Aboriginal Remains in Verde Valley, Arizona: Thirteenth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology to the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, 1891-92, Government Printing Office, Washington, 1896, pages 179-262

In Short

This report serves as a foundational archaeological survey of the Verde Valley in Arizona, documenting the remnants of ancient Puebloan life. By cataloging diverse structural types—from hilltop stone fortresses and cavate lodges carved into canyon walls to expansive, long-abandoned irrigation systems—it reconstructs the daily existence and eventual migration of these early inhabitants. Written with a blend of meticulous technical observation and cultural synthesis, it remains a vital record of the region’s pre-colonial landscape, preserving the physical evidence of a civilization that moved through the valley in cycles of settlement, conflict, and departure.

The Story

The narrative begins with an exploration of the Verde Valley’s geography, establishing the essential link between the ancient inhabitants and the land. These people were farmers, and their choices of where to build were dictated almost entirely by the proximity of tillable soil and water. As the study moves through the valley, the reader encounters a sequence of domestic architecture, starting with the small, scattered ruins on the river bottoms and moving toward the more complex, defensive stone villages perched on high ground. These larger settlements, often containing central courts, suggest a society that gradually shifted from disparate agrarian family groups to more unified, fortified communities under the pressure of external threats or internal social strife.

The investigation then transitions from the surface to the vertical, examining the thousands of "cavate lodges"—dwellings hollowed into the soft rock of canyon walls. These structures represent a distinct architectural adaptation, featuring interior storage cists and narrow, specialized doorways designed to balance warmth with the intake of supplies. By analyzing the masonry and the layout of these lodges, the text draws parallels to other known Puebloan sites in the Southwest, suggesting a shared heritage among diverse groups.

As the argument deepens, the focus shifts to the engineering feats of the valley’s past: the extensive irrigation ditches and horticultural works that spanned miles of terrace. These features provide a map of the ancient economy, revealing that communal labor was once required to sustain the population. However, the author notes that such interdependence often breeds discord. The final chapters synthesize these findings into a broader historical hypothesis. The evidence—the abandonment of fields, the clustering of defensive sites, and the oral tradition of the Pat-ki-nyû-mû (the Water House people)—points to a steady southward migration. The valley was not a permanent home, but rather a temporary waystation. The people eventually gathered into larger, more defensible villages before either being absorbed into southern populations or moving on entirely. The account concludes with a reflection on the "short occupancy" of these sites, arguing that the archaeological record—lacking the signs of long-term organic growth found in modern pueblos—supports a model of a mobile society that moved en masse, leaving behind stone shells that serve as a quiet testament to their transient presence.

How It Unfolds

The regional survey The study establishes the physical landscape of the Verde Valley, framing the relationship between the availability of arable river-bottom land and the placement of ancestral villages. It sets the stage by identifying the primary classes of ruins: stone villages, cavate lodges, bowlder-marked sites, and ancient irrigation networks.

The architecture of necessity Detailed examinations of stone masonry and room layouts reveal how practical constraints, such as the availability of roofing timber, forced inhabitants to build rectangular rooms of specific dimensions. The text analyzes the evolution of these spaces, noting how early, open settlements eventually gave way to fortified, rectangular complexes built for security.

The vertical world The focus shifts to the cavate lodges carved into canyon cliffs, detailing the intricate system of rooms and storage nooks. This section compares these dwellings to similar sites in the San Juan region, highlighting the uniform, specialized design of their doorways.

The logic of the land The analysis moves to the valley's irrigation systems, identifying the remains of ditches and reservoirs that once supported large-scale agriculture. The author uses these features to argue that the intensity of land use likely led to the social competition that eventually forced the inhabitants to abandon the area.

The cycle of migration The conclusion synthesizes the physical evidence with indigenous traditions, proposing that the valley was occupied in a series of migrations. The author posits that the villagers moved southward, congregating for survival before ultimately departing, leaving behind a history written in stone and earth.

The People

The central figures are the anonymous "ancient pueblo builders," whose collective choices drive the history of the valley. Driven by the fundamental need for water and security, these farmers are not described as static, but as a mobile, adaptive society. Their struggle manifests in the physical transition from open, unprotected homes on the valley floor to the defensive, high-walled stone villages that dominate the landscape. They are a people in flux, defined by their labor in the fields and their ability to engineer complex irrigation systems that eventually outgrew the stability of their own social order.

Alongside these builders, the text introduces the Pat-ki-nyû-mû, or the "Water House" people, through the lens of a traditional narrative recounted by the chief Anawita. Their oral history provides the emotional and mythological core of the book, detailing a catastrophic flood and a divine intervention that forced their ancestors to leave their ancestral "Red Land." This tradition acts as a counterpoint to the dry archaeological data, humanizing the cold facts of migration with tales of internal strife and the search for a new home. Together, these groups represent the human element of the ruins, transforming the valley from a collection of sites into a living history of exodus.

In Its Own Voice

We did not come direct to this region (Tusayan)--we had no fixed intention as to where we should go.

The chief Anawita explains the nomadic nature of his people’s ancestral migration.

The causes which have induced American settlement in the large area of bottom land about Verde doubtless also induced the aboriginal settlement of the same region.

The author draws a parallel between modern settlers and the ancient inhabitants, noting that both were drawn to the same fertile river basins.

It is difficult otherwise to understand the location of this cluster of rooms, for they command no outlook over tillable land, although the view up and down the river is extensive.

The author highlights the strategic, defensive nature of specific stone villages that seem otherwise divorced from agricultural necessity.

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book is an inquiry into the mechanics of societal mobility and the environmental limits of civilization. It explores how the landscape dictates the survival of a population, arguing that agriculture, while foundational, creates a dependency that ultimately forces a community to choose between constant conflict or total abandonment. The work challenges the notion that these ruins represent a long, static period of habitation, instead proposing a model of rapid, cyclical turnover. It asks how a culture maintains its identity while constantly moving, and how the physical "shell" of a village—its masonry and its irrigation ditches—can tell the story of a people's collective ambitions and their eventual, inevitable departure.

Why Read It Today

Readers with a fascination for the American Southwest or an interest in the history of archaeology will find this book deeply rewarding. It offers a rare, ground-level perspective from the 1890s, capturing a time when these sites were still relatively undisturbed and being meticulously documented for the first time. The prose is clear and observational, devoid of modern academic jargon, though readers should be prepared for the earnest, sometimes rigid, classification systems favored by the era’s ethnologists.

What stays with you is the haunting sense of scale. Through precise measurements of stone walls and descriptions of abandoned ditches, the author reconstructs a world that vanished long ago, leaving the reader to contemplate the transience of human settlement. While the book contains the period-typical attitudes of its time—and its technical diagrams require some patience to parse—it succeeds in making the silent, sun-baked landscape of the Verde Valley speak. It is an honest, unvarnished look at the physical record of the past, perfect for anyone who wants to see the desert not as a void, but as a site of profound human history. It feels like walking through the ruins alongside the author, learning to read the clues left in the dust.