Notes from my Knapsack 7-29-21 [revised]

Notes from my Knapsack 7-29-21 [revised]

Jeff Gill

Munson Springs flows with local history

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A tract of land north of the intersection of Newark-Granville Road and Cherry Valley Road is rich with history. We've seen new development nearby, but along with the Great Lawn of the Bryn Du Mansion, it's one of the last open stretches open for preservation on our village's eastern gateway, and there's reason to consider our doing so.

Full disclosure: I have been part of the discovery of this historical narrative, and I confess to some personal interest in how more people can become aware of what a hinge of history that intersection is, and can be. When I first moved to Licking County in August of 1989, I came with an archaeology degree in my background, and arrived just in time to attend a conference held by the Licking County Archaeology and Landmarks Society (LCALS), with speakers from National Geographic, Ohio State's faculty, and scholars from around the country.

That event got me introduced to Paul Hooge, the founder and executive director of LCALS, which had been doing summer field seasons with different archaeology programs including Ohio State on what was known as the Murphy tract. Soon I'd end up on the board of LCALS, but it was only a few weeks later I'd be invited to come help with the last day of that field season, which was going to be some site clean-up and the grunt work of backfilling and closing down a site for the winter.

There was snow in the air and a frost already on the ground when I showed up, and Paul introduced me to someone who would become a lifelong friend, Brad Lepper. He and I were assigned to cleaning off the sides of a unit dug to one side of a trench through a mound, near what was already being called the Munson Springs, named for the farmstead at the heart of the Murphy tract. The house and barns still stood where now is the Glen at Erinwood, east of Jones Road on the north side of Newark-Granville Road.

In another year, the Murphys would close down our work, and begin their intended development; along with facilitating some truly important archaeological digs, they helped with preserving the historic Munson home, which was moved a half mile east and across the road to become the core of the new Welsh Hills School. But the Munson Springs site had been given another year of work because in the previous year's site closure, an excavator had found a fluted point in the side of the trench.

Fluted points are relatively rare, and almost never found "in situ," in the ground. Often in Licking or Coshocton Counties they can be found in plowed fields after rains, knocked about and not necessarily located where they were deposited. They date to the first human occupation of this area, 10-13,000 years ago, just after the last glaciers retreated north. Paleoindian hunters sought out mastodons and mammoths, elk and caribou, and of course deer, using wood and stone tools, the flint projectile points on their speartips carefully crafted with a characteristic fluting flake off the base.

There are very few "in situ" fluted point finds in Ohio: one within today's village limits, at the Munson Springs site. I had the pleasure of finding a few more pieces of worked flint nearby in those last seasons, the fall of 1989 and summer 1990. And Brad gave me the chance to write up a site report with him in 1991, my first "professional" publication, on the Munson Springs Site. Thirty years ago now seems like a long time ago, but the story we told then was about how people have lived and worked in Granville for over 10,000 years, and known it as a good place to be.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he finds scraping and sifting soil to be therapeutic under the right circumstances. Tell him how you relax at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 7-24-21

Faith Works 7-24-21

Jeff Gill

When Jesus is enough

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While this column has been intended from its outset to be aimed at anyone interested in how faith gives shape to our lives and actions, how "faith works," it's only honest for your columnist to admit he comes at this from a Christian perspective.

I believe the Christian witness is true, even if there may be particular points of application where other Christians and I do not entirely agree.

So I have been talking this summer about a concept that has more church context than everyday usage, with the word "stewardship." I can extend my context to Judeo-Christian in pulling in the Genesis witness to what God is up to in creation, and how both Jews and Christians — along with many others, to be sure — understand that we have not just been given this world to use and abuse, but to tend and care for: stewards of creation.

Some look at those same Biblical texts and put the weight a bit more towards dominion and domination than others of us would, but the context of having a divinely mandated responsibility for how we care for creation in whole and of its parts is pretty clear. We are stewards, caretakers for a time, of a lasting cosmos around us. Humans may have levels of thought and reason and responsibility that are different than those of ocelots and armadillos, but we're also part of the whole even as we're particularly obligated to care for the whole.

There are those who interpret that stewardship call on humanity to mean we should be vegetarians, others who say we should be sparing in our eating of meat, and some would just say stewardship means being mindful of what meat-eating says about our place in the larger plan. Like I said, there are divergences in application when we talk about stewardship. I heard a very useful sermon in seminary, as I prepared for parish ministry, entitled "Do shepherds eat mutton?" It's an interesting question to reflect on, not just about dinner entrees.

But my own Christian orientation takes me to a perspective I like to sum up, like that sermon title, a great deal of consideration in just a few words of reflection: Jesus is enough.

Saying "Jesus is enough" is a limiting principle that doesn't lend itself as well as I might like to a newspaper column. It works out in the living of it, by using the person and place of Jesus as a yardstick, a unit of measure, a ruler (in more ways than one!) for knowing where "enough" is.

But I think I can say to you all here that the starting point, for anyone, Christian or not, is to admit there are limits. Necessary and absolute limits. I am not eternal. I am not infinite. I am not everything. If I'm none of those things, then I have limits I need to respect.

Yes, there are human imposed limits on people that are wrong, even evil — discrimination, stereotypes, racism and bigotry, sexism and stigma — which we need to overcome at times. This, for me, is where Jesus comes in as a crowbar as well as a master key, but to say "I'm more than you think I am" is still not adding up to "therefore I am everything."

And where I believe faith is at odds with the spirit of our age: as a Christian, I find myself ruefully shaking my head at "I can do anything" let alone "I can have everything." I would argue that hunger for more, more, more can be traced back to a concept we shorthand as "sin." We can't have everything, and we shouldn't. Often wanting more is just a fig leaf for wanting it all, and I don't believe we can have that.

If in Jesus, through him, we have everything we need, then I don't need everything. And perhaps I can even find my way to knowing what is enough. And enough is usually a bit less than what I want.

How much is enough? Stay tuned: it's a long summer!

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's still working on knowing how much is enough. Tell him how you've got it figured out at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.