nelson, Sarah M. Nelson, and Alison Wylie, eds. (1994). xii + 236
pp., 32 figs., 43 tables, 1 appendix, preface, introduction, bibliography.

6. Heterarchy and the Analysis of Complex Societies, Robert M. Ehrenreich, Carole L. Crumley, and Janet Levy, eds. (1995).
vi + 140 pp., 26 figs., preface, bibliography.

7. Rediscovering Darwin: Evolutionary Theory and Archeological Explanation, C. Michael Barton and Geoffrey A. Clark,
eds. (1997). viii + 319 pp., 39 figs., preface, bibliography.

8. Craft and Social Identity, Cathy Lynne Costin and Rita P. Wright, eds. (1998). vii + 182 pp., 29 figs., preface, introduction,
bibliography, index.

9. Complex Polities in the Ancient Tropical World, Elisabeth A. Bacus and Lisa J. Lucero, eds. (1999). iii + 201 pp., 38
figs., 9 tables, preface, introduction, bibliography.

10. Social Memory, Identity, and Death: Anthropological Perspectives on Mortuary Rituals, Meredith S. Chesson, ed.
(2001). iii + 139 pp., 29 figs., 6 tables, introduction, bibliography, index.

11. The Space and Place of Death, Helaine Silverman and David B. Small, eds. (2002). iv + 209 pp., 55 figs., 9 tables,
preface, introduction, bibliography, afterword.

12. Thinking Small: Global Perspectives on Microlithization, Robert G. Elston and Steven L. Kuhn, eds. (2002). iii + 191
pp., 52 figs., 9 tables, introduction, bibliography.

13. Archaeology Is Anthropology, Susan D. Gillespie and Deborah L. Nichols, eds. (2003). v + 173 pp., 11 figs., introduction,
bibliography.

14. Foundations of Power in the Prehispanic Andes, Kevin J. Vaughn, Dennis Ogburn, and Christina A. Conlee, eds. (2004).
iv + 96 figs., preface, introduction, bibliography.

Current prices and ordering information available at the American Anthropological Association web site: www.aaanet.org.