stones used for grinding, the sharp bits that were broken pots. Strayer
would point to a thousand-year-old corn cob or examine some pottery
and declare it from a certain period based on the clay and firing
technique. During an alfresco lunch, he described how one clan held a
monopoly on a recipe for oxidizing clay to make it red, guarding the
secret and prospering in trade.
“Technology is always a double-edged sword,” said Strayer,
fingering a delicately corrugated sherd before passing it around. “It
enabled progress but it changed who they were. The cowboys who dug
up bones here suddenly starting finding small skulls with flat heads.
When the people here started cultivating corn, the mothers had to tend
the fields, and they swaddled the babies’ heads flat against a carryall.
The evolution of technology is who we are, the stepping stone, with
inventions embodying new ways of thinking and being from which we
can’t go back.” He seamlessly segued to his own burdens with
technology. “I’m sure when I get back I’ll have three or four hundred
emails. Most of them will no longer mean anything.”
If Strayer wanted to wow them, he was succeeding. Most of the
students seemed impressed, even amazed, by these remote finds and
dramatic rock fissures. “I didn’t know I was going to be deeply
affected by this,” said Lauren in pink sunglasses, her black hair in a
messy bun, “like when I saw that handprint, I almost cried. It’s so
unlike me.”
Heading out on morning three, we were met on the trail by a great
horned owl that sat still as a statue on a stone ledge over our heads.
Amelia, a blonde with a sorority vibe, squealed, “I’ve never seen one
before!” Earlier, she had admitted to her tentmates that she was
missing her phone because she was waiting for a cute boy to text her.
But now, she was transported. “You guys! I feel like I haven’t lived
until this trip!”
We lunched in clumps among the blooming prickly pear where
Butler Wash meets the wide, gently flowing San Juan River. At our