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When I was young, I got to go to the Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico. How our troop paid for that trip is another story for another time. There was at that time an archaeological dig at the ranch. I remember we got a chance to help with it, but the thing I remember most was a handprint. The people who inhabited that area stored grain in either rock built shelters or holes that had been cut into the rock and then sealed them with mud to keep the rodents away. There was a portion of one of the mud seals remaining and there was a handprint clearly visible in it. You could even put your hand over the handprint, and if you look very carefully, you could start to see some of the fingerprints of the person who had walled up the granary. I was 16 that summer and the handprint and my hand were approximately the same size. I remember wondering about the person who had made that handprint. Was it a man or a woman or perhaps even someone my age. The only thing left of that person was their handprint as far as I knew. The archaeologist had found just a couple of burials at that time, but I was told it was unlikely that handprint and the burials had any connection. I thought about becoming an archaeologist after that, but I quickly recognized it would be impossible to earn a living doing that unless I got a PhD and taught at some college. I dismissed the idea because of the long time I would have to spend in school – a foolish idea as I look back. However, I have never forgotten that handprint and the fact that someone who had lived over a thousand years before me had made it. It’s likely because of the division of labor in that society the handprint was made by a woman. All the world knows of her is that handprint. It has made me wonder over the years what will the world know of me a thousand years in the future?