February 4, 2022
When we were kids my cousin and I spent hours sifting through leaves looking for arrowheads. As an adult I remembered those hours fondly and considered the whole endeavor adorably naïve. That was until, without even looking, I found a projectile point just lying on the ground by our barn.
When I showed it to the state archeologist, he said it was 4-6 thousand years old. He also allowed as how our ridge top property was in fact a perfect place to find spear points and arrowheads considering the hunting techniques of that time and the need for an elevated vantage point.
10,000 years ago, the most recent glacier retreated from Farmington and a grassy tundra emerged. The treeless plains became home to vast herds of grazing animals and the small bands of Paleo-Americans that hunted them. The ridgeline would have indeed been a critical asset for spotting the dust clouds stirred up by the migrating herds in the distance. Even more importantly, once the dust clouds were spotted, our ravine would have provided the hunting party a quick and easy way to get down to the valley below to start the chase.
The “Late Archaic” point I found can’t technically be called an arrowhead as it preceded the use of the bow and arrow by several thousand years. It would have instead been lashed to a spear and thrown with the assistance of an atlatl or “throwing stick”. The atlatl was a major technological upgrade from the handheld spear if for no other reason than that it allowed the hunter to safely hunt from more than an arm’s length away… Bonus points for that!
I try to imagine the massive herds of mastodons, bison, caribou, and camels (!) grazing in the Farmington valley, and the voluminous dust clouds they would have kicked up. What an adrenaline rush that must have raised in the hunting party, whose survival ultimately depended on pursuing those massive beasts – and oh my, how unmotivated the human race has so recently become!
Looking out over the valley on hot summer days, no dust clouds have ever appeared, but I have often noticed, off in the distance the distinctive shape of “Onion Hill” near Tulmeadow Farm, in Simsbury. The farm most notably, is home to my favorite black raspberry chocolate chip ice cream. So, like a present-day iteration of a Paleo hunting party, Anne and I, on barely a moment’s notice, have been known to hop in the car and drive to Simsbury to hunt down our delectable reward. If, however, I had to run there, I’d probably be just about dead upon arrival - or at the very least, very tired. Tired enough in fact that I wouldn’t even be able to enjoy my ice cream cone - much less pick a fight with a half-ton mastodon.