G A R D E N D I S T R I C T âą G O O D W O O D âą TA R A âą S PA N I S H T O W N âą C A P I TA L H E I G H T S âą L S U L A K E S âą M E L R O S E P L A C E âą B E A U R E G A R D T O W N
THE MID CITY
ADVOCATE T H E A D V O C AT E.C O M
Danny Heitman AT RANDOM
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W e d n e s d ay, d e c e m b e r 25, 2024
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AN LSU PROFESSORâS STUDY OF WATERLOGGED POSTS CAUSES WORLDWIDE STIR IN ARCHAEOLOGICAL CIRCLES
A Christmas tree reminds me that life ïŹnds a way
BY ROBIN MILLER Staff writer
LSU archaeology instructor Cher Foster holds pottery shards that were excavated from the Yay Yi Na site in Belize. Foster was part of the LSU team researching and excavating Maya saltworks sites in Belize.
Heather McKillopâs team excavated this late classic Maya wooden canoe paddle at a Belize site called Kaak Naab. The discovery was the first-ever of its kind in the world.
Who would think that a waterlogged piece of rosewood could have enough glitz and glamor for a Hollywood telling of an archaeological adventure? In the summer of 2023, Heather McKillop and her LSU crew were never looking for something ïŹashy while traipsing through the waters of a Belize lagoon. They were seeking out a story. The section of rosewood post stored in the water-ïŹlled, plastic container in LSUâs Coastal Archaeology of Latin American Laboratory opened the door to a forgotten story in Maya culture. (For the record, the correct adjective in the case, according to McKillop, is âMaya,â not the oft-used âMayan.) Pottery shards The word âforgottenâ are traced and is also important. The documented after story of Maya salt workexcavation. ers was well-known at the time they were extracting salt from brine during the cultureâs classical era between 250 and 900 AD. It just faded with the cultureâs collapse over time. But in 2023, the LSU archaeologist and her crew not only resurrected the story of a Maya saltworks site, but what is thought to be the cultureâs oldest known saltworks operation. âThis post is 1,200 years old,â McKillop said.
The search begins
Maya sharpened the ends of these ancient rosewood posts and pounded them into the ground as support for their saltworks structures.
Water drips from the smooth, rounded rosewood in her hands. If this were Hollywood, the drips of water would segue into a ïŹashback to the beginning of her own story. McKillop is a professor in LSUâs Department of Archaeology & Geoscience. Her work focuses on
Ă€ See DISCOVERY, page 2G
PROVIDED PHOTOS BY HEATHER McKILLOP
A couple of years ago, as the spread of COVID-19 subsided, my co-workers and I planted a memorial tree just outside our workplace. We wanted to remember those weâd lost during the pandemic, and it seemed that the best way to honor their memory was to look toward the future. On a bright March day, we stood in a circle at the edge of our parking lot, sharing a few words before we took shovels in hand and tucked a small pond cypress into the ground. It was bare and spindly, more like a kindling than a proper tree. But pond cypress trees thrive in Louisiana, thanks to their resilience and steady resolve in high wind. Our plucky little tree struck me as just the sort of mascot we needed to answer our grief. Soon, the cypress yielded tiny whispers of green, the color so subtle that it could only be seen up close. My daily inspections of the branches became a small respite before I started each morningâs work shift. The green gradually deepened, becoming more vivid at a casual glance. I stopped fussing over our cypress, and it quietly took up its work of angling toward the sky. Tough seasons of storms and drought brought some close calls. After one long dry spell, I noticed the treeâs brown limbs and ïŹgured it was a goner. But the cypress rebounded, announcing its return with velvety green patches. The new growth was so ïŹne that Iâd gently run my ïŹngers across the lower branches, reading it like Braille. I couldnât believe that a thing so ravaged was reclaiming its place in the world. By last December, the cypress had grown strong enough to hold decorations. We looped a few white bulbs around its canopy, then gathered everyone in a circle again to offer seasonâs greetings and light the tree. The holidays passed, and in the hurry of a new year, we somehow forgot to remove the lights. They were still in place when we opened this yearâs holiday season by forming our circle and lighting the tree. Cypress trees can grow quickly, and ours had added a couple of feet this year. Those strands of lights, left for months, offered an outline of the tree as it used to be, now shadowed by the tree it has become. Thanks to that happy accident, my ofïŹce mates and I got a bright reminder that our
Ă€ See AT RANDOM, page 2G
MO R E THAN A H E ISMAN WINN E R
Billy Cannon memorabilia on display at Capitol Park Museum BY JOY HOLDEN Staff writer
Bunnie Cannon shared a major common interest with her father, Billy â their love for LSU. Although she is the youngest of ïŹve kids in the Cannon family, Bunnie Cannon is the only one who has consistently worked at LSU, and she is dedicated to maintaining her fatherâs legacy at the university, in Baton Rouge
and in Louisiana. She has three goals she wants to achieve to secure Billy Cannonâs legendary status: 1. An exhibition 2. A national award 3. A feature ïŹlm This month, the ïŹrst goal is coming to fruition at the Capitol Park Museum as the familyâs massive memorabilia collection will be on
Ă€ See CANNON, page 2G
Billy Cannonâs 1959 Heisman Trophy PROVIDED PHOTO
Whose face inspired N.O. âMolly Marineâ statue? BY ROBIN MILLER Staff writer
Molly has been standing in her place of honor in New Orleansâ Elks Place since 1943, so itâs probably accurate to say that most passersby are too busy to take notice of her. Thatâs Molly, as in New Orleans-based artist Enrique AlfĂ©rezâs sculpture, âMolly Marine,â the ïŹrst monument to honor women in the military. Itâs easy to ïŹnd in its cater-corner location across Canal Street
from the Saenger Theater. Patrons of the Joy Theatre only need to step across Basin Street to get a full view of the statue. And though most theatergoers are too busy trying to get to their shows to stop and look at Molly, Mark Jeffers did. The Baton Rouge residentâs familiarity with the statue and its story made him stop and take notice before attending a function at the Joy Theatre. A closer look at Mollyâs face piqued his curiosity.
Ă€ See CURIOUS, page 2G