Showing posts with label paleoanthropology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paleoanthropology. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Does Mark Watney dream of red potatoes?

Puh-tay-toe
Puh-tah-toe



Before we get down to business ...


As commander of this blog post, I order you to read The Martian by Andy Weir before you even watch the trailer for the upcoming movie. If you watch the trailer before you read the book you will ruin your life. Plain and simple. I can't even imagine what horrible things will happen to you if you see the whole movie without reading the book first.


Do not deprive yourself of this head trip. There is just no way this film will walk you through this astronaut's brain like the book does. Movies can be wonderful, but this is one of those reading experiences (of which there are infinitely finite) that cannot be matched on screen. 


You'll notice that I'm not linking the movie trailer here. I'm not even pasting a picture of Matt Damon in this post, knowing full well that it will get me more clicks and will beautify this screen, because I don't want anyone looking at any of that until they've read the book. If you're really hearing me, stop reading this blog post and don't come back until you've read the book. Do you read me? Over.



Layers at the base of Mount Sharp (source)
With the movie  The Martian opening this Friday, many people will soon be familiar with Mark Watney and his incredible ordeal. 

This is not a book review. I'm done with those for the time being. The last one I did turned out to be a bit of a disaster.  


I just have a few thoughts about Mark Watney's Martian diet that need to escape through my fingers and out onto your computer screens.


To survive on Mars and to think his way to salvation, he eats a lot of venison, kale, and blueberries.


Psych! He eats a lot of potatoes. You know, the "problem" food that causes disease. The food that so many trademarked diet plans avoid, like the Paleo Diet. 


There was some pre-made, pre-packaged NASA fare for Watney, but no way would it last as long as he needed if he was to try to get off Mars. So he actually grew potatoes. A shitload of them. With a shitload of astronaut shit as fertilizer. 


The whole spirit of the book is one that inspires us to think our way out of problems. To remember that possibility is a state of mind. To be skeptical of our inner skeptics who speak of impossibilities. And it's with that skepticism that I wonder about those potatoes.


Let's forget our questions about soil volume, nutrients, and moisture  (mostly because I don't know how to usefully critique the thorough explanations that Watney provides for his decisions about these things). 


And let's drop the question that drove me crazy until the very end of the book when Watney finally explained that he was microwaving the potatoes and thereby getting more calories from them than he would by eating them raw. Given all the calorie-calculations he ran through while sciencing, the chance that Watney might be eating raw potatoes was slowly killing me (and, potentially, him). 


Now I'm curious about something more fundamental: would potatoes grow the same on Mars as they do on Earth given the gravity's different? Could Watney's Earth botany translate as well as it did on Mars?


His training and thinking might not translate well on Mars if we're talking about making a different kind of tot. I'm fond of this paper hypothesizing how difficult it might be to extend the evolution of our own species, extra-terrestrially. Earth's gravity may matter a whole lot to human reproduction, especially those earliest stages of development. 



link to paper

We're not potatoes, sure, but potatoes aren't yeast. Given that there's less gravity on Mars, can we assume that sciencing all those Earth potatoes in Martian conditions is as straightforward as Watney makes it sound?


I don't think anyone knows the answer to this, however, tons of anyones (like Andy Weir) have more informed guesses than I do. Indeed, it is possible to grow spuds on the space station. So maybe my gravitational question lacks gravitas.  


(That groaner was for you, Mark.)


But one thing is for sure. In The Martian, as in life on Earth, a diet based primarily on potatoes fueled a human for quite some time. Maybe not all humans could handle this, and maybe not all humans could be as extraordinarily brilliant while eating mostly potatoes for so many cold and lonely days. But the potato industry has got to be thrilled. 


Not only is one of humanity's best (fictitious) members existing as one of humanity's best members thanks to potatoes, but the food's public image got a separate but related boost recently. Potatoes, and other similar carbohydrate sources, might have been crucial to our lineage's brain evolution. 


Anthropologists have known for a good while now that "underground storage organs" or USOs, like potatoes past and present and many other species, have probably been a big deal during the last several million years of human evolution. But a recent review paper in the Quarterly Review of Biology argues, based on up-to-the-minute cross-disciplinary findings, that cooked starches were crucial to the evolution of our big glucose-sucking, calorie-burning brains. Here's the paper's abstract:



source (and see Zimmer's write up)

So, Paleo dieters and potato-haters of the world, you have just been publicly flogged by both science fiction and science faction. What do you do now?


Well, if you haven't read The Martian, I'll plug it one last time. 


When you're on about page two you might be cursing me. By then I was cursing the book and everyone who liked it. I nearly gave up at the start for reasons to do with the style of writing (gasp! a blog! Ugh!) and my narrow-minded expectations of astronauts, but I'm so glad I dominated my inner bigot and turned the page. All the pages. To the last page. In solidarity with my new favorite Martian blogger, I'm moved to thank you for reading this gasp! a blog! Thank you. Now get to reading Watney's.


P.S. If you can't access the two articles I reference, email me and I'll send them to you: holly_dunsworth at uri.edu

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Just-So Babies

If you've ever watched a baby eat solid foods, that's DuckFace.

If you've ever seen a shirtless baby, that's DadBod.


Why are we so into these things, whatever they are, right now?


Because whether we realize it or not, they're babylike, which means they're adorable. And all things #adorbs are so #totes #squee right now for the millions (billions?) of social media users in our species. And if they're babylike, they're especially adorable to women and women are more frequently duckfaces than men. And women are increasingly open to embracing, maritally, the non-chiseled men of the world...who knew?


Well, anyone and everyone who's spent a damn second raising a baby, that's who. Especially those with mom genes.


Understanding babies, how they develop, and our connections to them while they do so is key to explaining just about everything, and perhaps literally eh-vuh-ray-thing, about humanity. 
How can I be so sure? Well aren't you?

We all know that the most attractive women are the ones that look like babies. 

source
And to help Nature out, makeup, lasers, and plastic surgery neotenize us temporarily or permanently, making our skin smooth, our eyes big, our lips pouty, our cheeks pinchable and rosy, and our noses button-y.

That stuff about beauty is common knowledge isn't it? We do these things to ourselves because of our evolved preferences for babies. We find them to be so extremely cute that this adaptive bias for babies affects much of the rest of our lives. Beauty is just the tip of the iceberg because, like I said, babies explain everything: DuckFace, DadBod, ...


And, yes, I do have more examples up my sleeve.


All that weight we gain while pregnant? You think it's to stockpile fat for growing a superhuge, supercharged baby brain both before and then after it barely escapes our bipedal pelvis?

Me and Abe, with hardly an inkling that there's still a whopping five more weeks ahead of us... suckers.
Or maybe I gained 20 pounds above and beyond the actual weight of the pregnancy so that I could protect my baby from calorie lulls from disease or food shortage, especially when those things happened more frequently to my ancestors.

Nope. And nope.


Pregnant women gain all that weight so that its lightning fast loss while lactating leaves behind a nice saggy suit of skin for the baby to grab and hold onto--not just on our bellies, but our arms and legs too. Our ancestors were dependent on this adaptation for quite a while, but over time mothers and infants became less dependent on it when they started crafting and wearing slings. Slings reduced selection on a baby's ability to grasp, you know.


Before slings, selection would have been pretty intent on favoring baby-carrying traits in both mothers and babies. For example, t
he way that our shoulder joints are oriented laterally, to the side, is unlike all the apes' shoulders which are oriented more cranially, so they're always kind of shrugging. You think we have these nice broad shoulders for swinging alongside us while running, for seriously enhancing our throwing ability, and, of course, for making stone tools? 

No. No. No.

All that's great for later in our lives, but our lateral facing shoulder joints are for being picked up and carried around while we're helpless babies. Our sturdy armpits are necessary for our early survival. And, biomechanically, those shoulder joints are oriented in the optimal way for carrying babies too. It's a win win. Combine that with the shorter hominin forearm, oh, and that itty-bitty thing called hands-free locomotion and it's obvious that we're designed to carry our babies and also to be carried as babies.


Bums come into play here too.


You probably think your big bum's for bipedal endurance running don't you? Or you might assume it evolved to give a stone-tipped spear a lot of extra oomph while impaling a wooly rhino hide.


Wrong. And wrong again.


Our big bums develop early in life because, like armpits, they build grab'n'go babies as well as well-designed grown-up baby carriers.

source
Bums plop nicely on a forearm and most certainly give babies and moms an advantage at staying together. Bums on moms (if not completely liquefied and fed to baby) steady her while holding such a load and also provide something for a baby slung on her back to sit on. Once babies lost the ability to grasp onto moms, babies' bodies had to adapt to be portable objects and moms bodies had to adapt to never drop those portable objects (at least not too far). No doubt big bums, like sturdy armpits, evolved before slings and home bases were ubiquitous in our species. 

Here's another one: The pregnancy "mask."


All those pigmentation changes that we describe as a side effect of the hormones are much more than that. Those new brown and red blotches that grow on a mother's chest and face, those are functional. They're fascinators. A mother's body makes itself more interesting and loveable for the busy, brainy baby on its way. Once we started decorating our bodies with brown and red ochre and pierced shell, bones and teeth, selection on these biological traits was relaxed. But they still persist. Why not? A human baby can't be over-fascinated, can it?


Oh, and fire. That was the best thing that ever happened to babies which means it was the best thing that ever happened to everyone living with babies. Quiet, serene, fascination, those flames... which also happen to process food for toothless babies whose exhausted, stay-at-foraging parents, would much rather swallow the food they chew up for themselves.


The baby also grows fascinators of its own. The big long hallux. Yep. Our big toe is long compared to other apes'. This is where you say it's an adaptation for bipedalism but you'd be only half right.



© naturepl.com / Ingo Arndt / WWF
The length makes it easier to reach with our mouths, as babies. And we teethe on that big toe. Imagine a world with no Sophies! That's what our ancestors had to deal with. Toes as teething toys doesn't seem so ridiculous when you remember that our long thumbs evolved for sucking.

Anyway, this long hallux was a bit unwieldy so thanks to a lucky mutation we stuck it to the rest of the foot and this turned out to work rather well for bipedalism.


Now that it's been a few minutes into this post, you must be sitting there at your computer thinking about boobs.


Yep, babies explain those too! The aesthetic preference for large breasts, by both males and females, is just nostalgia and allometry. You know how when you go back to visit your old kindergarten it looks so tiny compared to your memory? While you're a small human, you spend quite a lot of time with breasts, focused intently on them. But grow your early impression of breasts up in proportion to your adult body's sense of the world and, well, that's quite a big silicon kindergarten!


Your desires, your preferences, your tastes, your anatomy now, your anatomy when you were a baby... everything is babies, babies, babies. Even bipedalism itself.


Gestating a large fetus would not be possible if we were not bipedal. Think about it. All apes are bipedal to a significant degree. What pressured us into being habitual bipeds? Growing big fat, big-brained babies, that's what. Can you imagine a chimpanzee growing a human-sized fetus inside it and still knuckle-walking? I doubt the body could handle that. The spine alone! If you walk upright and let your pelvis help to carry that big fetus, you're golden. Obviously it worked for us.


I could go on forever! But I'll just give you one more example today. It's one you didn't see coming.


Women live longer than men, on average, and a large portion of that higher male mortality rate (at older ages) is due to trouble with the circulatory system. Well, it's obvious why. I'm looking at my arms right now and, complementing these brown and red fascinators, another part of my new mom suit is this web of ropy blue veins. Is this because my baby's sucked up all my subcutaneous fat from under my saggy skin, or... Or! Is it because my plumbing's stretched after housing and pumping about 50% more blood than normal by the third trimester. If my pipes are now, indeed, relatively larger for my blood volume and my body size then, all things being equal, that should reduce my risk of clogging and other troubles. Most women experience a term pregnancy during their lives. I'm sure this explains most if not all of the differences in mortality between men and women.


Like I said, that's just the start. And although I haven't provided evidence for many of the things I wrote, that shouldn't matter. These are just-so stories and they're terribly fun to think about. They're nothing close to approximating anything as lovely as Kipling's but they're what we humans do. If you're not a fan of today's post, hey, it's not like it passed peer review!

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

The Ape In the Trees

I'd guess that few people outside of primate paleontology are familiar with the story of The Ape in the Tree.   It's one of those stories in paleontology that never gets oldeven if you've heard Alan Walker, one of the story's main unravelers and my Ph.D. advisor, tell it many times. Now, thanks to a new discovery by our team, out today in Nature Communications, we've got a new story to tell alongside it: The Ape in the Trees. 

Alan Walker in the mid 80s excavating at the Kaswanga Primate Site, Rusinga Island, Kenya
Because it's a juicy one, let's recount the ol' Ape in the Tree first.

The "Ape" refers to Proconsul, a genus of fossil hominoids from the earliest part of the ape radiation. Proconsul remains are preserved in deposits down at the early part of the Miocene epoch at sites in Kenya and Uganda. These animals weren't doing much of any brachiation, suspension, or knuckle-walking in the trees or on the ground like extant gibbons, siamangs, orangutans, gorillas, chimpanzees and bonobos. They were what we call generalized arboreal quadrupeds, moving about the trees by relatively slow but strong grasping with their hands and feet, and without the aid of a tail for balance. Body size estimates across the few known species range from 9-90 kg (20-200 pounds), but little in the way of functional anatomical differences (which are translated into behavioral differences) are apparent.

Proconsul skull discovered by Mary Leakey on Rusinga Island in the late 1940s.
Mary's skull was commemorated as a postage stamp.
In the story, "Ape" specifically refers to just one partial skeleton found at R114 on Rusinga Island, Kenya.

KNM-RU 2036. Proconsul partial skeleton from site R114. The green bits are the additional parts found by Walker and colleagues decades after the initial discovery marked in blue.
Rusinga's an island in Lake Victoria connected by a short human-built causeway to the mainland, but the lake, and hence the ability for Western Kenyan land to become surrounded by its water, is fairly recent, within the last 2 million years or so, and it's fluctuated greatly in depth ever since. Here's how it looks now:

© Shipman and Walker

© Shipman and Walker
20-18 million years ago, at the time of Proconsul, Rusinga Island's terrain was part of the land flanking the then-active Kisingiri Volcano which is just south of Mbita and out of frame of the map above. It's in large part thanks to the volcanic deposits that such wonderful preservation occurs on Rusinga.

Two fossilized grasshoppers found preserved in a deinothere (ancient elephant relative) footprint near the R114 (“ape in the tree”) site on Rusinga Island, Kenya. The one in the back is flipped upside down. © Alan Walker

Articulated bones of the right and left feet of an adult Proconsul (museum catalog no. KPS III). These ape feet remained intact upon burial and during fossilization, and were excavated roughly 20 million years later at the Kaswanga Primate Site, Rusinga Island, Kenya. © Alan Walker
People have been studying Proconsul for nearly 90 years (with the initial find at a limestone quarry in Koru, Western Kenya). And they've been studying the fossils and rocks of Rusinga Island, the site which has produced the most Proconsul fossils, for nearly as long.

Site R114 was recognized early on in the scientific history of Rusinga Island. A few curious circular deposits of a different rock composition than the surrounding matrix (and containing interesting fossils including Proconsul KNM-RU 2036, the blue bits on the figure above) were hypothesized to be potholes. This was the explanation that held until the mid 1980s when Alan Walker and his friends started poking around in the Rusinga collections in Nairobi.  Walker noticed some Proconsul bones collected by Louis Leakey and colleagues from Rusinga Island had been misidentified as other animals. This inspired a joint team from Walker's university, the Johns Hopkins University, and the National Museums of Kenya to go to Rusinga Island to re-examine sites there. The expeditions were successful. They recovered more Proconsul bones to join the partial skeleton KNM-RU 2036 (the green bits on the figure above).  But what's even more exciting was their investigation of this pothole idea.

They simply (I meant that in spirit, not sweat) dug down at the edges of the main pothole, the one that produced the Proconsul bones, and found something surprising. Instead of finding a basin shape in the ground like a good pothole, the edges actually got wider the deeper they dug.

The pothole that wasn't. (R114, Rusinga Island)
Instead of a pothole, this curious fossil-filled feature appears to be a fossil tree trunk that was both filled in by sediment and fossils but also buried deep by surrounding sediment. To explain how the Proconsul and other creatures, like a rabbit and an ungulate, were also preserved, Walker and colleagues surmised that it was once hollowed out and used by a carnivore, like a creodont, as a den.

Figure from Alan Walker and Mark Teaford (1989) The Hunt for Proconsul. Scientific American 260(1): 82. Diagram drawn by Tom Prentiss. Also reproduced in Walker and Shipman’s 2005 book The Ape in the Tree
So there you have it... that's "The Ape in the Tree" in a nutshell... You can read much more about it, and other stories about Proconsul, in the book of the same name.

link

Now, onto the brand new story of The Ape in the Trees...

A team of us has been working the sites on Rusinga and nearby Mfangano Island, annually or more, since 2006. We've been fortunate to collaborate internationally and to share this work with many undergraduate and graduate students too.

Systematic survey at site R107 in 2011

We've been exceedingly lucky to have a geologist on our team, Dan Peppe, who is also a paleobotanist. This is because there are not just fossil tree trunks but exquisitely preserved leaves.
Figure from "A morphotype catalog and paleoenvironmental interpretations of early Miocene fossil leaves from the Hiwegi Formation, Rusinga Island, Lake Victoria, Kenya" [link]

Andas discovered at R3, a particularly rich site, by Peppe's doctoral student, Lauren Michelthere are also well-preserved root systems. And these are located among fossil tree trunks, within nicely preserved paleosols (soils) that happen to contain fossils of Proconsul and another primate Dendropithecus.

Lauren Michel and Dan Peppe hard at work.
That's what we've published today in Nature Communications.

Reconstruction of site R3, this fossil forest containing fossil Proconsul (fore) and Dendropithecus (higher up) by artist Jason Brougham.

This time, then, the story's not about an ape skeleton actually inside a tree, but it's about an ape (and other creatures) dying in a preserved fossil forest of trees. The root systems and distance between trunks points to a closed-canopy forest, meaning that the arboreal creatures like Proconsul and Dendropithecus needn't come down to the ground to travel and that the ground was most likely very shady, with an ecosystem that reflected it. Further, the fossil leaf morphologies point to a wet and warm forest. All consistent with what many primates, especially apes, prefer for habitat today. What's more, this habitat reconstruction jibes so nicely with the behavioral interpretations we've made for Proconsul based on anatomy.

We started this long-term project at such historically well-known sites not just to find more of the ancient fossil apes they're famous for (which we have!), but because we wanted to describe the paleoenvironments in which they lived, died, and evolved. The findings in this paper are more than I dared to dream would come from our work already. It's some of the best evidence linking ape to habitat that we could ask for. It really speaks to the power of collaboration and perseverance.

Glorious fossils. Not too shabby of a campsite either.

*** 

To get a sense of what we do at Rusinga, here's a nice film that a crew from the American Museum of Natural History put together about our work.

Science Bulletins: Expedition Rusinga - Uncovering Our Adaptive Origins from AMNH on Vimeo.

Our work's also featured in the Hall of Human Origins at the AMNH, including a fun interactive exhibit that shows us doing many fieldwork type things like sieving endless piles of dirt.

And here's a peek at the ape tail loss story that Proconsul tells, which will be part of Neil Shubin's three-part series in April on PBS called Your Inner Fish.

***

The paper

Michel, L. et al (Feb 18, 2014) Remnants of an ancient forest provide ecological context for Early Miocene fossil apes. Nature Communications doi:10.1038/ncomms4236

Thursday, January 2, 2014

Walk this way, talk this way, roll in the hay

Teaching anthropology and human evolution involves tearing down stubborn misconceptions and stimulating students to discover and to behold their culturally-limited assumptions objectively.

That's if you're skilled and if you're lucky. OK, let's be honest: that's if you're supernatural.

The job sometimes feels like digging a hole, going deeper and deeper, never having the chance to mold something out of all that dirt, to build upon existing knowledge and insights. To move upward and onward.

Enough preamble though. There's a point today and it's got to do with:

The ever-annoying, but ever-so educationally priceless enigma that is... The Neanderthals [appropriate sound effect... and more].

I just finished a semester of Paleoanthropology where my students were asked to answer, "What happened to the Neanderthals?" for their course-long and final projects.

Even a familiarity with Neanderthals from their Intro to Bioanth or their Intro to Archaeology course does not fully prepare all upper-level Paleoanthropology students to consider them in a more advanced scientific framework. In fact, I think that familiarity combined with the claws of pop culture can inhibit them.

Despite hosting an expert to present to my students the many obstacles and issues with identifying extinction and its causes in the fossil record, and despite an admittedly brief but explicit exposure to the cutting edge genetic evidence, some of them still assumed they were charged to find the cause of Neanderthal extinction.

Two of them went so far as to rewrite my question at the top of their final paper as, "Why did the Neanderthals go extinct?" They had no idea that their version of my question contained assumptions. It's got to have a lot to do with the fact that we kicked off the first week of class and their assignment by binge-reading "The Humans Who Went Extinct" by Finlayson. The book does a wonderfully broad treatment of the issues, but I was completely blind to the title's potential to inhibit nuance. If I'd anticipated this I would have discussed extinction much more during the course. [Consider this post, as so many are, an elaborate note to self.]

The trouble, as I see it, is it's unclear whether the Neanderthals went extinct the same way that we consider the Dodo to have gone extinct or the same way that dinosaurs (except birds) did at the end of the Cretaceous, etc.

Of course there aren't any Neanderthals alive now. But there aren't any australopiths alive now either and nobody's talking about australopith extinction.  Australopiths begat or, if you'd rather, evolved into HomoArdipithecus didn't go extinct either.  As of now we think and say that they evolved into (or, e.g., are in an ancestor-descendant relationship with) Australopithecus.

Aside from Neanderthals, Paranthropus is probably the only other hominin taxon that we discuss in terms of extinction. If its phylogenetic position is correct (and there is no dispute that I know of beyond the debate over one or two genera), then it left no living descendants and faded from the fossil record about a million years ago during a time when many other sub-Saharan fauna disappeared too. But these creatures were weird little bipedal apes, not stocky and muscular, big-eyed, big-nosed, ginger-haired, complexly cultured Europeans as the Neanderthals seem to have been. It's obvious to me why we obsess over the demise of the latter and not the former.

Anyway. Point is. I think we're being a bit intellectually reckless assuming Neanderthal "extinction." To me the question of their fate is more fairly posed "What happened to them?" with a strong answer being extinction but with a kind of extinction that needs to be carefully defined.

In order to hold the Neanderthal demise apart as special, as an exclusive story of "extinction," it needs to be shown that other long-dead LSA/UP hominins that we don't call "Neanderthals," but that we might claim as our more direct ancestors, didn't go "extinct" or have no story of extinction to tell. Don't you think?

[Aside: Here's where questions of cultural demise vs. continuity that are being addressed by archaeologists really might help. But again, we face problems because we know from modern examples that culture change does not equal genetic change and culture stasis does not equal genetic stasis.]

Further, and probably more significant here:  If Neanderthal "extinction" is the answer then it needs to account for the factoid that 23andMe says I have 2.9% Neanderthal (77th percentile for site users) in my genome which, as a Homo sapiens, is already more than 99% the same as a Neanderthal's.

There are at least 12 people who are more Neanderthal than I am.

I know that's confusing. I read the 23andMe methods paper, which is supposed to be simpler than the published one, but I still don't understand much about how they make the estimate.

Basically, it's about a percentage of SNPs (single nucleotide polymorphisms, a.k.a. mutations) that I share with dead Neanderthals but that so many live Africans (who I'm more closely related to!) do not. Therefore, if the methods are generally good, my genome contains evidence that people in my ancestry mated with Neanderthals. People who do not have these mutations either (a) never had Neanderthal mutations flow into their ancestors' families, or if they did  (b) those Neanderthal mutations drifted away before science could capture them from descendents today.

[You only got one mutation from mom and one from dad, the other part of the pair in each parent that you didn't get are dead ends (extinct!) unless your siblings or cousins got them. So a lot of SNPs and other variants disappear regularly and, on the other hand, everybody has new variants compared to their parents thanks to constant mutation.]

Tendrils of my ancestry must have been much more Neanderthal than 2.9%, but those SNPs drifted away over time. In other words, far enough back there had to be at least one hominin with a 100% Neanderthal genome in my ancestry (whatever that means), because that's the only way the genes got to me in the first place...but now they're diluted down, drifted away, and maybe even selected against to end  up 2.9% in me. I think that's about right.

These findings, that many people like me with ancestry from the northern hemisphere share small percentages of their DNA with Neanderthals, are not at all surprising to me. And that's for a couple reasons having to do with what we know about Neanderthals at this moment in scientific history, which in turn has a lot to do with why I titled the post the way that I did, which in turn has to do with my love of Young Frankenstein, and I think it's fairly common to think of Frankensteins and golems in the same imagination space as Neanderthals...

Walk this way

People are still studying Neanderthal feet and limb proportions to try to estimate energy expenditure during locomotion. But since we stopped basing all our reconstructions off an old man with arthritis, and a bunch of badass bone breaks that healed, we've accepted that Neanderthals are not clumsy, knuckle-draggers. They were good bipeds like we are--just coming into dangerously close contact with dinner and surviving well enough to string out their suffering before death.

Talk this way

Whether they had language is more of a lingering question but still one that's lop-sided towards yes, with the caveat that it probably wasn't as diverse and therefore wasn't as complex as ours. New research on a Neanderthal hyoid (small horse-shoe shaped bone in our throats that moves when we swallow and speak) claims that its structures reflect speech mechanics. But I really like reading about the work by Lieberman and McCarthy (written about broadly here) that explains how the Neanderthal throat and mouth dimensions probably did not allow for the tongue to move as much as ours does to manipulate expired air. This is how we make different vowels. Lieberman and McCarthy suggest Neanderthals couldn't have made as many distinct vowels as us and probably were as limited as human children in that regard. (Immature throat and mouth dimensions contribute to why kids sound like accented foreigners while they're developing.) Without as many vowel options their vocabulary would have been limited, but not non-existent! Surely they could produce something approximating this, no? Which brings us to...

Roll in the hay

So if it walks like a human, and sort of talks like a human, it probably bleeps like a human too. And our imaginations needn't feel naughty for going there since I already told you, if the methods are good, I carry evidence in every cell of my body that at least one of my ancestors waited until marriage to lose her virginity to a Neanderthal. (If you do want to feel naughty, read Ken's two recent posts here and especially here.)

***
They're so much like us or we're so much like them that we can't always tell their bones from ours! For a fascinating story on this, see Stephanie Pappas's piece "'Neanderthal' Remains Actually Medieval Human."

And yet you might see the latest news of "Neanderthal fossil indicates incest was common" which is about this article and say,  Hey! We're not like those incestuous savages! But ... well.. yes we are. We so are. And remember, we don't exactly have this kind of information from fossils that we welcome under the Homo sapiens umbrella and if we did (or when we do) I can all but guarantee we'll be finding some skeletons in those skeletons' closets too.

Neanderthals even took time away from incest to behave in some other pretty amazingly human ways. Scroll down to the bottom and check out what scientists have discovered about Neanderthal behavior just over the last year in this 2013 roundup by Kate Wong.

So despite the shrinking barrier between us and them, that we continue to call them "Neanderthals," sets them apart from us. It sets them apart from the real, or at least more human-y, Late Stone Age and Upper Paleolithic human hominins who begat us, whoever they are. And there's such a long tradition of differentiating them from us that it's hard to break free of the mold and present their story any other way than cloistered off as just that: "Their" story and one that ended before any of them could write it down. So they must have gone extinct, yo. Poof.

No seriously, which is it? Are they like chimps or dogs to us now, or were they like The French or The Red Sox of their day?

Maybe they're something else that we can't fully understand unless we actually encounter one another. So the best anybody can do is bring them to life from the inanimate material they left behind.

And because this is the best we can do, and because the fascination will always fuel it, the Neanderthal enigma can only intensify with more discoveries. It's so satisfying to say something conclusive at the end.

Saturday, October 26, 2013

A glimpse at the difficulty with early Homo

The new Dmanisi skull's got me thinking about early Homo more than normal, especially since it's what's on the horizon for my paleoanthropology course this semester.

This morning I unearthed a  project that never got published as a paper and it's worth sharing here.

A couple years ago I tried to address just one problem with distinguishing different species among early Homo fossils: The usefulness (or not) of molar outline shape. 

With great contribution from, and collaboration with, a student who went on to do graduate work in biological anthropology, together we presented a poster at the 2010 Paleoanthropology Society meetings in St. Louis called,

"From rhomboid to rectangle: Virtual wear of early Homo molars"

Here's a jpeg of that poster.


I'm posting it here in case it's useful for anyone concerned with these issues.

Email me (holly_dunsworth at mail.uri.edu) or tweet (@hollydunsworth) if you'd like a nice pdf or more information.

Monday, August 27, 2012

That [obstetrical dilemma] really tied the [human evolution] together. Part 2.

Update (Aug 30, 6:41 am): Paper's up. Here.

Update (Aug 28, 3:32 pm):  Jeepers, if I'd have known readership (err, clickership) was going to jump way above normal with this post, or that writers would lift quotes from here, I'm sure I would have crafted it better. 

Note: We're past our embargo, so I'm posting this now even though it doesn't appear that the article is posted on-line yet. I'll update this post and link to it once it is.

Some colleagues and I have a paper this week in early view at PNAS (1). I already told a big part of the story here.

In our paper, we show how weak--given current evidence--the popular obstetrical dilemma hypothesis (OD) is for explaining human gestation length. And, we offer up an alternative hypothesis as well.

It gets a lot bigger than this, doesn't it moms!  
(image: http://classes.biology.ucsd.edu)

The EGG hypothesis
What limits fetal growth during pregnancy? The OD says it's the pelvis--implying it's a unique constraint due to bipedalism. But the EGG hypothesis suggests that the primary constraint on fetal growth and gestation length is maternal metabolism (energetics, growth, gestation). Mothers give birth when they do because they cannot possibly give anymore energy into gestation and fetal growth. And when you look at the data available on pregnancy and lactation metabolism in humans... it shows that right around 9 months of gestation, mothers reach the energetic throughput ceiling for most humans.

Here's Herman's Figure 3 showing the EGG for humans, plotted with real metabolic data. Circles are the offspring, squares are the mother. Notice how fetal energy demands increase exponentially as the end of a normal human gestation period approaches. To keep it in any longer, mother would have to burst through her normal metabolic ceiling. Instead, she gives birth and remains in a safe and possible (!) metabolic zone.



The starred dot is a human infant at the developmental equivalency of a newborn chimpanzee. This is the thought experiment that Stephen Jay Gould famously wrote about. That's the age you'd have to birth a human baby to be like a newborn chimp, since we're born born more helpless than chimps. Keeping a fetus in this long--that is, adding 7 or more months to our gestation--would be physiologically impossible because it would require a mother to exceed 2.1x the basal metabolic rate, bursting through the ceiling for most humans. We actually gestate as long or maybe a little longer than you'd expect for a primate or a mammal, not shorter! So our relative helplessness at birth is indicating how much more neurological growth we have to achieve during our lives, after birth, than chimps and other relatives.

The EGG is a more general incarnation and a broader application of Peter Ellison's "metabolic crossover hypothesis" for the timing of human birth. The EGG branches out beyond our species, considering humans to operate within the physiological confines of other primates and mammals. But comparable data for other species, for testing the EGG, are not yet available to our knowledge.

Why do we grow babies that seem too big to fit through our birth canals? A strong hypothesis is that it's our diets that have radically changed compared to most of our evolutionary history. Many humans have constant and easy access to high calorie foods while pregnant and they can grow bigger babies over longer pregnancies. Very much related to this idea, check out Herman's recent NYT article about how our energy intake affects our health: "Debunking the Hunter-Gatherer Workout."

***
We named the hypothesis for ease of communication, not because we're eggomaniacs. We were tempted to call it HAM (humans are mammals) but felt that EGG better described the idea and was also adorable considering how babies are made.

HAM and EGG, or EGG and HAM, to me, is the ideal name but try saying that without going all Dr. Seuss on a wumbus full of thneed-suited who-scientists.

And that goes for here too. Your pop culture references best remain R-rated if you're to retain an ounce of R-word. And because it's just so enlightening, we'll continue to employ the very mature and refined Lebowski theme from Part 1 in our discussion here.

Call me Maude.

“The [species] abides.”
Part of the trouble I and others have with the obstetrical dilemma is this: We do just fine in the face of the tight fit at birth. Just because there's a tight fit, just because childbirth is terrifying, just because it's not an easy or enjoyable experience, that's not necessarily a "bad" thing evolutionarily. Clearly it's the opposite. It's a good thing. We're here to think about it! It can't possibly be "bad" if we keep having babies despite the hellishness of childbirth. This perspective was one of the contributions of "The obstetrical dilemma revisited" (2): Our behaviors, our aiding of women during childbirth, have probably reduced selection pressures against the tightness of fit, or other contributors to childbirth difficulty and danger. The species abides.

When you look at childbirth not as a biological failure, or as God's plague on lascivious women invited by Eve, but when you see it instead as a raging success, the obstetrical dilemma hypothesis is much easier to doubt.

The picture of evolutionary success. (source)

"Say what you like about the tenets of [Natural Selection], Dude, at least it's an ethos."
The widespread popularity of the OD may well be rooted in its adaptationist appeal, where nonoptimality (e.g. human altriciality, or helplessness and relative underdeveloped-ness at birth) is explained as a contribution to the best possible design of the whole (e.g. big brain and efficient bipedalism). Gould and Lewontin (3) famously criticized the “adaptationist programme” by cautioning that “organisms must be analyzed as integrated wholes” that are “constrained by phyletic heritage, pathways of development, and general architecture” and that “the constraints themselves become more interesting and more important in delimiting pathways of change than the selective force that may mediate change when it occurs.” They faulted this approach for failing to “consider alternatives to adaptive stories” and for its “reliance on plausibility alone as a criterion for accepting speculative tales.”

From this perspective, it's inappropriate to root the evolution of human altriciality in a compromise between adaptations for big brains and adaptations for bipedalism when there are most likely more basic, conserved, phyletic constraints on pathways of development and general architecture (e.g. gestation, pregnancy and fetal growth) at play.

“Yeah, well, that’s just like, uh, your opinion man.” 
Over the last five years as I’ve been thinking about this, specifically, I've had a teeny tiny bit of resentment creep up now and again towards the field that coaxed me into buying this OD as dogma. But I have nobody to blame but myself! A hypothesis is just that and why I just swallowed it whole without doubt is partly because it's a cool idea! And partly because an alternative idea just wasn't as well-known yet! Our paper is not attacking anyone, despite the guilt we've induced in folks who have been treating the OD as fact and teaching it to hordes of students for the last 50 years. To those researchers and teachers who came before us, we’re grateful! And to anyone who thinks of our paper as gotcha or an attempt at it: Please remember how science works and how knowledge accumulation works. That's all this is. It's just a little more hyped because it's about humans, not sea squirts.

The OD is not dead. It's just put in a less omnipotent place. The heaviest burdens should always be on supporting hypotheses for human exceptionalism; we should never default to them. Humans are animals/mammals/primates/hominoids and when we fail at that default view, that's when we can claim human exceptionalism.


References
1. Dunsworth HM, Warrener A, Deacon T, Ellison P, and H Pontzer (2012) Metabolic hypothesis for human altriciality. PNAS on-line early view.
2. Rosenberg K, Trevathan WR (2002) Birth, obstetrics, and human evolution. BJOG 109(11): 1199–1206.
3. Gould, SJ and RC Lewontin (1979) The spandrels of San Marco and the Panglossian paradigm: A critique of the adaptationist programme. Proceedings of the Royal Society of London, Series B 205(1161): 581-598.

Note
Please do look to the PNAS paper to read about the EGG or to see how we've exposed the challenges to testing the traditional OD. I did not write this post to stand for anyone's sole source. If you cannot access the paper once it's posted on-line, then please email me and I'll happily send the paper to you.

Another Update (Aug. 30, 6:41 am)




Thursday, May 10, 2012

We need another explanation for our big brains like we need a hole in the head



(source)
Something was definitely up, up top, once our bodies, down below, committed to walking and running upright.

It’s only after things got familiarly human in the locomotor anatomy--when we got long legs, non-grasping toes, and reconfigured butts--that brains started increasing beyond ape proportions.

For the first four or five million years of hominin evolution (from 7-2.5 million years ago) the story’s about bipedalism. For the last two and a half, it’s about encephalization. We've known this thanks to fossils for a while and genetic evidence is saying the same thing. It’s natural, then, for such a cerebral organism to wonder whether the two are connected.

As you hypothesize, you could go the technology route. Freed forelimbs, not necessary for locomotion, are free to be handy. O! the possibilities for hurling turds and building worlds! So that's one idea: Selection for a brainier hominin (both physically and cognitively) could occur only after the hands were habitually free to be freaky.

You could go the ecology route. Once our bodies committed to bipedalism our diet changed to include more meat, hominin body size increased, and geographic dispersal did too, no doubt aided by our more efficient bodies built for long distance travel. These characteristics, together, have been compared to those of scavenging and predatory carnivores. Regardless of how small or large a part meat played in our ancestors’ diets, there’s no denying that an ecological shift occurred in the early Pleistocene, with an increase in diet and habitat diversity, and that shift must have included new requirements of the brain.

Or, you could go the sociality route. As hominins relied more and more on cooperative foraging and parenting behaviors, etc, navigating social networks became key. Once complex speech and language arrived, then there would be new demands on the brain as well.

These pressures, requirements, demands, however you want to think of them, could be working in concert and at different times (e.g. technology plus socializing) over deep, geologic time and many many hominin generations. By "working," I mean contributing to the more-or-less sustained differential reproductive success of hominins with slightly larger brains. And because it’s the way that the fossil and archaeological records reveal behaviors over time, I tend to think of these three categories (technology, ecology, sociality) as describing the last 2.5 million years in the order I listed them. Technology was strongest earliest (starting with the Oldowan stone tools by 2.6 mya), and persisted. An ecological shift came along with that technological shift and then persisted. And of course social complexity came along with the technological and ecological shifts and then persisted.

These are some of the most mainstream hypotheses for encephalization (1) and they're implicitly or explicitly predicated on the prior evolution of bipedalism.

But now there's a new tie between big brains and walking upright--offered up in a  new paper just out in PNAS--and it's based in the human-, not ape-, like tendency to fuse the metopic suture later in life, to delay the close of what starts as a hole in the top of a baby's head known as its anterior fontanelle. The authors suggest that we need this hole in our head to exit our mother's bipedally-adapted birth canal safely and we also, as they suggest, need it to grow up to be an encephalized creature.

According to the authors, the "Taung child", an Australopithecus africanus kid (a member of a well-known bipedal hominin lineage) had an unfused metopic suture, left as an imprint on the fossil brain endocast.

Raymond Dart with the Taung child fossil.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Raymond_Dart_with_Taung.jpg 
Seven other australopith and Homo fossils are also described in the paper as having unfused metopic sutures. You might too! The odds are small, but since you started with a hole in your head as a baby, you could still be walking around with it unzipped.


To any chimps reading this, your metopic suture most likely closed just after birth and before your first deciduous molar erupted. But for 90% of humans (as reported in the paper), the suture closes later, after the eruption of the first deciduous molar. There’s a much slower fusion rate in humans than in chimpanzees.

However, to interpret the Taung child’s anatomy, things get a bit dicey, like things just love to get with hominin fossils. So often they can go either way: chimpy or humany.

Check out the figures below. A is for Pan troglodytes (common chimps) and B is for Homo sapiens. Those are frequencies of metopic suture fusion per dental age group. By listing them this way, instead of by chronological age, we're able to compare between two species that grow at different rates but share the same pattern of dental eruption. Chimpanzees grow up faster than us and experience earlier metopic suture fusion than us. Flipped around, humans grow up slower than chimps and experience delayed fusion of this suture compared to them. The Taung baby's dental age category is starred (*) at the "M1" stage in A and B. (The Taung child died at around 3.8 years of age, when its first permanent molar, M1, was erupted.)
Because it's more likely you'll find a human at that age (*) with an unfused metopic suture than a chimp, the researchers leaned toward calling the Taung child's state human-like, rather than ape-like. They backed that assertion up by listing seven other late Pliocene-early Pleiostocene hominins with unfused metopic sutures... it's a trend in the hominin lineage that begins with some australopiths, like the Taung child, they say.

"The presence of a still patent fontanelle and of a partially fused [metopic suture] in the Taung child, and the incidence of unfused [metopic sutures] in five adult and two other younger Australopithecus/ early Homo specimens is thus taken as evidence that a human-like pattern of late [metopic suture] fusion was already present in mid-to-late Pliocene gracile hominins."

Okay. Intriguing! But now we must explain!

[This is the part where, if you listen very carefully, you can hear the collective curmudgeonly groans from within and beyond the walls of paleoanthropology.]

Enter the new hypothesis for encephalization based on the late fusion of metopic sutures. The authors nod to two papers that offer "adaptively neutral" explanations for late metopic suture fusion but argue that the fossil evidence combined with the differences observed in chimps and humans beg for an adaptive explanation. (This tack is unsurprising given how paleoanthropology generally operates.)

The authors offer us three adaptive hypotheses to explain late metopic suture fusion:

1. Reorganization and expansion of the frontal neocortex (explains late metopic suture fusion)
Something about the changing and enlarging frontal cortex required changes to the cranial bones, how they form, grow, and fuse.

2. The difficulty of giving birth to large-headed neonates through birth canals that were reconfigured for bipedalism, the “obstetrical dilemma” (explains late metopic suture fusion)

The squishy neonatal head, thanks to the fontanelle,  "probably occurred in conjunction with refining the ability to walk on two legs," Falk (the lead author) said to the media. "The ability to walk upright caused an obstetric dilemma. Childbirth became more difficult because the shape of the birth canal became constricted while the size of the brain increased. The persistent metopic suture contributes to an evolutionary solution to this dilemma."

The trouble with this hypothesis as applied here is, although we know modern humans have a tight fit at birth now, there's little evidence for a tight fit between neonate and birth canal during australopith times.

And you can't help but wonder whether a squishy head was, or still is, required for successful birth. Do children suffering from craniosynostosis require a c-section to be born? Also, since the metopic suture fuses after chimpanzee birth, are we certain they aren't squishing their brains as they exit their relatively roomy birth canals? These questions may sound silly, but they're illustrating the built-in assumptions of the paper (or my ignorance about squishiness of baby heads).

The squishy head may be helpful during childbirth, but if it's occuring as early as australopith times, an adaptive explanation as a "solution" to an obstetrical dilemma is hard to swallow. That is unless DeSilva's estimates cited by the authors-- that australopiths had large neonates and tight fits at birth--are correct.

3. High early postnatal brain growth rates (explains late metopic suture fusion)
We know that humans have high rates of postnatal brain growth and this is what a lot of the news media picked up on: Your baby's head has gaps between the bones so the brain can grow like crazy after it's born to the gargantuan size of an adult human brain. As established in hypothesis #2, the need for the fontanelles in the first place is the crunch at birth thanks to the obstetrical dilemma, implying that without the pressure to be born small enough to escape the bipedal birth canal, we'd grow larger fetal brains in the womb.

So with this new paper we're presented with something even more fundamental than the notion that bipedalism as a necessary precursor for technological, ecological and social selection pressures for encephalization (as covered above): The tight fit at birth, caused by antagonistic selection for bipedal pelvic anatomy and large neonatal brains, created the selection pressure for a squishy neonatal head (which is facilitated by the fontanelles) and because of that roomy cranium, postnatal growth rates were able to ramp up in selective environments that favored encephalization.

So I'm left wondering, Do we need a hole in our head to be born successfully? Do we need a hole in our head to be encephalized? If the answer to both of those is yes, then what is a hole in the head doing in a hominin genus that may not have had much difficulty with childbirth and was hardly (if at all) encephalized? And, given the overlapping chimp and human fusion patterns, how can we be sure this feature on Taung is humany and not chimpy?

And, further, you can't (or at least I can't) help but wonder if there's a biomechanical/functional explanation for late metopic suture fusion, given how feeding behaviors and masticatory muscles put stress on the cranium. The skulls of australopiths and other hominins experienced stresses differently than chimpanzees. These differences may have begun as early as the nursing stage. Could this have anything to do with delayed fusion of the sutures? (here's just one study I found that addresses these kinds of questions)

And finally, it's hard not to link Falk (the lead author) to her research on Homo floresiensis. The hobbit (LB 1) looks like it has a fontanelle, something the disease-hypothesis folks point out is consistent with their perspective, and that’s one reason why I assumed these authors are onto this topic.

But LB 1 is conspicuously absent from the laundry list of hominin fossils in the supplementary section. Either they're saving what they've got on metopic suture and fontanelle anatomy in H. floresiensis for an upcoming paper or they just didn't think it was worthwhile to include this specimen. After all,  the latest paper on hobbit anatomy claims that the hobbit's "fontanelle" isn't real. Peter Brown writes, "direct examination of the asymmetrical hole in the posterior frontal of LB1, supported by CT scans, clearly indicates that this is the result of post-mortem excavation damage and is definitely not an unfused anterior fontanelle." (2)

Good thing, because if the hole in LB 1's cranium is of biological and not of taphonomic origin, then who knows how anybody'd explain its adaptive significance in such a tiny-brained hominin.

But, going way back to Taung and the australopiths: They were, after all, bipedal and the big brain train had to pull out at some point!

And, stay tuned. I got a tip from one of the authors about a paper coming out soon that demonstrates how weak the obstetrical dilemma hypothesis is, for explaining fetal size and growth, given the current evidence and given what we know about maternal metabolism.

Notes
(1) Of course, these hypotheses don’t represent all of paleoanthropology. I just intended to cover the major bases. And you need to consider what many paleoanthropologists assume which is that brain tissue is expensive so something extraordinary must have kept up selection on its increasing size for the last 2.5 million years. The assumption is that if brains were cheap, everyone would have big ones, but I don’t buy that. I think it's clear that other species aren’t encephalized because they don’t have to be. They do just fine without big brains. We have a rather warped perspective on selection for encephalization, thanks to our presentism and our big brains.
(2) Thanks to K. Baab for the tip.