Citation:

Wallace, Henry D. 2003 Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture. In Roots of Sedentism: Archaeologi-

cal Excavations at Valencia Vieja, a Founding Village in the Tucson Basin of SouthernArizona, edited by H. D. Wallace, pp. 371-405. Anthropological Papers No. 29. Center forDesert Archaeology, Tucson.

Edited byHenry D. Wallace

With a foreword byWilliam H. Doelle

Contributions by

Jenny L. AdamsMichael W. DiehlAlan FergSuzanne K. FishJames M. HeidkeMichael W. LindemanR. Jane SlivaArthur W. VokesJennifer A. Waters

Roots of SedentismArchaeological Excavations at Valencia Vieja,

a Founding Village in the Tucson Basinof Southern Arizona

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Anthropological Papers No. 29Center for Desert Archaeology

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. Prelude, Henry D. Wallace2. Research Background and Themes for Investiga-

tion, Henry D. Wallace3. Excavation Results, Michael W. Lindeman4. Chronometrics, Henry D. Wallace and Michael W.

Lindeman5. Tortolita Phase Ceramics, James M. Heidke6. Tortolita Phase Grinding Technology, Jenny L.

Adams7. Valencia Vieja and Changing Perspectives on Early

Ceramic and Early Pioneer Period Flaked StoneTechnology, R. Jane Sliva

8. Personal Ornaments of Shell and Stone fromValencia Vieja, Arthur W. Vokes

9. Fired Clay Figurines and Miscellaneous Artifacts,Alan Ferg

10. Plant Remains and the Organization of Subsistenceat the Valencia Vieja Site, Michael W. Diehl

11. Pollen Results from Valencia Vieja, Suzanne K. Fish12. Where’s the Bone? Vertebrate Faunal Remains

from Valencia Vieja, Jennifer A. Waters13. Plain Ware and Red Ware Horizon Architectural

Change, Michael W. Lindeman14. The Development and Structure of an Ancient

Desert Village, Henry D. Wallace15. Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Cul-

ture, Henry D. Wallace and Michael W. Lindeman

http://www.archaeologysouthwest.org/store/anthropological-papers/roots-of-sedentism-archaeological-excavations-at-valencia-vieja-a-founding-village-in-the-tucson-basin-of-southern-arizona.html

Anthropological Papers No. 29:

CHAPTER 15

VALENCIA VIEJA AND THE ORIGINSOF HOHOKAM CULTURE

Henry D. Wallace and Michael W. Lindeman

Cultures are not born overnight, although the eventsleading to their inception sometimes occur quite rap-idly. The cumulative effect of a series of events culmi-nating in a precipitous social experiment are exploredin this chapter. That experiment forever changed theface of Southwestern prehistory, history, and the iden-tity of those living in the region today.

The origins of the Hohokam culture of southernand central Arizona and the stimuli for the sociopoliti-cal and socioreligious processes that led to its develop-ment are at issue. The discoveries in the Tucson Basinover the past decade—some of which are documentedin this volume—call for a serious reconsideration oftraditional perspectives on sedentism, village origins,and the relationship of food production to prehistoriclifeways. The new data also inform on the appearanceand use of some of the most significant technologicaladvances in prehistory, for example, the bow and ar-row, pottery, the use of pottery for cooking, troughmetate grinding technology, and canal irrigation. Someof these findings are pertinent to the time prior to A.D.150, particularly the origins of canal irrigation, pottery,and a range of settlement structure and regional inter-action data.

Only a limited number from the range of availablestudies will be used here; the focus will be on theevents occurring from about A.D. 300 to 700. It wasduring this interval that pottery was first used forcooking, trough metates and a new form of maizeappear, and, most importantly, small, semi-sedentarygroups banded together to form villages that weremaintained for centuries thereafter.

Central themes to this investigation are the prereq-uisites and consequences of aggregation and sedentismfocused on specific points on the prehistoric landscapeand tethered to irrigation agriculture. Many anthropol-ogists and archaeologists have examined the transitionto sedentism in various parts of the world at differentpoints in prehistory, from many different theoreticalperspectives (for recent reviews, see Bar-Yosef andBelfer-Cohen 1992; Belfer-Cohen and Bar-Yosef 2000;Byrd 1994; Rafferty 1985). A similarly substantial lit-erature exists on the causes and effects of populationaggregation (c.f., Cordell et al. 1994; Flannery 1972;Haas 1989; Hunter-Anderson 1979; Kidder 1924), al-though most of the research about the Southwestern

United States has focused on processes of aggregationthat occurred much later in the chronological sequence.Arguably, many of the developments that gave rise toidentifiably distinct cultural patterns in the Southwestoriginated with the advent of settled village life. Therelationships among sedentism, aggregation, and cul-tural development from the perspective of a range oflarge-scale excavations at key sites in southern and cen-tral Arizona are explored in this chapter.

ON SEDENTISM AND AGGREGATION

Southwestern archaeologists have a significantinterest in sedentism. Questions include: what kind; isit deep (Lekson 1990); short-term (Nelson and LeBlanc1986); primary (Brown 1985); secondary (Hitchcock1982)? In recent years, archaeologists have becomeincreasingly aware of the range of options that wereavailable to prehistoric populations in different envi-ronments that involved varied components of mobilityand sedentism. Some of these new perspectives were aresponse to established models that viewed the transi-tion to sedentism as a one-way series of stages (Cordelland Plog 1979; Whalen and Gilman 1990). Ethnograph-ic data (for example, Flannery 1972; Gilman 1987; Pow-ell 1983; Whiting and Ayres 1968) and increasingly re-fined archaeological data combined to force a seriousre-evaluation of concepts of sedentism and mobility.Variations on the early “stage” models envisioning acontinuum in responses, with mobility at one end andsedentism at the other, were developed (Bar-Yosefand Belfer-Cohen 1989, 1991; Brown and Vierra 1983).These were questioned (Eder 1984; Kelly 1983, 1992),and most researchers now view the relationship ofmobility and sedentism as multidimensional. Issuesinvolved include: individual mobility, group mobility,territorial movement, migration, land tenure, environ-mental shifts, distribution of critical resources, and soforth (Eder 1984; Kelly 1983, 1992; Varien 1999).

Given the emphasis on sedentism here, it is prudentto provide some definitions and to introduce terminol-ogy useful to the discussion that follows. Out ofconvenience, Hitchcock (1987:374) is followed indefining sedentism as a process, “whereby humangroups re-duce their mobility to the point where they

372 Chapter 15

remain residentially stationary year-round.” G. Rice, inKelly (1992:49), is followed in defining sedentarysettlement systems as, “those in which at least part ofthe population remains at the same location through-out the year.” These definitions may not completely fitthe observed conditions, and variability is present;however, they provide a useful starting point to thediscussion. It should be noted that sedentism does notautomatically signify population concentration, eventhough that is often assumed. It is critical that poten-tially disparate social processes not be combined.

Bender (1985), in her comparison of sedentism inthe American Midwest and Brittany, addresses the con-cept of permanence, which is really what sedentism is allabout. Sedentism is usually thought of as permanenceof residence in one location. However, as Bender states,ritual permanence—or perhaps more correctly, rituallocation permanence—is also important and is notnecessarily congruent with residential permanence. Asan example of incongruent ritual and residentialpermanence, she cites the Ohio Hopewell, who wereseasonally mobile (i.e., a low degree of residentialpermanence), but had large-scale mortuary ceremonialcenters (i.e., a high degree of ritual permanence). Ritualpermanence is an important concept in Hohokamarchaeology, with respect to plazas and plaza cemeter-ies. Whether residential permanence is separate fromritual permanence at some points in the sequence, or insome areas, has yet to be determined.

Another type of permanence in some societies isagricultural permanence. This refers to the earthworksconstructed for the purpose of canal irrigation: thecanals themselves, aqueducts, reservoirs, and so forth.These are important in terms of energy expenditureand therefore “value” in a culture—such constructionscan be “expensive,” and they are often intended to bepermanent. As with ritual permanence, agriculturalpermanence is not necessarily congruent with residen-tial permanence. Further, as with ritual permanence,agricultural permanence is a spatial construct—a knownlocation on the landscape that tethered populations toa point in space.

An important development in understanding sed-entism and its relevance as a concept in Southwesternarchaeology has been the recognition that mobility andsedentism are not mutually exclusive in any givensociety. For example, Carmichael (1990:124) reports the,“coexistence of sedentary and mobile adaptive strate-gies” in the Jornada area. Wallace (1987:119-120) positsa similar range of variability in Hohokam adaptationsin the Tucson area, and Belfer-Cohen and Bar-Yosef(2000) discuss the coexistence and interaction of mobileand sedentary populations in the Near East. Thisshould not be a surprise, because such cases are com-monplace in the ethnographic literature, with some of

the best-documented cases coming from southernArizona—from the Piman tribes (Fontana 1983; Jones1969; Russell 1975; Underhill 1939). Such adaptationsare typical in areas where highly productive subsis-tence resources are spatially concentrated and wild re-sources shift with the seasons. This permits those wholive in the vicinity of the optimal resource zones theoption of residential permanence, while those living inoutlying areas must be either mobile, tracking seasonalresources, have the ability to acquire food from those inthe optimal settings, or have rights to access the re-sources there.

There are at least four primary prerequisites tosedentism. These include: (1) an abundance of food, orthe ability—through agricultural or pastoral intensifi-cation—to generate sufficient food for survival; (2) forareas with restricted optimal resource zones, theremust be exclusionary systems of land tenure designedto protect the resources upon which the sedentarygroup depends (assuming other competing populationsin the vicinity); (3) a system of defense or social rela-tions with neighboring settlements and others that pre-clude the need for defensive systems; and (4) extensivetrade systems or the facility to be logistically mobile forgathering required resources.

Archaeologists have postulated a series of requisitechanges once a population becomes sedentary and ag-gregated. Agriculture was once at the top of the list,but research in Mesoamerica, the Near East, and mostnotably, recent work in the Southwest, has shown thatagricultural developments occurred independent ofresidential permanence. (However, the hypothesis thatagriculture developed in certain localities where therewas residential permanence and then spread to otherareas has not been disproven.) It is clear that peoplewere mobile in the Tucson Basin after cultigens wereintroduced during the Early Agricultural period, des-pite the use of small-scale canal irrigation (Gregory2001b; Mabry 1998a). Although the use and productionof cultigens cannot be considered a result of sedentism,the institutionalization of subsistence resource-relatedownership systems is. Such systems involve land ten-ure, agricultural produce, and other goods.

This process is required for the development ofdelayed-return systems, namely storage and food pro-duction (Rosenberg and Redding 2000:41). When theseshifts occur, they precipitate the collapse of social sys-tems that make mobile hunting-gathering adaptationsfunctionally possible (Rosenberg 1990, 1994; Yellen 1985:47-48). Generalized reciprocal systems characteristicof mobile hunter-gatherer groups (c.f., Flannery 1972;Netting 1990; Plog 1990; Wilson 1988; Winterhalder1990) are replaced by individually more restrictivesocial networks for sharing production and consump-tion that are integrated by new socioeconomic and

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 373

sociopolitical structures (Rosenberg and Redding 2000:41-42). Many researchers have commented on the needfor new sociopolitical structures to resolve conflictsbetween individuals and corporate groups who, insedentary villages, can no longer resort to the honoredhunter-gatherer tradition of getting up and moving out(c.f., Adler and Wilshusen 1990; Flannery 1972; Johnson1982; Rosenberg and Redding 2000; Wilson 1988). Alsorequired as part of, or implicit within, newly develop-ing sociopolitical structures is the emergence of: “newsuperstructural elements that symbolize and legitimizethe new structures, as well as function to further inte-grate the various social elements of the community asa whole” (Rosenberg and Redding 2000: 42). There are,of course, many additional changes that occur with thegenesis of settled village life; the focus here is on thosewhich, by necessity, must develop rapidly.

AGGREGATION AND VILLAGE FORMATION

It has been mentioned that sedentism, by itself,does not signify aggregation or village life. Combiningthe process of aggregation with sedentism obscurestwo separate types of social processes that, whenmixed together, become a sum greater than their parts.Sedentism, in the absence of aggregation, need notautomatically lead to complex sociopolitical structures,and there might not be a need for conflict dispute asthere might not be any conflict over resources. Con-versely, aggregation automatically entails the develop-ment of sociopolitical structures to mediate disputesand to bind people together, making it more advanta-geous to stay together than to split apart. However, inthe absence of sedentism, aggregation need not neces-sarily lead to exclusive systems of land tenure.

Sedentism, by itself, has no cost (although it hasrisks), and may, in fact, be beneficial for small socialgroups in optimal settings. Aggregation may havecosts, but does not need to be expensive. By aggregat-ing, distances to fields, wild resources, and fuel woodmay be increased (Kohler 1989). Cordell et al. (1994:131) state that when riverine agriculture is involved,these costs do not apply; however, resources can still bewidely dispersed, even for agricultural communities.Canal systems can extend for many kilometers, andnatural resources—such as stone for tools and yuccafiber for basketry—may be much less accessible to avillage dweller than to a more mobile forager. Moreimportantly, agricultural intensification risks soil de-pletion and creates greater dependance on one resourcethat can fail in unpredictable environments. Separatesocial/corporate groups can functionally interact withease despite ideological differences, whereas aggre-gated groups may find it difficult to do so. Therefore,

one consequence of aggregation is the creation oradoption of new ideologies that subsume or erase thosethat existed prior. The new sociopolitical structures forsedentism with aggregation also apply to aggregationalone.

Aggregation, as a social process, has been the focusof significant research in the American Southwest (c.f.,Cordell et al. 1994; Crown and Kohler 1994; Hunter-Anderson 1979; Kidder 1924; Lekson 1990; Longacre1966; Plog 1983). However, most of the emphasis hasbeen on the latter portions of the prehistoric sequence,when large, aggregated settlements developed andhighly differentiated societies with distinctly differentideologies were already present. Some of the possiblesocial costs, benefits, and consequences of aggregationearly in cultural sequences have been mentioned. Per-haps most important among them in the discussionsthat follow are: (1) the need to develop sociopoliticalinstitutions to alleviate stress and maintain group cohe-sion; (2) reduced risk from small-scale raiding andwarfare due to combined fighting force (this also trans-lates into greater ability to protect individual and com-munal land and resources); (3) increased potentialproductivity due to the ability to organize cooperativework parties for tasks such as canal building and main-tenance, and harvesting and planting; and (4) increasedrisk from flooding and crop failure due to commitmentto a particular resource zone. The first three apply toany case of aggregation; the fourth assumes sedentismas well.

There is a fundamental difference between short-term or temporary aggregation and aggregation that isintentionally maintained. Many mobile hunters andgatherers have annual or periodic gatherings involving100 or more individuals, who may reside together fora month or more during the year. Such events facilitateeconomic exchange, finding spouses, and allow forconflict resolution. However, no special sociopoliticalstructures are developed, because it is commonlyknown that the gatherings are temporary, and no suchstructures are required to maintain peace and coopera-tion. Conversely, aggregations that occur with the in-tent to maintain cohesion due to a need for laborpooling, maintenance of land rights, or defense, areripe for the development of sociopolitical control. Ad-ditionally, if a population aggregate becomes seden-tary, property rights issues become paramount, and anunavoidable ideological shift must occur.

This distinction is vital to our understanding of thesequence of events in the period from the time of Christto A.D. 700. The distinction is also important in theterminology we apply. A temporary gathering is justthat, even though its archaeological signature may beconfused with longer-term aggregated settlements iftemporary gatherings occur repeatedly in the same

374 Chapter 15

location. Maintained aggregates are those where thereis a conscious communal commitment to maintain theaggregate. There is no inherent requirement for themto be sedentary, although cross-culturally, most are.All aggregates that are not maintained aggregates—regardless of history or form—are temporary, becausethere must be intentional commitments made to fostergroup cohesion. Aggregated sedentary settlementswould ordinarily be viewed as villages or hamlets bymost researchers.

What is a Village?

It is useful here to consider how “village” should bedefined relative to other settlement types such as ham-lets or farmsteads. In the Mesoamerican literature, onefinds references to hamlets containing between 10 and100 people, and villages having more than 100 (Flan-nery 1972:38). Flannery also indicates villages may bedistinguished from hamlets by having public architec-ture (ceremonial or civic), although he questions this asa valid distinction.

Among Southwestern United States archaeologists,the term “village” has been used inconsistently to meaneverything from a semi-sedentary settlement with lessthan 30 people, to permanent settlements with 1,000 ormore. In the hierarchically defined model of Hohokamculture settlement types advocated by various re-searchers (c.f., Henderson 1986, 1987; Mitchell 1990;Sires 1984, 1987; Wallace 1995a), site structure, ratherthan population or size, has been used as the definingtrait. However, population levels are implied by thesystem. Hamlets are viewed as housing single, or afew, supra-household groups, whereas villages aredefined as having multiple supra-household groups,probably a plaza, and, depending on the time period,either a ballcourt or platform mound. Translated intoMesoamerican terms, a Tortolita phase hamlet in theHohokam model might have had 6 to 36 people1,whereas a village would have had 4 or more villagesegments and a minimum of 25 to 30 people (probablymore than 50).

Prior to the construction of ballcourts in the Hohok-am sequence, plazas and oversize structures have beenused as markers of villages (Mabry 1998a), and someresearchers use these same characteristics to infer sed-entism (B. Huckell 1995b:128-129). Most archaeologistsacknowledge that, while some degree of mobility isacceptable, in most instances, they would only applythe term “village” to a settlement with considerable

residential permanence. In summary, no two archaeol-ogists (or geographers for that matter) are likely to de-fine “village” in the same manner, and it is not worth-while to dwell on the matter. The general idea, then, isthat—on a gradational scale—villages will be larger,more permanent, and have more communal-use facil-ities than hamlets and other more temporary aggre-gated groups. Our emphasis here is on sedentism andaggregation rather than specific population levels.

Archaeologists generally have very little troubledetermining whether a particular site is a village or not.Densities of artifacts, numbers of houses, and thepresence of cemeteries or public architecture leaveslittle room for doubt. Nevertheless, in recent years, asmore research on adaptive responses to varying envi-ronments is accomplished, there has been a gradualawareness that some villages were not fully sedentaryand that some sites not considered villages, were sed-entary for spans of seasons, if not years. On a practicalbasis, the approximate population-driven guidelinesabove can be used, provided the assumption is madethat villages are maintained aggregates and that thereis a high degree of residential and ritual permanence.As will be shown, this excludes all known Early Agri-cultural period sites.

THE FORERUNNERS TO SEDENTISM IN THE TUCSON BASIN: LIVING TOGETHER WITHOUT LIVING TOGETHER

To understand the history of Valencia Vieja (AZBB:13:15 [ASM])2, the nature of the settlement thatpreceded it must be assessed. Were the settlements ofthe Cienega and Agua Caliente phases equivalent toValencia Vieja? Mabry (1998a) designated the StonePipe (BB:13:425) and Santa Cruz Bend (AA:12:746) sites“villages,” although he acknowledges they may haveonly had relatively small populations at any given time(i.e., less than 30 at Santa Cruz Bend; Mabry 1998a:788).Bruce Huckell (1995b:140) refers to the large sites alongthe Santa Cruz, and in the Cienega Creek area as,“stable, sedentary village communities,” but he alsoacknowledges logistical mobility.

Some consider the inhabitants of sites such as SantaCruz Bend or the Matty Canyon sites fully sedentary(Fish and Fish 1991; S. Fish et al. 1990, 1992); others co-nsider them as semi-sedentary, or mobile, to varyingdegrees (Mabry 1998a; Roth 1996; Whittlesey andCiolek-Torrello 1996). The ethnographic record cited bysome to support opinions on sedentism and mobility inthe Southwestern United States (c.f., Binford 1982;DeBoer 1988; Gilman 1987)—as elucidated by Gregory

2All site numbers are AZ # (ASM) unless otherwise indicated.

1This assumes 3 to 4 persons per household, 2 to 3 house-holds per village segment, and 1 to 3 village segments perhamlet.

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 375

(2001b:258)—has not been particularly helpful in ex-plaining early agricultural settlements in the region.Local conditions and human responses are not repli-cated in the ethnographic record; consequently, it mustbe used with considerable caution to avoid beingmisled.

The most detailed and extensive data sets forevaluating sedentism and potential village formationin the Early Agricultural period is from the work ofMabry (1998a; Mabry et al. 1997) and Gregory (2001b)at the Santa Cruz Bend, Las Capas (AA:12:111), StonePipe, and Los Pozos (AA:12:91) sites, with additionalimportant results coming from the Wetlands site(AA:12:90) (Freeman 1998) and the base of A-Mountain(Diehl 1997a; Mabry et al. 1999). Additional excava-tions relevant to this issue are currently underway inthe Brickyard (AA:12:51) and San Agustín Missionareas at the base of A-Mountain.

Mabry (1998a) argues for semi-sedentism at SantaCruz Bend and Stone Pipe, basing his conclusions onthe presence of cache pits, intramural storage pits, arelative lack of overbuilding, considerable trash accu-mulation, and the formalized use of space that he infersas settlement planning for things such as a possibleplaza and possible cemetery. By semi-sedentism, Mab-ry means some people were present year-round at thesettlements, while others spent a portion of the yearaway on logistical foraging ventures. Mabry’s argu-ments are similar to those of Bruce Huckell (1995b) forthe Matty Canyon sites and those of Nelson (1990), inhis response to the contention of Fish et al. (1990) thatEarly Agricultural period settlements were fully sed-entary. Macrobotanical and faunal remains at all ofthese sites support warm season occupation; however,due to the lack of indicators for winter occupation inthe Sonoran Desert, year-round occupation cannot beunequivocally confirmed or denied.

Whether the largest Early Agricultural sites in theTucson area, San Pedro Valley, and Cienega Valleywere ever sedentary villages is an important questiongiven the theoretical stance taken here with regard tothe effects of aggregation and sedentism on culturaldevelopment. In a pending publication, Gregory andDiehl (2002) indicate the range of variability that is tobe expected in these large sites, which they view asaccumulations of many separate occupations of vary-ing duration and magnitude. We concur with theiropinion.

The architecture at Cienega phase sites is notfashioned for long-term occupation, and fill sequencesin excavated structures indicate sequential use. Macro-floral data indicate a much more diversified economythan was the case in later sites that can unambiguously

be called villages (Gregory 2001b; Gregory and Diehl2002; Mabry 1998a; Mabry et al. 1997).

An additional indication of impermanence is thechoice for the placement of most known large Cienegaphase sites on slightly elevated portions of the activeriver floodplain. These areas were subject to relativelyfrequent flooding, and there are abundant indicationsthis occurred on the excavated sites during occupation.It seems clear that there was never any intention ofmaking the site locations permanent, because the in-habitants would have known that, in any given year,they might be forced to move. Further, radiocarbondates from the sites reveal long spans of use, more sothan could account for the numbers of structurespresent if a large percentage had been in contempora-neous use on a continuous basis. This is not to say therewere not occupations of multiple years’ duration, onlythat the basic settlement system of the time was not oneof long-term sedentism in aggregated communities.

It is useful to model the formation of one of thelargest and best-known Cienega phase sites, SantaCruz Bend, to better understand the implicationsregarding permanence, size, and complexity. We startwith these given figures from the excavator’s interpre-tations:

Estimated number of total pit structures at site (T):500 (Mabry 1998a:231)

Estimated structure use-life (U): 2-5 years (Mabry1998a:231)

Duration of occupation (D): 190 years or 550 years3

(Mabry 1998c:8)

The formula to calculate the numbers of structures inuse at any given time (x) is:

(T/D) C U = x

Applying this formula, we calculate a range of 2 to 13pit structures in use, on average, at any given point inthe occupation of the site. These figures assume contin-uous occupation for the 190- to 550-year span of siteuse. Mabry (1998c:9) indicates the radiocarbon dateranges upon which these spans were estimated do notprovide definitive results, and there are other possibili-ties. Further, if we accept Gregory and Diehl’s (2002)interpretation of many separate occupations of varyingdurations and magnitudes, the picture becomes morecomplex. Nevertheless, a useful starting point can beobtained. Assume, for example, the following:

3Either a continuous occupation between B.C. 400 and 210, ortwo different spans of occupation between B.C. 760 and 400,and again between B.C. 390 and 200, according to Mabry.

376 Chapter 15

Total number of pit structures: 500Structure use-life: 3 yearsDuration of occupation: 280 years (half the number

of years of Mabry’s [1998c:9] best estimate of thesite end points)

With these figures that assume residential use of thesite only half the time, a figure of five structures pres-ent is obtained, which is within the range of the previ-ous exercise. The numbers could be seriously impactedif there had been periodic gatherings at the site of suf-ficient duration to have warranted pit structure con-struction. If so, large numbers of structures couldoriginate from “nonresident” groups. If this occurred,it would serve to reduce the numbers of structures inuse in the previous calculations; however, the numberssuggest such an influx of temporary construction couldnot have occurred often.

With a possible range of 2 to 13 pit structures in useat any given time, population levels can be estimated.With an average interior floor area of 8 m2 (Mabry1998a:219), using Brown’s (1987:31-32) median figureof 5.0 m2 floor area per person (Chapter 14, this vol-ume), a range of 3 to 21 people would be anticipated atthe site. This assumes all the structures in use wereresidential in function, which was probably not thecase, based on Mabry’s (1998a) and Gregory’s (2001b)investigations. Therefore, the figure of 21 personswould be an absolute maximum.

How likely are these estimates? The reader willhave no difficulty disputing some of our figures. Weare most confident of the structure use-life and totalnumber of pit structure figures. The occupation span isthe least certain figure. If the true span of occupationwere significantly reduced, there would be a corre-sponding increase in the calculated numbers of struc-tures and population. This can lead to interesting ob-servations concerning settlement in the surroundingregion.

If one assumes populations were residing some-where along the Santa Cruz River in the region at alltimes, and one makes the occupation too short at typ-ical sites (Santa Cruz Bend is considered typical), re-gional population levels would be drastically reduced.To use an extreme example, if we assume there were 10sites comparable to Santa Cruz Bend in the A-Moun-tain to Cañada del Oro Wash confluence reach of theSanta Cruz River (not an unreasonable estimate basedon current data), that were occupied sequentially for100 years (this assumes the region was not completelyabandoned at any point), a total of 10 to 25 structuresand a maximum population of 40 persons for the reachwould be obtained. Therefore, all 10 sites could have beengenerated by the same small social group. This also shows

that a population of only 40 people could have gener-ated 5,000 structures in a 1,000-year span of time.

The previous exercise is intended to provide an ap-proximate sense of scale, not a precise gauge of popula-tion and site size. We do not really think there was onlyone social group of 40 individuals that moved every100 years to a new location. It is much more likely therewere a number of small, contemporaneous sites occu-pied during good years for riverine agriculture and leftidle if there were multiple bad years. Riverine condi-tions are highly dynamic, and the small-scale ditchirrigation systems of the Cienega phase would havebeen relatively easy to rebuild, as needed, in new lo-cations.

A significant degree of sedentary tethering is ex-pected in this model, due to the presence of irrigationsystems and fields that required maintenance. Weaklydeveloped systems of land tenure would also havebeen essential. However, with population levels at anygiven settlement likely never exceeding 30-40 individu-als (perhaps as many as 50 if we are underestimatingpit structure use-lives), and an expected lack of aggre-gation maintenance, there would have been little incen-tive to develop complex social or political institutions.Despite rudimentary ties to the landscape in the formof ditch irrigation systems and cleared fields, therewere no incentives for residential or ritual permanence.

Therefore, even though a semi-sedentary lifewayhad developed, focused on irrigation and floodwaterfarming in the Santa Cruz River floodplain (and inother similar environments in southern Arizona) thatincorporated probable logistical resource procurement,there was little incentive for cultural change. Minorchanges are documented during the course of the Cien-ega phase (Gregory 2001b), but they are limited whencompared with the span of time involved in the phase(950 years according to the most recent chronology).Although admittedly tautological, this lack of visibleculture change is, in itself, an indication there had notbeen a significant shift in social or political organiza-tion.

We can conclude that the large Cienega phase sitesdocumented along the Santa Cruz, Cienega Creek, andSan Pedro drainages of southern Arizona do not fit thedefinition of villages, and there is no reason to expectcomplex social or political structures. The so-called “bighouses” found on these sites were probably low-levelintegrative facilities (Adler 1989) that served to inte-grate kin groups and helped structure cooperativelabor efforts for farming. These structures may nothave been present at every site, or at all times on anygiven site.

Nor do we see indications of a hierarchical socialstructure based on the size differences in these struc-

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 377

tures at Santa Cruz Bend. If this were the case, thereshould have been at least several additional very largebig houses at that site in the area uncovered. Con-versely, the much more substantial architecture used intheir construction suggests the big houses had a longerintended use-life than typical contemporary residentialstructures. This implies a certain degree of ritual per-manence that was probably much greater than typicalresidential permanence. That permanence might havefostered increased power for the occupants of thesestructures.

The header for this portion of the chapter men-tioned “living together without living together.” Wethink this is an appropriate description for the Cienegaphase occupation of the riverine environments insouthern Arizona. We envision a handful of small,semi-sedentary farming/foraging kin groups occupy-ing any given optimal reach of the river valleys, mov-ing as necessary according to river conditions. Thepopulation of any given optimal zone might not havebeen more than 100 to 150, even in the most productiveareas. Although the population in an optimal portionof the valley might have exceeded 100 people, therewere no large aggregates and no incentives to aggre-gate. Population levels would have been gradually ac-cumulating, and doing so at a more rapid pace thanwas true prior to the development of irrigation maizeagriculture.

THE AGUA CALIENTE PHASE ANDTHE WINDS OF CHANGE

Several essentially coeval events mark a point ofculture change in the southern Southwestern UnitedStates at about A.D. 150. Included among them werenewer, more substantial architectural forms and theadoption of ceramic containers for storage in place ofin-ground storage. In the Tucson area, the time fromA.D. 150 to 450 is known as the Agua Caliente phase;in Phoenix, it is the Red Mountain phase. On a broaderscale, it was the Plain Ware Horizon. Despite a signifi-cant amount of emphasis on it in recent years, verylittle is known about it—which is itself an interestingfact.

In the Tucson area, contexts excavated are limitedto handfuls of structures and related features at StonePipe (Swartz and Lindeman 1997), Square Hearth(AA:12:745) (Wöcherl and Clark 1997), Houghton Road(BB:13:398) (Ciolek-Torrello 1998), at least one structureat Triangle Road4 (BB:9:87) (Wellman 1999), several fea-tures at Corona de Tucson (Huckell et al. 1987), and thestructures reported here from Valencia Vieja.

4This is based on our reevaluation of the ceramic inventory,architectural forms, and stratigraphic relationships.

Similar small, scattered, and often inadequatelydated components have been identified in the Phoenixarea at Heritage Square (T:12:70) (including variousportions of Pueblo Patricio (T:12:42); see Cable andDoyel 1985, 1987; Henderson 1995), Red Mountain (AZU:10:2 [ASU]) (Morris 1969), La Cuenca del Sedimento(U:9:71) (Henderson 1989), and La Escuela Cuba(U:6:213) (Hackbarth 1992). Mabry (2000) provides arecent summary of the data from the Phoenix area. TheEagle Ridge site (AZ V:5:140/1045 [ASM/TNF]) (Elsonand Lindeman 1994) is the only sizeable settlementexcavated to date from the Tonto Basin.

Large Cienega phase sites were usually located onslight elevations within the floodplains of major drain-ages near locations with perennial flows. In some areasafter A.D. 150, settlements shifted to slightly higherterrace settings set back from river floodplains (e.g.,Eagle Ridge, Julian Wash [BB:13:17], Square Hearth).

Pithouses were slightly larger, and most were truepithouses as opposed to the house-in-pit huts charac-teristic of the Cienega phase. Although still round inshape, this shift in architectural style marked a signifi-cantly different, more substantial, dwelling. Bent poleconstruction is inexpensive in material cost and con-struction effort, because it does not require posts to beload bearing, and smaller, flexible supports can beused. Conversely, true pithouses with exterior postsrequire those exterior posts to be larger and more cost-ly, because they are load bearing (as well as interiorcentral or centerline posts, if present). For the first time,significant stylistic traits appeared in architecture—thedistinctive plaster lobes (also called pillars) that flankthe entries5 of some structures. These distinctive addi-tions make the structures in which they occur appearbean-shaped, a tendency accentuated in structures thatwere more oval than round.

Ceramic containers used for storage and other non-cooking functions (contra Crown and Wills 19956) firstappear at about A.D. 150, coincident with the change totrue pithouses. Further, they arrive at almost the sametime (perhaps at the same time) throughout the region(Heidke and Habicht-Mauche 1999). Concomitantly,large intramural storage pits, present in 48 percent ofthe Cienega phase structures at Santa Cruz Bend(Mabry and Archer 1997:27-29), became smaller andmuch less frequent, occurring in only 20 percent of theSquare Hearth and Stone Pipe Agua Caliente phase

5Mabry (1998a:229, 240-241) suggests the narrow gaps in thewalls of some circular Agua Caliente structures at the SquareHearth and Stone Pipe sites—which are flanked by plasterpillars or bolsters (also called piers and lobes)—are ventila-tors rather than entries. This is based on similarities toMogollon area structures.

6Crown and Wills (1995) suggested that pottery was used for cooking from the beginning.

378 Chapter 15

structures (Swartz and Lindeman 1997:411; Wöcherland Clark 1997).

The implication here is that ceramic containers,especially the most common form in the early AguaCaliente phase, the seed jar, replaced pit storage withmore secure, rodent-proof pot storage. The recovery ofjars with lids in de facto contexts supports this premise(Heidke and Habicht-Mauche 1999). However, with atypical jar holding less than 10 percent of what atypical Cienega pit could hold (Heidke et al. 1998a:519;Mabry and Archer 1997:27-29), it is apparent pots didnot simply replace pits. Instead, they probably becamethe repository for the next season’s seed corn and per-haps other seed crops (Heidke and Habicht-Mauche1999:80), which would have represented only a smallportion of a year’s maize harvest.

The reduction in intramural pit storage at A.D. 150,must be explained by other changes that occurred.There are several possibilities, none of which can cur-rently be tested. Storage could have shifted from theinterior of structures to external settings. Surface gra-naries or rooftop granaries would not be identified inarchaeological excavations without exceptional preser-vation. Intramural baskets might also have been used,and we know that baskets were used for storing grainlater in the sequence. Whatever the actual storagemethod, the interesting aspect is that it would havebeen more visible and therefore less “private.” Thismay represent an important step toward increasedresidential permanence.

Despite changes in architecture and the appearanceof pottery, the period from A.D. 150 to 450, is similar inmany ways to the preceding Cienega phase. The use ofround houses is obvious, but others include the con-tinued presence of big houses (presumed communitystructures or chief’s houses), and continuity in highmaize ubiquities (indicating extensive use of roastingand/or parching as opposed to pot boiling) and in theubiquities of other domesticated and wild resources.

Other continuities include strong similarities inground stone tools, particularly in the percentages offood production implements (Chapter 6, this volume),and in flaked stone attributes such as the rates of plat-form lipping, average core size, and proportions of for-mal unifaces (Chapter 7, this volume). The continuanceof these traits support a model of local cultural devel-opment for the initiation of the Agua Caliente phase.Sliva (Chapter 7, this volume) examines this point insome detail, commenting that because the flaked stonetraits that continue from the Late Cienega to the AguaCaliente phase are independent of one another, conti-nuity is the most parsimonious explanation. Whetherthe Phoenix area Red Mountain phase developed froma local tradition remains to be ascertained.

Small rectangular pit structures first appear part-way into the Plain Ware Horizon in southern Arizona

at about A.D. 400. During the 250 years from A.D. 150,ceramic container technology became increasingly com-plex. Rectangular structures at Stone Pipe had a greaterdiversity of vessel forms than did the round AguaCaliente phase structures at the Square Hearth site.Together, these traits allow the Agua Caliente phase tobe divided into early and late portions (Chapter 13, thisvolume).

There are no current indications of aggregatedsedentary villages in the Tucson Basin Agua Calientephase. Known sites are small (Houghton Road, Trian-gle Road [mistakenly thought to be a pure Tortolitaphase site; Wellman 1999]), or there is not enough in-formation to know if they were small (Stone Pipe,Square Hearth, Julian Wash). The largest excavatedcomponent in southern Arizona dating to this intervalwas at Eagle Ridge in the Tonto Basin (Elson andLindeman 1994), although it was probably never verylarge at any particular time during its occupation. Itmay well represent a somewhat different adaptationfrom the sites excavated along the stream courses in theTucson and Phoenix areas of this interval.

Settlement patterns for the A.D. 150 to 450 intervalare inadequately understood due to the lack of exca-vated sites and limited surface indications of theirpresence. Based on known contexts, we hypothesizethe presence of scattered, small, short-lived settlementsdistributed around the optimal resource zones ofsouthern Arizona streams, with possible logisticalcamps and occasional longer-lived settlements in themountain edge/canyon mouth zones and near promi-nent springs. Individual settlements were probablyrarely larger than the largest Cienega phase settle-ments.

Mechanisms for the integration of this dispersedpopulation, which included both riverine farmers andnonriverine forager/farmers, are unclear, but may havebeen correlated to concentrations of subsistence re-sources (see Flannery 1972:25), particularly to plantingand harvesting schedules. As the social units were toosmall to be endogamous, formalized gatherings ofsome sort almost certainly occurred, leading to move-ment of people, ideas, and the measurable materialtraits. Such gatherings were probably similar to thosethat must have occurred for a millennium or more.

The beginning of the Agua Caliente phase coincideswith a point of deep channel incision in the Santa Cruzdrainage in the stretch from south of San Xavier to atleast A-Mountain (Haynes and Huckell 1985; Mabry etal. 1999; Waters 1987). This would have precludedsubstantial canal irrigation for at least several hundredyears and probably limited any agricultural activitiesin the area to small-scale farming on inset terraceswithin the channel (Fred Nials, personal communica-tion 2002). If this reconstruction is correct, settlementalong the southern portion of the Santa Cruz River

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 379

through Tucson may have been severely curtailed. Itmay also mean we should expect to find higher popu-lation densities dating to this time period in nearbyareas such as along portions of Cienega Creek, alongTanque Verde Wash, in the Cañada del Oro valley, andin upper bajada settings.

The presence of big houses at Stone Pipe andHoughton Road indicates that the sociopolitical institu-tions established earlier in the Cienega phase contin-ued without interruption. These structures probablyhoused lineage leaders who served multiple roles inthe set-tlements but had little true power. The ritualartifacts found in the structure at Coffee Camp(AA:6:19) (Halbirt et al. 1993) reveal ceremonial rolesfor the residents of these facilities, suggesting theywere shamans, or that shamans also utilized thestructures. The social role of these individuals, andpossibly even the ideology they expressed, wasprobably similar across a very large portion of theSouthwestern United States, as very similar sites withbig houses are present over much of the region (seereviews in Ciolek-Torrello 1998; Mabry 1998a).

Strong similarities in material culture, architecture,artistic expression, and settlement size (see also Heidkeand Habicht-Mauche 1999; Wallace et al. 1995) point tolarge-scale communication networks (c.f., Doyel 1991a;Feinman 1991; Gumerman 1991; LeBlanc 1982; Whi-ttlesey 1995; Wilcox 1988) developing fromcommunication and ideological systems that had beenin place for thousands of years. Certain aspects of thisregional ideology, marked by the Western Archaic rockart style (Hedges 1982; Thiel 1995; Wallace andHolmlund 1986), extend beyond the traditional boundsof the Southwest and point to larger-scale humansystems that have not been widely recognized. Therelevance here is simply to call attention to a muchlarger pool of interacting populations than iscommonly recognized (but see Henderson 1992;Whittlesey et al. 1994; Wills and Huckell 1994) and toillustrate mechanisms for the adoption of new traitssuch as ceramic containers and domesticated plants.

Despite architectural differentiation in the EarlyAgricultural period and Plain Ware Horizon, there arecurrently no indications of anything other than alargely egalitarian society, nor would anything else beanticipated given the small settlement sizes. The PlainWare Horizon in southern Arizona is generally markedby increased permanence of residential dwellings, theaddition of shell bracelets to a continuing tradition ofpersonal adornment, increasingly varied foodpreparation and storage options, and graduallyincreasing population levels. By the end of the PlainWare Horizon —perhaps even as early as A.D. 400—wesee the establishment of the first settlements that wouldlater become some of the longest-lived communities inthe history of the New World.

THE RISE OF RESIDENTIAL AND RITUAL PERMANENCE

The relatively small Early Agricultural period andPlain Ware Horizon settlements evolved in the sixthcentury A.D. to settlements in new locations that gen-erated significant quantities of trash and appear to beconsiderably larger and more permanent that anythingprevious (e.g. Snaketown (U:13:1), Grewe (AA:2:2), Ro-mero (BB:9:1), Lonetree/Redtail (AA:12:120/ AA:12:149)[these were two portions of one connected site], andValencia Vieja). These settlements were long-lived, hadpublic architecture early in their sequences, and clearlyrepresented a different phenomenon. Was there agradual shift with in situ population growth that led tothe founding of these settlements? The evidence fromValencia Vieja sheds new light on the processesinvolved, and it is that site to which we now turn.

Valencia Vieja was occupied during the time fromA.D. 425 to 700, when villages were forming in thesouthern Southwestern United States. It was thenabandoned and left virtually untouched prior to theexcavations documented in this report. Consequently,it offers a remarkably clear picture of early settlementformation and development.

Valencia Vieja was founded sometime around A.D.425, by an estimated 5 to 10 households who builtsmall, rectilinear true pithouses facing onto courtyardspaces. These early households were loosely arrayedalong the northern and northeastern portions of thesite, on a low terrace not far from the floodplain of theSanta Cruz River. In magnitude, the settlement wasprobably no larger than a typical Cienega phase occu-pation, and the social group involved was likely com-posed of families related through real and fictive kin-ship ties. None of the investigated courtyards con-tained more than two contemporaneous structures, anindication that family sizes were small. It is still unclearif the original settlers at Valencia Vieja intended, fromthe beginning, to make the settlement permanent, or ifthat happened sometime during the settlement’s his-tory. We think there was such an intent, because thatwould explain the drastic settlement pattern shiftoccurring at this same time throughout the region.

Continuity through time is indicated for the villagewith some of the courtyards spanning the use-lives ofup to three or four houses. No integrative architecturalfacilities were identified that date to the first 100 yearsof the occupation of the site, although our excavationcoverage was insufficient to establish whetherrecognizable facilities were present.

Valencia Vieja was not in the most optimal locationalong the Santa Cruz River, because the river wouldnot have been as permanent in this location as it wasnear Martinez Hill, A-Mountain, or in the Rillito con-fluence area; however, the river would have flowed

380 Chapter 15

here more frequently than in most portions of thestream course (Chapter 1, this volume). Therefore, thechoice of this locality is a clue that the optimal zonesalong the river had already been taken and that landtenure systems had become exclusionary. Further, it isdoubtful that sustainable agricultural crops could begrown along this stretch of the river without at leastmoderate-sized canals for irrigation and the establish-ment of reservoirs for drinking water and irrigation.

By A.D. 450, red ware pottery appeared at ValenciaVieja, adding to an already full complement of ceramicvessel forms. Red ware pottery is a horizon marker thatis unknown from the small sites of earlier times infloodplain and very low terrace settings. Based on theValencia Vieja data, it appears only a few decades aftersettlement shifted to new, more permanent settings.Ceramic container technology diversified coeval withthe settlement shift, or perhaps somewhat earlier; house-holds acquired or manufactured more pottery thanthey had earlier in the Plain Ware Horizon, and ceram-ics came to be used for a wider variety of purposes,including, most importantly, cooking (Chapter 5, thisvolume). It is difficult to overemphasize the signifi-cance of pottery for soaking and cooking foods. Notonly do pots make it easier to cook food, they alsoallow the preparation of gruels and stews that aredifficult, if not impossible, to cook using the stoneboiling and parching methods that would have typifiedEarly Agricultural period and southern and centralArizona Plain Ware Horizon cuisine. The ability tocook foods such as stews would have permitted earlierweaning of children, thereby indirectly increasing fer-tility (Crown and Wills 1995).

Additionally, Heidke (Chapter 5, this volume) notesthe use of pottery for soaking and cooking coincideswith the introduction of beans into the North AmericanSouthwest. Beans were a significant nutritional addi-tion to the diet, and they might have increased cropyields as well due to the nitrogen-fixing properties ofbean plants. The use of pottery for cooking may havebeen precipitated by the diffusion of knowledge aboutbeans and how they could best be prepared. As wildtepary beans occur in southern Arizona (Castetter andBell 1942:94-95), the local population may have beenpreadapted to their introduction as a cultigen.

New food preparation techniques were accompa-nied by improvements in grinding technology. Troughmetates and manos appear in the Valencia Viejasequence in VV 2 prior to A.D. 500. As reported byAdams (1998a; Chapter 6, this volume), they mark anincrease in processing efficiency and potential pro-ductivity. Although still not confirmed, flour corn vari-eties, which were well-suited to grinding in a metate,may have arrived in the region together with troughmanos and metates as a package.

Early varieties of floury corn, called proto-Maiz deOcho by Galinat (1988), are known to have beenpresent in New Mexico by as early as 1500 B.C., andmay have fully developed into Maiz de Ocho, theeight-rowed flour corn that was at least one of theprogenitors of the modern Corn Belt dent varieties, byat least the A.D. 600s, in that region (Galinat 1988:682).Upham et al. (1988:683), using the same data set, placedthe earliest Maiz de Ocho at 500 B.C., a result of differ-ing perspectives on the definition of the variety and theuse of particular dates. The point when fully developedMaiz de Ocho arrived or evolved in southern Arizonawas probably somewhere in this range. This variety islikely to have arrived in the Hohokam area about A.D.500, although it remains to be seen whether it wasearlier.

Adams documents early dates for Reventador, avariety of flint corn that would have produced floursubstantially better than the Chapalote that precededit in the Hohokam area (Adams 1999; personal commu-nication, Jenny Adams 2002). Reventador was found inVahki phase contexts at Snaketown, dated to the A.D.450 to 650 time span7. Also present in Vahki phase con-texts at Snaketown was a small variety of Onaveño, aflint corn that was intermediate in flour production be-tween early Chapalote and Harinosa de Ocho (Cutlerand Blake 1976).

These data do not provide the precise timing of thearrival of more efficient varieties of maize, but it is rea-sonable to suggest one or more of these more produc-tive varieties arrived on the scene at, or before, A.D.500 to 550. These events may have ultimately resultedin increased rates of population growth, due to im-proved nutrition and possible increases in agriculturalproductivity. We concur with Crown and Will’s (1995)hypotheses concerning the significance of ceramics forcooking. However, current evidence clearly places thetiming of these events much later than they had antici-pated (Heidke and Habicht-Mauche 1999).

Support for the increased permanence of occupa-tion at Valencia Vieja is seen in lithic tool technology.Sliva reports the greatest disjunctures in lithic technol-ogy for the prehistoric sequence occurred at the AguaCaliente/Tortolita phase boundary—with one of thetraits being the increase in average debitage size. Thistrait is correlated with increased occupational durationand primary reliance on locally available raw materi-als.

The turning point in the development of ValenciaVieja and in the history of the region occurred some-time between A.D. 450 and 525 (A.D. 500 will be usedas the approximate time in the remainder of thischapter), when populations aggregated. Valencia Vieja

7Adams cites Haury’s dates, which have been revised. Therevised date ranges are presented here.

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 381

doubled in size, and it became a village. It is with thecombination of residential permanence and maintainedaggregation that the history of the American Southwesttook an irretrievably momentous step. Despite greaterresidential permanence, until maintained aggregation,there was still not a strong impetus for sociopolitical orideological change. With aggregation, multiple kingroups were forced to reside in close proximity and towork with one another. Why and how did this occur?The answers take us well beyond Valencia Vieja, but itis instructive to first examine that site.

By A.D. 525, Valencia Vieja had become a village,with residential areas forming an arc that enclosed acentral plaza measuring approximately 4,000 m2 in areaand 70 m in diameter. It was at this time that the first ina series of plaza-fronting, architecturally distinctstructures were built. The first of these in the excavatedsample was a square true pithouse, with a raised floor,or benches, and a circular floor feature that may havebeen a storage facility (Feature 341).

In the period from A.D. 550 to 650/675 (VV 4 in thesite sequence), up to eight or nine contemporaneouslarge square structures may have been built facing, orfronting, the plaza (Chapter 14, this volume). The loca-tions of known and possible cases identified duringexcavations are illustrated in Figure 15.1. The largesquare structures were architecturally equivalent towhat Haury (1976) referred to as P3 and P4 structuresat Snaketown. They were not the only square struc-tures at Valencia Vieja, but they were the largest. Someof those excavated were exceptionally well constructed,with raised floors, benches, and possible storage fa-cilities. These types of features were not limited to theplaza-fronting square structures at the site, althoughthey were much more frequent among them than in theother structures in the village. The raised floor ob-served in one of them, as well as in a number of otherstructures at the site, are the earliest cases known in theregion (see Klucas et al. 1997:502-503, for a recentsummary).

One, possibly two of the square structures, hadstylized vestigial adobe pillars, or lobes, flanking theirentries in a form reminiscent of the reduced versionsseen in Late Pithouse period communal structures inthe Mimbres area (Anyon and LeBlanc 1980). As occursin that region, these pillars/lobes are holdovers fromthe Agua Caliente phase, when more massive examplesflanked small entries, or, if Mabry (1998a) is correct,ventilators.

Two of the large square structures facing the plazaat Valencia Vieja were burned with de facto floor as-semblages—the upper floor of Feature 53 had a special-ized set of artifacts, including some that suggest pig-ment processing and textile production, and some thathave unknown functions (two medially grooved stone

“donuts”). Feature 147 had a seemingly typical domes-tic assemblage of metates, handstones, and pots.

Current evidence indicates residential and ritual orcommunal use of the large square structures adjacentto the plaza. All the excavated structures had hearths,and the range of pollen present was similar to thatfound in other domestic contexts. The most extensivelyexcavated area around them in Block 1 revealed asequence of rebuilding episodes, pointing to their longuse in the site sequence, as well as the significance oftheir specific locations along the plaza.

Very small ancillary structures accompanied thesquare structures. They were used in a supportive orconjunctive role that did not involve permanent hab-itation as domestic facilities. Two to four households,composed of one to two residential structures each,were behind the plaza fronting structures. For at leastsome of these sets of features, there was an additional,square structure (often larger than the typical domesticstructure), used as a communal storage and processingfacility. One of these communal facilities can be di-rectly tied to a large square structure fronting the plazaby conjoining lithic artifacts. By A.D. 600 to 650, therewould have been at least eight of these supra-house-hold social units at the site and a population of 70 to110 people (Chapter 14, this volume). Figure 15.2 illus-trates the range of structure types and functions in themost extensively excavated portion of the site. A modelof the site’s structure, as it is presently understood forthe A.D. 550 to 650 period, is presented in Figure 15.3.By this time, the settlement had expanded to the west,following two low ridges to points just up from theactive floodplain of the Santa Cruz River.

The Valencia Vieja plaza was situated in a slightswale, surrounded—on three sides—by slightly ele-vated residential areas and the inner ring of largesquare structures. Through limited testing in the centerof the plaza, we uncovered four small pits containingwhole and fragmentary ceramic and ground stoneartifacts, including one pit with two rare rectangularceramic trays. Due to poor bone preservation, we wereunable to determine if these were secondary cremationburials, although we suspect they were.

We also do not know whether there were manyother such pits in the vicinity, although it stands toreason that our limited trenching in the vicinity wouldhave only found a small percentage of such smallfeatures. It is therefore uncertain whether there was acemetery in the center of the Valencia Vieja plaza; how-ever, it is highly likely based on the evidence at hand.

Other probable burial pits were also found at thesite (none could be confirmed due to the lack of pre-served bone; see Figure 14.9, this volume). They werescattered in the residential zones, and no additionalpossible cemeteries were identified.

382 Chapter 15

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Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 383

Figure 15.2. Largest excavated portion of Valencia Vieja (AZ BB:13:15 [ASM]) Block 1, showing identified types of structuresfor the A.D. 500 to 700 (VV 4 and VV 5) portion of the sequence.

384 Chapter 15

Figure 15.3. Model of the A.D. 550 to 650 (VV 4) village structure at Valencia Vieja (AZ BB:13:15 [ASM]).

The terminal occupation of Valencia Vieja—fromabout A.D. 650/675 to 680/700—was no more than ageneration long and was marked by the replacement ofthe large square plaza-fronting structures with smallerrectangular dwellings facing onto the plaza. Three ofthese structures were excavated. One directly overlaya previous square structure. Another appears to havebeen initially intended to be a square structure. A pre-pared floor and roof supports were constructed, thensomeone changed the plans during the constructionprocess, or the square structure was completed andpartly dismantled to facilitate the new rectangularfacility. Direct stratigraphic superpositioning and par-allel orientation and placement suggest the construc-tion of at least two of these rectangular structures wascoeval. One of the structures had evidence of turquoisetesserae production, and the pair on the eastern side ofthe plaza were unique in having abundant cattail pol-len on their floors.

By A.D. 700, there had been a planned, purposefulabandonment of the village. Most floor artifacts andvaluables were removed from the dwellings, and they

were set on fire. As this is when the Valencia site wassettled, the inhabitants of Valencia Vieja likely moved0.5 km south, to the northern portion of that site. Thetiming of abandonment and initial settlement in thenew locality is simply too coincidental to ignore. Thisis discussed in further detail below.

The only site with sufficient excavation coverage forthis time period to allow comparisons of site structureis Snaketown, and there, we find an identical villagelayout and placement of square structures, albeit at agrander scale in terms of sizes of structures and size ofthe central plaza (Figure 15.4). As reported by Cableand Doyel (1987), an array of smaller residential struc-tures was also present at Snaketown that were coevalwith the square structures.

It might initially appear that Snaketown was sig-nificantly different in structure, because its earliestlarge square structures appear to have been oriented inopposition and at right angles to one another in rough-ly cardinal directions (Cable and Doyel 1987; Wilcox etal. 1981). While this may be a significant difference—and there is some reason to think there is cosmological

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 385

Figure 15.4. Excavated features at Snaketown (AZ U:13:1 [ASM]) dated to the A.D. 450 to 700 portion of the sequence (Vahki,Estrella, and Sweetwater phases). (Modified and revised from Wilcox et al. [1981]; with data generated by Murrieta [1999] andRick Karl [personal communication 2003]. Contour interval 50 cm.)

significance to the orientation of these structures—wesuspect there were many more such structures thatremain to be discovered at the site. This possibility isreinforced by an inspection of the relatively low levelsof archaeological testing in the key area around theplaza (see Wilcox et al. 1981).

At Valencia Vieja, the square structures werereplaced near the end of the site’s occupation bysmaller, subrectangular structures. At Snaketown andother sites in the Salt River Valley, there is a reductionin size of the large square structures through time,from those dated to Vahki, to those dated to theEstrella and Sweetwater phases (Cable and Doyel 1987;Chenault 1993; Haury 1976). Unlike Valencia Vieja, atSnaketown, successive square structures were con-structed away from the central plaza, effectively in-creasing the plaza’s size.

To recap, by A.D. 1, limited social institutions haddeveloped to facilitate small-scale floodplain irrigationsystems and to mediate disputes over arable land and

foraging territories that were becoming increasinglyconstrained as mobility decreased. However, popula-tions were small, and they may have shifted locationfrom time to time, according to changes in the riverfloodplains. Labor investment in small ditch irrigationsystems was probably not great, and the need forstrong social controls lacking. Land tenure was proba-bly not rigidly controlled.

Severe shifts in riverine conditions, beginningaround A.D. 100, in the Tucson area, may have necessi-tated mobility and, at least in local areas, may havelimited the ability to aggregate. The shift to more per-manent settlement locations around A.D. 400-450—tiedto improved subsistence technology and possibly anew race of maize—may have correlated with the estab-lishment of more exclusionary systems of land tenure(Adler 1996; Varien 1999) and increased agriculturaldevelopment. These changes may have been stimu-lated by shifting agricultural practices that increasinglyfocused on irrigation.

386 Chapter 15

By A.D. 400 in the Tucson area, the previouslydowncut portion of the Santa Cruz River floodplainhad probably filled in and would have become suitablefor irrigation after a lengthy period when that had beenimpossible. Large-scale canal construction is not re-quired here to explain the processes underway; how-ever, the coincident timing of the inception of thePhoenix area system (Doyel 1991a:247) indicates it isrelated, if not integrated.

Howard and Huckleberry (1991) argue that thelabor requirements to construct large canals such asthose documented in the Phoenix area were substan-tial, considering they could not have been built a seg-ment at a time and that social conditions would proba-bly have limited desired completion to less than a year.Therefore, for prehistoric farmers considering large-scale canal construction, the catch lay in labor require-ments that likely exceeded the preexisting labor pool ofany single settlement. The incentive was recognitionamong experienced early farmers that canal construc-tion would open up large new areas to stable, flood-free farming and settlement. As suggested by Wilcox etal. (1981:204-205), the requirements of labor poolingand perceived gains in agricultural productivity andstability may have been the incentive for small farmingsettlements to aggregate into villages. There may alsohave been the recognition that by not joining forces,one might lose potential rights to important farmlandas the nature of the social processes controlling landtenure shifted.

For the Tucson area, there is no direct evidence forintensification or expansion of agricultural practices atthis time; however, the shift to more permanent villagelocations at the beginning of the Tortolita phase maysignal shifting perspectives on land tenure throughoutsouthern and central Arizona wherever prime agricul-tural land was available. Although nothing approach-ing the scale of the Salt River canal systems everdeveloped in the Tucson area, we suggest similar pro-cesses occurred. Dispersed small farming settlementsconsolidated to facilitate agricultural expansion andcanal system maintenance and to establish exclusionarysystems of land tenure.

In discussing the causes of sedentism in earlierCienega phase times, Mabry (1998a:768) pointed to acombination of population pressure and the restrictionof mobility by surrounding groups. Such pressuresmay have been influential in limiting mobility to amore semi-sedentary way of life that was increasinglyreliant on irrigation agriculture, but their effects wereinsufficient to foster maintained aggregation and vil-lage formation at that time. The important point ofMabry’s comments—and those of Nelson (1990:159)and others (Cohen 1977:83; Cordell and Plog 1979:413)—is that external social processes that limit mobilitygenerate local social responses designed to maintain

access to necessary resources. This is the case whetherother groups are specifically limiting potential foragingor farming territory, or there is an internal choice tofocus on a new resource procurement strategy thatrequires exclusive access.

Small early canal systems in the Tucson area duringthe Cienega phase, and probably the Agua Calientephase, may never have lasted more than a few seasonsdue to flooding. Population mobility, and the ease withwhich new canals could be constructed—combinedwith potentially shifting floodplain conditions—mayhave limited the need, or desire, to establish stronglyexclusive land tenure systems. Therefore, the externalsocial processes affecting local populations in theCienega and Agua Caliente phase populations in theTucson area were probably insufficient to stimulateaggregation and agricultural expansion. The stimulusthat changed things—once other preconditions weremet (e.g., sufficient population, experience with irriga-tion agriculture, social mechanisms that fostered tem-porary aggregation, pottery storage and cooking abil-ity, and an ideology focused on maize agriculture)—may have been the combined introduction of moreproductive varieties of corn and new grinding andcooking techniques. It is difficult to know where itstarted, although we think the larger population levelsundoubtedly present in the Middle Gila and lower Saltareas point in that direction.

The Salt River Valley canal systems required sub-stantial labor pooling for construction and mainte-nance, and it is not difficult to see why aggregationcould have occurred there to enable their construction.Once constructed, an aggregated population may havebeen necessary to defend the canal and field system.Such labor pooling and aggregation may well have hada domino effect across the region. Better-organizedaggregated settlements, with highly productive agri-cultural land, would have been a significant threat toless-organized, small settlements. Alliances establishedamong aggregated settlements would have furtherstrengthened claim to the land.

MAINTAINED AGGREGATION AND THE ORIGINS OF VILLAGE LIFE

Social, ideological, and political consequences tomaintained aggregation, all of which leave traces in thearchaeological record of early villages in the Phoenixand Tucson areas, have been discussed. These can beclearly seen at Valencia Vieja and Snaketown. At thepoint of aggregation in the Valencia Vieja sequence,sometime around A.D. 475 to 500 (VV 2 or VV 3 in thesite sequence), we see the first evidence of a plaza,marked by the earliest of the excavated square struc-tures which faced onto it. Certainly by A.D. 550, the

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 387

plaza was in place, and a set of the large square struc-tures and associated support and residential facilitieswere constructed around it. The Snaketown plaza prob-ably dates to this early time as well, and despite incom-plete data, the site was probably comparable, althoughon a larger scale than Valencia Vieja.

The segmentary social units identified in this modelbear resemblances to what have been identified assupra-household units, or village segments, by someresearchers for Phoenix and Tucson area settlementsdating to the period from approximately 850 to 1050(Henderson 1986, 1987; Sires 1984; Wallace 1995a). Weappear to be witnessing the development of thesesocial units at Valencia Vieja, which later in time areinterpreted by many as corporate descent groups(Howard 1990:106; Howard and Cable 1988:856; Sires1984:533; Wallace 1995a:771-772).

The Valencia data lend credence to Cable andDoyel’s (1987:65) and Doyel’s (1991a) suggestion thatlarge square houses proximate to plazas mark a seg-mentary social structure. These were probably the resi-dences of lineage leaders, who cooperatively settleddisputes and organized and scheduled communal agri-cultural projects. The use of this same architecturalstyle8 for structures integrated into courtyard groups inresidential areas away from the plazas at Valencia Viejaand other sites, may mark heads-of-household resi-dences, or kin next in line for lineage leadership. Therelatively smaller size of these “secondary” squaredomiciles, when compared with those fronting theplaza at Valencia Vieja, supports this thought. Thissame square architectural style for structures used com-munally by lineages for storage and processing is a signthat the square four-post roof support style of architec-ture for the A.D. 550 to 650 span of time signifiedlineage identity, use, and power. The reduced size (andat Valencia Vieja, the shift in shape) of these domicilesover time, suggests the blatantly visible power andauthority vested in their occupants diffused or shifted,a result of developing social roles that cross-cut lineagelines.

The plaza, and the public secular and ritual activi-ties that occurred there, would have played an impor-tant role in this process. The shift from lineage leaderresidences large enough to house large gatherings, tomuch smaller residences, indicates decision making inthe community was shifting from a within-lineagefocus to a more corporate setting, symbolized by theplaza—a structure that cross-cuts lineages and bindsthem together. The plaza signifies social cohesion andvillage identity, and it provided a stage upon which

8We refer to it as a style here, because the four-post roofingarrangement would have generated a structure that lookedsubstantively different from structures having single-rowroof support systems.

community political and religious leaders could per-form (Adler 1989; Hegmon 1989; Rappaport 1968). Itprovided the initial mechanism for lineage integrationand helped foster rapid sociopolitical change.

The plaza was one piece of an ideological andpolitical package that appears to have spread through-out the region. Another piece is visible in the social sys-tem that placed lineage leaders together around theplaza, presumably symbolizing their more- or less-equal status and role as community leaders. How didthese leaders foster community identity, and how didthey maintain their power? Part of the answer can beseen within the plazas.

At Snaketown, 12 of the 13 secondary cremationburials assigned to the Vahki phase were found in theplaza (Murrieta 1999:48). As only a portion of the plazawas excavated, and given the difficulty in identifyingcontexts of this age, there were probably others. AtValencia Vieja, we think there was a cluster of second-ary cremation burials in the center of the plaza, al-though it is possible the unusual pits there were ritualcaches without interred human remains. (They mayhave served the same purpose, regardless of how muchbone was present or whether there was any bone atall.)

For both Snaketown and Valencia Vieja, the smallnumber of burials identified in the plazas would notrepresent the sum of all individuals who died fromA.D. 450 to 700; others were surely buried singly, or incemeteries that have gone largely undiscovered. Thescattered possible secondary cremation burial pits inresidential areas at Valencia Vieja point to small ceme-teries or isolated interments outside the plazas, sup-porting the idea that only a subset of the village’sinhabitants were interred (at least in part) within theplaza.

The use of a village plaza for human interment sig-nifies a separate meaning, status, and role for thoseinterred there. Regardless of their status in life, theburial of an individual in the communal plaza indicatesa status at death tied to the community. The center ofthe plaza is a highly visible location on a day-to-daybasis in village life, leading us to think the individualsinterred there were intended to be remembered andthought about on a daily basis. Those interred wouldhave become an important part of the communityidentity.

In preliterate societies, when most people areburied, within a few generations, both the individualand their gravesite are forgotten (Anderson 1986:182;Metcalf 1982:243; Middleton 1982:141-147). Those buriedin these early village plazas were meant to be remem-bered, or something about them was meant to beremembered. As noted by Helms (1998:51), with sed-entism, the past acquires depth and ancestral gene-alogies grow. The connections between the living and

388 Chapter 15

the ancestral are elaborated and are often used forpolitical purposes.

Of prime importance at a time of aggregation—suchas that occurring in the late fifth century—is the historygenerated by the residents who lived in the settlementsprior to aggregation, or that had primary access to thebest farmland. According to the cross-cultural researchof Helms (1998), it is the access to origins—the controlof who was first—that served to validate politicalauthority in cases such as this. As a political leader orshaman (which are sometimes one and the same),placing one’s ancestors in the central plaza was a meansto an end: it served to continually and visibly legiti-mate the leaders’ power through linkage to the villageancestors. Under these circumstances, a leader couldjust as easily disinter the partial remains of a glorifiedancestor, perhaps even one buried in another location,and reinter them with pomp and circumstance in thecenter of the plaza, thereby establishing prior rightsand power.

In the realm of political and ideological change, theshift to maintained aggregation, combined with sedent-ism, both created and required the development of astrong sense of place and ties to the land. Simplyexisting in one place creates family histories tied to aplace, but to maintain aggregation successfully, leadershad to foster the development of an ideological shiftthat tied what had been disparate corporate groupstogether and established ancestral ties to the land.

Though spatially separated in life in discrete supra-household units, interment of the important commu-nity persona from multiple lineages in the communalsetting of the plaza signified a community membershipthat superseded those of the individual lineage. Addi-tionally, the presence of secondary mortuary ritualswhich must have occurred given the public setting ofthe plaza interments—by themselves function to, “facil-itate participation in community events that cross-cutkin and household lines” (Kuijt 2000:144). Secondarymortuary ceremonies are high-profile public eventsthat have “social, political, and personal meanings”(Kuijt 2000:144). They are planned in advance, often bymultiple households, as part of a community event.

The sixth and seventh century occupation of Snake-town, Valencia Vieja, and other contemporary villageswas the first time secondary cremation burials occur inthe archaeological record of southern Arizona as an on-going common mode of interment. The practice wasreported, although not confirmed with unambiguouscontexts in the preceding Agua Caliente phase inTucson and in the Red Mountain phase in Phoenix(Mabry 2000). Particularly for Agua Caliente examples,cremations were probably intrusive from highly dis-turbed overlying Rincon phase occupations at the res-pective sites.

Although documented in a much earlier period oftime in the Point of Pines area (Haury 1957), primaryinhumation is the rule for most of the preceding EarlyAgricultural and earlier eras. These data support Kuijt’sobservations, indicating the practice was not widelyadopted prior to the development of settled villages.Kuijt (2000:45) also notes that secondary mortuarypractices, in which a portion of the skeleton is re-moved, “are often linked to broader beliefs in ancestorworship.”

This observation is supported by two independentlines of evidence. The first is the presence of the plazainterments. Such a placement, as already discussed,signifies ongoing communication and veneration of thedead. These are key components of ancestor worship.The second line of evidence comes from the small clayanthropomorphic figurines that commonly occur inrefuse contexts of this time period. The figurines areextremely abundant at Snaketown; less so at ValenciaVieja. According to a recent cross-cultural study byStinson (2002)9, their intentional breakage and mutila-tion, together with their recovery contexts, indicate afunction in ancestor worship.

Early figurines from Snaketown offer other impor-tant information. By at least the Estrella phase (A.D.650-675), there are figurines dressed as ballplayers(Haury 1976:265; Wilcox et al. 1981:61) a good 150 yearsbefore the first identifiable ballcourts were constructedin the Hohokam area (a date consistent with the earlyappearance of ballcourts in western Mexico). This sug-gests at least some type of ball game was played,probably in the village plazas. Some of the integrativefunctions often ascribed to the ball game in the postA.D. 800 period may have been functioning in the RedWare Horizon.

The residences of the lineage leaders bordering theplaza were occasionally used as staging areas for com-munity ritual performances, based on artifacts andremains found within them. At least some of theleaders, or other members of their lineages, were sha-mans that used these facilities during important cere-monies. This was not a new phenomenon. The socialunits that comprised Cienega and Agua Caliente phasesettlements (presumably lineages composed of actualand fictive kin) had shaman leaders, or multipleindividuals serving those roles, as noted above. Weexpect there was at least one, and perhaps several, bighouses in the pre-aggregation years at Valencia Vieja(approximately A.D. 425 to 500) that remain to bediscovered.

9Ancestor worship was taken for granted as an explanationfor the figurines by Wilcox and Sternberg (1983:229), butwith Stinson’s research, there are now supportive data forthe interpretation.

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 389

Shamanic practices are often difficult to documentarchaeologically. The presence of bone tubes, some ofwhich were elaborately incised, at Snaketown in con-texts dating to the period from A.D. 450 to 700, is there-fore of considerable interest. These were almost cer-tainly shaman’s equipment used either for sucking, incuring rituals (Haury 1976:304-305), or as snuff tubesfor ingesting hallucinogens (Lowell 1990).

Three lines of direct evidence pertain to specificceremonies performed at Valencia Vieja. The first isfrom the late seventh century lineage leader residenceson the eastern side of the plaza, both of which pro-duced aggregates of Typha (cattail) pollen. Typha pollenwas also recovered from lineage communal structures,and in low frequencies from earlier lineage leaderstructures, suggesting a general association with ritualstied to lineage and village leadership. Whether used aspaint or in some other form, Typha was probably sym-bolic of water or rain, and perhaps fertility and agri-cultural success. It is not difficult to imagine its role incommunity ceremonies that were linked to the expan-sion and maintenance of canal and field systems andthe harvests of crops.

A second clue about events in the plaza is from asmall pit, probably a secondary cremation deposit, lo-cated near the geographic center of the plaza. The de-posit was unusual in containing portions of twoelongate ceramic trays, but of particular interest in thissetting was the presence of saguaro pollen in one of thetrays. Saguaro pollen is deposited in archaeologicalcontexts within villages from the gathering of saguarofruit and the preparation of saguaro syrup and saguarowine (we doubt that any saguaros would have beennaturally present in the site area).

As the trays would not have been suited to storage,it is suggested they were used for serving saguaro wineduring a ceremony in the summer. Prehistoric produc-tion of saguaro wine has been inferred as the explana-tion for a series of pits on the margins of the Snaketownplaza (Haury 1976:156). The serving of saguaro winein historic times among the Tohono O’Odham wasassociated with one of the most important communalevents, the rainmaking ceremony (Underhill 1946),performed just prior to the summer rainy season. Sa-guaro wine was made from syrup, prepared by boilingdown saguaro fruit. It took several days and consider-able skill and effort to prepare, and its use for a mor-tuary ceremony would likely have been somethingplanned for skeletal remains that had already been cre-mated (possibly disinterring an individual or, if storedfrom previous cremation and kept unburied, placing aportion of the remains in the pit).

If the Valencia Vieja pit was a mortuary deposit, itmight signify an association of the individual with thecommunal rituals tied to the use of saguaro wine, or itmay be that the occasion of the wine-drinking cere-

mony was used as a public stage for ritual reburial tofurther strengthen power relationships, ties to the an-cestors, and to tie the ancestors of the village with theceremony involved.

A third indicator of rituals performed in the plazais from the cooking pits found around the margins ofthe plaza (Chapter 14, this volume). We think thesewere used in the preparation of special foods for cere-monies or public events.

There are remarkable similarities among the mate-rial and structural traits of the early villages discussedhere, and those from other times and places elsewherein the world, offering some support to the idea that thepoints of initial village formation lead to common be-havioral responses.

Drennen (1976) reports that figurines are present inpreceramic times in central Mexico, but they do notbecome commonplace until the appearance of seden-tary villages, paralleling the sequence described herefor southern Arizona. In Puerto Rico, early Saladoid10

culture villages are structurally very similar to Snake-town and Valencia Vieja, with a ring of residentialand refuse areas surrounding a central plaza, withinwhich a cemetery and a ballcourt are found (Curet1996; Siegel 1999). Siegel (1999:216) views Saladoid sitestructure as a physical model of the Native Americancosmos, with the plaza/cemetery representing “an axismundi, connecting together the various layers of thecosmos.”

The evidence for a specific cosmological interpreta-tion for early villages in southern Arizona is weak.However, we find parallels with Siegel’s interpreta-tions in that the concentric site structure evident atValencia Vieja—in which human interments or ritualcaches mark the center of a plaza surrounded byleaders’ houses, residential areas, and domestic refuse—is very likely to have been purposefully establishedwith a particular world view in mind. The consistencywith which villages dating slightly later (most of whichwere probably founded when Snaketown or ValenciaVieja were) in the ninth century have a central plazacontaining caches and burials, surrounded by a ring ofresidential areas and a ballcourt, reveals a consistenttemplate and a planned layout that were probablytied to a shared cosmology (Wilcox and Sternberg 1983).The evidence from Snaketown and Valencia Viejasuggest this mental template became integrated intosouthern Arizona populations in the sixth century afterChrist.

Strong similarities in architecture, items of materialculture, and village layout have been noted betweenValencia Vieja and Snaketown for the period from A.D.450 to 700, indicating similar belief systems and politi-cal organization. The use of identical architectural forms

10Not to be confused with “Salado.”

390 Chapter 15

is indicative of direct contact, an interpretation sup-ported by the presence of low frequencies of MiddleGila pottery imports at Valencia Vieja.

Based on the distribution of large square structures,we predict a similar pattern, with shared ideologicalunderpinnings, was widespread in the prime agricul-tural zones of central and southern Arizona, perhapsextending into northern Sonora, spread through cere-monial and exchange relationships founded on an ide-ology tied to maize agriculture and the integration ofaggregated populations. With the advent of villageformation around A.D. 500, the process of differentia-tion from surrounding regions accelerated over time.By the Plain Ware Horizon, there were differencesidentifiable between populations in the Mogollon high-lands and western New Mexico and populations insouthern Arizona. These differences became more pro-nounced during the Red Ware Horizon. Most notableare differences in site layout and residential and ritualarchitecture (c.f., Anyon and LeBlanc 1980).

Our model of early village formation in southernArizona has been largely discussed as an internal proc-ess, with little influence from other regions. This wasobviously not the case, and we do not mean to suggestthe region was isolated. Not only was there consider-able communication among population centers in south-ern and central Arizona, there must have also beenconsiderable communication over a wider region. Thepan-regional Western Archaic rock art style is oneindication of the scope and temporal depth of thisinteraction; the Red Ware Horizon marker—red warepottery—is another. Further, the Uto-Aztecan linguisticcorridor, extending far south into the northern portionsof Mesoamerica, points to connections to much higherpopulation levels and more sociopolitically complexcultures to the south.

Various authors have developed models of culturaldevelopment in southern Arizona that invoke direct orindirect contact, or even migration, from Mexico intosouthern Arizona (e.g., Di Peso 1956; Haury 1976;Wilcox 1987; Wilcox et al. 1981; Wilcox and Sternberg1983). These contacts may have been underestimated inrecent studies (but see Doyel 2000). Whether Meso-american contact transmitted cosmological informationinfluencing early village formation is unknown.

The most parsimonious explanation at this timeviews local village formation in southern Arizona as aregional process that may have been stimulated by theintroduction of flint corn and possibly flour corn var-ieties and the technology associated with them, alongwith possible ideological concepts that were subse-quently adapted to local circumstances. These earlyvillages, or those slightly later in time, do not appear tohave been rigidly planned, replicated units. Therefore,we do not see any evidence for a highly structured

cosmological perspective; nor are there indications ofstrong organizational structures beyond the level of thevillage or “community” (which might be composed ofmultiple villages).

Nevertheless, there probably was a sense of tribal orethnic identity that encompassed regions larger thanlocalized communities or community clusters. This iden-tity had probably been evolving since at least the latterportion of the Early Agricultural period, as populationsin optimal resource zones became increasingly tied tospecific locales. With more permanent ties to the landin the sixth century, ethnic/tribal distinctions wouldhave become increasingly pronounced and may havebeen actively promoted through interregional rivalriesin competitions during special gatherings. Even at thisearly point in the sequence, the Mesoamerican ball gamemay have played an important role in these events.

THE ORIGINS OF HOHOKAM CULTURE

With remarkably little evidence, the origins ofHohokam culture have been the subject of considerabledebate over the years. With the excavations at ValenciaVieja and our reconsideration of the Snaketown data,it is time to reconsider the issue using these data. Manyresearchers have noted strong similarities in the earliestceramic traditions across the Southwest (Feinman 1991:463; Gumerman 1991:13; Haury 1962; Heidke 1989a:82;LeBlanc 1982; Wilcox 1988:251). We, and others, seeevidence of coincident, widespread similarities in theadoption of certain architectural forms (especially largecommunal structures), artifact classes (especially axes),food preparation techniques and associated materialculture, and perhaps storage techniques and new cul-tigens (Doyel 1991a; Feinman 1991:463; Gumerman1991:13; LeBlanc 1982; Wilcox 1988:251). Whittlesey(1995) proposes calling this basal culture Ootam, rede-fining it from the model originally suggested by DiPeso. Doyel (1995:644) recommends waiting due toinsufficient evidence.

Cable and Doyel (1987:66) and Doyel (1991a:248)placed the transition to a recognizably distinct culturalentity at the beginning of the Snaketown phase (aroundA.D. 700 in the current chronology). Similarly, Wilcox(1988:251) stated that nothing identifiable as a "Ho-hokam" or "Mogollon" cultural identity emerged untilthe beginning of the Snaketown phase (see also Wilcox1979; Wilcox and Shenk 1977). He goes on to suggestthe Hohokam cultural identity only became firmlyestablished with the adoption of ballcourts and thecremation death ritual, involving the use of palettes,censers, carved shell, and other traits. He places theappearance of these traits in the mid-Colonial period ofthe Hohokam chronology. Wallace et al. (1995) concur

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 391

with Wilcox’s assessment, pointing to the evidence forthe very rapid and significant adoption of the culturaltraits most commonly associated with Hohokam cul-ture around A.D. 800. Like Wilcox, we believe it signalsthe adoption of a new religion or cult.

Doyel (1995) revisited the issue in his commentsregarding Wallace et al.’s (1995) views, correctly point-ing out that there is something of a definitional prob-lem here. If we are interested in the Hohokam regionalsystem (per Wilcox 1979), the Snaketown or Gila Buttephase would be the beginning. If we are interested ina distinct cultural identity, Doyel (1995: 644) places thestart “in the Vahki phase, if not earlier.”

The data from Valencia Vieja—when consideredwith our reevaluation of Snaketown and other sites—leads us to suggest a new perspective on the origins ofHohokam. We suggest the single most significant stepin cultural development in the region was the pointwhen maintained aggregation was initiated, and theideology that supported the construction of plaza-centric villages spread to populations living in optimalresource zones, where canal irrigation could be used tosupport aggregated populations.

This set of events, including the use of new foodpreparation technology and a probable increase in re-productive fertility and survivorship, stimulated thevarious sociopolitical and religious developments thatresulted in what has been variously called Hohokamculture or the Hohokam regional system. The structureof these early villages was distinct and unique from thestart, when compared with what is known for the nextmost similar region, the Mimbres area. Archaeologistshave not focused on this early point in the sequence,due to the limited data previously available from justone site, Snaketown. Confusion over the contexts anddating of the large square structures that are the hall-mark of the first century after village formation—com-bined with ceramic typological difficulties for the span—resulted in the tendency to overlook the significanceof the data available from other sites.

By choosing the point of maintained aggregationand early village formation as the best point to labelthe beginning of Hohokam culture, we are choosing amoment in cultural evolution that is less obvious andless flashy than the appearance of ballcourts. However,it is the most meaningful for what followed. A.D. 800remains the point in the local sequence when an ob-vious and unambiguous cultural tradition is visible.Based on the research presented here, however, it marksthe culmination of 300 years of sociopolitical and reli-gious development started in the Red Ware Horizon.

Doyel’s (1995:644) observation that the Hohokamregional system cannot be defined until the Snaketownor Gila Butte phases, should probably be reconsideredgiven the perspectives offered here. While the system

is unquestionably in place once ballcourts appear in theregion in the early ninth century (and contrary to somediscussions, they are widespread from that point on),we suspect it was already in place by the seventhcentury. The economic ties that are readily identifiedafter the appearance of ballcourts include crafts pro-duced by specialists—often at the level of villagespecialization (currently documented for pottery, tab-ular knife production, pigment processing, turquoisejewelry production, shell jewelry production, fiberprocessing, and cotton farming). Based on data fromValencia Vieja, some of these economic systems wereinitiated in the sixth and seventh centuries, includingshell bracelet manufacturing (Chapter 8, this volume)and turquoise jewelry production (Bernard-Shaw 1990).There are insufficient data to fully evaluate the eco-nomic interrelationships present; perhaps the best wayto view the regional system concept in the future is tofocus on the ideology and ritual patterns evident acrossthe region. We suspect they are the key to regionalrelationships.

These conclusions have a bearing on the way inwhich we use the chronological sequence as defined forthe region. The current period/phase sequence placesthe Tortolita phase in the Early Ceramic period andleaves the Hohokam Pioneer period to begin in theSnaketown phase. (It actually began in the Estrellaphase according to the most recent chronology [Mabry1998c:18]; however, as seen in Chapter 4, this volume,the Estrella and Sweetwater periods have been sub-sumed under the Tortolita phase now.) This implies theTortolita phase—like the Agua Caliente phase—fallsinto a proto-Hohokam span prior to the inception ofthe culture. We suggest (Chapter 4, this volume) theTortolita phase be included in the Pioneer period, justas the Vahki phase in the Phoenix Basin, should besimilarly assigned (as it was originally placed byHaury [1976]).

REGIONAL ISSUES

Although the Tortolita phase has only been definedin the Tucson area since 1990, and the Agua Calientephase since 1995, there is an amazing amount of in-formation that has accumulated for this early portionof Tucson’s prehistory. We now know how to find sitesof these time periods, and excavations have revealedinformation regarding site structure and settlementsystems. Figure 15.5 maps the locations of currentlyknown Tortolita phase sites. It is immediately apparentthey are distributed in a range of environments, in-cluding terraces overlooking optimal portions of riverfloodplains, canyon mouths, and on a mountain top.Even when located along the Santa Cruz River, they

392 Chapter 15

Figure 15.5. Map of the Tucson Basin and vicinity, showing known sites dating to the Agua Caliente and Tortolita phases andvillages suspected to have been founded in the Tortolita phase.

are in settings that would have necessitated differingagricultural strategies, as some areas were well-suitedto irrigation from river-fed canals; others may haveused river-fed canal irrigation, but also probably reliedon floodwater farming from secondary drainages. Inshort, many, if not all, of the agricultural and foragingstrategies used by the Tortolita phase inhabitants of theregion were the same as has been documented for laterportions of the local sequence.

Villages, Farmsteads, Fieldhouses, and Seasonal Camps

Although data are limited, there are indications ofboth a site hierarchy and multiple adaptations in theTortolita phase settlement system. Riverine villages, farm-steads, fieldhouses, possible seasonal camps, and hill-top retreats are present. We have already discussed vil-lages, such as Valencia Vieja, that are widely distributed

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 393

in the optimal areas along the stream courses. Based onthe limited data available, Punta de Agua (BB:13:16),Dakota Wash (AA:16:49), Julian Wash, Hodges (AA:12:18), Rabid Ruin (AA:12:42), Dairy (AA:12:285),Brickyard, Lonetree/Redtail, Romero, and Honeybee(BB:9:88) were all probably comparable villages andmany others are strong candidates such as MartinezHill (BB:13:7), Downtown (BB:13:9 and BB:13:13),Hardy (BB:9:14), Bosque (BB:14:22), and the BoxCanyon complex (BB:14:2 and BB:14:3).

Based on BB:13:223 and Houghton Road, there arealso fieldhouses and small farmsteads. BB:13:223 isparticularly interesting in this regard due to its proxim-ity to Valencia Vieja. The site, originally misidentifiedas Classic period in age, contained just two small,sequentially occupied, isolated structures (Downumand Dart 1986). Located 1.8 km north of Valencia Vieja,the site likely marks the existence of a canal and fieldplots extending at least that far north of Valencia Vieja.Fieldhouses such as this mark what may have been arelatively new adaptation in the region.

With aggregation, distances to fields increased, andfieldhouses became a practical solution. Silverbell Coach-line (AA:12:321) (Hartmann 1997), a small Tortolitaphase site with sequential single structures, may becomparable to BB:13:223. Silverbell Coachline is anoutlier to the Lonetree/Redtail Tortolita phase village(only a small portion of which was excavated) and canbe reasonably interpreted as a fieldhouse site utilizingthe resources of the rich lower bajada (suited to ak-chinfarming) and floodplain margins. A canal and fieldsystem in the nearby floodplain extending to Lonetreeis likely to have been present.

The relatively low density of features and moderatesize of the Houghton Road site (Ciolek-Torrello 1998)suggest it was probably not a village and could per-haps best be viewed as a small hamlet or farmstead.The site is reminiscent of earlier Cienega phase settle-ments along the Santa Cruz River, and we wonder ifsemi-sedentary adaptations continued into the Torto-lita phase in this portion of the Tucson Basin. It was anadaptation that may have continued in some areas,where resources were limited or subject to frequentchange throughout the prehistoric sequence.

Other types of sites are also present. Triangle Road(Wellman 1999) has every appearance of being a re-peatedly used seasonal camp, although this interpre-tation seems questionable when one considers itsproximity to the sizeable Honeybee Village. PerhapsHoneybee was also a seasonal occupation in the Tor-tolita phase (not enough has been excavated to tell), orperhaps Triangle Road was a short-term occupationsomehow related to Honeybee.

Sites in this upland setting that were dependant onak chin fields in secondary drainages would have beenat significant risk under drought conditions, and it is

expected that their occupation would have been, ofnecessity, less permanent than sites located alongperennially flowing streams. Triangle Road may havebeen a repeated-use site of limited duration. The pres-ence of at least three probable Agua Caliente structures(Features 3, 92, and 117) in the excavated sample, com-bined with superpositioning of structures, may indicateconsiderable time depth for the site—supporting thisinterpretation.

El Arbolito (EE:1:53) on the Santa Rita Mountainsbajada, occupied during the Tortolita phase, representsa clearly seasonal small-scale floodwater farming andpossible hunting camp (Huckell et al. 1987). The loca-tion was used intermittently during earlier and latertimes as well, suggesting a long-term recognition ofthis particular location on the landscape. Repeated useof such a locality supports the idea that logistical for-aging territories had become increasingly restrictedduring the Cienega and Agua Caliente phases.

Tumamoc Hill: Conflict in the Tortolita Phase?

All these sites and types of sites fit well into thesettlement systems that prevailed for at least 800 years.One site does not, however: Tumamoc Hill (AA: 16:6 ).Tumamoc Hill is a flat-topped, 228-m high outlier peakof the volcanic Tucson Mountains on the western edgeof the Santa Cruz River in central Tucson. Atop itsrelatively flat summit is one of the largest trincherassites in southern Arizona. Archaeological features areconcentrated at the summit of the hill and include mas-sive encircling walls and terraces, an elaborate trailsystem, small terraces, more than 125 circular-to-rec-tangular stone outlines, large numbers of bedrock mor-tars and metates, and an extensive array of petro-glyphs. The site is multicomponent, with a significantoccupation dating to the Cienega phase, a major Torto-lita phase occupation, and minor use through the restof the prehistoric and historic sequence.

The Cienega phase component is inadequately un-derstood, recognized primarily through abundant atlatldart points and a pit of unknown function (Fish, Fish,and Madsen 1986; personal communication, Paul andSuzanne Fish 2002). Based on the results of the recentexcavations in the sediment behind the largest of thewalls on the eastern slope, some, or all, of the massiverevetment-like walls that encircle the Tumamoc sum-mit wherever there is an easy approach may date to theCienega phase (personal communication, Paul Fish2002).

Of relevance here is the nature of the Tortolitaphase use of the summit. Based on excavations directedby Fish and Fish in 1985 (Fish, Fish, and Madsen 1986)and 1998 (Wallace et al. 2002), there were probablyover 200 relatively insubstantial pit dwellings at the

394 Chapter 15

Tumamoc summit, along with courtyards, refuse, andactivity areas. Some of these dwellings could date ear-lier than the Tortolita phase, although the summit arti-fact scatter indicates the Tortolita phase occupation waswidespread and probably comprises the majority ofvisible architectural remains. The excavated structuresappear to have been bent pole huts that were mudded;none had hearths. Some of the excavated structures weretrash filled, indicating sequential occupation.

There are two principle competing, but not mutu-ally exclusive, hypotheses currently in favor to ac-count for the Tortolita phase occupation of the Tuma-moc summit—both of which were outlined in Wallaceet al. (2002). Fish and Fish propose the site was a re-gional or subregional gathering spot for rituals, or thatit represented a uniquely adapted village with a specialsociopolitical role in the regional settlement system.Wallace supports a somewhat modified view of an oldhypothesis: that it was a defensive refuge inhabited bypeople from multiple villages during times of unrest.Some discussion of the issue is important here, forTumamoc must be explained if we are to ultimatelyunderstand the nature of Tortolita phase settlement.

A full complement of artifact classes and toolsindicate domestic use of the Tumamoc summit, al-though there are several oddities. A recent petro-graphic analysis of the pottery by James Heidke fromthe 1998 excavations revealed that it was different fromall other analyzed sites (Table 15.1). Heidke found noevidence for specialization in production of potteryduring the Tortolita phase. With the exception of Tuma-moc, each area was producing their own pottery oracquired it from a nearby source (Chapter 5, thisvolume). We take that to indicate formal inter-commu-nity economic relationships were not well establishedat this early point in village formation.

At Tumamoc, in contrast with the other examinedsites, pottery originated from many sources, without

the particularly strong emphasis on the source(s) in theimmediate vicinity (see Table 15.1). Therefore, eithermultiple social groups from different portions of theTucson area brought their pottery with them to theTumamoc summit (the signature obtained could havecome from a set of villages in the A-Mountain-to-Rillitoconfluence reach of the Santa Cruz), or the peopleresiding on the hill imported pottery from multiplesources for some unknown reason. The former positionwould be expected for the refuge hypothesis or for theuse of the hill as a ritual gathering spot, but would notsupport a single village use of the hilltop. The potteryimport hypothesis is more difficult to envision, butcould be a function of a ritual process. These data allowus to rule out the idea that a single village simplymoved on top of the hill.

Table 15.2 compares broad artifact class data amongTortolita phase sites and contexts with available data.Immediately apparent is the paucity of shell andground stone on Tumamoc. In many respects, the site’ssignature is similar to that of Houghton Road. Forshell, it is most similar to Houghton and Triangle Road,whereas for ground stone, it is most like Houghton andSilverbell Coachline. For flaked stone, it is most similarto Triangle Road.

These comparisons lead to several interpretations.The greatest similarities are with sites of limited oc-cupation duration or repeated use. This fits well withthe ephemeral architecture and lack of hearths, thatalso point toward short-term and/or repeated use.Tumamoc was probably not lived on for any extendedperiods of time. Given the structures, we could antici-pate weeks, but we doubt year-round use on a continu-ous basis. The sparse shell assemblage is particularlyinteresting as it is not what would be expected for a sitewith strong ritual or sociopolitical functions. Peoplewho were living on top of Tumamoc were not deckedout in their finest jewelry and decorated clothing.

Table 15.1. Tortolita phase temper provenance for sherds recovered from the 1998 excavations on Tumamoc Hill (AZ AA:16:6[ASM]). (Numbers are column percents of totals provided by ware [data provided by James Heidke].)

Temper Source Tortolita Red Plain Ware

Volcanic sands Beehive Petrofacies 18.8 38.7Twin Hills Petrofacies - 15.1Indeterminate volcanic source 9.4 5.4

Granitic sands Tortolita Petrofacies 9.4 5.4Indeterminate granitic source 43.8 21.5

Metamorphic sands Catalina Petrofacies - 2.2Indeterminate metamorphic source - 1.1

Granitic or metamorphic sand 9.4 7.5Indeterminate sand 9.4 2.2Crushed gneiss/schist temper - 1.1Total vessels 32 93

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 395

Tab

le 1

5.2.

Com

pari

son

of r

elat

ive

arti

fact

freq

uenc

ies

from

Tor

tolit

a ph

ase

site

s.

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mam

oc H

illT

rian

gle

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daV

alen

cia

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jaB

B:1

3:22

3L

onet

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Silv

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line

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ges

Hou

ghto

n

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ple

1999

Exc

avat

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ll E

xcav

ated

Con

text

s

Tot

als

from

19

97-1

998

E

xcav

atio

ns

Floo

r an

d F

loor

Fi

ll in

Fea

ture

s

1 an

d 4

;

C

ache

Pit

s

All

Exc

avat

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onte

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All

Exc

avat

edC

onte

xts

T

orto

lita

Pha

seD

epos

its

Fe

atu

res

5, 1

8,

139,

147

, 148

Ref

eren

ceW

alla

ce e

t al.

(200

2)W

ellm

an

(199

9)T

his

Stud

yD

ownu

m a

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1986

)B

erna

rd-S

haw

(199

0)H

artm

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(199

7)H

eid

ke e

t al.

(199

6)

Cio

lek-

Tor

rello

(199

8);

Art

hur

Vok

es (P

erso

nal

Com

mu

nica

tion

200

2)

Cou

nts

C

eram

ics

2,87

72,

525

15,9

8911

26,

392

271c

483

2,95

5Fl

aked

sto

ne93

477

99,

680

152

3,36

537

207

1,40

5G

roun

d s

tone

3022

143

012

152

449

38M

arin

e sh

ell

25

154

430

05

1

Com

pari

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3.1

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.71.

97.

30.

22.

1Fl

aked

sto

ne/G

roun

d s

tone

31.1

3.5

22.5

12.7

22.1

9.2

4.2

37.0

Cer

amic

s/G

roun

d s

tone

95.9

11.4

37.1

9.3

42.1

67.7

0.9

77.8

Cer

amic

s/Sh

ell

1,43

8.5

505.

010

3.8

28.0

213.

127

1.0

96.6

2,95

5.0

a Incl

udes

a p

roba

ble

Agu

a C

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nte

com

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nt.

b Incl

udes

som

e m

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ing

wit

h M

idd

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inco

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ount

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ts r

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in H

artm

ann

(199

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) as

sing

le c

ases

rat

her

than

mul

tipl

e sh

erd

s.

396 Chapter 15

Taken together, the data currently tend to offergreater support for the idea that Tumamoc was used asa short-term, repeated-use defensive retreat duringtimes of unrest, than for the idea that it was a special-function village. Although it cannot be ruled out, theredoes not appear to have been any public integrativefacilities as part of the Tortolita occupation—which isanother indication of the site’s temporary character. Italso indicates Tumamoc was probably not really avillage. Instead, it may be best viewed as a locale usedfor temporary aggregation in times of stress. Ceremo-nies were undoubtedly performed there as well, butthese were probably not the primary reason for utiliza-tion of the site.

This leads us to the inescapable conclusion thatconflict during the Tortolita phase was sufficient tocause significant population upheaval. Are there othersigns of warfare, or the threat of warfare, in the regionto support this conclusion? Maybe. Black Mountain,Blackstone, and Rillito Peak are similar sites that coulddate to the same time period (Wallace et al. 2002). Per-haps the strongest supportive evidence is the indicationthat the Red Ware Horizon is the point in the sequencewhen the bow and arrow first becomes widely used(personal communication, R. Jane Sliva 2002; see alsoChapter 7, this volume). It may have been present asearly as the Cienega phase in the Tucson area, althougharrow points were rare at that time. The rise of signi-ficant conflicts may have influenced the adoption ofmore efficient weaponry.

There are no obvious signs of warfare at ValenciaVieja, although aggregation could be viewed as a de-fensive strategy. Defense is perhaps best viewed forriverine sites like Valencia Vieja as just one of a numberof motivations for village formation; it was probablysecondary to the social processes involved. As popula-tions came to increasingly compete for the optimal landand established exclusionary systems of land tenure,conflict would be expected, particularly since larger-scale social integrative and conflict resolution mecha-nisms may not have been developed yet.

It is probably no coincidence that Tumamoc islocated adjacent to the best-watered and most-fertileportion of the Santa Cruz River valley. This is the areawhere the greatest conflicts might be expected. Thesame can also be said for the Black Mountain/SanXavier area (which is adjacent to Black Mountain, a sitesimilar to Tumamoc). If true, we know not all of theTucson Basin inhabitants crowded onto the Tumamocsummit. What did the rest of the population do? Wasaggregation a sufficient response for most populations?If there was conflict, who was at war? These questionscannot be answered with our current data, and it isclear additional work is required to fully address theissue.

Tucson Highlights

The fifth century after Christ was one of the mostdynamic times in the prehistory of southern Arizona.A host of villages were established on stable topo-graphic landforms, near areas where intensive agricul-tural practices could be expanded. Small-scale settlersjoined together to form sedentary villages focused oncentral plazas. These included many of the largest andlongest-lived settlements to have ever existed in theTucson area. Some of these communities thrived for800 years or more, something difficult to comprehendfor modern-day residents.

Given the widespread nature of the current settle-ment pattern evidence, we think it highly likely therewas at least one Tortolita phase founding village adja-cent to every portion of the Tucson area river flood-plains where irrigation agriculture was possible. Mostsites that contain sizeable Colonial period occupationappear to have been founded much earlier in the se-quence, and we suspect most of them were first settledin the Tortolita phase. Examples of some sites wheresuch an early component is expected, but not presentlydemonstrated, are: Boundary Village, Ortonville, Mar-tinez Hill/San Xavier, Downtown, Hardy, Bosque, theBox Canyon complex, and Cienega Creek (BB:9:143).

The settlement system established with the devel-opment of these early villages was similar to pointslater in the sequence, but the presence of TumamocHill and potentially other similar sites raises the specterof warfare that is not visible again in the sequence untilthe Classic period (Wallace and Doelle 2001). Does thismean there were peaceful times from A.D. 700 to 1150,the time between these points in the sequence? Basedon the cross-cultural studies of Ember and Ember(1990, 1992), Jorgensen (1980), Keeley (1996), and Otter-bein (1989), this would be exceedingly unlikely. Moreprobable is a change in the social response to warfarethat archaeologically masks its presence.

A possible explanation for this phenomenon is inthe unique cultural-historical setting of the Tortolitaphase. The early Tortolita phase—when populationsthroughout southern and central Arizona were estab-lishing more rigid and exclusive systems of land andresource tenure as a necessary adjunct to village for-mation and agricultural intensification—was ripe forconflict over critical resources that may have beenpreviously less rigidly controlled. Furthermore, withaggregation, new identities were being established,fostering social disjuncture, and potentially larger co-operative fighting forces were available. The evidencefrom artifact studies for the Tortolita phase revealsspecialization in the production of utilitarian and non-utilitarian goods may have been much more limitedthan was the case a few hundred years later. This is a

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 397

clue that the sociopolitical integration present later inthe sequence was still in its infancy.

Without strong regional or subregional sociopoli-tical ties among villages, and even within villages,organized responses to the threat of deadly conflictwere limited, perhaps making defensive refuges one ofthe most viable and practical options. The Mesoameri-can ballgame, modified for local consumption, mayhave been adopted at this time specifically in responseto the need for conflict resolution. Later in the se-quence, as villages became more formally interdepen-dent, conflicts may have been resolved through multi-village alliances and strong social controls on conflictresolution. Conflicts occurring that could not be settledmight have been more formalized, without large-scaleattacks or repeated raids.

In summary, we suggest village formation in theTortolita phase created the conditions for uncontrolledconflict and fostered its development due to limitationson sociopolitical integration during a period of rapidculture change. Later, conflicts continued to develop,even with new mechanisms for control and resolution;but, responses may have been more structured andformalized and may have involved smaller subsets ofthe population. With increased population levels overtime, and greater commitments to the built landscape,defensive refuges would have become increasinglyimpractical solutions.

EARLY HOHOKAM SOCIOPOLITICALEVOLUTION

The model of sociopolitical evolution presented forthe Tortolita phase placed lineage leader/shamanssquarely in front-center11 as the political/ritual author-ity from A.D. 500 to 650, when the large square struc-tures bordered the plazas. This was a transitory stagein the development of Hohokam society, however, andthe processes that led to the developments of the lateeighth century are the focus of this discussion.

Villages in the A.D. 500 to 650 period were morethan the sum of coalesced segmentary lineages. Lin-eages joined in the use of the central plaza and in theveneration of their ancestors, and they establishedhouses, lineage communal use facilities, and special-purpose dwellings designed to reflect the commitmentto being part of their village. Populations were notlarge at this time: in Tucson at Valencia Vieja therewere probably not much more than 100 people by A.D.650, at Snaketown, perhaps twice that (although that issheer speculation). Similarly, there were not many lin-eages or distinct corporate groups in any given village.This meant decision making could be achieved through

11. . . in square houses at the front of the residential zonesbordering the center plaza (how could we resist that one?).

consensus building among lineage leaders, who co-operatively used the plazas for public ceremonies de-signed to build community integration and maintainthe world order.

The shift to smaller, rectangular structures border-ing the Valencia Vieja plaza around A.D. 650, and thelack of evidence for such structures facing the plazaafter about A.D. 700 at Snaketown, leads us to believethat overt leadership functions were becoming lessfocused on lineage leaders. This was necessitated bytwo social processes: (1) scalar stress in decision mak-ing (per Johnson 1978, 1983, 1989), induced by increas-ing numbers of lineage or corporate group leaders whowanted a fair share of the pie; and (2) a developingceremonial and ideological belief system based oncooperative agricultural production and the need todevelop ties to neighboring villages for subsistencesecurity, economic interaction, and defense.

Not all villages were the size of Valencia Vieja, andValencia Vieja was probably no match for Snaketown.Therefore, a single uniform explanation of scalar stresscannot account for a systemic change among villagesthroughout the region. Given some evidence that sucha change did occur, the scalar stress argument is bestapplied as a potential motivation. That, in conjunctionwith other social processes, led a village or villages thatwere most impacted (i.e., were the largest and mostsubject to crucial decision making) to initiate changes.How this might have occurred can only be speculatedabout. It seems likely the changes were cloaked inshifting ceremonial and ideological belief systems.

We have already commented on the proclivities ofleaders early in the establishment of villages to drawfrom “the ancestors,”—be they real and buried there,or symbolically present12—to develop their power andto build a communal identity rooted in space. Withtime and generations of inhabitants and leaders, anideology based on communal relations, rather thanmainly internal lineage/corporate group relations, wasevolving. Populations were interacting on local, as wellas regional levels, and this interaction included thetransmittal of ideology, as well as material goods.

Mechanisms for interaction had been in place formillennia—witness the broad-scale regional similaritiesin iconography and atlatl point styles—but with theestablishment of exclusionary systems of land andresource tenure, new systems must have been evolv-ing. Where before, mobile groups may have gatheredin different places each year to reap the benefits ofharvests and resource abundances, and to exchangegoods and find mates, such gatherings must have be-come more planned and formalized over time in the

12This means it does not matter if there is actual bone in theplaza “burials” at Snaketown and Valencia Vieja—it is thepresence of something that can be used as a symbol of theancestors that is important.

398 Chapter 15

Red Ware Horizon. Further, the nature of the gather-ings would have changed over time due to evolvingsocial systems and shifting political and ritual roles andpower relations.

The open threat of warfare was potentially morecatastrophic for sedentary agriculturalists that relied ona limited resource base and could not readily move,than it was for semi-sedentary populations that had theready option to disperse and relocate. This would havebeen a strong incentive to develop modes of conflictresolution and alliance. The ball game, introduced fromnorthwestern Mexico, which we think was probablyplayed in the plazas, was one such solution. Othersinclude marriage alliances, ceremonies focused on inte-grated canal systems that were used by multiple vil-lages, and mortuary rituals.

The latter, mortuary ritual, has probably beenunderestimated in the archaeological literature for theinformation transmittal and cohesion it may havefostered. People die everywhere, and their social tiesform mosaics that interrelate and overlap villages andeven regions. We know Hohokam mortuary ceremo-nies were public events (this may not have been thecase prior to the Red Ware Horizon—or if so, to a lesserdegree). Therefore, it is reasonable to suppose that, astoday, people with close social ties would have at-tended funeral ceremonies. And as is the case in manysocieties, these events served several functions, not theleast of which was to bind people together through areaffirmed ideology and renewed social relationships.

We have briefly touched on the importance ofshamans in the early development of Hohokam society.Shifting mortuary practices—from more-or-less privateto blatantly public events, as seen in the Red WareHorizon—is a sign of the increasing power, and per-haps creation, of ritual specialists. Shamans wouldhave officiated such events, undoubtedly in conjunc-tion with the lineage leader involved, and theseoccasions could have been the stage upon which shift-ing ritual systems were played out. The emotionallycharged character of mortuary ceremonies, coupledwith their potentially broad audience, left them primetargets for increasingly elaborate ceremonies. Suchceremonies would have tied the individual who diedto the village ancestors.

The common Hohokam practice of breaking, muti-lating, and burning funerary and cache furniture,clearly seen in the Vahki phase cremation deposits atSnaketown (Sayles 1938:95), is a sign the includedgrave goods were not intended to accompany thedeceased into the afterlife, the most common interpre-tation of the role of burial furniture. Instead, suchintentional destruction (of both body—through inciner-ation and secondary interment—and grave goods)could be a sign the deceased and possessions from thepresent life were being stripped from the world of

separate lineages, and acquired powers and status. Inthe afterlife they joined with the common pool of vil-lage ancestors, where status and material wealth hadno meaning.

It is interesting that this ideological solution, basedon current evidence, spread through the region within100 years or so of the inception of settled village life. Itis not surprising, however, as it is probably only aslight shift away from the ideological perspectivepresent prior to aggregation. There have not beenenough burials excavated from this early era to speakwith confidence, but speculatively, we expect second-ary cremations will be found to be limited to the occu-pations dating after village aggregation.

We know that inhumation burial (usually flexedseated or on the side), was also practiced during theRed Mountain (Mabry 2000; Morris 1969) and Tortolitaphases (Bernard-Shaw 1990; Van Dyke et al. 1998). Wasthis prior to the development and spread of the up-dated ideology focused on plaza/communal ritual andnew roles for village shaman(s)? In a gross sense, thiswas probably the case. However, it is expected thatthere was a period of overlap, and it is possible thatonly a subset of the population—focused on commu-nity leaders and religious specialists—were crematedduring the seventh century. A change to nearly 100percent secondary cremation in the century or two afterthat may be a sign of strengthened community identity.

Drawing from similar mortuary data for the Hoho-kam Colonial and Sedentary periods at the site of LaCiudad/Los Solares (AZ T:12:37 [ASU]), McGuire(1987, 2001) suggested that a relatively strong egalitar-ian ethos dominated Hohokam ideology. He furthersuggested the mortuary ritual served to remove ac-quired status and roles from individuals, legitimizingan egalitarian world view and ensuring the social orderwas reproduced. This interpretation fits the mortuarydata, but we place greater emphasis on architecturaldiversity than McGuire does.

For the A.D. 500 to 700 span—with oversized orotherwise special architecture fronting the plazas atSnaketown and Valencia Vieja, and the use of gable-roofed square structures as markers of social status—we think there is ample evidence of social differenti-ation. The developing mortuary ceremonies themselvessignify the beginnings of institutionalized differencesin status accorded to ritual and political practitioners.Data from artifact studies support this interpretation.Turquoise mosaic manufacturing at Valencia Vieja wasidentified in one of the plaza-fronting structures, pos-sibly indicating use by higher-status individuals. Line-age leader houses and lineage storage structures werealso marked by a higher-than-expected frequency ofpigment-stained tools, presumably due to the use ofpigment as body or clothing paint for use in ritualcontexts.

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 399

Anthropologists now recognize that some degree ofinequality is present in even the most egalitarian soci-eties (Cashdan 1980; Flanagan 1989). In the Sonorandesert, farmland and water rights are inherently un-evenly distributed and were likely owned and inher-ited by lineages (see Mabry 1996a, for a cross-culturalcomparison). Some lineages were undoubtedly moreequal than others and, in life, some shamans andlineage heads would have been more powerful andinfluential than others. There was, however, most cer-tainly a balance involved (as no doubt envisioned byMcGuire). By keeping power dispersed among multi-ple lineages, the villages of this era served to regulateself-aggrandizement. Because this was only a minorincremental shift from the types of cooperation amonglineages that were, by necessity, present in the riverinesettlements of the Early Agricultural period and thePlain Ware Horizon, aggregation and village formationdid not result in immediate structural changes in de-cision making.

Change came with time and the communal need formechanisms of conflict resolution. As argued by Fein-man (1995), debating degrees of egalitarianism is likelyto be unproductive. Certainly more interesting insouthern Arizona is the identification and delineationof any potential paths to the institutionalization ofsocial inequality. Perhaps more important still is thedevelopment of models to describe and explain Hoho-kam sociopolitical evolution, based on the seeminglycontradictory published evidence. At issue are devel-opments much later in the local sequence: the appear-ance of platform mounds with residences on theirsummits, with little evidence for strong differences inmortuary treatment. We leave this later point in thesequence to future research. What can be offered hereis a glimpse of the events and adaptations that shapedthe early history of the region and led to those lateprehistoric developments.

If correct that there were significant inequities inRed Ware Horizon village life, we hasten to add thatMcGuire was probably right that mortuary ritualshelped maintain the social order. But the social orderwas changing, and by A.D. 700, the cooperative deci-sion making approach that had served in variouscapacities for a millennium or more was rapidly givingway to a new approach. We pointed to the shifting roleand increased power of shamans who officiated thevillage connection with the afterlife.

Another position of shifting and increasing powerwould have been the war shaman and war chief (oftenone and the same). With indications that warfare waspresent during the Tortolita phase, a village leader wasnecessary for coordinated planning and organization.Such a role was probably filled by separate lineageleaders prior to the development of aggregated vil-lages, but with village formation, a single village leader

may have been required. Among the historic TohonoO’Odham, there were specially assigned war leaders,in addition to shamans of different types, who helpedtrain and prepare young men for warfare (Underhill1939).

We theorized that the use of Tumamoc was the re-sponse of an ill-prepared society in the process ofevolving the social institutions that would make its useunnecessary. The corollary to this is that by the end ofthe Tortolita phase, those social institutions and theindividuals participating in them were in place. Keyshifts that must have occurred include the institution-alization of shamans in roles with power and authority,as well as the rise of supra-lineage leadership.

Shamans had always been capable of accumulatingwealth and power through their ties to the sacred andsupernatural and the willingness of people to pay fortheir services (e.g., see Underhill 1939:93). However,they also ran the risk of being branded as evil, andkilled or banished. With the shift to settled village lifeand agricultural intensification, shamans would havefound fertile ground for expansion of power and au-thority. Not only were conditions ripe and welcome forchanges that fostered community cohesion, but, withaggregation, they were able to play to larger audiences.

In some cases, community leadership may haveresided with a single individual who was both shamanand secular politician. However, in most cases, sepa-rate individuals were probably involved at this point inthe sequence. At the key point of managerial transitionin the late seventh and early eighth centuries, there wasalmost certainly a balance of power and communityroles between the shaman(s) and lineage leaders. Therise of supra-lineage leadership was the inevitable con-sequence of scalar stress and historical trajectories ofdifferential wealth management and self-aggrandize-ment by different lineages.

More importantly, it may have been coincident witha major expansion of the Phoenix Basin canal systems(Howard and Huckleberry 1991). Just as the expansionof canal systems influenced the course of sociopoliticaldevelopment in the Red Ware Horizon, this new phaseof expansion could have been the result, or the cause,of new leadership and organizational roles and theideological trappings that accompanied them.

We think it likely that one, or perhaps several,lineages developed over time to have larger pools oflabor (through reproductive success, marriage alli-ances, etc.), coupled with the most fertile farmland—thereby allowing the cultivation of stronger social ties.Whether these lineages produced a family memberwho took a leadership role, they probably held the truepower and authority. Social mechanisms reduced andcontrolled overt displays of wealth, and even of politi-cal power, but there can be no doubt they were anintegral part of the society.

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Demonstration of the shift in power relations toparticular corporate groups is seen at Snaketown, withthe construction and capping of Mound 40 (Haury1976:82) adjacent to the central plaza. Mound 40 marksthe first public architectural construction in the regionother than canals and plazas, and it is a strong clue thatthe transition to supra-lineage leadership had occurred.It also reveals the critical role public performanceplayed in the political process. In the last decade or soof the Snaketown phase (about A.D. 740 and 750), therewas a notable change in pottery design that occurredvery rapidly (Wallace 2001). This was probably not acoincidence, but rather a reflection of changes occur-ring elsewhere in the structure of Hohokam society.The shift marked the beginning of a short 50-yeartransition period in pottery design. More importantly,it marked the beginning of the terminus of a designstyle that had dominated the region for at least severalmillennia.

We commented earlier that the ball game, importedfrom northwestern Mexico, probably played an integralrole in the development of community identity andregional integration (as expounded on in detail byWilcox and Sternberg (1983). We see this occurring inplaza settings from the beginning of Red Ware Horizonvillages (as hinted at by Wilcox and Sternberg), basedon the presence of the probable ballplayer figurinesrecovered from Snaketown. If this is correct, it is onlyone part of an early trait complex that may have beeninfluenced by contacts with Mesoamerican cultures—including red-slipped pottery, quartered pottery de-signs, grooved axes, trough metates, new varieties ofmaize and perhaps beans and the knowledge of howto prepare them, and, of course, figurine styles (seeBraniff 1993:72) and perhaps some of the ideology thatwent with them.

Some of the shifts in shamanic power postulated forthe Red Ware Horizon may well have originated withindividuals who traveled to portions of western Mexicoto learn from ritual leaders there. In the period fromA.D. 600 to 700, northern Mesoamerica underwent mas-sive change. Dissident factions from Teotihuacan weredispersing and forming new petty states on the mar-gins of the previous empire. In the northwestern Mexi-can highlands, Alta Vista and La Quemada came to begreat regional centers (personal communication, BenNelson 2002). In coastal Nayarit, Sinaloa, and southernSonora, there were large concentrations of populationwith large villages, and at least by A.D. 700-800, therewere anomalously large settlements with mounds andballcourts, not unlike some of what we see in southernArizona (personal communication, Ben Nelson 2002).Given material culture traits that are shared with earlyHohokam developments, such as shell bracelets,similar figurines, and effigy vessels, there can be littledoubt there was contact among the regions.

Traveling to acquire power is very common, eth-nographically (Helms 1979, 1988). Helms documentsnumerous ethnographic examples of shamans andshaman-chiefs traveling to distant areas to acquireknowledge and to return to their native lands withincreased power and prestige (and often token artifactsthat display their status). Wallace (1998), followingWilcox and Sternberg (1983:43), explored this possibil-ity in the historic and ethnographic data of the Piman-speakers of southern Arizona, finding abundant evi-dence to support its significance in the region. Theacquisition of esoteric knowledge from "foreign" landsand cultures by those in leadership roles (or that wouldbe in leadership roles) points to a powerful mechanismfor the transmission of ideas and symbols of eliteauthority.

This idea is not new to the archaeology of southernArizona. The pochteca models of Di Peso (1968), DiPeso et al. (1974), and Kelly (1963) can be viewed underthis banner. However, Helms’ studies indicate a poch-teca model in which Mesoamerican itinerate traders/spies traveled about and reported back to Meso-american states to the south, is but one possibility. Amore parsimonious explanation is that individuals fromsouthern Arizona traveled south (although we do notrule out occasional contacts from long-distance Meso-american travelers—the occasional burials recoveredin the region with filed and polished teeth are almostcertainly travelers from central or western Mexico[Regan et al. 1996]).

Wallace’s (1998) formulation, and that of Wilcoxand Sternberg (1983), were focused on the dramaticcultural developments of the Colonial period. Here, wesuggest the roots of these developments originated ina pattern of contact initiated as the roles and powerrelations of shamans and lineage leaders were shiftingduring the Red Ware Horizon. A pre-ninth centuryorigin for these contacts is supported by similarities indesign styles on Chalchihuites pottery from the Mal-paso Valley in Zacatecas, predating that time periodthat have not been widely recognized before now13.The possibility of cosmologically inspired orientationsof lineage leader/shaman structures at Snaketown—something not seen at Valencia Vieja—could be a signthat Mesoamerican contacts and influences were strong-est for settlements in the Phoenix area (perhaps a func-tion of higher population densities?).

These perspectives on sociopolitical developmentduring the Pioneer period are similar to those proposedby Wilcox et al. (1981:204-205) in their seminal work.We differ from them in the particulars of timing ofsome events, in proposing more detailed mechanisms

13Whether this will pan out is unknown, but the work ofNelson and Crider (2001) may provide new insights in thisregard.

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 401

Figure 15.6. Map showing Valencia Vieja (AZ BB:13:15 [ASM]) and the portionof the Valencia site where Snaketown and Tortolita phase ceramics have beenrecovered from surface collections.

for change, and in being willing to acceptsegmentation for smaller populationsthan Wilcox and others’ cited limits fromthe work of Forge.

There are also similarities in our for-mulation to the work of Doyel (1991a)and Cable and Doyel (1987), upon whichit builds. There again, with new data, wehave reformulated models and ideas tofit new information about the timing andcharacter of the changes that transpired.The precise timing of certain events re-mains to be adequately demonstrated.For example, the sequence of canal con-struction and system expansion is stillinadequately documented. Nevertheless,the social consequences of maintainedaggregation and sedentism are becomingclearer.

Packing Up and Moving On

Near the end of the eighth century,after 275 years of continuous occupation,the residents of Valencia Vieja packed uptheir belongings, leaving only worn outor worthless goods (and a few forgottenimplements), set fire to their old dwell-ings, and moved, never to live there again.The move was clearly planned, as evi-denced by the lack of material goods left.The lack of heavy, difficult-to-carry items,such as large pots and metates, indicatesa move close by. The destruction of thedwellings by fire indicates there was nointent to return.

With the Valencia site only a fewhundred meters to the south, with anoccupation that began in the late Torto-lita phase or Snaketown phase, it is reasonable tosuppose the Valencia Vieja population simply movedto that location. Support for that idea comes from thestructure and size of the early occupation at the Valen-cia site. As seen in Figure 15.6, there is at least one earlyplaza comparable in size to the one at Vieja. Whymove? In this, we can only speculate. One possibility isthat Valencia Vieja had grown too large for its location,tucked in between two washes. Additional public spacemay have been desired. There is much more room at theValencia site locality, as it has a significantly largerterrace.

The Valencia site appears to have had two plazas,based on surface contours and artifact densities (Elsonand Doelle 1986:26). Both contained cremated humanbone on the surface (Elson and Doelle 1986:79) and

may have been used for communal cemeteries. Bothwere also surrounded by Snaketown phase ceramics,indicating possible early use (see Figure 15.6). In otherwords, they appear to have been replicated social units.

In scale, the distribution of early ceramics at theValencia site (see Figure 15.6) approximates the fullsize of Valencia Vieja—if trash deposits on the perime-ter are included. Therefore, at least at first glance—des-pite possible structural differences (the addition of anextra plaza)—there is a good match between the twosites. If correct in that assessment, and in the interpreta-tion of two plazas, there is the implication that whenthe residents of Valencia Vieja moved, it fissioned intotwo social units, each establishing their own plaza-focused neighborhood. This raises some interestingquestions.

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Considering Valencia Vieja in isolation, the supra-village segment structure of the site can simply beconsidered a village, but what about the Valencia siteand its possible dual plazas? If there are dual coevalplazas at the Valencia site, our current classificatoryscheme lacks a designation for plaza-focused corporategroups. Their potential significance to the prehistory ofthe region is great and should not be overlooked. If weare correct in their identification, these hypotheticallarge social units, called plaza groups here, are assumedto represent large corporate descent groups, as indi-cated by the plaza mortuary evidence from Snaketown.Comprised of aggregated lineages who share a com-mon identity and ancestral “home,” plaza groupswould be expected to act as a unit. Therefore, it is notsurprising to see them aggregate at a site like theValencia site. This paper does not extend beyond A.D.800, but we note here the integration of these large,potentially divergent, social units may have been oneof the initial functions of the religious movementsweeping through the region around A.D. 800.

It would be interesting to know how plaza groupsdiffered in community labor pooling, ownership offarmland, access to water and other resources, andother aspects of day-to-day life. Most authors view vil-lage segments as kin-based descent groups (see Wal-lace 1995a:771-772, for a recent summary). What is thesocial correlate of a plaza group? Theoretically, therecould be three, four, or perhaps more of these units atthe largest villages in the Phoenix area.

We do not know how these units are linked to ball-courts after A.D. 800, and what it means when thereare multiple courts. At the Valencia site, it is notablethat the ballcourt was situated exactly between the twoplaza groups, on the western margin of the anticipatedcore residential zones. This implies the Valencia courtwas intended to integrate the two plaza groups andthat neither had exclusive control or access to it.

An ethnographic perspective on village segmenta-tion is provided by Underhill (1939:44) for historicTohono O’Odham villages. “An old village was largerand contained more unrelated families but it wasgenerally segmented into groups of kin who continuedto build houses near each other and to unite for worksharing, almost as though they were a separate village”(see also comments in Sires 1984:532-533). Underhillseems to be discussing what we have labeled “villagesegments” in this study. Jones (1969) discusses “villagecomplexes” among the Tohono O’odham, but publicfacilities do not seem to be replicated within them, andthere are no indications of an equivalent sociostructuralunit comparable to the plaza groups discussed here.

After the inhabitants of Valencia Vieja moved toValencia, the old village remained almost untouched,except a few possible fieldhouses dating to the Rinconand Tanque Verde phases. The process of abandonment

and the lack of subsequent occupation is instructive.Burning the houses as they left the village rituallyclosed the settlement’s doors. This was a clear signalthe village was shut down for habitation. However, thesite remained in the collective memory of the newvillage, for it was left virtually untouched for hundredsof years, even though other terraces around it wereused for Rincon phase occupation. This may be a signthe site retained some of the significance it hadachieved through ancestor worship early in its history.

The metate found in the fill of one of the plaza-facing rectangular structures at Valencia Vieja mayrelate to ceremonies performed after the populationmoved away. We think it likely that Vieja became anancestral site, visited for ceremonial purposes (seeJones 1969, for Tohono O’Odham examples). The cen-tral plaza, visible long after abandonment due to thenatural topography of the area, might have beendesignated a sacred area that was not to be touched.

The Foundations of a New Religion

The revised formulation of early Hohokam socio-political development presented here places the mo-mentous events of the late eighth century in a clearerand more explicable context. Wallace et al. (1995) pro-posed that a trait complex, including ballcourts, anelaborate mortuary ritual, and a drastic shift in theiconography visible on pottery and rock art, appearedvery rapidly, around A.D. 800, marking the inceptionand spread of a new religion or cult. The general ideaof a cult or new religious ideology had been previouslyproposed by Wilcox (1987, 1991) and Doyel (1994:14).Wallace et al. (1995) discovered the changes occurredmuch more rapidly than had previously been sup-posed.

The rapid appearance and spread of a new ideol-ogy, particularly a religious ideology, is usually indica-tive of the rise of a charismatic leader or leaders. Wal-lace (1998) detailed one way in which such an eventcan occur. He found that a shaman’s role in society isstructured by historical and cultural circumstances; therole expands and contracts according to factors imping-ing on the social organization of the group (Langdon1985, 1992:15).

This is perhaps best exemplified by the variouswell-reported millenarian movements (also called mes-sianic movements or nativistic movements) initiatedby shamans in societies as diverse as the Wakuénai inthe northwestern Amazon Basin of South America andthe Shawnee of eastern Indiana14. In these cases, sha-mans, or sometimes individuals who would become

14Dozens of other well-documented cases are found in theliterature; see Lewis (1991) for some examples.

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 403

shamans, experience particularly dramatic and life-altering revelations, often during trance-like or coma-tose episodes (e.g., Lewis 1991; Wright and Hill 1992).These revelations or prophecies come at times ofdrastic social unrest in the shaman’s culture, and thevisions typically result in teachings that are intended toeither return the culture to a prior, less troubled con-dition, or to lead to adaptations to a new social order.The shamans involved become charismatic leaders andoften, ultimately martyrs, upon their death.

In these rather extreme examples, shamans whohad little or no cultural influence and power prior totheir "revelations," assumed powerful new roles, basedon personal charisma and a powerful new beliefsystem that spoke to current societal needs or desires 15.Was there a period of social unrest that might havespawned such a response in the Hohokam area? Itseems reasonable that our search should focus on thePhoenix area, given indications it was the source ofchanges in iconography and the dispersal of ballcourts(Wallace et al. 1995:607-608).

Various social factors might have been involved,such as immigration, tensions regarding land tenureand canal expansion, and so forth—none of which wecan reasonably argue with certainty. We can, however,scientifically evaluate rainfall and mean annual dis-charges for the Salt and Gila rivers, thanks to the extra-ordinary record compiled by Graybill et al. (2001). Theperiod from A.D. 728 to 749, along the Middle Gila,was characterized by extreme flooding, alternatingwith extremely low annual discharges. A.D. 749 hadthe highest-magnitude flows in the 1,455-year recordfor the Gila River (nine times higher than the long-termmean) (Craig 2001:134; Graybill et al. 2001). Not longafter, in A.D. 803-805, the lower Salt River experiencedmassive annual discharges (Graybill et al. 2001). Inboth cases, there were undoubtedly disruptions incanal systems that required rebuilding on a large-scale,as well as the possibility of serious famine.

Hardship on the Salt would have strained popula-tions along the Middle Gila, and vice versa, for thetwo were economically and socially interwoven popu-lation centers. This socioeconomic relationship proba-bly evolved, to some degree, because the two riversbehave differently from one another due to differentweather patterns affecting their headwaters and trib-utary drainages (Graybill et al. 2001). Therefore, theinitial blow of the A.D. 728 to 749 period along theGila—which must have rippled through the region—was followed within recent collective memory by theevents of A.D. 803-805 along the lower Salt.

15See Schachner (2001) for a recent similar perspective ondramatic culture change in the Pueblo 1 period of thenorthern San Juan region.

These large-scale events that had the potential ofinducing starvation and forcing large-scale publicworks projects to repair damaged canal systems, werepresaged in A.D. 736 and 797 by solar eclipses (Masse1997). Dramatic astronomical events, as Masse pointsout, may have had profound effects on the develop-ment of cosmological perspectives of local populations,as has been documented in living cultures. The coinci-dent timing of such events with natural disasters suchas those documented by Graybill et al. (2001) on theSalt and Gila, may have had particularly powerful ef-fects. Masse (1997) suggests the construction of ball-courts, which in Mesoamerica are tied to solar andastronomical symbolism, might have occurred as adirect result of the attempts by the Hohokam to pre-vent a recurrence of the eclipses and the devastationthat followed. True or not, we concur the timing ofthese events is significant and probably played a role inthe development of the new religious ideology and allof the accouterments that accompanied it.

In summary, there are identifiable stimuli andmechanisms for the rise of a charismatic shaman leaderor leaders sometime around A.D. 800, who initiated anew ideology that transformed the Hohokam regionand set it apart from its neighbors. All the prerequisiteswere there: shamans and secular leaders who werealready becoming more powerful; ongoing contactwith more complex societies in western Mexico, thatwere also undergoing change at this time; a relativelylarge, aggregated, and rapidly growing population thathad become highly dependant on intensive agriculturalproduction; and a series of astronomical omens andsubsequent natural disasters.

CONCLUDING REMARKS

The prevailing view of Hohokam cultural develop-ment up to the past decade has been one of continualgradual slow growth and change, a position cham-pioned by Haury (1938, 1976, 1987, 1991). Such anapproach is easily taken when phase lengths spancenturies and data that link traits to one another areunavailable (Wallace et al. 1995). As was the case in thebiological sciences, Eldridge and Gould’s (1972) modelof punctuated equilibrium left an impression on archa-eologists (albeit after a decade or so), and gradualistictheories are now routinely questioned. Punctuated equi-librium, as applied to archaeology, predicts that mostchange will occur rapidly, with long periods of stasisinterspersed.

In many respects, archaeologists have dealt withobjects of study affected by the same issues as paleon-tologists: long spans of the prehistoric record are ex-amined with a relatively course brush, making fine

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distinctions difficult. This means that even when dras-tic changes occur, they can be obscured by poor tempo-ral resolution. Wallace et al. (1995), using a refinedchronology, made this argument in support of theirmodel postulating rapid culture change around A.D.800, the point at which we end this report. However,the punctuated equilibrium model also finds supportearlier in the sequence, based on the results of this in-vestigation.

When viewed from afar, the pace of change inmaterial culture traits in southern and central Arizona,would be seen as a logarithmic curve, beginning withbarely perceptible change, building slowly at first, butby the time of the first villages like Valencia Vieja, thepace was building rapidly. Through the magnifyinglens of the present study, we see several key points ofchange. The punctuated equilibrium model predictsstasis between these key points in the sequence. Butsocial systems are not biological systems, and changeis documented between points of change. To apply themodel to the archaeological record, one must be willingto allow a few concessions.

The first key change was the shift in settlementlocations along the Santa Cruz River through the Tuc-son Basin, from floodplain to second terrace settings.Shortly thereafter, the first villages were established,defined by sedentism with logistical foraging, main-tained aggregation, and the construction of plazas.Concurrent events included the probable introductionof flint, and possibly flour maize varieties and the foodprocessing and cooking implements to go along withthem, and the widespread adoption of the bow and ar-row.

We think these traits were accompanied by newideas that were incorporated in a shifting ideology. Inmany respects, these were probably the most momen-tous changes to have ever occurred in the prehistory ofthe region; certainly they had the greatest long-termimpacts. Thereafter, a sequence of relatively rapidlyevolving changes occurred, with the next major socio-political event being the shift in visible authority fromlineage leaders to political and ritual specialists some-time around A.D. 700 to 725, followed by the drasticideological shift around A.D. 800.

The model of sociopolitical change developed hereviews the populations inhabiting southern and centralArizona as socially interconnected and interdependent,with a legacy of broad regional interaction and popula-tion mobility (see Henderson 1992; Whittlesey et al.1994; Wills and Huckell 1994). It is a largely evolution-ary model, with no direct large-scale role assigned toimmigration of foreign cultures. What is present, andprobably significant in interregional terms, were influ-ences from the more complex societies of westernMexico. The clues seen are directly tied to the ritualand social organization of Hohokam society: things like

the ball game, possibly the plaza-centric structure ofearly villages, and figurine and ceramic decorativestyles. If the mechanism of western Mexican trait intro-duction rests in the travels of shamans and would-beleaders, we suggest the roles of shamanism and sha-manic leaders in the evolution of Hohokam society hasbeen underinvestigated and requires additional work.

We place the origin of Hohokam culture with theinception of settled village life, sometime around A.D.500, in the Tucson Basin. Prior to that time, it does notmake sense, with current data, to distinguish amongthe populations inhabiting the southern SouthwesternUnited States. Culture labels have always been a prob-lem, and they are particularly nasty for the early endsof their sequences. We see no reason to discuss “Mogo-llon” versus “Hohokam” and so forth for this early era,as the labels seem to have more to say about individualresearchers than about the archaeological remainsrecovered.

If our interpretations of settlement organization anddevelopment at Valencia Vieja are correct16, severalmisconceptions are clarified and questions answered.The confusing data from Snaketown comes into muchsharper focus now. Haury excavated a number of smallstructures dating to the A.D. 450 to 700 time span, andit is clear the oversize P-4 Vahki structures were notisolated. This was recognized by Cable and Doyel(1985) some time ago, but it is only with this study thatsome of the probable structure of the settlement hasbeen revealed, albeit as a working hypothesis. Simi-larly, the seemingly contradictory data on large squareP-3, P-7, and P-4 structures—found in both communal/ritual contexts and typical residential settings—cannow be explicated by reference to lineage social struc-ture (Chapter 14, this volume).

Large square structures are seen in this study asmarkers of social status and the identification of par-ticular lineages. Contrary to McGuire (1987, 2001),these structures and the small special-function struc-tures that accompany them, would have been obtrusiveand clear-cut indications of status for those dwellingwithin them. As detailed in Chapter 14 (this volume),we think lineages (at the beginning, probably smallextended families) were an integral part of the compo-sition of the site from the time it was founded. Thesesocial units, representing social descent groups, grewand developed, and by about A.D. 550, had established

16We assume Valencia Vieja is representative of villages in theA.D. 500 to 700 period in the Phoenix and Tucson areas fortwo reasons. First, the structure of the site of Snaketown, aspresently understood, is similar. Second, a plaza-focusedsite structure has now been documented on dozens ofsurveyed and excavated sites, with components dating tothe Colonial period, supporting origins in the A.D. 500 to700 period.

Valencia Vieja and the Origins of Hohokam Culture 405

delineated village segments—much earlier in the se-quence and with lower population levels than antici-pated by some researchers (Wilcox et al. 1981:204-205).

These village segments were very different fromthose documented later in the sequence at sites such asLos Morteros (AZ AA:12:57 [ASM]) (Wallace 1995a)and La Ciudad/Los Solares (Henderson 1987). At leastsome of the differences, as traced in Chapter 14 (thisvolume), are tied to the strong social focus on lineagesegments in the Tortolita phase. In this, we refer to theplaza-focused lineage leader structures, the special-usestructures that accompany them, and the lineage com-munal-use facilities. In addition, the village segmentsat Valencia Vieja are more tightly packed and struc-tured, to some degree, in a concentric fashion out fromthe plaza. The only thing directly comparable to laterpoints in the sequence are courtyard groups, markingwhat are interpreted as the locations of individualfamilies. We do not currently know if there were ceme-teries17 associated with each village segment at Valen-cia Vieja as seen at Los Morteros and La Ciudad.

The social changes and developments in villageorganization postulated in this report would not haveoccurred evenly across southern and central Arizona,although changes may have affected all populationcenters to at least some degree. Shifts in land tenure,for example, probably occurred very rapidly over abroad area, in conjunction with a subset of the popula-tions who established sedentary villages. Specific envi-ronmental characteristics may have slowed develop-ments in areas of marginal agricultural productivity.Therefore, we do not anticipate an evenly distributedRed Ware Horizon adaptation. We do, however, expecta relatively even distribution in the optimal zones forirrigation agriculture along southern and central Ari-zona stream courses.

17“Cemetery” may be a misnomer for the clusters of smallsecondary deposits of bone present, when most such de-posits represent only a small portion of the individualsinterred.

Valencia Vieja is a remarkable site. Resting almostcompletely hidden under a virtually undisturbed ter-race overlooking the Santa Cruz River, no one guessedits significance or magnitude prior to Huckell’s 1992backhoe testing program. It offers several lessons toarchaeologists working in the region. First, it warns usto not make assumptions regarding site size or signifi-cance from light surface scatters of Red Ware Horizonpottery. Second, it points to the significance of centralplazas in early villages. Future investigators shouldcarefully excavate plazas, searching for specializedactivity surfaces (that might indicate ball game sur-faces; the surfaces of the Valencia plaza had been re-moved through erosion), cemeteries, and cache pits.Special attention should be paid to excavating themargins of plazas to search for lineage leader resi-dences and their adjunct facilities. Finally, the site dem-onstrates the importance of large-scale excavation touncover settlement structure. To delineate patterns ofsociopolitical development, windows into settlementstructure larger than a single courtyard or two arerequired.

We have undoubtedly failed to recognize many ofthe lessons and stories Valencia Vieja has to tell us, andwe could not write about all of those we thought ofalong the way. There will be future investigations atthis ancient village. We hope that our investigations,interpretations, and speculations will aid those whogo back for a second look. We leave the reader withone thought regarding the history and prehistory ofthe Tucson area as we now know it. In the course ofculture histories, there are points of no return, whenhuman decision making forever alters the landscapeand the course of human events. Valencia Vieja offersa glimpse into one of these events in the history of theSouthwest: the time when semi-mobile populationsaggregated on terraces above river floodplains, estab-lishing the first villages. It is a key point in the develop-ment of cultures of any time and place. Has our culturepassed such a point of no return in recent years and, ifso, where are we headed?