Creation: What do you need to score a meal? In 1450, a Lenape (Munsee) or Esopus hunter would need much more than a fork and knife. They would most likely use a bow and arrow, crafted by hand from scratch. Lenape bows were self bows, or a bow made from a single piece of wood with a sinew bow string. Bows were around 57-62 inches in height, almost as tall as a man (Campisi and Hauptman). The accompanying arrows had wood shafts, made out of fine grain wood rods or canes. The wood would be skillfully straightened through a process of soaking, heating, bending and reshaping. Once straight, the shaft was shaved to a uniform diameter, and then sanded and smoothed by being drawn back and forth on a slab of rough or fine grained sand stone (Kraft).

The arrowhead would be made out of local stones, cherts, flints, quartzite and siltstones (LITHICS-Net, “Point Type: Levanna.”). The edges of the arrowhead were made sharp via a pressure flaker, or a sharp piece of bone or wood, that could chip at the edges until made sharp. Arrowheads come in many shapes and sizes. Hunters in and around the area that is now Historic Huguenot Street would most likely be using Levanna or Madison arrowheads. The difference in arrowheads is usually based on shape, with Levanna arrowheads being more equilateral and Madison more isosceles.

After the arrowhead was made it was secured to the shaft. At the end of the shaft would be an incision, in which the arrowhead could be placed. Then, the arrowhead was further secured with resin or wet sinew wrapped around the shaft and the lower extremities of the arrowhead. As the sinew dried it would shrink, strong securing the arrowhead further (Kraft).

Physical Description of the Object: The arrowhead below is an excellent example of a Levanna arrowhead, it’s nearly equilateral in shape and has a concave base. It’s very small, as seen compared to the penny. Standard visual classification puts this Levanna arrowhead in the quartzite family; the rock’s small but visible specks classify it as metamorphic (not siltstone) and its dullness is similar to that of other samples (not chert or flint). It’s about an inch both ways and feels good in the hand, and probably better at the tip of an arrow.

Photo credit Nabi Jung

Lenape and Esopus hunters of the Late woodland period “probably carried a pouch full of triangular points ready to replace arrowheads broken in use” (Kraft). The arrowheads in this pouch could be used for more than just a projectile. The sharp point could be used for skinning game or dismembering for easier transportation. The back edge of an arrowhead could be used as a scraper, or if made out of flint a strike a light. If used for either of these purposes, the back edge would become dull and polished or vitrified.

The arrowhead from Huguenot Street has no signs of dulling on it’s back edge. Though time has worn then down, one can feel what remains of the sharp edges, along with indents of the stone that was chipped off with the pressure flaker. There are also no signs of resin or sinew from when, or if, it was tied to a shaft. Then how did it end up on the ground? Say it was once tied to a shaft and was shot in a hunt. What was the hunter after? Or in other words, what’s for dinner?

Photo credit Nabi Jung

Narrative: There was a lot of large game in the area for hunting, even bison, but more common were elk, black bear, raccoons, turkeys, geese, turtles, fish and mussels. Bows and arrows were just as much employed for shoot fish as they were in war and hunting (Beauchamp). The largest quantities of protein available were during the spring where what must have astronomical numbers of shad, herring, striped bass, Atlantic salmon, and other fish swam up the Hudson and its tributaries (Funk). Historic Huguenot Street is located very close to the Walkill river, so maybe this arrow was shot at a fish, the fish swerves, the arrow misses, and it hits a rock. Snap! Off goes the arrowhead. The hunter doesn’t pick it up, he has more arrowheads in his pouch and besides, it’s spring, and he’s busy aiming at what will be the next of many catches today.

Or maybe not. There are no large chips on the arrowhead from collision with another rock. Maybe it hit something softer, something like flesh. It’s fall now, open season. One could pace after a elk or deer until it got exhausted and then club it to death, but who likes running? Hunters spot a herd of elk. They split up, slowly, trying to stay down wind as the surround the herd. Each hunter takes their position, and uproots the grass in front of him. Then he takes a piece of flint (maybe even an arrowhead) and starts a fire, with the uprooted grass preventing it from running back (Kraft). The elk run towards the center of the circle and the hunters follow, soon they are surrounded.

This is one theory behind the practice of burning forests. Burning was also another way of clearing fields for planting. In addition to the diverse protein options there were many plant options available. On an archeological site in Hurley, only 15 miles away from Huguenot Street, Professor Joseph Diamond excavated a number of plant and animal remains from ground pits. Among these were maize, acorns, black walnut, hickory, butternut, chestnut, and raspberries and blackberries. Discarding plant remains in these cleared areas would also make the soil more fertile, and promote these plants to regrow naturally in these areas (Diamond).

Clear land, along with high concentrations of edible plants, makes this land very attractive to deer and elk. It is much easier to hunt if you know where your prey will be. Professor Diamond believed that burning forests served these latter purposes rather than the first, and that hunting was more on a one to one basis. He mentioned the winter, as other sources had, when bears are fat and lethargic and snow is almost up to a deer’s belly. These factors make hunting easier, especially if one is equipped with snow shoes, though none have been found in the area (Kraft). Hunting in the winter would still require the hunter to stay downwind, slowly moving in closer, trying to mimic the quiet of the soft snow. As the elk looks away. Only the faintest rush breaks the silence as the arrow is drawn, the sinew pulled, the shot fired, and the elk falls dead.

Arrows designed for hunting were made specifically so that the arrowhead would not detach from the shaft. This was because arrows were usually recovered when hunting game and could be reused. There were some arrows designed to release the head when pulled out of the flesh. These were the arrows for people. In war, an arrow shot that was not fatal and then removed intact could be reused by one’s enemy. Whereas an arrowhead that was laced with poison, shot into an enemy, and then remained lodged in the body as the shaft was removed, proved to be much more deadly (Kraft).

Photo credit Nabi Jung

Provenance: It would be hard to find out whether the Huguenot Street arrowhead was one of such arrowheads. If anything, knowing humans, it was probably dropped on accident. Once it hit the ground it stayed there as 46 cm of dirt piled onto of it. Above ground the world it once knew was disappearing; its creator ventured to the area less and less as the Huguenots started their street. The fish swam up stream in smaller numbers as industry polluted the river. A college campus becomes larger and larger, naming two dorm buildings after the Lenape and Esopus. One of it’s professors, Joe Diamond, starts excavating on Huguenot Street. On July 12, 2012 the arrowhead is taken out of the ground. It’s cleaned up, numbered, and put in a little plastic baggie. Then in 2015 it was brought into the Honors Center by Professor Diamond, who was kind enough to share it with me.

References

Beauchamp, William M. Bulletin of the New York State Museum: Aboriginal Chipped Stone Implements of New York. 16th ed. Vol. 4. Albany: U of the State of New York, 1897. Print.

Campisi, J., and L.M Hauptman. Neighbors and Intruders: An Ethnohistorical Exploration of the Indians of Hudson’s River. N.p.: n.p., 1978. Print.

Diamond, Joseph. Table 1. Wolfersteig Site. Microbotanicals by Feature and Table 2. Wolfersteig Site. Faunal Remains by Feature. Apr. 2015. Raw data. New York, New Paltz.

Funk, Robert E. Recent Contributions to Hudson Valley Prehistory. 22nd ed. Albany: U of the State of New York, State Education Dept., 1976. Print.

Kraft, Herbert C. The Lenape-Delaware Indian Heritage: 10,000 B.C.- A.D. 2000. N.p.: Lenape Books, 2001. Print.

LITHICS-Net. “Point Type: Levanna.” LITHICS-Net. LITHICS-Net, 1997-2008. Web. 15 Apr. 2015.

LITHICS-Net. “Point Type: Madison.” LITHICS-Net. LITHICS-Net, 1997-2008. Web. 15 Apr. 2015.

I brought my copy of The Phantom Tollbooth into class on the first day, but I don’t think I adequately expressed my love for this book so I decided to dedicate a blog post on it. Even as I look at it now my heart melts. I first read it as a kid in elementary, picking up a copy in my classroom library. Though I have this odd knack for retaining a detailed memory of stories I read as a kid, I never forgot about this one, and wanted a copy of it ever since. Years go by, I would think about the study often, dying to reread it, and then just this past year I ended up at a “history of children’s books” exhibition at the New York Public Library. The Phantom Tollbooth had a spot in the show and they had copies in the bookstore at the end of the exhibit. By the time we got there the store was closing, so I ran inside and bought one.

It’s a little more than 5 inches wide and 7 and a half inches tall. It’s a paperback, with it’s iconic blue cover and illustration of Milo (the protagonist) and his companion Tock (a watchdog). It’s printed on what feels and smells like newsprint, with a thin but rough feeling to contrast it’s glossy but thicker cover. It’s a “Yearling Classic” but is published by Random House.

The author Norton Juster and illustrator Jules Feiffer are still alive and well. Though I haven’t met many people who have read the book they say it has a cult following. This may be true considering a small documentary just came out called Beyond Expectations which, “delves into the history of the novel and the enormous influence it has had on generations of children through today.” – The A.V. Club. I know it had an enormous influence on me, but on generations I’m not so sure. Anyhow what I have found about the history of the novel and Juster’s process as a writer is fascinating. As the trailer to this documentary points out, Juster and Feiffer were roommates, and thought he was not the original illustrator, Feiffer was involved with the novel from the very beginning; uncommon for most book illustrations. Juster would read the novel out loud to him, and at some point Feiffer started sketching, developing characters in his scratchy style which Juster must have enjoyed, for the two ended up collaborating. They remain good friends even to this day. This was one of the things that stuck out to me in the evolution of this novel because I think that illustrations and novels as independent of each other, as if the artwork is nonessential and can be deleted or replaced. However, especially in the case of this book and many other children’s books, some texts are made to be read with illustrations. This made me wonder what Shakespeare would say about his plays and the visuals; would he demand that seeing the play acted out was essential?

At the time, Juster had received a grant to write a children’s book about urban aesthetics. He did not want to write this book. Instead, he started writing The Phantom Tollbooth. To this, Juster said, “I find the best things I do, I do when I’m trying to avoid doing something else I’m supposed to be doing.” However parts of his original task seeped into his work, “One was the Cities Of Illusion and Reality — the cities disappear but people don’t notice it. There were several things that came directly from things that I was either thinking about, or had done research about for the book on cities.” Juster cited many influences, more of which I will talk about soon enough, but hearing author’s comments like these gives me, relief, I guess that is the best way to put it, because – like it was said in the Shakespeare reading – for a long time I feel like it was implied that all great works were made by one man, in one room, on the stroke of genius, and it was easy, breezy perfection from start to finish. For Juster at least this is total crap:

I write in a very laborious kind of a way. I write and rewrite. And rewrite. And rewrite. Well, the thing of course is if you’re doing it well, when you finish your 30th rewrite, or something, it should sound like you’ve just written it completely, freshly once. Because sometimes what happens when you write and rewrite and rewrite, is you suck the life out of something. It’s difficult.

I find that writing is a very bleak, and lonely, and stressful, and often unhappy occupation. And I find this is not only with me when I talk to other writers. First of all you eat it. You sleep it. You can’t get it out of your head. You wake up in the morning constantly with this idea of staring at this blank page — you’ve lost it — you’re never going to get what you know you feel. What’s most interesting is that, say that goes on for several months while you’re working. That several months’ period of time can be an absolute misery. At the same time, when you finish and you look back on that time it’s somehow a very satisfactory — if you can use the word happy, time.

Juster also mentions that he did not have a mission when he started writing the book, and it was much more for his personal enjoyment. He didn’t even know what demographic it was for. He would write it in pieces, sections of dialogue and scenarios; he felt as if he was eavesdropping more than constructing the story himself. At some point, he needed to tie all the pieces together, so Feiffer’s wife, Judy, told him to write a two page synopsis. The story he wrote down had nothing to do with the detailed pieces he spent so much time on. Some of the earliest ideas he had developed didn’t fit into the story until very late. Though all authors have a different process, I found some similarities between Juster’s process and the commonplace books that were present in Shakespeare’s time. I think these sort of things disprove the romanticized “instant creation theory,” showing that a lot about genius is synthesis, it’s not just a have or have not quality, like any other great achievement it is very much earned.

And then there’s the editor. Juster said that, “I worked with a single marvelous editor at Random House. He had a million suggestions and we talked them all over. None of them really addressed the issue of simplifying or “dumbing down” the book.” Though it’s been over fifty years since the book was published, I looked at some interviews from Random House editors, in addition to trying to find information about the company’s manufacturing. The editors seemed just as kind and enthusiastic as Juster’s from fifty years ago. In a video these editors said that their mission is to make the author’s vision as clear as possible, and to do that they try to make an editing system that works for both parties; it could be edit as they go or a whole book at a time. Andy Ward the VP Executive Editor said, “…I find the relationships that I have are intense, they’re really intense, and they’re really close. A lot of the writers that I work with become some of your best friends because it’s very intimate work, and I think you develop a sort of dependency on one another.”

As far as manufacturing goes I didn’t find much. Random House is a huge force, with two warehouses, one in Illinois and one in Maryland. The total square footage of these two warehouses is about forty football fields, and ship over a million books per day between these two facilities. Though getting a book from an industrialized manufacturer is not as personal as  getting a hand bound, personalized book like the table books in “Shakespeare’s Tables,” it is these kinds of manufacturers that have made the written word so widely available and affordable. It was also specifically the grant for a book about urban aesthetics that provided Juster with the money to support himself while he wrote the novel. The book is still deeply personal to me, and I am grateful that I am able to have my own copy

I not sure if I should write about my roommate, especially since we’ve know each other for so long. I know much more about her background than Daniel Miller did about the residents in London, and it’s hard not to have that information dominate my observations, especially when I feel like it bears importance. For one, I know that 99% of things she would call her possessions are in our room right now. I, on the other hand, have a room at home that still looks inhabited even when both my sister and I have left for college. There are books on almost every flat surface on her side of our dorm room. There are also books in her drawers, and two boxes filled with books under her desk. In the past she has told me that she treasures her books, and I know she once got very offended when her sister mishandled them. I also know that she struggled with reading up into the forth grade, so though it might not be a direct outward statement, her books may represent her overcoming this struggle. A lot of her books have a historical theme, for she is both passionate about history and a history major. She bought the book Poems on Evening and Night – that I wrote about in my last post – in Boston. She said she saw the inscription and had to have it.

The book, Poems, does not sit out on display with her favorites, but is nonetheless part of her collection of books that help her express her passion for, and keep track of, her knowledge of history. It sits among her larger “collection” of personal things; her clothes, her Gone With the Wind and van Gogh posters, her Harry Potter wands, and her tiramisu bowl. It sits in the room she calls home because it is place she feels at home. It’s a book she hasn’t really read but keeps anyway. I think the fact that the book has a history associated with WWII had an added appeal to her because her mother is passionate about Jewish history and has passed on this passion to her. I see her mother in her choice of decoration, which I think could be seen both as an effort to comply and cooperate with her tastes. Her books, though some have been gifts, are free from this relationship, and I think most have been acquired by my roommate herself. Aesthetically pleasing, they can hide behind their covers from judgment and do as they please, a sort of freedom I know she desires.

I have a new object. It’s an old smelling, maroon, hardcover book with faux leather patterning titled Poems on Evening and Night. It’s small, about an inch shorter than your standard Moleskine. Upon opening the cover, on the first page inside, written elegantly is “Sgt. Joseph M. Chodrow / Tokyo, Japan / 14 November 1945.” The inside pages are annotated in pencil, not with personal notes, but with definitions of words copied from the glossarial notes in the back of the book. These same words have been checked off in glossarial section, definition read and learning accomplished. Also in the back of the book is a page in Japanese, the only one in fact, which i suspect is a copyright page since there is none in the front. On this page a price of ¥3-00 has been crossed out with black ink, which bled onto the page before when the book was closed before it had a chance to dry. Opening the back cover, on the last page, is “Tokyo” in both Japanese and English, along with the date 1945 in both Arabic and Sino-Japanese numerals. Finally, on the back cover, is The Hokuseido Press logo.

My roommate bought the book in Boston after she saw the inscription. When I told her I needed a new object, I thought it was funny that she gave me this one, since both Febergé eggs (the subject of my last post) and WWII Soldiers in Japan were mentioned in DeWaal’s book. I had a hard time finding information on this book and it’s owner. At first I assumed Joseph was an American, but as we were looking through the poems we noticed the authors were mostly English, so we tried looking at U.K. data bases too. The U.K. sites turned up even less information than the American ones, so I believe that he was in fact American. Here is a possible profile of Joseph based on my research:

• Name: Joseph M. Chodrow
• SSN: 106-12-0340
• Last Residence: 8816 Saturn Street. Los Angeles, CA 90035-3320
• Born: 15 Dec 1920
• Died: 20 Apr 2003
• Bank: First Republic Bank (He filed a claim for $136.80 from lost interest checks)
• Phone: (310) 277-6606

His wife (most likely) was:

• Ruth Rebecca Chodrow
• Born: 1 Apr 1923
• Died: 30 Apr 2009

And that’s about it. I tried calling the number and all I got was weird tones. The publisher and author are also shrouded in mystery. According to imcbook.net The Hokuseido Press, “established in 1914, is one of Japan’s oldest publishers of English books” which today focuses on textbooks to help Japanese students learn English. The height of their publishing occurred during the late 1930s to the late 1980s. The author, or compiler, does not give a first name, and signs only Y. Otagiri or Y.O. The prefatory note to Poems on Evening and Night states that the book had it’s origin in the lectures delivered on the same subject at Hōsei University, Tokyo, during the third term January-March 1926. Otagiri intended it as a study guide of texts to be finished in one or two terms.

In terms of changing use, instead of ending up in the hands of a Japanese student, this book lands in the ownership of an American soldier. Possibly, like Iggie, Joseph was deployed in Japan, and unable to read Japanese, he finds (and can pay for) the available books in English. As we read, wartime inflation hit the Yen hard from 1941 to 1949, and the internet tells me no true exchange rate existed. Then, in 1949, the U.S. gov. fixed ¥360 to equal $1. Using the 1949 rate, ¥300 is equal to 83 cents, which with inflation rates is equal to $8.31. Not bad for someone who is well off, but maybe too expensive for the Japanese who were selling off their precious belongings just to survive. Or maybe the Japanese didn’t need so many books to learn English anymore with the influx of English speaking soldiers during this time period. Either way the book seemed to fulfill it’s purpose. Otagiri wanted people to learn from his book, and I think Joseph’s notes show his wish came true. I may not be learning about William Blake, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, or John Keats (who was possibly Joseph’s favorite), but I sure am learning something.

I have been staring at these eggs for days. It’s entirely my fault though, I’m mesmerized. It’s not that I didn’t expect to end up where I did, it’s just that it’s better than I imagined.

I tried to find information on Kingspoint Designs, but had no luck. Google gave me no website and the address to a closed location. However I did find a pintrest post selling the same egg I have, and another eBay listing selling a different Kingspoint Designs egg. Though the egg was a different design, the box in the picture for the eBay listing looked very similar, and had a sticker reading “made in China.” I didn’t know this about my egg, but it wasn’t very surprising. The pintrest post also identified my egg as a quail egg, which is nice to know. Two other websites also appeared when I googled Kingspoint Designs, each selling decorated eggs. I thought it was kind of weird that Google pulled up both sites when neither identified their egg’s manufacturer. The item numbers of the eggs on one of the websites have the same format (#XXXX) as the item number on my box. I tried calling both sellers, but neither answered. What I did learn from these websites is that the eggs are decorated in the Fabergé style, and this is where the fun began.

Egg decorating and gifting is a long standing Slavic tradition, originating in pagan times, and then adapted into the Christian tradition. According to this tradition, the first real Easter Egg (basically just an egg) was given to the Roman Emperor Tiberius by Mary Magdalene. When she told him of Christ’s resurrection, Tiberius said “Nobody can rise from the dead ….. this is as hard to believe as it is to believe this egg can turn red!” The egg turned red, and so comes the possible origin of the egg painting tradition. Even before this event, eggs had been a symbol of life and renewal.

The story goes that Tsar Alexander III wanted to give his wife, Empress Marie Fedorovna, an Easter egg inspired by one once owned by the Fedorovna’s aunt, which she had admired as a child. Easter was the biggest holiday of the year in the russian Orthodox Church, prompting the highest echelons of St Petersburg society to present jeweled gifts to their loved ones. In 1885, the Tsar goes to Peter Carl Fabergé, a world renowned jeweler, with the idea of a precious Easter egg as a surprise for Fedorovna. Here’s the result:

If a gold egg coated in white enamel with a gold yolk and a gold hen with ruby eyes inside isn’t enough for you, then maybe you feel like Tsar Alexander III because the hen originally contained a gold and diamond replica of the imperial crown with a separate ruby pendant suspended inside. The Empress was so happy that she received an egg ever year after. The tradition continued for fifty years until Tsar Nicholas II and Empress Alexandra were killed in the Russian Revolution. After the first egg Fabergé was given full range as to the eggs design, the only rule was there had to be a surprise. I found this part particularly interesting because it explains why my egg opens even though it is so small. It simply continues the tradition of being a vessel for a surprise. The other imperial eggs are super ornate and cool and some, like the Trans Siberian with it’s wind up train on the top left, have automated parts. I am dying to touch one of these eggs, feeling the small details and getting to know them better like DeWaal does with his netsuke, but alas I only have pictures. You can see them here if you’d like: http://www.mieks.com/eng/eggs.htm

What I find funny is that my sister and I have always had this, appreciation let’s say, for gaudiness and excess. We fell in love with high tea and went to the Russian Tea Room, which is why I wasn’t surprised to find Russia in my egg’s ancestry; upstairs in the tea room I remember seeing this almost horrible gold tree with glowing glass eggs hanging off it (on the opposite side of the room is a large glass bear juggling these four metallic balls, it’s pretty hysterical). So in hindsight, my pink egg seems to be the start my sister and I developing our sense of taste together, while also starting the tradition of her always getting me birthday presents, and me always forgetting. Maybe one day I’ll get her a real Fabergé egg and that’ll make up for it.

Maybe it was it’s delicacy that appealed to me. I saw the elaborately decorated, hollowed out egg trinkets sitting on the shelves of a small shop and I decided I wanted one. I was about six, I wasn’t serious, and I stated my desire under the pretense that it wasn’t going to happen.

My sister gave it to me for my birthday. It’s a small, light pink egg on a skinny gold stand. It’s barley over two inches tall. All the exposed egg shell has been painted pink and glittered. The stand’s base is flat and rounded with swirling impressions on it like an ancient coin. The actual column of the stand tapers at the top and is impressed with a swirling pattern. At the top the stand, little gold leaves form a small bowl for the egg to sit.

The egg has been cut in half in a sort of curved diagonal, and the two pieces are hinged together. Small pearl beads and gold rope line the edges where the egg has been cut. There is also a larger pearl in the center of the top edge, creating the impression of button. The egg is topped with a circle of small pearls surrounding a clear gem in a gold, crown like setting. Designing the egg to open must have been an expression of the crafter’s skill, since it can hardly hold anything, not even a nickel. Nonetheless, the inside has been elegantly lined with polyester, waiting to cushion absolutely nothing.

Though I rarely took the egg out of its case, it still sustained some damage. A small piece of the shell cracked off, forming a hole in the back of the shell, near the base on the right. I was playing with the egg while it was in the case thinking if it dropped, nothing would happen. I was wrong. This event convinced me to keep the egg in the box and out of sight. Probably years have gone by between openings.

I have no idea where the second injury came from. Like I said, when I took the egg out of its box for this project it had been sitting in there for years. I looked at the back and one of the little pearl beads was loose. I feel like my sister has something to do with it because we share a room, and she once told me she had been looking at the egg. I didn’t think anything of her comment then, but now I feel like she was being a little suspicious…

Mostly what I see of the egg everyday is its navy blue box. Stickers on the front of the box read “Kingspoint Designs,” and its item number. On the top is another sticker, roughed around the edges, with instructions on how to take the egg out of the box. I’ve taken the egg out without following the directions and it’s just the same.