The Course of Empires Chapter 2: The Pastoral State

It had been five thousand summers since that hunter had splashed over that creek in pursuit of that deer. Now a much different individual was dealing with a much different problem on the shores of that same creek while sitting on the buttress roots of a large tree. The individual in question was a village elder, drawing images in the sand as he contemplated how to erect the last stone in the great megalith on the bluff directly next to the river.

The old man took a break from his ponderings to look over the landscape surrounding him. He saw his daughter weaving an idol out of corn husks while his grandchildren played in the water or drew on the stone that served as a makeshift bridge with chalk. On his left, two men passed by as they plowed the field in preparation for the wheat planting. In the next field over, a shepherd attended to his flock. Past the line of trees, a pair of young girls danced as a boy played on a flute. Down where the creek met the river was their home village, where the men were hard at work building a large boat worthy of carrying the village chieftain.

Certainly hard work, the old man thought to himself, but it was nothing compared to the standing stones they had erected as a monument to the pagan gods they worshipped. The megalith was indeed a magnificent structure. It had taken hundreds of years of blood, sweat, and tears to get the circle this far. Thousands more years from now, the old man’s descendants would theorize that humans could not have made such structures without supernatural assistance. The old man would have taken that as an insult, having witnessed men break bones and tear muscles trying to pull the stones into their proper places. But now, it would all come together at last, and the old man would live to see it completed. The thought filled him with pride.

“Have you figured it out yet?”

The old man’s daughter had finished her idol and had come to join her father on the tree roots.

“Not yet, dear,” the old man replied. “This last stone is a bit heavier than the others. It’s all a matter of adjusting the rope strength and finding a more robust fulcrum.”

“Can you imagine? You were so much in love with that place when you were younger. And now, after all these years, you shall be the one to finish it.”

The old man smiled despite himself. “Come off it now, girl. You’re making me blush!”

One of the old man’s grandsons came running up, calling for his mother. He bounced up and down with excitement, begging her to see the drawing he had made. She happily acquiesced and let him drag her by the hand to see his new masterpiece.

“Quite the artist, isn’t he?” the old man called after her.

“You think he gets it from your side of the family?” she asked in return, indicating the geometric shapes he had drawn in the dirt.

“This is different,” he said. “This is science!”

She laughed and turned her attention to the child’s drawing.

The old man risked one last look over the horizon before continuing his inquiry. The lonely boulder rose high against a nearly cloudless blue sky above the smoke from the animal sacrifices that had already taken place at the stone circle earlier that week. The mountain with the forked peak stood miles behind it, another silent witness in the long and chaotic history of Earth’s various geographic changes. It may have been a volcano sometime in the distant past, but it had been silent for so long that no man had ever known its ash-belching roar. The humans of the river valley had progressed to the point where Mother Nature no longer ruled over their every action, but not to the point they could majorly disrupt the ecosystem. Everything, for now at least, was in balance.

Author’s Commentary

Here we see the civilization in Cole’s river valley having evolved into a settled agricultural state, having reached a middle ground between wilderness and civilization... although for how long is anyone’s guess.

However, I missed one detail about this painting when I first wrote this piece. The young boy drawing on the bridge is making an image of a soldier in red chalk, no less! I’ve been debating whether I should add that to the second chapter in a future edit since it is an excellent use of foreshadowing and a great contrast with his grandfather’s more intellectually based drawings. I don’t know; what do you guys think?

Once again, compare with the original painting above to see how well I did, if you’re so inclined.