Archibald Visits the Hopewell Earthworks

There are, from time to time, moments when one discovers that someone else has been moving considerably more dirt than oneself.

This requires humility.

Southern Ohio is unlike my home in Florida.

The sand is replaced by rich soil. Rolling hills rise where I expect flat ground, and the forests seem intent on occupying every available space. The Tall One announced that we were stopping at the Hopewell Culture National Historical Park near a place called Chillicothe.

The Pretty One added that these earthworks were built nearly two thousand years ago.

I considered this.

I have devoted much of my life to earthmoving.

Digging a proper burrow requires planning, patience, and a respectable appreciation for soil composition. One does not simply begin excavating without first considering drainage, stability, root systems, afternoon shade, and the possibility of unexpected armadillos.

Good engineering matters.

Naturally, I assumed these ancient mounds would be… respectable.

They were not merely respectable.

They were astonishing.

The Largest Burrows That Were Not Burrows

From the overlook I could see broad embankments stretching across the landscape in remarkably straight lines before turning into enormous circles and squares.

Not approximately.

Precisely.

The walls rose gently from the surrounding ground, forming shapes so large that I could not appreciate them while standing upon them.

This struck me as a very human problem.

Apparently one must look from high above to understand the full design.

As a tortoise, I generally prefer my accomplishments to be visible from ground level.

Still…

The scale was impossible to ignore.

Thousands upon thousands of baskets of earth must have been carried here by hand.

No bulldozers.

No tractors.

No loud vibrating rolling machines that seem determined to convince the ground to stop behaving properly.

Just people.

Moving dirt.

For years.

Perhaps generations.

I quietly admitted to myself that these ancient builders understood something about patience.

I respected that.

Travel Before the Rolling Noise Box

As we walked the trails, I found myself wondering how these people traveled.

The Tall One explained that they had extensive trade networks reaching astonishing distances.

Copper arrived from the Great Lakes.

Shells came from the Gulf Coast.

Obsidian traveled from lands far to the west.

All without the assistance of what humans insist upon calling automobiles.

Personally, I find this remarkable.

Not because the journeys were long.

Because they apparently completed them without enduring the Rolling Noise Box.

The Rolling Noise Box remains my least favorite aspect of travel.

It growls.

It shakes.

It vibrates continuously.

Every unexpected bump feels suspiciously similar to the unpleasant sensation one experiences immediately before the ceiling of a burrow decides it has different architectural opinions.

This suggested poor decision-making.

Fortunately, I have developed a system.

First, I locate the safest position beneath the luggage.

The luggage has never judged me.

It simply remains where it is placed.

A comforting quality.

Next, I consume emergency snacks.

This improves nearly every circumstance.

Finally, whenever the shaking becomes particularly enthusiastic, I quietly repeat my travel mantra.

“The ground has, historically, behaved.”

“This is temporary.”

“Snacks remain available.”

“The Tall One has not intentionally buried us before.”

I repeat this until either the vibrations cease or I fall asleep.

Both outcomes are acceptable.

A Professional Curiosity

One particular mound attracted my attention more than the others.

It was smooth.

Rounded.

Perfectly formed.

I walked around it twice.

The soil looked excellent.

Firm.

Well-drained.

Very inviting.

I found myself wondering what the inside looked like.

This was, admittedly, a professional interest.

Surely one could investigate…

…just a little.

I selected what appeared to be an inconspicuous location and began gently scraping at the earth with my front feet.

Only enough to satisfy scientific curiosity.

I had barely produced what I considered an entirely reasonable starter excavation when a voice called behind me.

“Sir!”

I froze.

Slowly, I looked over my shoulder.

A park ranger stood several feet away with folded arms.

“I think we’re going to leave the mound exactly the way it’s been for the last two thousand years.”

I considered explaining that I was something of an expert in earthworks.

I considered mentioning that I had every intention of replacing the soil exactly as I found it.

I considered arguing that no meaningful engineering assessment can be completed without at least a modest test excavation.

Instead…

I slowly placed the displaced dirt back where it belonged.

The ranger nodded approvingly.

The Pretty One attempted, unsuccessfully, not to laugh.

The Tall One apologized.

I felt this was unnecessary.

No lasting harm had occurred.

Still…

Apparently UNESCO has rather strict opinions regarding burrowing into internationally significant archaeological sites.

One learns these things.

A Quiet Respect

Before leaving, I stood for several minutes atop one of the broad embankments.

The afternoon sun warmed my shell.

The breeze carried the scent of grass and distant trees.

It was peaceful.

The people who built these places are gone.

Their homes have vanished.

Their voices have faded into history.

Yet the earth they shaped remains.

That, I think, is rather wonderful.

As a fellow mover of soil, I could appreciate the permanence of careful work.

My own burrows are considerably smaller.

One could fit quite a number of them inside these earthworks.

Possibly hundreds.

I remain very proud of my construction projects.

They are comfortable.

Practical.

Exceptionally well ventilated.

But standing among the Hopewell earthworks, I found myself admiring builders whose ambitions greatly exceeded my own.

It is healthy, I think, to occasionally meet someone whose pile of dirt is larger than yours.

I will not be attempting to compete.

Some accomplishments deserve admiration rather than rivalry.

Besides…

They had considerably more help.

—Archibald