Relive Important Archive Articles

“Beneath Our Feet: Mapping the World Below” plumbs the depths of the question, “What’s beneath our feet?” through maps, images and archaeological artifacts. The exhibition explores nearly 400 years of maps and objects in an attempt to find out why and how humans imagine subterranean landscapes including caves, mines and water tables. Colorful and complicated images reflect the biases of long past and recent days and the concerns of their authors, including the United States’ desire to appropriate the natural resources of Native American lands and a 17th-century Jesuit priest’s attempt to use Scripture to create a framework for Earth’s geology. Catch the exhibition online, including a bibliography, reading lists and a 3-D tour of the Boston Public Library’s Norman B. Leventhal Map Center gallery itself. As you explore nearly 400 years of maps and images of the world below, you can compare the historical viewpoint with the modern, and see how we have advanced our perception and depiction of what lies beneath.

As a city kid in the ‘60s my family occasionally visited my grandparents in the farm country of Washington State’s Waterville plateau. My grandfather and two uncles were wheat farmers near the small town of Withrow, the future site of which had been partly hedged in by the Okanagan lobe of the Cordilleran Ice Sheet many thousands of years ago. Sometimes my father and I would join my uncles on the dusty 15-minute drive “out in the hills” to the sagebrush-surrounded corral, well house and large cement watering trough that served the cattle herd pastured there. Overlooking the corral was a tall hill I would sometimes climb while the trough was refilling. Warned to beware of rattlesnakes, a tiring five- or ten-minute ascent would get me to the top. Astride a large boulder, I would survey the corral far below, the sound of the pump engine distantly laboring. Around me was a panorama of other hills, about whose origins it had never occurred to me to wonder. “My hill” was steep enough that even oblong rocks I tossed down its flank would often bounce and roll clear to the bottom. On occasion, this would elicit salty, muffled hollering from Dad to cease and desist. I’m a half-century older, now, but I wish I had then understood the remarkable history of my hill. How would it have felt at that young age to know that a vast ice sheet had blanketed this terrain some 12,000 years earlier and that the hill I stood on had been its progeny? That, as that glacier began to melt, streams and rivulets had formed on its immense surface? That small sinkholes and other weaknesses in the rotting ice had allowed those waters to sculpt caverns inside the glacier? That those waters carried copious quantities of sediment and rock debris captured as the glacier eroded its way hundreds of miles southward? That my hill, like an embryo within an icy womb, had begun to grow inside one of those expanding interior caverns, ultimately to be deposited on solid ground as a kame, a lasting testament to the retreating glacier? Would I have deduced that the glacier had been at least as thick upon the land as my kame was high above the corral below me? That the erratic boulder on which I sat had been deposited on that kame like a cherry atop a geological sundae? I formed an early affection for the Withrow country because of the many relatives who, not so long ago, had peopled that farmland. It’s strange to contemplate that they are mostly gone from this land now, making it seem somewhat alien to me for their absence. And yet that hill remains, a mute sentinel having witnessed the glacier that birthed it, the quiet passage of the millennia, grandpa’s construction of that watering trough in 1948, and the naive delight of a young city kid climbing its flanks in the 1960s. Dan Jordan – IAFI Wenatchee Erratics Chapter