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Between sea and mountain: the archaeology of a 20th century “small world”
in the upland basins of the southeastern Korinthia
Abstract
Between the villages of Sophiko and Korphos in the southeastern Korinthia are a number
of geographically well-defined and fertile upland basins or poljes, each one accompanied in
modern times by a cluster of farmsteads and used for agriculture and pastoral activities. The
heavily forested slopes adjacent to these basins were systematically exploited for resin
production, a flourishing industry in the wider region especially after World War II, which is
now in serious decline. Although physically isolated from major urban centers, the
microecologies represented by these settlements played a vital role in the 20th century in the
subsistence of its local population, which originated primarily in the nearby mountainous village
of Sophiko. Placing these isolated, yet deeply interconnected places into their regional context
provides another key case-study for the contingent character of the Greek countryside in the 19th
and 20th century.
Between 2001 and 2009, the authors investigated these basins, with a primary focus on
the largest, known locally as Lakka Skoutara, through two archaeological projects: the Eastern
Korinthia Archaeological Survey (2001-2003) and the Saronic Harbors Archaeological Research
Project (2008-09). The former studied Lakka Skoutara as part of its emphasis on the
archaeology of the modern period (19th-20th centuries), while the latter conducted archaeological
investigations in several of these basins as part of a larger regional survey of the Saronic
coastline.
Lakka Skoutara presented a remarkably robust assemblage of material including domestic
and religious architecture, agricultural installations, and ceramics scatters. This material reflects
the dynamism of changing land use patterns in the Greek rural landscape as well as the formation
processes and life cycles of use, reuse, and abandonment connected to domestic residence. By
combining archaeological survey with oral information obtained from local residents, we were
able to reconstruct part of the landscape history of this small, low-density rural settlement and its
relationship to the wider world. This micro-level analysis of the site complements the broader
perspectives offered by regional level data collection, oral history, and comparative studies from
elsewhere in Greece. Fieldwork at Lakka Skoutara and its neighboring poljes foreground the
historical processes affecting the archaeology of the countryside over the last two millennia by
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complementing the traditional practices of intensive pedestrian archaeology with methods that
document the dynamic archaeological environments visible in contemporary countryside
recorded over the much narrower horizon of a decade of field work.
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I. Introduction
The Lakka Skoutara basin is located some xx km from the coast in the Southestern
Corinthia. It is one of a number of basins that stretch in a north-south string from the village of
Sophiko to the Saronic coast near the monastery of the Panayia of Steiri. The basins, locally
called lakkas, are surrounded by steep slopes which are wooded today, but were clearly terraced
in earlier times. Lakka Skoutara is bounded to the north by a ridge marked Rachi Zarakas on the
Greek Army Mapping Service 1:5000 maps and topped by a geodetic marker of 517.02. The
height of Rouxthi forms the western boundary of the Lakka Skoutara. A deep ravine called
Zastani Rema runs from the northwest to the southeast and provides access to the coast to the
south of the village of Korphos. The eastern boundary of the Lakka is composed of the steep hill
of Prixea. The modern route to Lakka Skoutara comes from a dirt road accessible from the main
Corinth-Epidauros highway. The road passes through a broad and relatively shallow lakka called
Vathy before curling its way over the western side of Rachi Zarakas and descending into the
Lakka Skoutara basin. The route of this modern road probably passes at a lower elevation than
its premodern predecessor which seems to have kept slightly higher on the slope of the ridge and
allowed for a more gentle route over the western part of Rachi Zarakas and more gradual descent
into the basin itself. The road then continues east through three more lakkas before emerging to
the west of the Byzantine church of the Panayia of Steiri.
History of Work in the Region
Early travelers rarely passed through the southeastern Corinthia, and even less frequently
through the hilly region between Sophiko and the coast. In fact, only the relatively sizeable
villages of Sophiko and Korphos appear the early maps of the area prepared by the Expédition
scientifique de Morée. The census conducted by the same expédition, however, records a
number of places inhabited by only a few families in the Corinthia suggesting that the surveyors
were aware that small places on the scale of Lakka Skoutara did exist. While it is possible that
one of the small places recorded in the French census was, in fact, the small settlement at Lakka
Skoutara, there is no obvious link between the places recorded in their list and Lakka Skoutara.
It may be that the area escaped the careful eye of 19th century geographers and topographers
because it was likely only accessible via a monopati. By the late 19th century, and presumably
earlier, the main cart path from Sophiko to Korphos passed to the south of the string of upland
basins. A. Miliarakis description of the ancient and modern political geography of the area
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published in 1886 recorded the cart road from Korphos to Sophiko as running through the Larisi
basin and by the Byzantine church of the Taxiarchis (Miliarakis 1886, p. 142; Dixon 2000, p.
69). Even the 1893 discovery of the “Find of Sophiko” a group of almost 1000 late 3rd century
B.C. coins in Korphos harbor by sponge fisherman did little to attract significant attention to the
area. In fact, the chance discovery of the Find of Sophiko at the harbor of Korphos reflects the
style of investigation of Miliarakis and most early travelers to the area who typically adhered to
major transportation that linked economic and population centers. At a superficial level the most
visible infrastructure of the early Modern Greek economy exerted a definitive influence on the
parts of the countryside that revealed evidence for ancient activities.
Even during the 20th century, the investigation of the Sophiko area was largely confined
to areas accessible by roads or clearly visible from population centers. No travelers visited the
rugged area between Sophiko and Korphos. Despite these limitations, the archaeologists, many
of whom were based at the site of Corinth itself on the Isthmus, did provide a basic context for
the region of the southeastern Korinthia into which we could place the site of Lakka Skoutara.
Fowler and Gebauer, as well as other early commentators, noted the remains and artifacts present
at the site of Ay. Paraskevi to the northwest of the Rachi Zarakas ridge (Fowler, Corinth I, pp.
99-102; Gebauer 1939, p. 270). In the 1970s, J. Wiseman produced a plan of the Classical-
Hellenistic fortifications at the site, and explored the surrounding area albeit relatively
superficially in his survey of the Corinthian countryside. More recently, the peripatetic Y.
Pikoulas and Y. Peppas have spent some time in the area and identified a few of the ancient and
conspicuous Medieval monuments in the region including a Classical or Hellenistic tower at a
site on the Early Modern cart road called Are Mbartze. In 2000, Michael Dixon wrote his
dissertation on the results of an extensive survey focused on the area around the harbor of
Korphos and its territory to the southwest, and argued that the boundary between the Corinthia
and the Epidauria ran through this region during Classical and Hellenistic times. Dixon’s survey
concentrated primarily on the Hellenistic and Classical period and documented a series of
fortified sites that he identified with Classical or Hellenistic efforts to defend a prosperous local
population. Over the past few years, the Saronic Harbors Archaeological Research Project under
Thomas Tartaron and Daniel Pullen have worked north of Korphos along to coast with a primary
emphasis on Bronze Age remains at Kalamianos. The site that they have documented represents
a major Late Bronze Age center in the area which appears to have had a significant presence in
the surrounding countryside. In fact, the work of SHARP will likely propose Late Bronze Age
dates for some of the features that Dixon documented in the countryside.
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While there is now considerable evidence for Classical to Hellenistic and Bronze Age
activities in the area, thus far the area has escaped from the discussion of the Late Roman
settlement explosion that has become such a common feature in discussions of Greek
countryside. While traces of a Roman and Late Roman presence exist in the area including a
fragment of a floor mosaic, reused architectural fragments in the various Byzantine churches,
and a Roman period inscription built into the Panagia at Steiri, there is little in the way of a
sustained Roman imprint on the local landscape. Our work at Lakka Skoutara will go some way
to fill this gap.
In contrast to the absence of evidence for Roman and Late Roman activity, the
remarkable collection of Byzantine monuments surrounding Sophiko village has generated
considerable scholarly attention. As early as 1930s, A. Orlandos conducted a thorough survey of
the Byzantine and Post-Byzantine churches in the neighborhood of Sophiko including the
Byzantine church at Steiri, the monastery of the Theotokos, the church of the Taxiarchis, and
several well-preserved Post-Byzantine churches both along the road linking Korphos to Sophiko
and in the village of Sophiko itself (Orlandos 1935). He published the results of this survey in
the first volume of his AMBE. In 1975, T. Gristopoulos updated Orlandos’ work, but did not
expand the number of monuments (Gristopolos 1975). Recently M. Kappas and Y. Fousteris has
suggested that two of the post-Byzantine churches Ay. Antonios at Tourla and its neighboring
church of the Hypapanti may, in fact, be of Byzantine date. The notable concentration Byzantine
and Post-Byzantine monuments in the vicinity of the village of Sophiko led Timothy Gregory to
conduct an early intensive a survey of the basin to the east of the village and the documentation
of the fortifications on Mt. Tsalikas by Timothy Gregory.
The longstanding, if superficial, scholarly interest in Southeastern Corinthia is sufficient
to establish that this area saw consistent occupation from the prehistoric period through the
Byzantine period with a gap in the recorded evidence coming during the Roman period. Most of
the researches, however, have concentrated along the major route leading from the Corinthia to
the Epidauria which provided access to the area for its ancient and modern travelers and scholars
alike. As important for the local residents of this region, however was presence of a good harbor
at Korphos which provided access to the Saronic community and ensured that the local
inhabitants were never far removed from the networks that linked together the main economic
and political centers of the Greek world.
In the Early Modern period, the village of Sophiko Local history work…
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This study benefits from a range of archaeological studies of the modern landscapes of
the northeastern Peloponnese. In the Corinthia itself, S. Sutton’s work has examined the
emergence of modern villages in the context of a broader diachronic study of settlement patterns
in the Nemea Valley and with particular sensitivity to processes that led to the development and
transformation of rural settlement, including kinship patterns, external economic activities, and
the administrative power of the Greek state.1 Effie Athanassopoulou has explored similar trends
the pattern of Medieval settlement in the Nemea Valley. Extensive research in the Southern
Argolid and the Methana peninsula has also provide many points of comparison for settlement
and economy in the southeastern Corinthia.2 The district of Sophiko and Korphos was
historically as closely tied to the Argolid and the Saronic regions as the Corinthia, and, under
Venetian rule, the district was even linked administratively to the communities in the district of
Porto Porro in the Argolid.
Beyond providing points of comparison for our work, these studies have employed a
range of approaches that inform our own study of the modern countryside. These include, for
example, efforts to understand ancient and medieval settlement systems from the patterns,
behaviors, and signatures of settlement and land use in the modern era,3 but also, more generally,
the integration of the modern period within diachronic studies of landscapes.4 Our work also
benefits from the recent emphasis on understanding the close ties between the modern Greek
countryside and the increasingly globalized economy of the 19th and early 20th century. By
focusing on the responses of the rural world to economic opportunities and challenges in recent
centuries, scholars have undermined the persistent views of Greek peasants as backward
denizens of an unchanging, autochthonous Greek countryside,5 while diachronic studies have
shown that inhabitants of even relatively remote or marginal Greek countrysides participated in a
global Greek and Mediterranean economy.
The realization that the Greek peasant occupied the rural landscape with a range of
strategies returned attention to the diverse number of rural structures and settlement types in the
Greek countryside. As early as the 19th century scholars had begun to document the villages,
hamlets, komidia and kalyvia present throughout the countryside. Kalyvia, loosely structured
agglomerations of seasonal or occasional residences, have long been understood as the
1 Sutton 1994. 2 Jameson, Runnels, and van Andel 1994; Mee and Forbes 1997. 3 E.g., Murry and Chang 1981; Murray and Kardulias 1986. 4 Jameson, Runnels, and van Andel 1994; Forbes 1997; Koukoulis 1997. 5 Sutton 1994.
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forerunner to villages in Greece.6 Scholars had often read this process as being stimulated by the
end of Ottoman power and the resulting shifts in population in the first half of the 19th century.
This shift in how scholars regard the nature of rural, post-independence Greece,
complements the ongoing revisions of settlement patterns in the Peloponnesus during the later
Ottoman period. The traditional arguments posed that Christian settlements were restricted to
mountainous, upland areas in the Peloponnesus during the Ottoman period because the elite,
Ottoman çiftliks occupied the more fertile lowland areas. According to this argument, the
population of the upland areas remained small until Greek independence when it expanded into
the recently-vacated Ottoman lands. This provides a foundation for the idea that the Greek
peasantry remained in almost suspended animation during the Ottoman period only to be revived
with the emergence of an independent Greek state. Wagstaff and others, however, have
challenged this argument on two grounds. First, they have shown that based on known
settlement elevations there is very little evidence to suggest that the population of the Ottoman
Morea abandoned bottom lands to found settlement in the relative safety of less economically
viable upland areas. Moreover, they cite Peter Topping’s important studies of the Venetian
census for the 18th century Morea to argue that the population of the Ottoman Morea appears to
have gradually increased from the 18th to the 20th century probably owing to the relatively
stability of Ottoman political control over the territory and the continued arrival of immigrants,
particularly Albanians, from other Ottoman lands.
The tumultuous decades following Greek independence did effect settlement in the
countryside. Ibrahim Pasha’s army inflicted damage on the Corinthian countryside as the area
saw regular military activities during the struggle for independence.7 In fact, the destruction of
the war of independence prompted the American philhellene and philanthropist Samuel Gridley
Howe to found the refugee settlement of Washingtonia on the Isthmus near the present day
village of Hexamilia. While it seems likely that the vicinity of Sophiko was spared the activity
of Turkish troops, the area did not avoid its share of internecine conflicts which typified this
period. The Notaras family, based in Trikala, raided the village of Sophiko and burned both its
vineyards and surrounding forest lands.8 Despite these destructions and the dreadful picture put
forward by travelers through the area during this time, the destructions of the early 19th century
may have had little significant impact on the rural population. A resilient and flexible rural
6 Beuermann 1954, pp. 226-238; Sivignon 1981, Wagstaff 1982, pp. 20-24 7 Wagstaff 1978, p. 303 8 McGrew 1985, p. 3.
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population appear to have reoccupied destroyed villages and returned quickly to cultivate various
crops in the aftermath of episodes of destruction.9
The general themes in the recent study of the modern Greek countryside reflect a growing
awareness of a resilient and flexible peasantry who engaged in a wide range of strategies to
extract their livelihood from an environment shaped as much by local resources as regional and
global economic and politic realities. The willingness to abandon the timelessness of the rural
Greek peasant requires a concomitant change in how archaeologists have viewed the physical
remains of Greek rural life. The most recent efforts to articulate an archaeology of the modern
Greek countryside, H. Forbes’ detailed study of the Methana peninsula, followed ethnographic
lines by combining a careful reading of local kinship structures and the Saronic economy to shed
light on the varied meanings embedded in rural landscapes. His approach, however, was less a
sustained treatment of the actual material evidence present in the countryside than an
ethnographic study of familial relations that sometimes related to physical landscape. Our work
at Lakka Skoutara foregrounds the landscape as the contingent arena for diachronic historical
and archaeological processes of settlement. It should, then, offer a significant contribution to
scholarship on the Greek countryside by highlighting regional and local economic trends evident
in documentary studies, oral interviews, and the short-term and long-term archaeological
patterns.
To understand the dynamic nature of both the archaeological and the historical landscape,
we have applied a diverse range of approaches. Central to our documentation of the site of
Lakka Skoutara was an intensive diachronic pedestrian survey, a 10-year longitudinal study of
the domestic structures in the basin, and historical and ethnographic research using both
documentary sources and interviews with individuals who lived and work in the lakka. Each
method brings a different scale of analysis to our research ranging from the relatively short term
study of the houses to the exceedingly long term perspectives offered by diachronic survey. This
multidimensional approach can potentially integrate varied evidence to demonstrate the
contingent character of this Greek countryside and the meanings to its inhabitants.
II. The Archaeological Survey
A. Methodology
The site of Lakka Skoutara was initially documented in 2001 as part of an extensive
survey of the area between the harbor village of Korphos and the village of Sophiko. The goal of
9 Wagstaff 1978, p. 305-306.
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this extensive survey was to discover the pre-modern route between the two settlements and the
work determined that one potential route passed through the site of Lakka Skoutara. In a series
of Extensive Discovery Units (6258-6533, 6537-6552), the extensive survey identified a
significant scatter of ancient and modern ceramics as well as the presence of a dozen abandoned
houses, agricultural installations, and a 20th century church building associated with a modern
route through the rugged interior of the Saronic coastline. By the end of the 2001, this little
valley suggested a fascinating past, with ceramics dating from prehistory to the modern era and
20th century houses that were a formation process wonderland.
The following year, the Eastern Korinthia Archaeological Survey revisited the area to
conduct a proper intensive survey and a proper documentation of the modern houses in the
Lakka (see below).10 Since there were limited resources and time available for the survey, the
team decided to sample three transects across the landscape. These transects would followed
basic geomorphological divisions in the basin by capturing some part of the slopes of the Lakka,
the alluvial fans that produced rocky soil throughout the northern section of the basin, and the
more-stable and less rocky red soils that marked the basin floor. This method was consistent
with the geomorphological division of units practiced throughout the EKAS survey area and
allowed us to control for the significance and in a coarse way, the chronology of various
erosional processes. The units were also positioned to capture areas immediately surrounding six
of the houses which represented various states of abandonment. This sampling method produced
92 units in three groups with an average unit size of 2335 sq meters and a total area of 2.1 ha.
[Although we played around with more intensive kinds of mapping, e.g., chasing densities]
The EKAS team walked each unit at 10 meter spacing with each fieldwalker counting
every artifact that appeared 1 m to each side of their swath. This procedure sampled 20% of the
area of each unit for density. The variation of artifacts present in each unit was sampled
according to the chronotype system in which field walkers collected one example of each unique
type of artifact.11 The ceramics team analyzed these artifacts in the field and the results were
keyed into an Access database which was linked to a GIS database.
The units surveyed at Lakka Skoutara produced around 2200 artifacts per ha (walked),
which is considerably higher than the approximately 1500 sherds per ha produced by the units in
the main survey transect on the Isthmus, but still below the 3000 sherds per ha often considered
to be the benchmark for site density in the Eastern Mediterranean. There were, however, 25
10 See Tartaron et al. 2006 for a full overview of the methods. 11 For the Chronotype system in the context of the EKAS project, see Tartaron et al. 2006; Caraher, Nakassis, and Pettegrew 2006.
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units covering approximately hectare which exceed the 3000 artifacts per hectare standard for
site density.
The field team designated one area of the site as a Localized Cultural Anomaly (LOCA)
owing to the high quantity of Final Neolithic material concentrated at the conjunction of six
moderate-density units with varying qualities of surface visibility. In these areas, the team
conducted a more intensive form of artifact collection. The teams selected a 20m x 20 m square
in each DU of the LOCA and performed a total ChronoType collection in that square. One
example of each type of artifact was collected from each of the four squares to produce a
complete sample of every type of ceramic present. The squares were located relatively close to
one another, since the FN-EH material was not randomly distributed throughout each DU, but
rather clustered together. Consequently, the LOCA collection units were concentrated in an
effort to capture the area with the highest artifact concentration. GPS coordinates were taken at
the SW corner of each LOCA collection square providing a fixed point from which to map the
units.
The 2.1 ha surveyed represented slightly less than 1% of 245 ha of arable land available
to a settlement. This figure includes all contiguous land of less than an 18 degrees slope which
represents the steepest slope under cultivation in the basin albeit with the help of terrace walls.
Terrace walls are common on the northern side of the basin and generally begin around 8 degrees
of slope, although some terrace walls, perhaps better described as check dams appear at lower
grades.
B. Distributional Data
The standard and local collection survey produced 926 artifacts in 625 batches. The
periods represented in this assemblage of artifacts produced in these survey units represented
over 6000 years of human occupation from the Final Neolithic period to the modern day.
Examining the assemblage produced by our standard DU chronotype sample showed that
33 periods appeared in the survey. Since the chronotype system enables the ceramicist to place
an artifact in a wide range of categories from the most broad (Ceramic Age) to very specific and
narrow periods (Early Medieval). This means that artifacts collected from the field are
categorized into sometimes overlapping categories. For example, a query for all possible
Medieval pottery should includes pottery that is both certainly Medieval and material that could
only be dated to a broad range of time which would include the Medieval period. Aoristic
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analysis provides one way to show the chronological distribution of artifacts in the basin that
takes into account the different degrees of precision in our dating of the artifacts. This kind of
representative analysis assumes that an artifact has an equal chance of appearing during any year
across its entire span of possible dates. So if an artifact is dated to the Late Roman period with a
date from between 400 and 700 A.D., the artifact has a 1/300 chance of appear in each year.
While it is important to emphasize that this is simply a model for the chronological distribution
of ceramics, it is a useful way to represent the relative quantity of material datable to each
century. As chart x. shows, there is activity at the site for nearly the entire historical period with
a sharp increase in activity in the most recent century.
For the material collected from the 20 x 20 meter squares designated as a LOCA, the
distribution of material looks markedly different. The graph shows significant spikes in the Final
Neolithic and Early Bronze Age as well as a substantial spike in the Roman to Late Roman
period with some activities continuing through the Medieval period. In the Early Modern period,
after around 1800 AD, artifact densities trail off in sharp contrast to the artifact assemblages
produced through more traditional collection methods. The small areas subjected to
LOCA/chronotype collection were over 100 meter from any of the modern houses which tended
to produce most significant quantities of Early Modern and Modern material.
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The spatial distribution of material across the basin likewise produced broad patterns that
allow us to make some general observations regarding the settlement patterns at Lakka Skoutara.
Since it was not a total coverage survey with a goal of sampling the entire basin, it is important
to understand that our analysis only captures about 1% of land available for use throughout the
basin’s history. Moreover, our survey was limited by the densely forested slopes on the southern
and eastern side of the basin, fenced areas, and slopes too steep to accommodate easily our
survey procedure.
<<<<discussion of prehistoric material here?>>>>
The earliest historic period of settlement in Lakka Skoutara appears to be the Archaic
period. Three pieces of fine and semifine ware present a slight trace of material datable to the
Archaic period. Most material from before the Roman conquest of Greece, however, can only be
dated broadly to such categories as the Archaic-Hellenistic period or the Classical-Hellenistic
periods. The presence of fine ware and kitchen ware in the assemblage suggests that the area
served in some domestic function, but the small number of sherds present in the assemblage,
however, recommends against any definite arguments for chronology or specific function. The
sherds were concentrated primarily in the central area of the basin, immediately south of the
modern church dedicated to Ay. Katerini, where soil depth is good and there is less cobbly soil
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washing down from the hill slopes. Units 7001 and 7002 had particularly high visibility and
especially diverse assemblages. A few artifacts appeared in unit 7058. This unit had a lower
visibility (40%), but a very diverse assemblage of material. It is notable that the higher intensity
LOCA collection conducted in this unit did not produce any material dating from the Archaic to
Hellenistic period.
By the Roman period the basin appears to have used more intensively and extensively.
There are particular concentrations of material both in the same units where Archaic –
Hellenistic artifacts appeared, but also further east. This suggests that there may have been
continuity in the basic settlement structure of Lakka Skoutara and that an existing settlement
expanded during the Roman and Late Roman periods. This pattern would appear to coincide
with the more general expansion of settlement noted by surveys across Greece. While little
pottery can be conclusively dated to the Early Roman period except for a few pieces of Eastern
Sigillata A and Koan type amphora handles, there is a substantial quantity of Roman and Late
Roman kitchen ware, coarse ware, and amphora sherds across the entire extent of the basin.
Some fragments of roof tile may also date to the Roman period hinting at the possibility of
substantial architecture in the area. It is notable that we found relatively few Late Roman
fineware sherds, but an abundance of spirally groove and wheel ridged artifacts. This may
suggest that the area that we sampled were not utilized for domestic activities during the Later
Roman period, but for more commercial purposes or for more limited forms of seasonal
habitation which would not produce the robust deposits of fineware.
Echoing the substantial amount of Medieval activity documented in the vicinity of the
village of Sophiko, activity continued in Lakka Skoutara into the Medieval period. There is an
abundance of material from the Medieval period clustered around a number of fields in the east
central area of the basin and in the far southwestern edge. The artifact datable to the Medieval
period range from storage and utility wares to kitchen ware and fine and semifine table wares.
This diverse assemblage would seem to represent settlement in the area. It is tempting to
associate the material at the southwestern corner of the Lakka with the presence of a well. While
it is impossible to know whether this well was in use during the Medieval period, it may well be
that its position at a join in the fractured bedrock of the basin provided access to ground water in
an earlier period as well. Unfortunately, our sampling technique did not allow us to cover the
entire basin floor so it is impossible to determine whether Medieval activities extended across the
entire basin. That being said, it could be that during the Medieval period, settlement retreated
from the deepest soils in the central part of the basin and moved to the east and slightly up the
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slope. This contrasts the Roman and earlier Greek period activities in the area that were focused
on the lowest points of the basin. It may be that the Medieval settlement positioned itself to
maximize the opportunity to cultivate the less rocky soils in the center of the basin by leaving
them free from settlement.
In contrast to the Medieval period, the modern material which dates from the 19th and
20th centuries extends outward from the remains of several of contemporary houses which stand
near the center of Lakka Skoutara. In addition several Early Modern to Modern houses stand
along the terraced northern slope of the basin and like their counterparts in the lower fields,
produced halos of material. While ceramic roof tiles account for a substantial part of the modern
assemblage from the basin, the area also produced the complete range of material expected in a
domestic assemblage. This includes fine and table wares types including Canakale and
Didymoteichon wares, kitchen and cooking wares, and storage vessels. The increase in material
from the Medieval to Early Modern and Modern period might well suggest an increased in
activity in the area during this time. At the same time, we might expect a significant modern
overburden extending across the survey area as the modern houses slowly collapse and scatter
their archaeological signatures across the surface.
III. A Study of Houses in Time and Space
A. Methods for Documenting Houses
At the end of the 2001 EKAS field season, a small team returned to Lakka Skoutara to
begin recording the numerous abandoned houses, their architecture and associated features, and
archaeological assemblages. Our aim was to document the houses and their environment in a
way that would allow reconstructing the cultural formation processes—construction phases,
habitation and discard, abandonment, and post-abandonment uses of the house—that continue to
transform the houses. Aware of broader scholarly discussions about the interpretation of rural
sites in ancient landscape,12 ethnoarchaeological and modern survey approaches in Greece,13 and
the dynamic nature of the Greek village,14 we intended our study to contribute to an
12 Binlitff and Snodgrass 1988; Osborne 1992; Alcock, Cherry, and Davis 1994; Pettegrew 2001. 13 Murray and Change 1981; Murray and Kardulias 1986; Whitelaw 1991; Murray and Kardulias 2000. 14 Sutton 1994.
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understanding of the character of settlement, the nature of abandonment, and archaeological
signatures and meanings of habitation in the context of diachronic landscapes.15
We documented several houses in a preliminary way in 2001 which allowed us to refine
our methods fully the following year. Our methodology, as it developed, consisted of three
distinct components: 1) recording through detailed description and photography the houses, their
architecture, and associated materials, 2) collecting information on artifact densities around the
modern structures through surface survey, and 3) conducting oral interviews with the house
owners and inhabitants of Sophiko. In the previous section, we discussed the character of
artifact densities, and we will elaborate on the oral interviews below, so here we can focus on
detailed descriptions of the houses and their assemblages between 2001/2002 and 2009.
However, because the oral interviews relate so directly to the interpretation of the houses (and
vice versa), we will integrate in this section relevant information gained from the interviews with
Mr. Perras, Mr. Zographos, and others.
Our recording procedures included basic descriptive fields (e.g., “Artifactual Material”)
as well as interpretive assessments (e.g., “Function & Land Use”). To facilitate the process of
description, we assigned numbers to the houses that we later associated with individual home
owners through oral interviews. We noted the location of each house, its size and dimensions,
orientation, and associated features; the artifacts present inside and outside (within 15 meters) of
the house in terms of their types, quantities, and conditions; the different phases of habitation,
construction styles, and building functions; and the current condition of buildings and area,
including ground cover and visibility. Table 1 below shows the table we had developed by the
2002 field season for collecting data. In addition to such descriptions, we also photographed the
interior and exterior of the houses over nearly a decade, providing data that allows us to image
the houses through time.16
15 Studies of Medieval and post-Medieval vernacular architecture and housing in Greece are numerous and represent a diversity of theoretical and methodological approaches ranging from typological descriptions to analysis of settlement pattern hierarchies and social or economic behavior. For discussion and examples, see Megas 1951; Wagstaff 1965; Philippides, editor, 1983-1990, with multiple volumes for different regions of Greece including the Corinthia (Chrysafi-Zografou 1987); Clarke 1995, 2000; Sutton 1995; Cooper 2002; and Sigalos 2004. Philippides 1983, 33-49, Sigalos 2004, 21-49, provide useful reviews of the literature for Greek vernacular architecture. On the multiplicity of meanings in modern houses, see Forbes 2007, 309-314. 16 In addition to the photos in this article, we have also made images available online.
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Table 1. Form used to collect data for houses
Following our initial study of the houses in 2001 and 2002, we returned to the area for
several days in three subsequent seasons (2004, 2006, and 2009) to record the cultural processes
and land use that are altering the houses, their functions, and assemblages. As the houses vary in
their current function, condition, and position in the valley, we were unable to record every
house during every season. Moreover, several houses that are maintained and occupied
seasonally (#s 1, 7, 8, 9, and 15) were inaccessible and not documented systematically, while
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another house (#12) seems to have disappeared sometime after our visit in 2002, perhaps due to
the widening of the main gravel road running through the valley; these six houses (#s 1, 7-9, 12,
and 15) will rarely be included in the following tables and discussion. Several other houses (#s
11, 16, and 17) are high on the northern slopes of the lakka basin, survive only in their wall
foundations, and are overgrown with weeds; these we recorded only in the 2002 and 2009
seasons. For the following discussion, the reader is encouraged to visit the online website that
accompanies this publication to view photos of individual houses through time. A summary of
the houses is listed below in Table 2.
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Table 2. Summary of Houses
B. Agriculture and Land Use
Most of the houses at Lakka Skoutara represent seasonal farmsteads oriented to
agricultural enterprises in the surrounding valley. Throughout Greece and the Aegean,
farmsteads vary in size and plan according to regions, but there are nonetheless consistent
patterns including, for example, house types, floor plans, architectural styles, and domestic
functions, among others.17 As the vernacular architecture will be discussed in the following
section, we can focus our attention here on the associated landscape features that linked houses
to agricultural enterprises at different points in time (Table 3).
From oral interviews we know that the inhabitants of the valley supported themselves in
the 20th century with subsistence agriculture, especially the cultivation of wheat, olives, and
vegetables. However, they also exploited the valley for specialized products like charcoal, pine
wood, and resin which were carried down to the nearby harbor at Korphos for export, while
pottery and tiles from Aegina could be imported through the same harbor. Agricultural features
and installations such as gardens and external bake ovens (phournoi) that have today fallen out
of use appear regularly enough at and around these houses to materialize the economic activities
of the inhabitants of the lakka at a former point in time.
The principal crop cultivated in the valley in recent times is the olive, and even today the
valley sees a flurry of activity during the late fall as residents from Sophiko return for the
harvest. Aerial photos show that olives comprise nearly all the land of the valley under
cultivation (Fig.), a fact confirmed by a pedestrian survey which documented this fruit in 80.4%
of the survey units (n=74 of 92). The groves are not neatly divided, however, and Mr. Perras
explained to us the complexities of cultivation and ownership patterns during the valley’s
heyday: individuals and families commonly owned specific trees in other people’s fields, and,
although they could make no claim over the field, did have access to individual trees.18 Even the
church owns many olive trees throughout the valley that were donated by individuals as a pledge
17 Murray and Kardulias 1986, 31-32, for example, note the importance of associated gardens and location on flat arable land in the S. Argolid; Whitelaw 1991, 412-419, suggests that the most consistent characteristics are interior and exterior whitewash, the use of plaster on interior walls, at least two rooms, and associated porches, interior fireplace, and external oven. 18 This pattern of land ownership is not uncommon in Greece, and is at least in part a result of dowry and inheritance practices. Cf. Forbes 2007, 164-165, 168-169.
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(τάµα) and support the costs of maintain the church.19 Trees owned by individuals or the church
are often marked with painted signs or initials to indicate ownership.
Table 3. Features Associated with the Houses
We do have a sense of the longevity of olive cultivation in the valley from both the
archaeological study and oral testimony. In our pedestrian survey of a small sample of the
valley, we measured the smallest and largest olive tree in each of the fields examined. We noted
many very young olive trees, with circumferences 0.04-0.10 m, planted in recent years and often
surrounded by make-shift fences to keep out the grazers. But most of the groves recorded are
evidently more mature, as the average minimum circumference for all 92 survey units was 0.44
m and the average maximum circumference was 1.85 m. These figures are consistent with Mr.
Perras’ comment that the trees are generally from 50 to 80 years old. Some of the groves must
19 Cf. Forbes 2007, 347-348, who notes that Aleppo pine trees in Methana served the same end.
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be much older, in fact, for we measured a number of trees with double trunks and base
circumferences of 3-6 m; the three largest trees noted had circumferences of 6.75 m, 6.80 m, and
8.55 m. These larger trees must be hundreds of years old and consequently point to the history
of olive cultivation at the lakka.
Interestingly, there is actually very little physical evidence for the cultivation of olives in
the valley beside the trees themselves, small scattered piles of branches pruned from the trees
during the winter, and ashy circles produced by burning the trimmings.20 The fieldwalls that
circumvent some of the groves point to ownership or cultivation patterns and the ladders and
drinking containers found in several houses are probably connected with olive harvesting
activities today. The processing of the fruit, however, occurred elsewhere in recent times. Mr.
Perras informed us that olives could not be processed in the valley for lack of water and were
carried to Sophiko where they were processed through horse-powered machines, and, later,
modern machines. The only installation in the valley related to olive production is an enormous
trapetum mortarium located 100 (?) m east of the church just below the modern gravel road.
This crusher base is 1.85 m wide and at least 0.38 m high and has a form comparable to presses
elsewhere in the Peloponnese typically dated to the Roman-Late Roman period.21 Our
informants did not remember this press ever used for any purposes and called it “ancient,” dating
to the period before the modern settlement. Indeed, the top of the mortarium is now quite
damaged and, in its current location adjacent to a gravel road, there would be not enough room to
operate the press effectively.
The other major crop cultivated in the valley in modern times has left an equally
engimantic temporal signature. On the one hand, no one cultivates grain in the valley today and
the ubiquity of olive groves might easily make one forget that this pattern is a recent one. But
we know from our informants that many of the olive groves were planted in the last century and
replaced fields cultivated in grain. The terracing on the northern slopes of the valley, in fact,
provide good evidence for grain cultivation for the surviving field stone retaining walls would be
unnecessary for the olive trees that are now contained with them; unfortunately, we have no basis
for dating the terrace construction in the valley.22 The same can be said for the field walls
20 Cf. Murray and Kardulias 1986, 27. 21 Kardulias and Runnels 1995; Foxhall 1997, 262-264, and Figs. A.1 and A.3. The use or reuse of these kinds of presses may stretch into the Medieval period. Foxhall notes examples of reuse in later periods in which the central column was cut out of the mortaria. 22 Terraces are notoriously difficult to date and scholars have suggested periods ranging from the Bronze Age to the 19th century. For discussion, see Whitelaw 2001, 405-410.
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through the valley that may have functioned initially to keep the goats out of grain fields.23 That
four of the houses have associated external bake ovens (cf. Table 3) introduces additional
material evidence for cereal cultivation and bread making, even if we should not conclude that
the ovens were used only to bake bread.
The most obvious evidence for grain processing, however, are six threshing floors in the
lakka, all constructed in a similar manner with flat cobble-sized stones interlocked to create
circular areas ranging from 13.90 to 18.20 m (average diameter of 16.30 m).24 Only one of the
floors (#3) is slightly different, raised a half meter above the ground on a low platform; Mr.
Perras called this one “ancient” and noted that even his grandfather could not recall it ever being
used.25 All the floors, however, lack central holes which indicate the use of doukeni sledges with
flint or obsidian blades rather than an animal tethered to the central pole.26
The alonia are located generally located some distance from the houses, a pattern that
might at first suggest that the modern inhabitants chose to construct threshing floors in areas
away from the houses and open to the wind. In fact, our informants tell us that it is the other way
around: the threshing floors were already present when their forefathers settled the area and in
turn influenced the location of houses. There is some good material support for this in House #4,
one of the oldest houses in the valley, which was built directly over part of the aloni and
therefore indicates a threshing floor predating the house and out of use when the house was
inhabited; the family who lived in this house used a different threshing floor not far to the south
of the house. In general, the alonia must represent a phase of land use in the lakka dating back at
least to the early 20th century since young to mature olive trees dominate the valley today, and
were, as we noted above, planted over half a century ago. Most of the alonia, then, were out of
use in the post-WW II era,27 and some had fallen into disuse by the early 20th century.
Olives and grain do not require a significant supply of water, which is severely lacking in
the valley. Mr. Perras explained that water was not trapped in the area due to geological factors
23 Whitelaw 1991, 410. 24 This range is slightly smaller than the 2 threshing floors documented by Murray and Kardulias 1986, 26, which showed diameters of 20 m, but much larger than those documented on Kea, with diameters between 6 and 8 m (Whitelaw 1991, 424) 25 Mr. Perras commented on how the people who lived there before his people were smart and understood that a raised platform for a threshing floor would help air the wheat before threshing; his own people used threshing floors at ground level and the wheat took longer to dry and therefore became stale. 26 One of the home owners, Mr. Perras, gave us detailed descriptions of how the inhabitants of the lakka used the “ντουγένι” for threshing. This is the same doukani used in other parts of Greece like the Argolid and the Cyclades. The animal pulls a rectangular wooden board with rows of blades (metal or stone) that separate the grain from the chaff. See Murray and Kardulias 1986, 26. 27 Threshing floors elsewhere stay in use as late as the early 1970s: Murray and Kardulias 1986, 26; Clarke 2000, 121.
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but washed away to sea, and he could point to only a single well in the southwestern part of the
lakka. The inhabitants relied on cisterns built typically close to their houses and filled by the
winter rains. Five of the houses (n=5) have cisterns that would provide easy access to water and
the large concave, collection surfaces that funneled rainwater into the smaller cistern (also called
aloni) range in size from 6.00 to 9.60 m (average diameter = 8.20 m). Although originally
constructed of sizable fieldstones, they were all refurbished with concrete tops at some point
since the 1950s.
Besides olive and grain, the only other kind of fruit tree observed today were a few
interspersed almond, apricot, and pear trees. Pine trees, however, are common in the valley and
cover the surrounding hills, and resin processing was a significant industry into modern times.
The surrounding pine forests were not owned by the community but by individuals,28 who tapped
the resin in metal collectors and processed closer to home. Basins for processing resin are found
inside two of the houses (#s 10 & 14) and an additional house (# 2) has a basin immediately
outside. These three surviving basins, however, are a pale physical reflection of a once vital
industry. More visible material evidence for resin processing comes in the form of the
ubiquitous resin collectors found on and around pine trees in the region and also the paths on the
wooded hillsides that were created long ago to access the trees. In recent decades the resin
industry has plummeted sharply due to a decline in the product’s value beyond the region. The
pine forests are returning to their natural state and the only evidence of this once significant
activity is the scatter of rusty collectors on the hillside and the paths that lead to them.29
While these traditional forms of land use have declined sharply in recent decades, the
valley remains open for herding goats, evident in the reuse of certain houses as animal keeps (see
below), the make-shift wooden hedges erected around recently planted olive trees, and the paths
that weave through the surrounding pine slopes and are maintained by the goats alone. There is
also a sizable animal fold immediately to the south of House #3 which has made use of the
house’s deep cistern since its abandonment some decades ago; in 2009, the goats wandered
freely inside grazing the weeds that had grown among the ruins. This may be a recent pattern of
land use, but, interestingly, our informants tell us that Yiorgos Mertikas, the great-grandfather of
Mr. Perras and Mr. Zographou and one of the first settlers in the valley, obtained titles of land
28 In most areas of Greece, uncultivated land like pine forest is typically owned and cultivated by the state or the community; trees in the Sophiko region are individually owned. Cf. Forbes 2007, 165. 29 One of our informants, Mr. Zographos, told us that he himself owned many pine trees that he continues to exploit albeit less intensively than in the past. Greek legislation prohibits the destruction of pine trees but the trees no longer have significant value for their resin. The older inhabitants of Sophiko receive a pension for their years of hard work in resin production.
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ownership from Ottoman authorities to raise animals. Smaller animals, like chickens, were kept
in enclosures near the houses, while draught animals were kept in associated yards or within the
house itself. Indeed, at once house an aged donkey resides whose primary purpose today seems
to be to keep the owner of the house, Mr. Zographou, company during his daily visits to his
house.
C. The Houses: Architecture and Building Phases
Most of the houses at Lakka Skoutara are single-storey “long house” types common to
the Peloponnese and southern central Greece in the Early Modern Era (See Table 2).30 They are
typically 9-12 meters long and 4-6 m wide with total area between 50 and 70 meters (mean:
52.26 m; median 58.80 m), and constructed with fieldstone walls, mud mortar, and tiled roofs;
four houses (#s 5, 9, 13, and 16) have noticeably smaller dimensions and two of these (9 and 13)
are recent constructions built with storage, rather than residence, in mind.31 The houses are
usually oriented roughly north-south,32 with windows and doors on the long east-west walls; the
doors are almost always on the east façade. Enclosed courtyards are found at a number of houses
immediately outside the main doorway, and are often associated with external installations like
cisterns, gardens, chicken coops, and bake ovens.33 We note that the sizes of all these buildings
(including the storehouses) are comparable to houses documented elsewhere in central Greece
and the Peloponnese.34
The floor plans of the house reflect an agricultural mainland style with interior space
arranged linearly into one or two rooms (Table 3).35 Several of the houses (#s 6, 11, 16, and 17)
collapsed long ago and survive only in low foundation walls; overgrowth of vegetation makes it
impossible to reconstruct floor plans but we can surmise either one or two rooms. The five
documented houses that remain standing, however, all suggest comparable plans, with the long
north-south dimension of the house divided into northern and southern rooms by an interior
30 See Sigalos 2004, 51-70, for a regional-based overview of the forms and styles of Byzantine-Early Modern architecture. Sigalos draws particular attention to the long house type with broad façade, which is predominant in the Greek mainland and especially the Peloponnese during the Ottoman and Early Modern periods (57, 61-63, 169-176). 31 Cf. Murray and Kardulias 1986, 31. 32 Four houses (4, 8, 9, 13) have an east-west orientation but we note that two of these are storehouses. 33 See Sigalos 2004, 61-62, for the courtyard as an integral component of the house. 34 Murray and Kardulias 1986, Table 1, pp. 28-29, shows similar figures of 9-20 sq m for storehouses and 50-93 sq m for houses. Cooper 2002 , 37, suggests typical dimensions of 10-12 x 6-8 m for 19th and early 20th century houses in the nomoi of Achaia and Elea, which is slightly wider than our 4-6 m range. Clarke 2000, 112-113, suggests 10 x 6 m houses are common for late 19th-early 20th century houses in a village in Methana. And Sigalos 2004, 88-109, notes dimensions for Late Ottoman and Early Modern longhouses in towns and villages in Boiotia generally in the range of 11-14 x 5-8 m, although houses are occasionally much longer. 35 Sigalos 2004, 59.
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plastered partition wall or slight rise in elevation.36 The elevated room (usually the northern one)
is smaller and contains a fire place, windows and niches on the east and / or west walls,37 and
furniture such as beds, benches, and tables; it comprised the main living and sleeping space for
the home owners. The larger room typically features a simple earth floor, the house door, and an
additional window and was used for, among other things, an interior work space, storage, and the
housing of animals;38 this much is evident in the agricultural implements (e.g., ladder), straw on
the floor, and resin processing basins visible in some of the houses.
The houses have low pitched roofs constructed of long beams, a lattice of intertwined
branches, and tiles. The most common type of tile covering the typical house in the valley is the
buff and (red) brown Lakonian tile, although other types of machined-produced tile (e.g., the
glossy red “Marseilles”-type) are also occasionally found. Most of the houses have now lost
their full set of tiles, but where they remain suggests that 2,000 tiles is not uncommon (e.g.,
House #7); the longest house (#10) makes use of about 2,700 tiles. Although the houses tend to
be roofed with the same type of tile, our survey and study demonstrated different tile types at
several of the houses that point to successive roofing episodes.
The architecture itself show building phases that can be dated by construction styles and
evident refurbishment.39 On the one hand, it is relatively easy to differentiate Early Modern
(pre-1950) from Modern construction episodes in the houses since the former makes use of a
traditional vernacular style of construction common to longhouse construction—coursed field
stone walls about 0.50-0.75 m thick, chinked with small stones and tiles, filled with mud mortar,
plastered, and whitewashed—while the latter makes use of construction materials like cinder
blocks and concrete reinforcements that have been in use in the region only since the 1960s.
Cinder blocks used to reinforce pediments (House #2, 5) and long walls (House #3, 5), or as the
principal building material altogether (#9 & 13), indicate distinct modification episodes of recent
decades; the same is true of brick and concrete capping used in conjunction with older building
materials. On the other hand, it is less obvious that the incorporation of fieldstones into a cinder
block house would represent an intentional effort to create continuity with the original house of
the 1920s, as Mr. Perras informed us about his own reconstructed home, or that houses preserved
today entirely in fieldstone represent refurbishments using traditional styles in recent times.
36 The partition walls are constructed of vertical branches or thin canes, covered with mud, plastered and whitewashed. The elevation difference between rooms is created by a ledge of plastered stone or cement. House #14 is the only house where the floor (cement) is the same level throughout. Cf. Sigalos 2004, 62. House 37 The niches are often used for icons: Sigalos 2004, 89. 38 Cf. Sigalos 2004, 103. 39 See Foster 2002, 130.
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These living realities are sometimes nearly undetectable in the archaeological material itself but
come to life in interviews with informants.
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Table 4. Plan and Construction Style of Houses
The same complexities are evident in examining the relationship between adjacent house
remains that could suggest building migration, additions, or phases in accordance with changing
household needs and the necessity of occasional reconstruction. It is obvious that House #13, the
cinder block storehouse, was constructed in recent decades and succeeds as the next phase the
remains of a long house whose fieldstone walls are still visible today. Or similarly, one can note
that House #2 reuses the eastern wall of a former house lying immediately to the west which
survives only in low foundation walls and a sunken depression in the earth (1-2 m deep) that
must have been caused by the collapse of the bedrock beneath the former house; the current
house clearly is a newer version of its neighbor and recycles the fieldstones into the new
building. In other cases, however, the exact relationship of associated structures or the
multiplicity of enclosed spaces is less clear. At House #4, for instance, low foundation walls of
two rooms to the west of the house could represent, variously, earlier phases of the structure,
later extensions to accommodate new members, associated buildings and enclosures, or, as Mr.
Perras explained, the divided living space of two brothers who were unable to get along.
The oral interviews provide significantly more detail about the human experiences of the
changing household that take us back ultimately into the 19th century. According to one
informant, House #3 dates to the 1920s but it was maintained and refurbished in the same place
for nearly a century—even if there is nothing obvious in the architecture that identifies its earlier
from later habitation.40 Mr. Zographos’ house (#7) is situated within 20 m of the foundations of
the house (#8) of his grandfather, Ioannis Mertikas, who died in 1947 at 103 years old; his own
house marks a more recent construction of the family that has outlived that of his grandfather’s
home. On the other hand, Mr. Perras’ house (#5), which is also a relatively recent refurbishment
(early 1980s) in cinder block, lies immediately over his father’s house built in the 1920s and
intentionally incorporates the former structure’s foundations and field stone walls to emphasize
continuity. Interestingly, though, the low foundations of nearby House #6 represent not a house
preceding his father’s (#5) but one that his father built during the German occupation in the early
1940s to accommodate the new needs of the household who were then living in the valley year
40 Coulton and Foster’s enormous catalogue of village houses for the nomoi of Achaia and Elea (2002) give numerous examples of houses dated by oral testimony or datestones to the 19th century, a pattern that is not uncommon elsewhere (Whitelaw 1991, 417). The longevity of houses in the same location is understandable if we accept Forbes’ observation for Methana (2007, 229-230) that inhabitants thought of a rebuilt house as the same house as the one it replaced.
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round. The seemingly old foundations of House #6 are actually much more recent in time than
the foundations now incorporated into a cinder block structure.
These kinds of intricacies in building lifecycles must be common to all the houses in the
valley, even if we have neither the archaeological clues nor the oral stories to decode them.41
Our informants referred to older houses in several places that are totally invisible today, the
ephemeral building material presumably incorporated into later structures and features.42 The
oldest inhabitants of the lakka remember seeing some of these houses as children built of
mudbrick walls and even mudroofs. Mudbrick construction is common to vernacular
architecture of the Peloponnese generally,43 but is nearly absent at Lakka Skoutara, and the
informants’ memory in this respect adds a vital clue to the longevity of this semi-village in the
area. The different construction styles that can be observed at the houses, then, manifest the
multiple phases of building, repair, and refurbishment that are always present albeit not always
obvious at houses surviving only in foundation or those vanished altogether. In fact, as the
following sections will show, the houses of the lakka are constantly being transformed even
within the dynamic landscape of a valley that can often seem abandoned.
D. Domestic Lifecycles
If the agricultural installations and houses themselves reflect points and episodes of
habitation through time, the equipment and artifacts at the houses represent the varied processes
of habitation, functional shift, reuses, and abandonment in a landscape tied to the broader global
forces transforming the northeastern Peloponnese in the 20th century.44 Hence, while habitation
was typically seasonal in the valley, with land owners residing permanently in Sophiko and
visiting their land during peak agricultural months, we have also learned of times when people
inhabited the valley semi-permanently, as, for example, during the turbulent 1940s when World
War II and the subsequent Civil War made life in Sophiko unbearable. The abandoned
landscape that seems to characterize the valley today is itself a product of the decline of small-
41 Although the construction of adjacent houses often occurs to accommodate new members (daughters-in-laws and grand children) of the extended families, building function can be quite complex. See Clarke’s example (2000, 119, 123) of a large family in Methana purchasing a house in the 1920s immediately adjacent to their own and using it for, successively, storage, temporary village school, and the residence of the family of son and daughter-in-law, and eventually, grandparents. Cf. Sigalos 2004, 62, for the use of adjacent houses as residences for married children and stables. 42 Mr. Zographos pointed out a place near his grandfather’s house (#8) where he remembered his his great-grandfather’s kalyvi (hut) being with its dirt roof. Mr. Perras noted that House #10, belonging to Anthanasios Kalimanis, was the ancestor to a house just to the north (now gone) owned by Athanasios’ grandfather Yiorgios. Such vanished houses are often incorporated into later constructions: cf. Clarke 2000, 116-117. 43 Foster 2002, 139. 44 On the multi-functional character of houses, see Clarke 2000; Murray and Kardulias 1986.
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scale agriculture across Greece since the 1960s. The last family residing permanently in the
valley had moved out by the early 1980s, and the remaining standing houses have been occupied
only for the shortest duration during the fall olive harvest. Yet, Mr. Zographos still drives out to
his country house nearly every day from his permanent residence in neighboring Sophiko. Such
contingent forms of settlement and land use have left material correlates in the landscape that
defy facile definitions of “habitation” and “abandonment.”
Consider the associated artifact assemblages as they reflect on the functions of the
buildings.45 We would expect that these farmsteads should produce a range of artifacts that point
to domestic function, including at least the basic furnishings common to early modern seasonal
houses.46 Obviously “domestic” assemblages are exceptional, however, and most of the houses
are missing equipment like beds, tables, chairs, and kitchen utensils (Table 5).47 The houses that
survive only in their foundations (#s 4, 6, 11, 16, and 17) have only associated light tile scatters
and occasional artifacts inside and outside the structure, while most of the assemblages at other
houses indicate non-domestic functions (see below). Only two houses (#s 5 and 14) showed a
variety of habitation material including furniture, containers, clothing, tiles, and various assorted
metal and plastic artifacts. At Mr. Perras’ house (#5), the material was scattered in the collapse
all about the floor of the house, but in House #14 containers and glass bottles were still present
on wooden shelves.48 Both houses fell into disuse but had not been depleted of the household
goods, perhaps because the home owners were unable to visit in their older age, or because the
children inheriting the properties saw no point to continue their parents’ investment. Mr. Perras
himself was 80 years old in 2001 when he showed us around the valley and, although he had not
visited his house in some 10 years, became quite upset when he saw it in ruins.49
Most of the houses produce the sorts of assemblages that we would expect from
abandonments in which the objects and equipment were recycled elsewhere. Half of the houses
recorded (#s 4, 6, 8, 11, 16, and 17) survive only in their foundations and have left (at most) very
few tiles and sherds. Since these were abandoned long ago during the period when the lakka was
used regularly, it is probable that the materials were carried off and reused elsewhere before or
during abandonment. Domestic objects and equipment were essentially stripped from Houses 2 45 See Murray and Chang 1981 and Murray and Kardulias 1986, Table 3, for a discussion of artifacts and function. 46 Village houses and farms in early modern times typically had basic utilitarian equipment like a bed, chairs, tables, utensils for cooking, eating, and drinking, wine barrels, olive oil containers. See Clarke 2000, 110-113, 117, 124. 47 Admittedly, this is in part a result of our sample. We were unable to access and documented several of the houses that are still in use (1, 7, 9, and 15). For a discussion of the functional characteristics (including ambiguities) of artifacts and equipment at modern settlements and herder’s sites, see Murray and Chang 1981; Murray and Kardulias 1986. 48 No objects were found in the wooden niches in the northern wall or the shelves on the east walls. 49 On the emotive power of abandoned lands, cf. Forbes 2007, p 326-327.
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and 3 before their conversion into animal pens, while some houses (e.g., House #10) still
standing and in use today no longer have the most basic household equipment including, for
instance, storage vessels, plates, and utensils.
Assemblages at several of the houses reflect specific shifts in building function following
occupation. The domestic assemblages of Houses 2 and 3 were so depleted during and after
abandonment that there is nothing inside the houses that specifically suggests habitation. The
burlap bags, wool, medicine bottles, glass and plastic containers, and manure, among others,
reflect first the conversion of these buildings into animal pens and, now that the roofs have
collapsed, open areas for animal grazing.50 The small cinder block house (#13), on the other
hand, replaced a longhouse two decades ago and was clearly built with storage in mind. There
we recorded not only some provisional discard within the structure (construction material like
bricks, cinder blocks, stacked tiles and wood) but also equipment useful during the fall olive
harvest like a ladder, plastic chairs, and a burlap bag.
50 In 2009, we observed goats stationed in an animal pen 50 meters to the south walking openly among the ruins of House #3. The reuse of houses as animal pens is not uncommon in the Greek countryside: cf. Forbes 2007, 231-233.
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Table 5. Artifacts recorded inside the houses
Few of the artifacts found outside the houses contribute to positive assessments about
habitation despite the fact that the courtyard and surrounding fields would have been principal
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arenas for domestic activities (Table 5).51 The presence of tractor tires, resin collectors, shotgun
shells, and branch piles around several buildings points to the relatively recent use of the use of
the land for, respectively, plowing, resin processing, hunting, and olive cultivation. The light
scatter of ceramic, metal, plastic, and glass containers found at some houses (#s 2, 4, 6, 13) point
to storage and/or consumption of food and liquids (e.g., sardine cans, the Nescafe frappe shaker)
but could well reflect seasonal visits to the valley during the olive cultivation, or behaviors
completely unrelated to the use of the house.52 The same can be said for the sole of the shoe, the
comb, sock, and small mirror—their presence is too random and limited to suggest anything
other than human use of the area.53 Construction material, however, is a common type of artifact
and at least confirms the presence of buildings in the form of slumped and collapsed walls and
roofs (#s 2 and 3), stacked tiles or wood (# 13), and light scatters of tile and brick (#s 4, 10, 11,
13, 14, and 16). This much is obvious already from the surviving fieldstone walls, but these
eventually will fade into the land and the construction debris will become more important in
defining the former habitation.
Overall, the amount of artifacts noted in and around most of the houses is rather low (cf.
Tables 5 and 6). Less than half (5 of 11) of the carefully documented houses contained
assemblages inside that were substantial; field stones and a few tile fragments were the principal
signature of the other six buildings. Outside the houses, artifact scatters were normally small,
with only occasional moderate-density clusters of potsherds and trash (#s 4 and 13). As we
noted earlier, our area of pedestrian survey incorporated several houses and showed that tile
especially was an important signature of these buildings, while light scatters of table wares,
kitchen wares, and storage vessels were observed in the fields around the houses. These
observations at least allow us to conclude that while artifact clusters (including especially tile)
may sometimes constitute signatures of habitation, that lower-density scatters are often all that is
left of former houses in the modern countryside.
51 Sigalos 2004, 61-63. 52 The laundry detergent and plastic water bottle around house #2 was observed in 2009 and was discarded from the gravel road above and not the house. Some of the plastic water bottles have presumably fallen from olive trees where they had been recycled as tree ornaments. 53 Murray and Chang 1981, Fig. 3, and Murray and Kardulias 1986, 33, note clothing, shoe soles, and socks associated with animal folds.
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Table 6. Artifacts recorded outside the houses
Among the most interesting data we collected in our study was a series of observations
about the state of the houses over an 8 year period between 2001/2002 and 2009 (see Table 5). It
is true that in many of the houses, we noted no discernible changes, but the alterations that we
did observe were not insignificant. As one example, we obtained two quite different snapshots
of the objects inside House #10 between 2002 and 2009. During the first year, we noted the
large southern room covered with hay, and observed an overturned table, plow, small metal
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basin, ladder, wood pile, and several small objects (scissors, metal, leather, key), suggesting use
for storage and animal pen; in 2009, the northern and southern rooms were significantly cleaner
and neater (the hay had disappeared) and still included the table and key, but otherwise had a
quite different assemblage: a wood saw, an empty barrel, broom, and a stack of 219 tiles.54 Even
abandoned houses in the lakka show signs of artifact movement. We documented the stripping
of hundreds of whole tiles from the roof beams of House #2 between 2001 and 2004,55 an event
symbolizing the recycling behaviors that are common at the houses.56
Outside the houses, we observed small changes between 2002 and 2009 that indicate the
houses remain centers of active land use. At two of the maintained houses (10 and 13), tiles, a
small mirror, and socks disappeared between 2002 and 2009 while a barrel and water trough
appeared. A Nescafe frappe shaker and plastic water bottle at House 16 were newly discarded
probably during the October harvest while the laundry detergent container above House 2
suggests random discard from the road above. And abandoned and ruined structures were
evidently good places to pile pruned olive branches inside and around (see Table 6).
Finally, we observed in this brief span of time the rapid deterioration of the walls and
roofs of the abandoned houses themselves (see images). Over this eight year period, we
observed the progressive collapse of the tile roofs of several abandoned houses (#s 2, 3, 5, and
14) resulting in the wooden beams and hundreds of tiles falling inside and partially outside the
structures. At two of the structures (#3 and 14), the houses floors were no longer visible by
2009, and in fact, were largely inaccessible, with roof beams and debris blocking entry; the
household items left in the house were buried beneath the bulk of the building itself. The loss of
the roof has typically entailed also the rapid deterioration of the walls as exposure to the
elements has eroded the mud mortar and fieldstone walls have fallen out.
***********************************************************
In the preceding sections, we have highlighted how rural agricultural houses and their
associated artifacts, features, and environments in this small world reflect the contingency of 54 Both years suggest that the house was being used mainly for storage of agricultural and domestic implements, but the particular artifacts being stored were quite different. Cf. a similar list of agricultural implements documented at “storehouses” in the southern Argolid: Murray and Kardulias 1986, 31. 55 The event is driven home by a story told by Mt. Perras about two brothers who owned together an old house and had an irresolvable dispute, which resulted ultimately in one brother leaving but not before stripping his half of the roof tiles! The story highlights not only the curate behavior common to rural activities at Lakka Skoutara, but the relational and personal dimensions behind the observed archaeological patterns. Such kinship disputes that involved property ownership was relatively common in 20th century Greek villages. Cf. Forbes 2007, 164, 168, 232-234. 56 The storage of building supplies (brick, tile, cinder blocks) as provisional discard at several houses.
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habitation and abandonment over periods of time ranging from decision-making moments to the
patterns of centuries, and in tune with the broader region and world. Ultimately, these dynamic
processes confound our definitions and categories. Given the tendency for seasonal occupation
in the valley, can we say that Lakka Skoutara was ever fully inhabited in the Early Modern era
other than during the war years of the 1940s? On the other hand, has it ever really been
abandoned? The seasonal return of the inhabitants of Sophiko for the olive harvest, at least,
shows how the abandonment of habitation need not mean the departure from the land. We will
return to these questions in the final discussion, but before we do this, we can turn to a more
direct discussion of the memory and meaning in this landscape reflected in the oral interviews.
IV. The Oral Interviews
V. Toward an Archaeological History of the Rural Landscape
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