Prior to receiving the manuscript for this book in December 1997, I had no idea of Bob Nero’s involvement in archaeology. A well-known naturalist, ornithologist, and poet—yes, but that he had archaeological articles, serious papers published in several journals, including the prestigious American Antiquity, this was news to me. In poetry and prose, The Site, a semi-autobiographical book, takes us along on a personal journey from Nero’s early discovery of his first Indian arrowhead as a young boy in an orphanage in Wisconsin, to his discoveries in the Southwest Pacific during World War II where he served with the U.S. Army. We share some of his excitement in finding archaeological sites during his studies at Madison, Wisconsin, and later in southern Saskatchewan. This surprising book takes us with him as he explores the famed Lake Athabasca sand dunes of the remote north and, finally, follows him as he discovers and excavates an ancient occupation site near Winnipeg. As Bob Nero’s publisher, I am pleased to add The Site to his growing collection of works. It is indeed proof of Nero’s surprisingly diverse interests.
Barry L. Penhale Publisher
On one particular visit to the site with Bob, I busied myself collecting rosehips and grasses to decorate a Thanksgiving dinner table. I watched him wandering about on the sandy basin with his keen eyes poised in search of prehistoric artifacts. I am awed at the sight of the horses drifting towards him, hovering around his crouched form, nudging him with curiosity, questioning his intensity in pursuit of knowledge of an ancient culture.
From my place by the fence, watching, I too am caught and held for a moment in the aura of a more primitive and thoughtful time.
I have had the privilege of feeling, firsthand, the author’s passionate attachment to the site; an attachment that goes far beyond the search for “bits” but is truly, like poetry, an affair of the soul.
Elizabeth Struthers Winnipeg, Manitoba
What is a site? A site is a place, a location, a spot or an area where something is located. In this case, The Site was a kind of sandbox where I often went to play—well, search for prehistoric artifacts, you know, arrowheads—over a period of six years, from 1992 to 1997. I first stumbled upon this sandbox, this archaeological site, in September 1992. Operating under a provincial permit, by carrying out some minor excavations and checking the site after heavy winds or rains had caused further erosion, I gathered more than three hundred artifacts. Or pieces of artifacts, for I picked up everything in sight, knowing that fragments, even the smallest bits, have meaning. The material from this site: fragments of smashed buffalo or bison bones, stone knives and scrapers, arrowheads and other implements—these remains of a prehistoric campsite turned out to be more than 3000 years old.
The results of my studies of this site have been published in a suitable technical journal. Finding artifacts is one thing, writing about them in a serious fashion is another. It’s not an easy task, but it’s an obligation that I accepted as part of the price to pay for the many hours I enjoyed scouring that site. But I was well rewarded for my efforts, gaining freedom from stress, inspiration for poems, new friends, many happy hours of quiet contemplation. Even when I wasn’t at the site, I was thinking about it, enjoying windy days, hoping that another piece of worked flint might turn up at the next visit.
“Going out to the site” became part of our vocabulary, an expression my wife accepted as another opportunity for her freedom; although Ruth accompanied me there a few times, usually it meant that she would be free of her cranky husband and the persistent dog for at least a day. Just an hour’s drive west of Winnipeg, going out to the site was something to do, a trip to make as soon as the snow was off the ground. Wise Ruth often was right in suggesting that it was too early in the season. I can recall reaching down into cold water to pick up a few pieces of flint one spring when the site was still under water. What a contrast to the dry, windy times when the fine sand blew up into my face.
On the personal level, this part of my life remains more than just a fond memory. It will remain a source of inspiration for that which can be achieved, forever.
Robert W. NeroWinnipeg, Manitoba
It is curious how often one thing leads to another. Publication by Natural Heritage in 1997 of Spring Again, a collection of my poems, had much to do with the conception of this present book. Several poems in Spring Again reflect upon my archaeological interest, two in particular, “Thrasher” and “The Site,” being inspired during my visits to the archaeological site that is described herein. It was partly the satisfaction of seeing “The Site” poem in print that sparked the idea of expanding on that topic. Thus, once again I am especially indebted to publisher Barry Penhale for his interest and support, with that book as well as this one.
The idea of a popular account of this topic gained momentum during the preparation of a technical archaeological report. I kept getting ideas for things to write about that went beyond the limits of a formal presentation. Gordon G. Graham, who read an early draft, enthusiastically supported the concept and urged me to keep writing. For encouragement in preparing the technical report, and thus indirectly this book, I am grateful to Tony Buchner, Gordon Hill, Erik Nielson, Leo Pettipas and Jack Steinbring. I owe special thanks to Armand and Yvette Hacault for their enthusiastic encouragement of my prowling about on that small eroded portion of their pasture that became The Site.
For assistance in sifting through yards of sand, I owe thanks to my grandson, Ashley Nero, and Robert P. Berger.
The Manitoba Conservation Department has continued to provide me with office space and supplies long after my retirement from the Wildlife Branch.
Elizabeth Struthers, as always, greatly encouraged my writing efforts, expressing interest and excitement just when I needed it, exclaiming over nearly every new paragraph or idea I brought to her. Betty also entered my typed (and cut out and pasted, and retyped) copy on her word processor, and helped produce the final clean version of the manuscript.
Ardythe McMaster kindly reviewed the manuscript, providing reassurance that I was on the right track and, as usual, offering significant critical comments that improved the final draft.
This book would not have been possible without the solid support granted to me by my wife, Ruth. I am especially grateful to her for accompanying me to The Site, and especially for encouraging me to take off, with the dog, day after day over several years to relax and enjoy and indulge myself. Thanks is hardly enough, Ruth.
I am grateful to my publisher, Barry Penhale, for providing me with this opportunity to express my gratitude to all those people, many of whom have passed on, who helped me along the way.
THE SITE
A Personal Odyssey
IFOUND MY first arrowhead when I was about nine years old and living in an orphanage in Racine, Wisconsin. How I knew that this small, white chipped-stone was an arrowhead, let alone what it was doing in the flower garden beside the home, is puzzling. Still, I was a great reader at an early age, and I was allowed to browse through tomes in the extensive library left by the donor of this mansion-cum-orphan asylum. Doubtless, I had seen pictures of arrowheads, for I recognized it at once, and treasured it for long. That first arrowhead disappeared, along with all the other stones I was notorious for lugging around at that early age, in the sagging pockets of my bib coveralls.