Black Star Canyon's Indigenous Village Site - Puhú and Pamajam – a Brief Sketch
Puhú and Pamajam – a Brief Sketch
Upper Black Star Canyon is a well-known location of an Indigenous village site. The site is indicated by dozens of bedrock mortars, which were used to grind foodstuff and pigments. The area has become more frequently visited in recent years due to the exploding popularity of the nearby Black Star Canyon Falls (this isn’t all bad, shout out to the fruit guy who hooked me up at the trailhead after a long slog down a very wet canyon on a hot day). Online map platforms such as Google Maps also mark the village site, making it a destination for outdoor enthusiasts. Increased traffic and at least one documented incident of vandalism calls for a discussion about how to best protect the area and its cultural resources. The purpose of this article is to sketch the history of the village, which is now possible in greater detail than ever before due to the efforts of archeologist Nate Acebo. His research and discoveries can now be contextualized within the context of other historical evidence.
Black Star Canyon Falls. A gorgeous waterfall that has, in recent years, become an extremely popular hiking and canyoneering destination. The popularity of the site prompts a discussion - we want to encourage people to go outdoors and enjoy natural spaces, but we don’t want these spaces to be vandalized and overused to the point of degradation to the site. Ultimately, we should all strive for future generations to also be able to spend time in, and learn from, our natural spaces.
Puhú and Pamajam
The village and its environs have been utilized and inhabited by Indigenous peoples for thousands of years. By the time of the historical period (1769 and after) the village was named Puhú and the valley above it Pamajam. The village name “Puhú” combines two indigenous words - “his/her [pu] arrow place [hú].” The word “Pamajam” means “spring-watered meadow on top,” referring to the relatively lush bowl of Hidden Ranch and the grass-lined watercourse high in the mountains in upper Black Star Canyon. A perennial spring is located where the valley of Pamajam drains into the narrows of the canyon, just below the village site.
The reference to “arrow” in Puhú’s name is appropriate given the high density of arrow and dart points found during archaeological excavations. Besides their utility in hunting, these points were highly valued as trade items and also held spiritual significance. While most of the studied points can be categorized as the Cottonwood Triangular type, which are common in the Los Angeles Basin, others are of styles stretching from the Great Basin to the lower Colorado River and Sonora. The area also abounds in chamise ('ó'ut in the Acjachemen language - from here on in the article the Acjachemen word will be indicated in parentheses after the word in English), which was used to make the arrow foreshaft.
Archaeological excavations have also uncovered several other artifacts that connect Puhú to an extensive trade network. Olivella shell beads found at the site originated from the Santa Barbara area. Soapstone tools and implements were sourced from Santa Catalina Island. Obsidian tools and projectile points came primarily from Obsidian Butte near the Salton Sea, with some older specimens originating in the Coso Range in the southern Owens Valley. Asphaltum was also found on basket fragments that might have been sourced in the hills above today’s Brea.
The material culture of Puhú suggests that the village was geographically situated as an intermediate conduit for marine resources to be traded inland while arrow points, obsidian, and other inland resources could be traded to communities along the coast. Materials from inland areas were traded over the Cajon and San Gorgonio Passes down the Santa Ana River to the Corona area. From there, the Santa Ana Mountains and their lower foothills to the north, the Chino Hills, form a barrier separating these inland areas from the ocean. Indigenous trails followed the ridgelines southwest of Corona up to the main divide of the Santa Ana Mountains and thence to Pamajam. Travelers along this route were rewarded with a dramatic and expansive view beyond the green or brown coastal plain to the broad blue Pacific and some of the Channel Islands, dominated by Santa Catalina Island. In this context, Pamajam was not only a center of marine and inland environments geographically, but also served as a spiritual center, with its vistas inspiring a silent meditative reflection that contrasted with the protected and bountiful valley below.
From Pamajam, goods were carried down Black Star or Fremont Canyons to Santiago Canyon where they could be dispersed over the small pass to Aliso Canyon to today’s southern Orange County, over Peter’s Canyon to the Newport Beach area, or down Santiago to the lower Santa Ana River. Even today, this route is followed by passenger jets coming from the east and landing at John Wayne Airport, which are often visible flying above upper Black Star Canyon.
The ethnic identity of the people of Puhú was diverse, including a blend of Acjachemen, Serrano, and, possibly, Tongva influences. During the Spanish era, the most common village linked to Puhú via marriage was Guaromo, which was located along the Santa Ana River near Norco. This supports the hypothesis that these villages were conduits for trading items to and from Cajon and San Gorgonio Passes. To the east of Puhú, along the highest ridge of the Santa Ana Mountains connecting Sierra Peak with Hagador and Pleasants Peaks, was a territorial boundary with Paxavxa, which was centered in the Temescal Valley below and connected to villages in the Lake Elsinore area. To the south of Puhú was a myriad of trails connecting to other village territories such as Alauna in Trabuco Canyon. To the west-northwest there was seemingly a contentious boundary with the village territory of Hutuuknga, which was more deeply connected to villages to the west in the San Gabriel River area. That said, the relationship between villages undoubtedly changed throughout time and people from all of the surrounding villages would have likely visited the site due to its importance in trade.
This map shows village territories surrounding the Pamajam area. The line marked in red was one of the trails over the Santa Ana Mountains from inland areas to routes connected to the sea.
The people of the Pamajam area processed foodstuffs or pigments in the bedrock mortars (toopal) using a hand-sized rock called a mano (yóxxala). Mortars were property of specific clans and were sometimes decorated with various adornments such as outlining chestnut cowrie shells (ṣi’valam). The mortars were primarily used by women and were a center of a social space where they could work and talk. In the center of the village site today is an arrangement of mortars in a quadrilateral where workers could face each other. Like communities today, however, some women preferred to work in smaller groups or alone, which is suggested by mortars located away from the central area.
The people of Puhú ate a variety of foods. A popular dish was acorn mush (wiiwech) which was processed from acorns (xeext) from the surrounding oaks (wa’áaṣal) in fall. They also gathered and consumed chia (paaṣal), black sage seeds (qáanvat), and elderberries (kuut), among other foods, and used various plants for medicine, including white sage (qaasal) and soaproot (aqxáawt). They hunted rabbits (toovtam) and deer (ṣuukt) and also encountered mountain lions (tukkut) and bears (junut). They followed established trails (lowwaq) around the area, especially down to the creek (waních or paana).
The site was also utilized for religious and social ceremonies. These included the annual Pames ceremony that took place over a series of days and nights. The ceremony promoted social dedication to the village and concluded with the killing of an eagle or other large bird in order to free its spirit. The feathers from the bird were used to make the garments worn by the village leader. Other ceremonies were performed for a variety of social events, including coming of age, mourning those who had died, dances in preparation for hunts, transitions in the time of the year to gather various food stuffs, and many others. Tribal knowledge relating to creation, the first earth beings (the Kaamalam), the origins of all things on Earth, the rise and fall of Wiyot (whose death introduced death into the world), and the reverence for the deity Chinigchinich, was preserved through these feasts and dances. During each ceremony the people performed a variety of songs and coordinated dances, often over a period of days. These cultural events were deeply embedded in the people's way of life and demonstrated the cohesion between their social, cultural, and spiritual world views.
Acjachemen, Serrano, and Tongva villages were thriving places. What remains at Puhú and Pamajam is but a small part of a rich material culture. (Courtesy Phil Brigandi)
Historical Period (1769 and after)
Spain established a permanent colonial presence in California starting in 1769. Thereafter, missionaries would travel to villages in an attempt to convert the village leaders and their people into Spanish Catholics. Pamajam was broadly considered among the colonists to be within the territory of Mission San Gabriel (established in 1771) and Mission San Juan Capistrano (established in 1776). The people from Puhú and Pamajam were recorded in the missions’ baptismal records under variants of the name “Paimavit,” with the suffix -vit meaning “a person from” and “Paima” referring to “Pamajam.” While it is impossible to identify and differentiate all of the variants with other villages that had similar names, an attempt was made by the author that resulted in the following table tallying the number of baptisms from Pamajam each year.
The most notable period of baptisms occurred between 1809-1814, with a peak in 1811. While the exact reason so many people from Pamajam were baptized during these years has been hitherto unknown, historical evidence suggests two proximate causes. The first was the establishment of Rancho Santiago de Santa Ana, the first private rancho [non-mission] established in today’s Orange County and located down Santiago Creek from Pamajam. The rancho likely impacted Indigenous trade and social cohesion between the coast and inland. One of the rancho’s owners, José Antonio Yorba I, seems to have integrated himself into the trade network, even soliciting Indigenous labor to acquire otter hides that he sold for large amounts of money in 1806-1807, and likely beyond. The second cause was a major planned revolt by primarily Serrano peoples against Mission San Gabriel in November, 1810. An estimated one thousand Serranos with allies including people from the Colorado and Mojave deserts got within five or six miles of the mission before being made aware of military reinforcements from the pueblo of Los Angeles, causing them to retreat. While the reason behind the planned revolt is unknown, Father José María de Zalvidea of Mission San Gabriel had moved to establish outposts for stock raising and agricultural developments into Serrano territory around this time. One of these outposts was apparently established in 1810 at Politana, near present-day Colton, in the San Bernardino Valley. Such an outpost would have impacted the trade funnel connecting the Cajon and/or San Gorgonio Pass down the Santa Ana River shed south-southwest to the conduit towards the sea at Puhú in Pamajam. It’s also possible that the missionaries were deliberately missionizing in the region stretching from the passes to Puhú in Pamajam throughout 1808-1810, disrupting the region’s social and economic framework, leading to the planned revolt.
The missionaries did not generally understand nor concern themselves with the severity of disruption missionizing efforts had on Indigenous communities. Their theological perspective oriented moral actions towards conversion and ensuring the missions could sustain their congregations. Their investigations of the planned revolt suggested that baptized Indigenous peoples at the mission were leaving the mission as runaways (the Spanish term was cimarones) and cohorting with Serranos, Mojaves, and other peoples in the surrounding region to steal horses from the mission and trade them across the southwest. Since this was detrimental to the mission’s economic stability, the missionaries interpreted the people taking the horses as immoral thieves.
A broader effort following the planned revolt of 1810 was made to convert the village territories in the funnel stretching from the Cajon and San Gorgonio Passes to Pamajam. This effort served several purposes for the missionaries. It led to more conversions, which served their theological purpose, reduced the ability of Indigenous peoples to work together to take mission livestock, and opened new regions for the mission to develop. In this context, if any missionary physically travelled to Pamajam, it was likely Father Zalvidea or Father José de Miguel of Mission San Gabriel sometime between 1808-1811. After portions of the village decided to be baptized and live at the mission, there was added pressure on those who remained to do the same.
Mission records indicate connections between the villages marked in red. People from this association of villages were baptized at Mission San Juan Capistrano (yellow dot) in 1812). This map was adapted from one on display at Mission San Gabriel.
In 1811 more than five hundred individuals were baptized at Mission San Gabriel from the region involved in the planned revolt, including dozens of people from Pamajam as well as its closest neighbor, Guaromo, which was located on the Santa Ana River near Corona. In February and March 1812, one hundred seventy more were baptized at Mission San Juan Capistrano from the villages of Pamajam, Guaromo, Wapijanga, and Anonga. The missionary recording some of these baptisms indicated that they had all come as a group, suggesting that these four villages were closely associated with each other. As mentioned, Guaromo was located along the Santa Ana River near Corona while Wapijanga and Anonga were located along the Temescal, Cucamonga, and/or San Antonio Creek watersheds. This association of villages demonstrates the northeast-to-sourhwest funnel of villages suggesting trade with Serrano and Mojave peoples through Cajon Pass and possibly southward up the Temescal Valley.
A sample of the baptisms of individuals from Puhu and Pamajam at Mission San Gabriel on April 18, 1811. Male-Female pairs were usually married. Notice that almost all of this sample includes adults.
One of the couples from Pamajam baptized at Mission San Juan Capistrano in February, 1812, was Cuinágerainat (Estaban) (SJC Baptism #3205) and his wife Jápaíním (Eladia) (SJC Baptism #3238). While we don’t know the details, their story helps paint a picture of how missions affected the lives of the Indigenous peoples. They were part of a group of twelve people from Pamajam baptized at Mission San Juan Capistrano in early 1812. Forty-eight of their fellow villagers had been baptized at Mission San Gabriel the year before. Why were they baptized at different missions? Was this an administrative decision on the part of the missionaries? Were there family dynamics within the village that prompted splitting up the two groups? Why did they agree to enter the mission? How did their lives change after entering the mission?
It seems Jápaíním may have taken her cooking skills from Pamajam to the mission, where she may have been working as a cook to serve a population of about 1400 people. On December 8, 1812, the feast day of the Immaculate Conception, she awakened early for the morning Mass that started at 6:00 AM. Later in the day there would be a High Mass with a procession around the plaza of the mission (Camino Capistrano, Forster Street, and El Camino Real) followed by a celebration that required lots of food preparation. Jápaíním planned to attend the morning Mass, then prepare the food afterward, even during the High Mass later in the day that would be attended by most of the mission’s congregation. Jápaíním and a group of thirty-three other women made their way to the Great Stone Church before dawn. The dark church interior was kept lit by large candles and possibly torches along the walls. During the service, Father Barona or Suñer’s voice echoed in the candlelit interior. While the missionary was in the offertory, an earthquake struck the mission. After the shock diminished, the church remained intact and the missionary turned toward the congregation and urged them to escape into the vestry. A soldier or two followed, along with some of their families. But many of the congregants were attempting to flee out a side door that may have been jammed after the earthquake. In the confusion, a second earthquake struck, toppling the bell tower over the southern entrance portal to the church, causing the roof to collapse up to the transept. Forty Acjachemen were tragically killed under the debris, including all thirty-three women who were planning to prepare for the festivities later in the day. Today Jápaíním is buried in the cemetery of Mission San Juan Capistrano. One of the mortars at Puhú may have been hers.
Cuinágerainat’s (Esteban’s) baptism record at Mission San Juan Capistrano. (Courtesy Mission San Juan Capistrano)
Jápaíním’s (Eladia’s) baptism record at Mission San Juan Capistrano. (Courtesy Mission San Juan Capistrano)
Jápaíním’s (Eladia’s) burial record at Mission San Juan Capistrano. (Courtesy Mission San Juan Capistrano)
Mortars are more than curiosities left over from Indigenous peoples. They are connections to the stories of individual people like ourselves who made a living in our natural spaces for thousands of years. One of these very mortars may have been Jápaíním’s (Eladia’s).
The Black Star Canyon “Massacre”
Spain was unable to establish an overland route to California after a revolt against the Spanish by the Quechan people living on the Colorado River in 1781. After Mexico won independence from Spain in 1821, California became a part of Mexico. California’s isolation by land was forever changed in 1829 when New Mexican merchant Antonio Mariano Armijo led a caravan overland from New Mexico to Mission San Gabriel. The route (and later routes) generally followed well-traveled overland trails utilized by indigenous groups across the southwest. The profitability of trade between California and New Mexico was quickly realized, resulting in several similar trading caravans following similar routes that are today erroneously referred to as the “Old Spanish Trail,” despite not being an old Spanish “trail” into California. One of the routes’ early travelers was William Wolfskill, an American-Mexican fur trapper who left Santa Fe with a small party of fellow trappers and followed a similar route to Armijo up the Mojave River and over the Cajon Pass before arriving at Mission San Gabriel in February of 1831.
The collection of routes between Santa Fe and the Los Angeles Area are known today as the "Old Spanish Trail." The routes were routinely traveled by indigenous peoples prior to colonization and were utilized throughout the mission and rancho eras in California. Puhú and Pamajam were essentially nodes along this trade route. Colonists and settlers in the Southwest started travelling these routes starting in 1829. Thereafter, the routes were utilized for commercial purposes, by pioneers coming to California, and horse thieves. (National Park Service)
Just a month after Wolfskill’s arrival the Governor of the Mexican province of Alta California, Manuel Victoria, informed the military outposts under his command in Santa Barbara and San Diego that Indians from New Mexico were working together with “the wild Indians, Christian fugitives, and even some of the mission neophytes” to rob the missions of their horses and “take the animals to their own country by various routes.” Undoubtedly the increased traffic of merchants and trappers like Armijo and Wolfskill also attracted the attention of others throughout the southwest who considered the profitability of stealing horses from California to trade to the growing number of settlers and transients throughout the region. Raiding parties were soon organized and made their way to California. While often described as Utes or Paiutes, the raiders were likely a diverse group that also included some Americans and New Mexicans.
William Wolfskill: one of Southern California's most famous trappers and agriculturalists, and more notoriously, an alleged member of the party that conducted the so-called "Black Star Canyon Massacre." (USC Libraries Special Collections)
Wolfskill himself was possibly approached to help the rancheros defend their livestock against the burgeoning organization of partnerships among horse thieves making their way to Southern California. Wolfskill told one of his later employees, Joseph Pleasants, that within a year or two of arriving in Southern California a “band of horses had recently disappeared and there was every reason to believe that Indians had driven the animals away.” While the core details of the story are difficult to verify from Pleasants’ retelling of Wolfskill’s story seventy years after he heard it, it seems that the Mexican rancheros hired Wolfskill and some men in his trapping party to retrieve the stolen stock. The story alleges that the horse thieves were “followed eastward across the Santa Ana river, up the Santiago canyon, over the crest of the ‘old road’ to the County park [Irvine Park], and on up the canyon to Black Star.” Wolfskill and his party apparently surprised the Indian thieves at the village of Puhú. A battle apparently took place, with several Indigenous people being killed before the rest fled down to the canyon bottom and then into the mountain brush on the ridge to the east of the canyon, beyond the reach of the trappers. The stolen horses were apparently retrieved and driven down Santiago Canyon and returned to their owners. Allegedly none of Wolfskill’s party were injured.
Pleasants is the sole source of Wolfskill’s story, making it rather uncertain as an historical event. Nevertheless, Pleasants was considered a reliable storyteller, and knew Wolfskill well, so it isn’t a stretch to assume that the story’s core details may have indeed taken place. The circumstantial evidence also supports the veracity of some of the story’s core elements.
As mentioned, recent archaeological evidence suggests that Puhú was especially diverse, with a complex material culture indicating that the village was connected to people from throughout Southern California as far as the Colorado River. After Mexico won independence from Spain in 1821, progressive-minded government officials sought to secularize the missions, which still had dominion over tens of thousands of baptized Indians and controlled much of the most desirable farming and rancho land along the coastal regions of California. While Mexican government officials publicly declared their support for making mission Indians free citizens of Mexico, they and their friends also waited impatiently to establish private ranchos for themselves on the mission lands. In an early step towards secularization, many of the mission Indians were given the choice to leave the mission system in 1826, helping contribute to about a 10-20% decline in the local missions’ populations between 1826 and 1832, the latter being the approximate year of the supposed raid on Black Star Canyon. As a result, Indian communities just outside of the colonized areas likely grew and diversified.
Borderland villages between Spanish settlements and the hinterlands were in regular contact with traders coming through the Cajon Pass. Trade between coastal areas and the desert southwest, which had been established long before the arrival of the Spanish, continued uninterrupted throughout the mission era. Horse thieves likely corresponded with individuals from these borderland villages, especially since the village inhabitants had the most intimate knowledge of the surrounding region. The borderland villagers knew which local ranchos were most vulnerable to theft as well as the most secluded but passable routes to drive stolen stock back to the Cajon Pass. It’s possible that some of the villagers also participated in the opportunity to profit from helping horse thieves coming over the pass. Whatever level of their participation in the raids on the ranchos should be considered in light of all that had been foisted upon them by the mechanisms of colonization.
Puhú in Black Star Canyon was thus perfectly situated to assist raiders in accessing and transporting horses. Just down Santiago Canyon from its confluence with Black Star Canyon was the Yorba and Peralta families’ Rancho Santiago de Santa Ana, which had its primary buildings occupied by the Yorba family on a hill near the intersection of today’s 91 and 55 Freeways in Olive. From the rancho’s homes atop the hill there was a commanding view to the north over the Santa Ana River towards the Chino Hills and to the south across the plain between the Santa Ana River and Santiago Creek. The Nieto family’s rancho was located on the opposite side of the river, stretching out all the way to the San Gabriel River. Puhú was located on one of the primary paths utilized by indigenous people over the northern Santa Ana Mountains, connecting the coastal areas to the “pass” between the mountains and the Chino Hills, and thence to the northeast to San Bernardino and the Cajon Pass, east to San Gorgonio Pass, and southeast through the Temescal Valley.
Had the Spanish, Mexican, American, and various other settlers not ever come to Southern California, the village of Puhú in Black Star Canyon would have continued to thrive as it had for innumerable generations into the past. The village was located above the rough narrows of Black Star Canyon, accessible from Santiago Canyon only by a rough trail up a fairly steep ridge, and located in the surrounding area of this image around the trees in the middle distance. During the end of the mission era, and for several decades thereafter, the village of Puhú was located along that "pass” connecting inland areas to the sea. The village was highly diverse due in large part to its geographical location that facilitated trade between the coast and the mountain passes that led into the deserts of Eastern California and beyond.
In this context, the Wolfskill story can be analyzed. Wolfskill arrived in California with little money to repay his accommodating Californio hosts in Mission San Gabriel and Los Angeles. After learning that there were no beavers in Southern California, he shifted his focus to hunting otter. He assisted in the construction of a boat for hunts, and even spent time cutting timber for it in the San Bernardino Mountains. When the boat was finished in late 1831, he embarked on an unsuccessful hunting operation that sailed as far south as Cedros Island in Baja California and as far north as Santa Barbara. Prior to his departure to hunt otter, and after his return, it would not be surprising if Wolfskill took on whatever jobs came his way, including an attempt to retrieve stolen horses from thieves who made their way up Santiago Canyon.
There are precious few images of Alta California missions prior to secularization in the early 1830s. This painting of Mission San Gabriel, dated to the mission’s final years (circa 1830-1832), was done by Ferdinand Deppe, a German naturalist and explorer. A procession of Indians and missionaries are entering the church for Mass on the Feast of Corpus Christi. Some of the very Indigenous people in this painting may have been from Pamajam. The painting was also completed at about the time of the supposed Black Star Canyon “Massacre.” (Ferdinand Deppe, The Mission of San Gabriel, alta California in May 1832, 1832, Oil on canvas, Gift of Daniel A. Hill. Santa Bárbara Mission Archive-Library.)
While the story alleges that the horses were stolen from near Los Angeles, it also seems possible, if not probable, that they were taken from the Yorba’s side of the Rancho Santiago de Santa Ana, which was just down Santiago Creek from Black Star Canyon, or the Nieto family’s Rancho Los Nieto’s on the west side of the Santa Ana River. It’s also possible that raiders were reluctant to drive stock from ranchos in the Los Angeles area up the Santa Ana River valley through today’s Yorba Linda because the Yorba and Peralta families, whose homes overlooked the river, could have confronted them in the narrowing river valley boxed in between the Chino Hills to the north and the Anaheim Hills to the south. Another possible impediment for the raiders is the abundant sand deposited at the river’s bend in the vicinity of today’s Santa Ana River Lakes which would have made it difficult for herds of stolen horses to pass. In any case, the Santiago and Black Star Canyons served as an alternate to the more frequently used route along the Santa Ana River through the “pass” between the Santa Ana Mountains and Chino Hills (traversed today by the 91 Freeway) to access the interior valleys and passes in Southern California. Wolfskill apparently alluded to as much when he said that it was “supposed that within a day or two the horses [at the village in Black Star Canyon] would have been driven over the ridge into the Temescal country.”
The so-called “massacre” that took place between Wolfskill’s party and the horse thieves at Puhú was perhaps more of a skirmish than a massacre. There is no known corroborating evidence at the time of the supposed event in the form of correspondence between rancheros and/or missionaries, suggesting that it is unlikely to have been a major incident. No used munitions were found during archaeological excavations, either, although this is not necessarily surprising given the large size of the village territory. While it’s unclear if the village itself participated in the raid, or if the raiders were passing through after making some kind of arrangement with the villagers living there, archaeological evidence indicates that Puhú continued to be inhabited for decades after the incident took place, suggesting that whatever occurred was not significant enough to drive the village’s inhabitants away permanently. It should also be considered that the trail that existed at the time up to Puhú was likely very steep, heading directly up the brushy mountainside that is today traversed by a truck road with several switchbacks. It seems unlikely that the villagers would have been unaware that Wolfskill’s party was approaching considering that they had the high ground, which ostensibly would have given them time to flee. In any case, it would not be surprising if some, if not all, of the horses were retrieved and returned to the rancheros without significant loss of life. This is not to say that whatever occurred wasn’t tragic, and Indigenous historical trauma related to the incident continues to exist to this day. Even the loss of a small number of lives warrants recognition of the site as the location of a tragedy.
To the Future
Puhú and Pamajam were inhabited as late as the 1860s, or even thereafter. Their importance to Indigenous peoples has never waned. The descendants of the very inhabitants of this village are still here today, many of them living in Southern California. Their connection to the land provides an opportunity to educate all of us on the importance of our natural spaces and resources. These descendents continue to visit their ancestors’ village up to the present day, and hopefully will continue to do so for many, many years to come.
A curious paradox has worked its way into our modern lives. Technology has amplified our ability to connect with others, but it has also worked to divide us. More than ever, we need spaces where we can reflect and process the dense information landscape we navigate each day. Seemingly, we should use technology to connect via social media or other online platforms with other people to promote going to places like Puhú and Pamajam. On the other hand, maybe we should just go outside instead of spending time online promoting the virtues of going outside. If you’re reading this, please consider whatever you can do to help ensure this site can continue to be a source of knowledge, reflection, and meaning to generations to come.
Part 6: The Great Stone Church (A future post)
Part 10: Richard Henry Dana at Dana Point