JOURNAL
Spring 2004
A park near my home has been the focus of efforts to preserve natural and historical resources in the Sacramento region. Steep inclines, large groupings of jagged boulders, a broad watershed and thick groves of native oaks—features that hinder construction—give this increasingly rare section its beauty and conceal its secrets.
Evidence indicates that for centuries, humans have settled in this little foothill valley to escape the blistering summer heat of the open plain and the chilling snows higher up in the Sierras.
Last summer, a rock with cupules (little holes that look like bowling ball holes) allowed itself to be discovered. Apparently cupules are the most ancient existing form of rock art and this particular rock art may have endured the seasons of 2,000 to 10,000 years. Relatively little is known about cupules except that they were likely connected to religious or coming of age ceremonies as rocks are believed to hold memories well.
Recently cupule use as directional markers has also been explored (possibly relating to the sun or the moon). Apparently cupule rocks in this region may have functioned as a type of calendar. Every morning for a month, the sun was charted as rising in alignment with a series of holes on a large rock within a few miles of the park.
According to some reports, cupule rocks found in a line along the foothills were used for signaling as they ring “just like a bell”.
Although local tribes do not currently incorporate cupules into their customs, several tribes throughout California still use them for a variety of ceremonial purposes.
The idea that the cupule holes recently discovered could be directional seemed likely as the holes appear to point in a northerly direction. The North Star was a likely candidate as a target and, although my husband has a definite aversion to sticker weeds in his socks, he escorted me to the rock around the time of the Winter Solstice. The holes did not point at the North Star, but slightly to the right if I remember correctly. (Analyzing the moon will be the focus of a future outing.)
The Vernal Equinox drew me to the park early one spring morning and since no one offered to accompany me, I braved the wilds alone. Light from the east indicated that the sun would come up too far to the south for any alignment, but the morning was fresh and I went exploring the game trails lacing dark paths through moisture on the grass. The sun was edging close to the far hill so I sat down behind a rock and waited. Every tiny feature surrounding the rock: moss, cobwebs, grass, dirt instantly became charged with brilliant yellow and white, forming a bristling outline of the entire stone. Each blade of grass in the meadow beyond the rock was covered with sparkling droplets and tiny prisms glittered from the ends of oak leaves. A week later a neighbor near the park reported seeing a mountain lion in her back yard the same weekend I saw the lights on the grass.
The park is fascinating because it is so rich in relatively undisturbed natural and cultural resources. Many native plants and animals have survived because until the past few years the entire development including the park belonged to an area that was formerly one of the largest cattle ranches in America.
One evening, while seated safely in my car seeking inspiration for a series of paintings, a large coyote trotted casually out from the oak canopy searching for an evening meal. I was reminded of Annie Dillard who wondered in Pilgrim at Tinker’s Creek if the animals knew she was watching and simply went about their business anyway. The coyote wandered quite close to the car and off again, probably up to the cliffs where neighbors up on the hillside told me a pack lived.
My son reported seeing a large, white owl fly for several blocks directly in front of his car on several evenings as he drove next to the park.
I got a call one evening and raced the next morning in a panic to the park. City officials and a very accommodating supervisor stopped construction for a few hours to allow a native representative to check for grinding stones, rock art and any other features that might lie in the path of a new bike path. Enormous boulders and a huge snake had the misfortune of meeting the bulldozers carving a highway-sized swath through the woodland.
A few local and regional natives have spoken on behalf of the development’s vanishing resources but precious little is understood even by native descendants.
The series of paintings about the park (done according to the Fibonacci series for good luck), is titled, “Spirit Dance.” My idea is to capture the park the way it is now in an effort to address the distant past that seems so present, so vibrant and so fragile.