Abstract

The practice of archaeology in Ontario has changed dramatically over the last couple of decades. A major part of that change has been the recognition of a legislated responsibility for archaeological conservation in various land use planning processes, which in turn has led to the explosive growth of an archaeological consulting industry in the province. The results have been staggering, with each year marked by millions of dollars in contract archaeology spent, and hundreds of archaeological sites found and excavated. However, the archaeological community has been slow to recognize and respond to the challenges these changes have created, and in so doing has increasingly left itself open to criticisms of paying only lip service to a high-minded conservation ethic, while pursuing rather baser, economic motivations. And if the archaeological community fails to respond to such criticism, and fails to meet the challenges facing the practice of archaeology, changes will be imposed on that community by external interest groups ranging from those who foot the bill for conserving archaeological resources, to lawmakers, to those who increasingly have asserted their collective ownership on this important component of Ontario's heritage.

Résumé

La pratique de l'archéologie a considérablement changé en Ontario depuis les dernières décennies. La majeure partie de ce changement fut la reconnaissance d'une responsabilité légiférée pour la conservation archéologique sur diverses terres qui utilisent des procédés de planification qui, de fait, a conduit a la croissance explosive d'une industrie archéologique consultante dans la province. Les résultats ont été échélonnes, marqués chaque année par la signature de contrats de millions de dollars, et de centaines de sites archéologiques découverts et excavés. Cependant, la communauté archéologue a été lente a reconnaître et a répondre aux défis que ces changements ont amenés, et de la sorte s'est énormément offerte aux critiques, accusant de rendre des hommages peu sincères à une éthique fort encline à la conservation, tout en poursuivant des motivations plutôt indignes, économiques. Et si la communauté archéologue échoue face à une telle critique, et manque à affronter les défis faisant face à la pratique de l'archéologie, les changements seront imposés à cette communauté par des groupes externes d'intérêt, depuis ceux qui paient la note, jusqu'à ceux qui ont de plus en plus revendiqué la propriété collective sur cet important composant de l'héritage de l'Ontario.

Introduction

It is a platitude to say that the practice of archaeology has seen massive and dramatic changes in the decades since the end of the Second World War (e.g., Cleere 1989; Schiffer & Gumerman 1977a). In Canada this change really began in earnest some two to three decades ago (e.g., Byrne 1976; Charlton 1976; Fox 1986a; MacDonald 1977; Mitchell, this volume; Noble 1982; Turnbull 1977; Wright 1986). Not so long ago archaeology was the sole pursuit of a handful of professional archaeologists and an avocational past time -- a small number of individuals interested in a relatively obscure part of Canada's heritage. Now archaeology, and specifically the conservation of archaeological resources within a development context, is a high profile component of the heritage landscape, loaded with economic, social and political ramifications that impinge on the interests of a much wider sector of society than that of the archaeological community.

That these changes have impacted on the practice of archaeology is a truism that we, as members of the archaeological "community," can readily acknowledge. However these changes are also something we often lose sight of while preoccupied with the immediate issues and concerns of the day. And perhaps more important, we also tend to lose sight of what the ramifications of these changes are, although their effects are felt in the angst and uneasiness which colours so much of the discussion about the current state of archaeology and its philosophical and moral underpinnings (e.g., Davis 1972; Fluehr-Lobban 1991; Green 1984; Lynott and Wylie 1995a; Woodall 1990; Wylie 1993). Certainly in Ontario, where the archaeological community has been instrumental in bringing about change in legislation leading to increased conservation of this province's archaeological heritage, we haven't been prepared for the changes these efforts have subsequently wrought. As such, we have been slow to realise that the changing face of archaeology in Ontario is demanding a fairly radical shift in how we think about and do archaeology, and threatens to marginalise any role we might have in influencing how the province's archaeological resources are managed.

Being lost in the day to day business of archaeology, it's easy to forget how far things have come in a short time, or indeed that we are still travelling this endless road of change and evolution. Certainly as a government employee stuck squarely in the bureaucratic whirlwind of archaeological resource conservation and land use planning, I can go months at a time without looking up. And being overwhelmed with the day to day demands and future threats to the practice of archaeology in Ontario, it is difficult to stop and reflect on the "progress" that has been made over a short period of time; it being easier to see how steep the road ahead is than to see how precarious the road travelled so far was. Given this, I'd like to offer, albeit from the perspective of a government-entrenched archaeologist barely able to see beyond the world of CRM demands, some observations on the changes that has taken place over the last three decades to the practice of archaeology in Ontario, and consider where those changes are taking us.

Ontario Archaeology -- 1975-1995

The precursors to change in the practice of Ontario archaeology can be traced to the 1960s. During those days, archaeology was mostly the domain of academic or museum professionals, and avocational archaeologists. The Ontario Archaeological Society (OAS), an organisation comprised of some professionals and many avocationals, was quite active excavating sites and promoting archaeological interests to the archaeological community. Provincial government involvement in archaeology was mostly limited to providing funds for a few research projects, although the Archaeological and Historic Sites Protection Act did serve as a means of designating a limited number of archaeological sites across the province, and did place the notion of archaeology as being part of Ontario's heritage firmly into the corporate mentality of the province.

Also during the 1960s a sizeable number of anthropology departments were created or expanded at Canadian universities, hiring faculty with training in Canadian or North American archaeology (Kelley and Williamson 1996; Noble 1972; Trigger 1977). Mostly up and running by the early to mid 1970s, these departments collectively began to produce relatively large numbers of students graduating with archaeological expertise -- a far larger number than could ever be absorbed back into these universities as employees. Nonetheless, many of these graduates still managed to pursue archaeological careers as government employees, some with the Ministry of Natural Resources (MNR) provincial parks programs, documenting and interpreting archaeological resources for tourism and planning purposes.

This growth of an active, professional archaeological population in turn contributed to the growth of organisations such as the OAS, which in turn offered these new students of archaeology opportunities to directly and immediately contribute to the discipline, and gave them a sense of belonging to and membership in Ontario's archaeological community. Also, the involvement of a growing number of recent archaeological graduates in the OAS tended to generate links and blur the lines between professional and avocational archaeologist, and contributed to an overall more aware and sophisticated archaeological community.

A growing and increasingly vocal archaeological community created real opportunities to raise the profile of archaeology as an important part of the province's heritage. Consequently, when in 1974 Ontario introduced the Ontario Heritage Act, archaeological concerns were a major part of its legislative mandate. While the archaeological provisions in the Act are regularly criticised today as being ineffectual, lacking adequate provisions for protecting archaeological resources and site collections, and lacking the ability to regulate the quality of archaeological fieldwork or the reporting of that work, nonetheless these provisions entrenched two critical principles which would have tremendous implications for archaeology in Ontario. First, arising in part from the earlier Archaeological and Historic Sites Protection Act, it formally recognised archaeology as a part of Ontario's heritage, acknowledging that the conservation of archaeological resources was an area of provincial interest and responsibility. Second, the Act made it a regulatory obligation of the archaeological community to hold a licence in order to conduct field activity, and submit reports detailing that work. While this provision also has been criticised as cumbersome and lacking any real accreditation value, it did establish a principle of accountability and provided, at least at an abstract level, the practice of archaeology with an "air" of professionalism. Down the road, these principles would serve an important role in validating the credibility of both the archaeological community and provincial concerns for the resource to provincial review and development agencies, the development sector and the public.

With the crystallisation of a provincial interest in archaeology under the Ontario Heritage Act came the entrenchment of an emerging archaeological "bureaucracy" (Noble 1982) to address this interest, through the establishment of the Ministry of Culture and Recreation -- currently known as the Ministry of Citizenship, Culture and Recreation (MCzCR). Well over a dozen archaeologists were employed by the ministry, providing the technical expertise needed to manage and implement programs related to archaeology. Most of these individuals were directly transferred to the Ministry from the MNR parks program. The centralisation of archaeological and heritage conservation concerns under one Act, and the placement of all technical expertise within one Ministry, created a new role for a part of the archaeological community; in effect positioning a limited group of trained archaeologists, now employed as full-time civil servants, in an ideal position to promote or "sell" archaeology directly to the law and policy makers in government (MacLeod 1975).

At first, the Ministry's response to its mandate for archaeology under the Act was to establish and maintain regional archaeological offices, basically carrying over much of the structure and organisation that had existed in MNR. Three offices were maintained in the south (at London, Toronto and Ottawa) and three in the north (at Kenora, Thunder Bay and Sault Ste. Marie). Particular mandates for each of these offices were nebulous, and tended to reflect the research interests of staff, as well as the state of the archaeological community and nature of the resources in the region (for example, staff archaeologists in the Ottawa office developed an interest in underwater archaeology, and by the mid 1980s were directing most of their efforts to this area). In other offices, staff pursued a combination of personal research interests, and a range of activities designed to add to the database, support the archaeological community, and promote the province's archaeological heritage to the public. Major surveys led to the identification of many archaeological sites in areas of the province with little previous documentation (e.g., Hamalainen 1977; C. Reid 1980). The Ministry maintained several publication series to quickly disseminate data from various field projects (e.g., Data Box, Archaeological Research Series, and Conservation Archaeological Reports). Ministry staff also established formal training and support programs for avocational archaeologists, including a conservation officer program that relied on volunteers to record private collections, find sites, monitor possible threats to sites, and pass on this information to the regional archaeologist (Fox 1981; 1985). Staff also supported graduate student research, and worked with academic archaeologists on a range of research topics. Additionally staff undertook large-scale, high-profile public archaeology excavations (e.g., the Front Street project in downtown Toronto, Nestor Falls in northwestern Ontario), while several of the regional offices published booklets for the public that were summaries of the culture history for their part of the province. For example, over 15,000 copies of the north central booklet alone have been passed out over the years (W. Ross, personal communication). Finally, from Manitou Mounds to Walpole Island staff worked with First Nations communities and individuals to establish educational training programs and build working relationships around archaeological issues.

As their profile grew with the public and archaeological community, these regional archaeology offices would regularly receive reports from concerned individuals about sites facing imminent threat from primarily development impacts. Likewise, Ministry staff occasionally were called upon to examine and document unmarked burial discoveries, and resolve the sometimes controversial and emotional issues surrounding such matters. And while staff would encourage private landowners and public development agencies to address these impacts to sites and burials directly, often negotiations with proponents were be reduced to simply buying a few weeks or days delay in development, in order to allow Ministry staff access to a threatened site to salvage some data, usually at the Ministry's expense. Ministry staff salvaged dozens of archaeological sites in the first decade of the regional archaeological program, ranging from several acre Iroquoian villages (e.g., Fox 1982, 1986b), to nineteenth century Mohawk Iroquois cabin sites (Kenyon and Ferris 1984) -- all undertaken usually with one or two Ministry staff, maybe a few summer students, and hundreds or thousands of hours of volunteer assistance. Though popular with volunteers, and perceived at the time as the right thing for the province to do, these last minute rescue attempts were notorious, and enjoyed only variable success. The problem was that delaying development and hurrying to recover some data were not ingredients one normally associates with wise and effective archaeological resource conservation. As well, there was only so many staff available to run around in front of bulldozers at any given time. Indeed, a shock to the new archaeological bureaucracy in Ontario was the quick realisation that, no matter how many staff the government employed, there would always be more sites under development threat than staff available to salvage them.

Additionally, concern over the massive and rapid urban growth occurring across southwestern and central Ontario, and their resulting impacts on archaeological sites, was setting off alarm bells within the archaeological community. These concerns increasingly led to criticism of the Ministry program, encouraged by a few high-profile Ministry failures to protect a site, particularly when headlines such as "Bulldozers put end to Huron village dig" (Globe and Mail, Sept. 10, 1984) accompanied such losses. In part because of early successes, the rescue and protection of threatened sites was perceived by the broader archaeological community as a central aim of certainly the southern offices of the provincial regional archaeology program, despite the host of other initiatives pursued by staff. As such, whenever the destruction of an archaeological site came to light, it demonstrated to the archaeological community a failure on the part of the Ministry regional archaeology program to fulfil its most critical mandate.

Of course unparalleled, post war urban growth was having a staggering impact on archaeological sites, well beyond the ability of any single group to keep in check. It has been estimated, for example, that over 60% or the archaeological sites existing in metropolitan Toronto had been lost by the 1970s (Coleman and Williamson 1994: 67-69). However, as was the case elsewhere in North America, by the 1970s concern for the conservation of Ontario's archaeological heritage was beginning to be recognised in legislation directly governing land use activities. In 1975, the Environmental Assessment Act was proclaimed, stating that adverse impacts caused by an environmental assessment (EA) project on a host of features, including:

"...any building, structure, machine, device or thing made by Man..."

would need to be assessed. While the language is vague, it did open the door for archaeological concerns to be addressed as part of larger-scale public development, notably provincial highways and hydroelectric projects. Further legislative change came in 1982 with the Planning Act, which identified:

"the conservation of features of significant architectural, cultural, historical, archaeological or scientific interest"

as a provincial concern approval authorities had to have regard for as part of their decision-making process. This meant that land use planning activities undertaken by the private sector (e.g., subdivisions and other housing development projects) would need to mitigate anticipated development impacts on heritage resources, including archaeological sites.

However, for much of the 1980s and early 1990s archaeological conservation needs were not fully recognised or effectively incorporated into these review processes. For example, many municipal environmental assessment projects were informally grouped as Class EAs (municipal roads, water/wastewater, landfill, erosion control, etc.), which had the effect of scoping or limiting review requirements and exempting heritage considerations. Heritage concerns were only incorporated into most municipal Class EA projects in the late 1980s. Additionally, while the Planning Act formally identified a need to have regard for the provincial interest in conserving archaeology, there were no specific policies to articulate this concern in the Act, and no indication of how archaeology was to be regarded in the plans review process. Consequently, archaeological concerns were often ignored in Planning Act decisions made by both municipal and provincial approval authorities.

These problems were also compounded by the fact that MCzCR staff were archaeologists, not planners or engineers, and thus were generally unfamiliar with the development review process; staff could understand the importance of defining archaeological concerns in policy and legislation, but figuring out how these processes should work on the ground, so to speak, was another matter. So, in order to persuade MCzCR management, provincial development agencies and approval authorities of the role archaeological conservation should play under the Environmental Assessment Act and Planning Act, Ministry archaeologists had to teach themselves the nuances of these processes, all the while still having to chase bulldozers, respond to requests for assistance and generally continue to deal directly with the other demands of archaeological resource management in the province.

Nevertheless, over time, MCzCR staff did become more effective at utilising the provisions of the Environmental Assessment and Planning Acts to conserve archaeological resources. This started in the traditional fashion, with staff archaeologists finding the means to encourage or cajole a provincial agency or particular municipal planning approval authority to address archaeological concerns as a matter of course when planning for particular developments (e.g., Fox 1986c). This primarily meant getting development agencies and planning approval authorities to circulate development applications to MCzCR for review, or agreeing to address archaeological concerns directly. As the Ministry's informal role as a plans review agency grew, it increasingly was legitimised internally, culminating in the formation of a Ministry development review unit -- now known as the Archaeology and Heritage Planning Unit.

Currently, most development projects in Ontario follow a broadly similar review process for addressing archaeological concerns Figure 1. So, supposing a developer has a parcel of land, and intends to built a housing subdivision, pipeline, landfill, highway, etc., or extract gravel from this property Figure 1a. The developer can either "pre-consult" -- ask MCzCR if there are likely to be archaeological concerns -- or more often formally submit the development proposal for review. Depending on the specific development process, the proposal will be examined by MCzCR or by staff working directly for the development agency or approval authority. The review is intended to determine if the property has the potential for containing sites which would be threatened by development -- potential being a key concept since sites are below ground and as such can't be mapped as known constraints beforehand, just anticipated. It also should be mentioned that determining potential in this context is a process strictly intended to answer a question for plans review purposes (i.e., should or should not a trained archaeologist examine the development property before construction begins?). The question is answered by determining the presence or absence of a range of physical and cultural-historical criteria on or adjacent to the development Figure 1b. These criteria include whether or not known sites are present, proximity to water courses (usually the most critical criterion to consider), along with other physical features such as soils, topography, etc., and historic features such as early transportation corridors.

If the development property is found to have the potential to contain sites, either a heritage condition requiring archaeological assessment and mitigation is attached to proposal (mostly for Planning Act and Aggregates Resources Act applications), or an archaeological assessment requirement is identified in the environmental study report for an EA project. This requires the proponent to have a qualified, licensed archaeologist survey the property, and submit a report of the activities conducted Figure 1c. MCzCR reviews the report for licensing purposes, and if any "significant" sites have been identified they will need to be excavated in advance of development, or protected during development and afterwards. Once all provincial heritage concerns have been met, MCzCR signs off from the project, allowing the development agency or approval authority to clear the archaeological requirement tied to the development. All of this must occur before the development gets final approval to proceed and construction begins Figure 1d.

Most recently changes to the Planning Act and proposed changes to the Environmental Assessment Act either maintain or further entrench archaeological resource conservation provisions in these review processes. For example, in the most recent version of the Planning Act a specific archaeological conservation policy (Section 3, Policy 2.5.2) has been included, stating:

"Development and site alteration may be permitted on lands containing archaeological resources or areas of archaeological potential if significant archaeological resources have been conserved by removal and documentation, or preservation on site. Where significant archaeological resources must be preserved on site, only development and site alteration which maintain the heritage integrity of the site will be permitted."

This prescriptive policy ensures that all proposed development lands with archaeological potential will require an archaeological assessment. However, changes in the delivery of the plans review process are also underway, which ultimately will mean that approval authorities (provincial or municipal) will be required to make archaeological potential determinations, and place archaeological conditions on development plans themselves. MCzCR's Archaeology & Heritage Planning Unit will continue to act as the resource manager and reviewer of Ontario Heritage Act licensing and resource conservation requirements, and co-ordinate this review with approval authorities Figure 2. Obviously, there are some concerns over both the willingness and ability of these approval authorities to effectively address archaeological concerns. Towards this end, MCzCR (1997) has developed a primer and comprehensive guide to be used by non-specialists. This includes generalised archaeological potential criteria that non-archaeologists can easily use to answer a simple yes/no question. Additionally, monitoring of local development, by both MCzCR and the local archaeological community, will help ensure that changes to the mechanics of the plans review process don't undermine archaeological conservation efforts.

Under the Environmental Assessment Act, Planning Act, Aggregate Resources Act and other review processes (e.g., Niagara Escarpment, Federal projects, etc.), MCzCR reviews well over a thousand formal development applications a year Figure 3, though these numbers are currently in flux, given the changes to reviewing Planning Act files. Of the development applications reviewed only a percentage will actually require an archaeological assessment, since some of the applications will be for lands that have been previously impacted or otherwise exhibit little archaeological potential Figure 4. On average, only about half of all planning files reviewed are identified as having archaeological potential, while around 75% of EA files are so identified. So, for the period 1993-1995, in each year between 400 to 500 development files were identified as having archaeological potential. This means that for each of the 3 years examined, 400-500 parcels of land across the province would eventually be assessed by an archaeologist, all sites found examined, and significant ones excavated or protected, prior to development beginning.

While these numbers are significant, it's important to realise that the screening process utilised by MCzCR was originally a reactive one. Certainly, the ministry's ability to show that only a percentage of development applications would require survey was an important tool early on in convincing approval authorities to accept archaeological conditions. However, as mentioned previously, the whole process of determining potential was never intended to rely on any complex modelling or formal scoring of measurable features. Rather, the process was based on the intuitive knowledge of skilled and experienced ministry staff. And by relying on staff expertise to determine potential, this process necessarily incorporated the predominant biases and assumptions of significance prevalent in Ontario archaeology. So for southern Ontario, with Iroquoian village locations and other mega-sites in the back of everyone's mind, smaller sites, or sites whose locational determinations don't coincide with Late Woodland settlement patterns, may be under-represented in the rationale for determining potential.

Now while it has never been the stated intent to recover 100% of the archaeological resources present on the development landscape, the effect of any biases in skewing the data recovered may be considerable and thus requires review, but MCzCR staff have not had much opportunity to do so. Consequently, very few low potential properties have been assessed to see if the potential determination was valid. The few such properties that have been investigated did contain the odd archaeological resource; mostly isolated findspots and such. Nevertheless, nagging doubts remained. Fortunately, recent efforts on the part of municipal approval authorities to incorporate archaeological potential screening into GIS-based master plans have created opportunities to evaluate critically the efficacy of the potential determination methods employed by the province. Most notably, a detailed review of past provincial potential determinations and the subsequent results of assessment findings was undertaken as part of the City of London Archaeological Master Plan (Wilson and Horne 1995). Their findings tended to confirm the validity of provincial methodologies. In particular, when used as a simple yes/no query to determine whether or not a licensed archaeologist should examine a development property, the use of geographic potential criteria (in particular 200-300 metre association with various water sources), was found to capture 100% of "significant" sites (8+ artifacts on the surface of the site), and 70-80% of smaller findspots -- provided that the entire development parcel is surveyed, regardless of whether all or only a portion of the property falls within an area of potential.

Certainly, the City of London findings provide some real comfort and confidence for a method of potential determination increasingly relied on by both the province and municipal planning departments to address archaeological conservation concerns. Nonetheless, there still remains a host of other problems inherent in the way archaeological conservation concerns are addressed in Ontario, many of which arise from the fact that this process is directly tied to land use planning legislation. Essentially legislation such as the Environmental Assessment Act and Planning Act do not require that the archaeological work undertaken be "good" or should "make a contribution" to archaeology, just that it is done. Quality control issues, presumably, should arise from the Ontario Heritage Act. Unfortunately, written in the 1970s, it has limited ability to resolve the issues facing the archaeological community in the 1990s. For example, while the term "licensed archaeologist" may sound impressive, the licensing provisions in the Act don't require applicants to meet minimal qualifications. Further, licences are for individual archaeologists, not businesses. As a result, the occasional use of questionable practices such as low-bidding, use of inexperienced crews, exploiting a developer's lack of knowledge about archaeology for profit, etc., can go unchecked, and occasionally at the expense of the archaeological resource supposedly being conserved. Certainly the current practices of utilising informal licence categories, such as consultant or conservation, as well as linking the review and approval of a consultant's report with clearance of the development application, do provide a partial means of ensuring minimal standards. However, efforts by the archaeological community to improve on these standards and increase professional accountability have met only limited success. Unfortunately, any real improvements in these areas must await either changes to the Heritage Act, or a willingness to self-impose and effectively enforce professional accountability on the part of the archaeological consulting community itself.

Rise of the Archaeological Consultant Industry

The increase through time of the range and number of development applications reviewed for archaeology has had, not surprisingly, very direct impacts on the professional archaeological community (Tyyska 1986). Once MCzCR stopped attempting to undertake all of the archaeological resource management needs in the province directly, and given the proponent-pay provisions inherent in all legislated development processes, along with the licensing provisions of the Ontario Heritage Act, both public and private developers were forced to respond to increased requirements for archaeological conservation by hiring consultant archaeologists. Naturally, this in turn led to an increase in the number of individuals doing consulting work. This expansion can be traced by the number of archaeological licences MCzCR issued over the last decade and a half (see Figure 5). Archaeologists issued consulting licences have increased steadily, notably around the mid 1980s when MCzCR really began identifying archaeological concerns on Planning Act files, and when Class EA projects first started to recognise archaeological concerns.

While consulting still represents only around half of all licences issued each year, it is important to realise that a consultant licence allows the holder to undertake any number of projects. Requiring the consultant to submit a Contract Information Form for every project undertaken facilitates this flexibility. For example, between 1993 and 1996 Figure 6, consultants reported undertaking an average of about 370 projects a year, the vast majority for basic field survey and site assessment projects. Site excavations are less abundant, but this isn't surprising since this activity is usually limited to those "significant" archaeological sites of substance requiring full excavation in advance of development impacts.

With so much work going on each year, the face of the archaeological consultant community, or "industry," has changed. In the late 1970s, consulting was an activity tacked on to the research career of an academic archaeologist, or something otherwise unemployed archaeologists did to tide them over until their academic careers took off. However, as increasing numbers of archaeologists left universities with graduate degrees, the economic and practical viability of a career in consulting increased exponentially, while investment in a doctorate for the purpose of a career in academia became one of rapidly diminishing returns. Consequently, today consulting archaeology is a distinct career choice, ironically perhaps the only viable employment option left for up-and-coming archaeologists in Ontario. There are now over 50 consultant firms and individuals licensed to work in Ontario, deriving their livelihood primarily through the contracting out of their services to private and public sector developers. These firms usually consist of between 1-5 staff members, although at least one firm employs about a dozen individuals. In one form or another, consulting archaeology employs 75-100 individuals full time, and another 75-100 students and professional field and lab technicians seasonally. The province roughly estimates that this industry generates 3-5 million dollars a year satisfying archaeological concerns for development proponents.

Increasingly then, consultant archaeology is the active face of archaeology in Ontario. Consulting firms are the practical training ground and summer employment opportunity for the vast majority of students and new archaeologists. Moreover, through contacts with clients and the public, consultants are also the archaeological profession's equivalent of "first contact" missionaries, out there in every community in the province introducing and promoting Ontario's archaeological heritage -- and the archaeological profession -- to the public. As well, consultants are also increasingly contributing to the publication of data, providing 30-40% of the articles appearing in Ontario-based archaeological newsletters and journals -- a number that is perhaps low given the dominance of consulting activity in Ontario, but perhaps not unexpected, given that research and publication endeavours undertaken by individual consultant archaeologists are seldom done at the expense of a client.

Consulting archaeology over the last decade has also had a major impact on the archaeological database in Ontario. For example, since 1990, between 500 and 700 sites have been added to the provincial database each year Figure 7. Moreover, when the numbers of sites documented are sorted by category of archaeologist discovering the site, it is perhaps no surprise to see that the vast majority of sites documented are by consultants. The significance of this distinction should not be under emphasised -- the vast majority of the sites found by consultants are on lands that will be completely altered by construction activities in the near future, and as such would have been lost had archaeological conservation requirements not been part of these various land use development processes. In a sense, the staggering difference between consultant and non-consultant fieldwork is a testament to how further behind we would be today in documenting Ontario's archaeological heritage had the rise of consulting archaeology never occurred.

Another significant impact on the database by consulting archaeology has been the nature of the data being added. Because development review means full land coverage, consultants have to deal with the whole cultural-temporal range of archaeology in Ontario. So, when the sites reported from southern Ontario between 1984 and 1993 are tallied by category (Figure 8), those traditionally investigated by academic archaeologists, such as Iroquoian villages and Woodland camps, are found in respectable numbers. But of much greater yield are the ubiquitous 19th century domestic site, the prehistoric lithic scatter of unknown cultural affiliation, and the isolated findspot, all site types that have generally received little previous attention by researchers. These findings have led to a substantial re-thinking or shedding of new light on parts of the archaeological record previously undocumented in Ontario (particularly for Archaic time periods), substantially revised previous assumptions about other time periods (particularly in our understanding of Late Woodland settlement and regional range), or confirmed the research potential of site types previously dismissed by most research archaeologists (particularly 19th century domestic sites).

Implications of Consulting Archaeology in Ontario

While the growth of Ontario's archaeological consulting industry has been impressive, it is difficult to say whether the massive number of development properties surveyed or sites found are either good or bad things. In truth, they are a simple reflection of what has been going on in Ontario over the last decade; the archaeological community itself must consider the implications of all this activity.

Certainly, the massive increase in data, particularly for parts of the archaeological record not previously investigated, is making a significant contribution to our understanding of Ontario's culture history (e.g., Ellis and Ferris 1990). And there is no question that the sheer volume of consulting activity occurring in Ontario is creating a whole series of new and unique opportunities for archaeology. In less than a decade, employment and field experience opportunities for both professional and avocational archaeologists have vastly expanded, generating a much larger, active archaeological community. Exposure to the full range of sites on the landscape means opportunities are created to examine all aspects of Ontario's archaeological heritage. Opportunities to test survey and mitigation strategies, and refine and improve the efficiency and expediency of field methods abound. And most important, hundreds of archaeological sites which otherwise would have been destroyed without any form of documentation have been conserved.

However, since we never really anticipated what the changes would be once we convinced provincial law-makers to recognise the importance of archaeological conservation, we generally haven't been prepared to deal with the problems associated with these changes. And unfortunately, in the consultant industry's mad rush to submit bids and write reports, and in MCzCR's mad rush to review and comment on development applications and specialist reports, few of us have had the opportunity to even recognize, let alone address a myriad of problems arising from these activities. Some of the problems which largely go unaddressed include: determining and maintaining appropriate qualifications for consultant work; figuring out how to effectively survey a property to make sure all sites present are found; determining significance and excavation strategies for whole classes of sites few archaeologists had ever excavated before; or resolving how to properly store and curate the millions of artifacts collected over the last decade. Neither have we been able to answer more fundamental questions arising from this unprecedented growth, such as: do the data collected actually contribute to our understanding of the archaeological record; does the documentation of these sites justify the millions of dollars spent by the development sector each year in order to satisfy conditions imposed on their projects, or should we be re-thinking what is and isn't important, and therefore what we should and shouldn't be expending money and efforts on? And given that consulting archaeology, despite its near dominance in the province, is a field almost completely ignored in Ontario's universities has meant that any solutions to these issues will need to come from practitioners themselves, while on the fly.

Some notable examples at solutions include the creation of technical assessment guidelines for consultants (MCzCR 1993), which resulted from the recognition that this activity had to be improved and standardised (along with the review of that activity by MCzCR staff), due to the problems being experienced daily as a result widely divergent field survey methodologies employed by individual consultants. As well, current efforts to find an industry consensus around minimum requirements for site excavations and the reporting of that work is an attempt to address some of the major problems facing the industry. It will also have the coincidental effect of bringing forward some of the major philosophical differences brewing in the community (e.g., to what extent is consulting archaeology research archaeology?).

A central intent behind such efforts to standardise practices, of course, is to try to move the whole process away from a catch-as-catch-can approach to the issues that arise in this field. But regardless of how many guidelines, rule or regulations are adopted, it still remains that most of the decisions which define day to day practices are reactive, made on the run by one consultant trying to deal with a particular client or one MCzCR staff member trying to resolve a particular issue. Consequently, it has been near impossible to observe the larger trends these individual decisions breed, and makes efforts to standardise behaviour somewhat like trying to aim at an always-moving target. As such, the lack of constancy that arises from so much reactive decision-making contributes to a general sense that the discipline is a car careening down a hill out of control, with no one at the wheel. Indeed, the insecurity and lack of any sense of purposeful direction in the industry have contributed to what could be a called a crisis in faith about what we do, which is a key reason why so many archaeologists tend to be so cynical and pessimistic about the current state of, and future direction for, archaeology in Ontario, despite the unprecedented advances which have been made over the last couple of decades (e.g., Adams 1994; Parker 1996).

Of course in the consultant community this sense of pessimism and cynicism is well fuelled, by many instances of perceived or real unprofessional behaviour on the part of some of their colleagues, accusations of being only interested in monetary profit by other archaeologists, encountering bureaucratic inflexibility on the part of provincial staff, and enduring through what perhaps may sometimes feel like a continuous flow of vitriol from developers, engineers, planners, politicians and others who seem to have little interest in archaeology, and are less than happy to be required by legislation to pay for archaeological investigations. As well, much more so than for any other sector in archaeology, the decisions consultants make daily often require balancing between the needs of the resource, the profession, the client, and their own livelihood Figure 9. Moreover, it is probably fair to say that the pulls from professional/regulatory needs and client needs regularly apply much greater force than the pull from resource or personal needs. This can lead to undertaking less detailed field investigations or analysis on some archaeological sites than perhaps the consultant would have preferred. Also, despite accusations to the contrary, most consultants do not live high, and for many consulting may seem not much more than a subsistence-level vocation. Indeed, that more consultants have not had the good sense to leave archaeology and earn a living doing something other than archaeology is testament to the strong sense of personal interest and commitment many feel towards the resource (Adams 1997). Unfortunately, and perhaps even in light of this personal commitment, the negativity and criticism which pervades so much of consulting archaeology tends to breed a high degree of personal angst, pessimism and even contempt for the very profession in which these archaeologists have invested so much of their personal livelihood.

Such a jaundiced view of the archaeological consulting world can contribute to a very harsh assessment of what the "real" agenda is behind our efforts to conserve Ontario's archaeological heritage. Indeed, it has been put to me repeatedly (usually by someone active in the consulting industry), that the huge numbers of development projects surveyed and sites discovered over the last decade simply demonstrate how successful the professional archaeological community in Ontario has become at exploiting archaeological resources for the purposes of generating income and livelihood. These arguments usually point out that while we talk about principles of conservation, the decisions regarding which sites should be excavated and which sites should not, which properties should be surveyed and which should not, are made primarily from a business perspective, driven by an economically motivated desire to win more contracts and make more money. Resource conservation concerns and contributions to knowledge, these archaeologists claim, are never more than a coincidental or secondary aim of consulting's much more mercenary business practices. Basically, and despite the financial realities, the archaeological profession is accused of having sold the public a high minded bill of goods about preserving the past, when there was only ever a much more personal profit agenda at work.

There is nothing new about the criticisms these individuals raise, as they are common refrains in the newsletters of major professional archaeological organisations and in the literature of CRM archaeology (e.g., Davis 1972; Fitting 1984; Fowler 1984; Schiffer and Gumerman 1977b). Indeed, the criticisms levelled today at the consulting industry are echoes of the warnings raised when this practice first began to take shape in Canada in the 1970s (e.g., Byrne 1977; P. Reid 1979). But how to respond to such criticisms, since we don't seem to have made much progress in the last twenty years towards Lipe's (1974) conservation ideal? My reaction is usually to disagree strongly and point out how far we've progressed. I also will use various well-intentioned, rhetorical arguments, such as "it's better to document something than to lose it all," or "even if no one understands these sites now or have the time to properly analyse them, future archaeologists can analyse the collections we make," and "there's enough room in CRM work to accommodate both personal livelihood and conservation principles," along with various other statements that Wylie (1995) would call parts of a "Salvage Principle" -- rationalisations which justify the way things are without addressing the underlying problems we know are there.

I think this is critical. Because while I disagree with such a cynical view of Ontario archaeology in the 1990s, I agree there are serious problems with where we find ourselves now --problems that we really can't afford to ignore. Increasingly, the consulting industry consumes more and more of our time and effort. Consequently other matters, such as encouraging research, supporting the avocational community, working with Aboriginal communities, or even developing educational programs, all suffer from neglect. It's certainly a telling statement that while public and private sector development agencies spend millions on CRM archaeology each year, cutbacks have completely eliminated research funding in Ontario and emasculated much of the OAS's ability to take a lead role in advocating for the entire archaeological community. Whether we like it or not, both the good and bad that comes with consultant archaeology is defining what Ontario archaeology is now, and what it will be in the future. And while the conservation of archaeological resources and the rise of a consultant industry have created tremendous opportunities for improving and advancing archaeology, when we ignore or fail to address the many problems that a world of consulting archaeology generates, then we shouldn't be surprised when we find ourselves being compared with Alaskan fishing fleets, and Ontario's archaeological resources compared with Pacific salmon stocks. And as we continue to ignore the critical issues facing this discipline, the cynical appraisals of archaeology in the 1990s will increasingly be more truth than fiction, ultimately undermining the ability of the archaeological community to continue to play a central role in managing the province's archaeological heritage.

In particular, we need to realise that by being successful at promoting the need to conserve archaeology, we increasingly find ourselves being asked by those who put into effect our concerns, by those who must pay to address those concerns, and by those who claim a communal or personal ownership of the resource, to justify what it is we, the archaeological community, do (Watkins et al. 1995). So, at least where archaeology impinges on economic development, political decision-making and cultural self-identity, we increasingly will find ourselves but one of many voices influencing decisions about Ontario's archaeological heritage, and even how we should or shouldn't practice the profession of archaeology.

Now, I certainly believe that in this pluralistic future the archaeological community can define for itself a key and primary role in the care and management of archaeological resources, as stewards and as caretakers (Mayer-Oakes 1989). Nevertheless, as Lynott and Wylie (1995b: 28) point out, stewardship is a trust, not a preserve. And as such, we must understand that our response to the issues raised by other, legitimate interests cannot simply reflect our own personal opinions or preferences, since presumably the reason why we want archaeological resources conserved stems from more than just personal motivations or self-interests -- or if it does, we have no business claiming an exclusive role as steward or demanding other sectors of our society pay for our indulgences. In short, we must recognize that we are accountable to the larger society around us for how we define and manage archaeology in Ontario, and our claim to an exclusive or even primary role as stewards of our province's archaeological heritage is no longer above reproach (Wylie 1993).

But where do we go from here towards that conservation ideal or stewardship trust? Certainly, in the area of consulting archaeology, the path towards stewardship would appear to lie in efforts to professionalise the discipline. As a first step, issues such as low bidding, under-qualifications of consultants, standards of investigation, etc., all need to be discussed, and strategies for improvement identified. In the area of low-bidding, for example, there is no question that right now the contempt reflected in Fitting's story about an engineer who knows they can always find an archaeologist willing to do a job for half the value of another (1984: 117) is well entrenched in the development community of Ontario. And eventually, as such behaviours lead to compromising resources or cause unwarranted costs to developers, we can expect that external agencies such as approval authorities, politicians, the development sector or First Nations communities will become more jaded, and question the value of the work and the authority of archaeologists to address these issues.

In recent years, however, the consulting industry has tended to wait for external agencies to address such problems. In part, given that there have been on and off efforts to revise the Ontario Heritage Act over the last 10 years, there has been a general expectation that such a revision will change licensing provisions, and thus improve the level of consulting in the province, by excluding under-qualified or "problem" archaeologists. But waiting for solutions to arise external to the archaeological community, but favourable to that community, is neither appropriate or realistic. For example, even assuming that changes proposed to licensing attempted to address qualifications, the nature of legislated regulation is such that qualifications necessarily will be broad, and, with equivalency provisions, most people currently licensed would continue to be so in the future.

The point is that while other voices can probably assist, it is ultimately up to the archaeological community to take the lead in improving the industry. For example, while under-qualified consultants are a problem, simply hoping that they be shut out by restrictive licensing does not resolve how you allow new archaeologists into the discipline, or how they should get proper experience to be qualified. Certainly a lack of relevant training in academic settings and a lack of provincial accreditation or training programs are problems. Nevertheless, ultimately it is in the existing consultant community's own best interests to see new consultants gain proper experience, both for quality of archaeological investigations conducted, and for sound business practices. So, as a professional community, development of a mentoring or apprenticeship program, whereby senior, experienced archaeologists are obligated to work with junior archaeologists who want to enter the consultant industry, is one small way the archaeological community can act to improve the practices of the community as a whole, and demonstrate professional responsibility.

Additional efforts can arise from improving lines of communication directly between consultants. This alone would help break down distrust and suspicion, perhaps clarifying why some consultants appear to undertake projects at dramatically lower costs, etc. Moreover, communication can help identify commonly shared problems, and recognise ways to resolve those problems. For example, the development of a consensus around basic business practices, at least as they effect resource management, would go a long way to defining accountability and trust. And in my experience of working with the consulting industry, the vast majority of consultants in Ontario would actually find much common ground and consensus with each other around the issues facing their industry, and the possible solutions to these issues -- making such a consensus an achievable goal. The added advantage of such an effort would be that, should a few individual firms choose to pursue business practices which hurt or undermine such a consensus, the archaeological community would be able to censure and marginalise such individuals, and effectively seek the support from the development sector and government to do the same.

Steps taken directly by consultant archaeologists towards improving their practice will also clearly demonstrate to external interests (particularly government and the development sector) a level of professionalisation, as well as legitimate a central role for the consultant industry in defining standards and practices for their discipline. In particular, demonstrated open communication, trust, peer support and mentoring would all justify efforts to have the archaeological community become self-regulatory, a goal increasingly vocalised both by government and by the archaeological community alike.

More widely, the Ontario archaeological community has also started to recognise the broader implications of the changes that have taken place over the last couple of decades, and what these changes are demanding of the profession (e.g., Carruthers 1997). At this level, efforts towards entrenching a stewardship role for the archaeological community can be lumped into three broad headings: Co-operation, Communication and Co-management.

It may be trite to say, but the fact of the matter is that the practising archaeologists in Ontario -- consultant, academic, avocational -- are part of a community, all committed at one level or another to the investigation, protection and promotion of Ontario's archaeological heritage. A critical step towards stewardship, then, should be the strong co-operation between all sectors of the archaeological community in achieving this end. Co-operation between academic archaeologists and the consultant industry, for example, is greatly needed, both in terms of ensuring findings from the consultant's work are available for detailed research, and in terms of educating and training the next generation of Ontario archaeologists about the activity most of them will be involved in.

Co-operation, in the form of open communication between all sectors, is also desperately needed, since the level of isolation, particularly between consultant archaeologists and the rest of the community, has tended to breed distrust and mis-information about the achievements of the community as a whole. Indeed, the current level of factionalism and hostile criticism that exists within the archaeological community is disturbing and very public, and greatly serves to undermine the credibility of the community. For example, at the 1997 Canadian Archaeological Association Meetings in Saskatoon, during an open forum following a plenary presentation on the future of Canadian archaeology, response to an example of this kind of trashing included the observation by one federal and First Nations representative that if archaeologists can't find a way to work together and get beyond "petty bickering," their "toys" would be taken away and they'll soon find themselves without a role in managing the country's archaeological heritage. We need to listen to these admonishments and recognise that such challenges to the archaeological community grow strong by our own actions. Besides, so much of this internal criticism is unwarranted, petty and unproductive. After all, in a general sense we are all on the same side -- sharing similar goals and a strong personal commitment to the resource. As such, we should be seeking ways to support each other's efforts, not tearing them down. In short, if we wish to legitimately define a role for the archaeological community as the stewards of Ontario's archaeological heritage, an essential first step must be demonstrable mature behaviour towards each other.

In regards to Communication, as Brian Fagan suggested during his keynote address at the same CAA meeting in Saskatoon, we must be able to communicate to non-archaeologists why archaeology is important, in terms they can understand, if we want society to continue to support archaeological conservation. For example, fresh from meeting a consultant on site, a developer will sometimes complain they're paying an archaeologist to do little more than dig up road gravel, because the consultant simply showed the developer a handful of flaking debris, without explaining the broader value behind these findings. As another example, it is all too common, when asked by the media why a site is important, to see an archaeologist drone on about broken bits of stuff and what will be done to that stuff in the lab. But no one should expect developers to simply take our word that a pile of flakes was worth the ten or twenty thousand dollars it cost to dig them up. We also shouldn't be surprised if the public questions the value of spending public monies simply so a researcher can hide away and play with materials for no one's apparent benefit other than that researcher. Neither should we have to be so self-focussed in promoting the value of archaeology. Archaeological sites are much more exciting and sexy than that, and should be easy to sell, if we think through the message we want to deliver. In particular, we've got to make a concerted effort not just to talk about sites and the past in terms that are of interest to us as specialists, but also to talk about what that place or those materials should mean to everyone -- a rare and exciting glimpse into a part of our past that was unknown prior to its discovery. Effective communication skills, along with a consideration of the audience the message is being delivered to, is a key and vital role the archaeological community will need to accept as stewards of Ontario's archaeological heritage.

Finally, whether we like it or not, it is critical to recognise that those external groups expressing an interest in archaeology have a legitimate claim to that interest, and will influence the future shape of Ontario archaeology. It is important, then, for the archaeological community to establish formal ties with these other interests and develop strategies of co-management, rather than sit back and hope our concerns are reflected in the decisions made between these other interests. For example, in the area of relations with Aboriginal communities, issues such as repatriation and ownership of artifacts, burials, and informed consent are all increasingly being raised in discussions between First Nations leaders and government policy makers. Likewise, any changes to land use planning legislation will always include direct discussion and co-operation between government and the development sector, which can affect archaeological conservation provisions. Unfortunately, while individual examples abound of archaeologists and other interests developing co-management strategies in these areas, there is not much of a provincial profile for these efforts, and as such, when broader, policy-led decision-making occurs, direct representation by the archaeological community is often limited.

For the archaeological community, real input in shaping the future of archaeology lies in establishing credibility and building partnerships with these external groups. And since any effective co-management strategy will require well-informed partners, a first step for the archaeological community is to seek out these other interests, educate them, and demonstrate the benefits of "good" archaeological conservation. For example, recent changes to the Planning Act have led municipalities across the province to seek effective means of managing archaeological resources. In response, archaeologists have been quick to present various master plan strategies that will provide these municipalities with effective, community-specific approaches to conserving local archaeology, informed by archaeological expertise and support. Likewise, increasingly archaeologists will propose to a First Nation community a strategy for incorporating Aboriginal concerns over planned, large-scale development projects that will have sizeable archaeological issues to deal with. Early consultation leads to informed consent on the part of the First Nation and support for the general efforts of conserving Aboriginal heritage, while avoiding the usual conflicts which arise when communication is not established. Such individual efforts should be seen as the building blocks they are in developing a strategy of shared responsibility for archaeological conservation in Ontario. To take co-management strategies further really only requires the co-ordination of these individual efforts at the broader, policy-led level of provincial decision-making. The development of co-management strategies with municipalities, the development industry and First Nations which do little more than reflect the successes made locally would go along way towards legitimising the need for the archaeological community to have a continuing role in shaping the future of archaeological conservation in Ontario.

Improvements by consultant archaeologists towards professionalising their industry, as well as improvements by the entire archaeological community in the areas of co-operation, communication and co-management, are necessary in order to respond to the changing face of archaeology in Ontario. Such improvements will certainly benefit archaeologists and the practice of archaeology in Ontario, but not coincidentally, these efforts would also confirm the trust we seek from society in defining ourselves as legitimate stewards -- almost advocates -- of Ontario's archaeological heritage.

The intent in this paper has been to provide a positive perspective on the road travelled so far by the Ontario archaeological community. Certainly the accomplishments over the last three decades, and the last 10 years in particular, have been nothing less than monumental, though we often tend to lose sight of what all we have accomplished. If, however, a pessimistic or negative perspective has seeped into some of this discussion, it is only that the schizophrenic nature that characterises the practice of archaeology today -- on the one hand overwhelmed with the challenges facing the profession, and on the other amazed that we have actually come this far -- is endemic. Actually, there should be room for optimism precisely because of the pressures for change the external world is imposing on the archaeological community. Whether we like it or not, those interests we have brought to the table because of our concern for the conservation of our archaeological heritage are now pushing us down that long road of self reflection, of generating inventories of weaknesses and problems, of denial, defensiveness and resignation, and perhaps at the end of which find ourselves at a point where the archaeological community can actually accept accountability, "professionalisation" and maintain a credible and legitimate niche for ourselves as custodians and stewards of this very important part of Ontario's heritage.

Acknowledgements

I'd like to thank my fellow colleagues of the Archaeology & Heritage Planning Unit for providing me with some of the information provided in this paper. I would also like to thank them, as well as others in the consulting, academic and avocational worlds who have been kind enough to put with up my countless diatribes and inquiries on the current state of archaeology and other things. In particular, Ron Williamson, Alison Wylie, Peter Carruthers, Art Howey, Nick Adams and Chris Ellis were all willing to act as sounding boards or offer insights. But, of course, the observations and opinions provided here are my own.

Adams, Nick 1997.

Letter To The Editor. Arch Notes, (N.S. 2-2): 14-15.

Byrne, William 1976.

The Resource Question and Rescue Archaeology. Canadian Archaeological Association Bulletin, 8: 109-121.

Carruthers, Peter 1997.

OAS Symposium Forum 1996 From Priority To Practice. Arch Notes, (N.S. 2-3): 7-12.

Charlton, Arthur 1976.

Cultural Resource Management and Conservation Archaeology in British Columbia: A Case Study. Canadian Archaeological Association Bulletin, 8: 133-146.

Cleere, H., ed. 1989.

Archaeological Heritage Management in the Modern World. London: Unwin Hyman.

Coleman, Derek and Ronald Williamson 1994.

Landscapes Past to Landscapes Future: Planning for Archaeological Resources. In Great Lakes Archaeology and Paleoecology: Exploring Interdisciplinary Initiatives for the Nineties, Robert MacDonald, ed. Waterloo: Quaternary Sciences Institute, University of Waterloo, pp. 61-80.

Davis, Hester 1972.

The Crisis in American Archaeology. Science, 175: 267-272.

Ellis, Chris and Neal Ferris, eds. 1990.

The Archaeology of Southern Ontario to A.D. 1650. Occasional Publications of the London Chapter, OAS, 5.

Fitting, James, 1984.

Economics and Archaeology. In: Ethics and Values in Archaeology, Ernestine Green, ed. New York: Free Press, pp. 117-122.

Fluehr-Lobban, C., ed. 1991.

Ethics and the Profession of Anthropology: Dialogue For a New Era. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.

Fowler, Don 1984.

Ethics in Contract Archaeology. In: Ethics and Values in Archaeology, Ernestine Green, ed. NewYork: Free Press, pp. 108-116.

Fox, William 1981.

The Archaeological Conservation Programme: A Quiet Success. Kewa, 81(7): 2-5.

Fox, William 1982.

The Calvert Village: Glen Meyer Community Patterns. Kewa, 82(7-8): 5-9.

Fox, William 1985.

Archaeological Resource Conservation in Southwestern Ontario. Arch Notes, 85(1): 21-27.

Fox, William, ed. 1986a.

Archaeological Consulting in Ontario: Papers of the London Conference 1985. Occasional Publications of the London Chapter, OAS, 2.

Fox, William, 1986b.

The Elliott Villages (AfHc-2) – An Introduction. Kewa, 86(1): 11-17.

Fox, William 1986c.

Volunteer Subdivision Review And The Planning Act. Arch Notes, 86(6): 18-20.

Green, Ernestine, ed. 1984.

Ethics and Values in Archaeology. New York: Free Press.

Hamalainen, Peter 1977.

Townsend Community Development Area – Archaeological Survey 1976. Ministry of Culture and Recreation, Research Manuscript Series, Databox 332.

Kelley, Jane and Ronald Williamson 1996.

The Positioning of Archaeology Within Anthropology: A Canadian Historical Perspective. American Antiquity, 61(1): 5-20.

Kenyon, Ian and Neal Ferris 1984.

Investigations at Mohawk Village - 1983. Arch Notes, 84(1): 19-49.

Lipe, William 1974.

A Conservation Model For American Archaeology. The Kiva, 39(3-4): 213-45. Reprinted in Conservation Archaeology A Guide for Cultural Resource Management Studies, Schiffer, Michael and George Gumerman, eds. 1977. New York: Academic Press. pp. 19-42.

Lynott, M. and Alison Wylie, eds. 1995a.

Ethics in American Archaeology: Challenges for the 1990s. Society for American Archaeology Special Report.

Lynott, Mark and Alison Wylie 1995b.

Stewardship: The Central Principle of Archaeological Ethics. In: Ethics in American Archaeology: Challenges for the 1990s, Mark Lynott and Alison Wylie, eds. Society for American Archaeology Special Report. pp. 28-32.

MacDonald, George 1977.

Prehistoric Archaeology in Canada. In New Perspectives in Canadian Archaeology, Alexander McKay, ed. Ottawa: Royal Society of Canada. pp. 73-80.

MacLeod, Don 1975.

Peddle or Perish: Archaeological Marketing From Concept to Product Delivery. In Canadian Archaeological Association - Collected Papers March 1975. Ministry of Natural Resources, Historic Sites Branch, Research Report 6: 57-67.

Mayer-Oakes, William 1989.

Science, Service and Stewardship - A Basis For the Ideal Archaeology of the Future. In Archaeological Heritage Management in the Modern World, H. Cleere, ed. London: Unwin Hyman. pp. 52-58.

MCzCR (Ontario Ministry of Citizenship, Culture & Recreation) 1993.

Archaeological Assessment Technical Guidelines. Toronto.

MCzCR (Ontario Ministry of Citizenship, Culture & Recreation) 1997.

Conserving A future for our past: Archaeology, Land Use Planning and Development in Ontario. An Educational Primer and Comprehensive Guide for Non-Specialists. Toronto.

Noble, William 1972.

One Hundred and Twenty-Five Years of Archaeology in the Canadian Provinces. Canadian Archaeological Association Bulletin, 4: 1-78.

Noble, William, 1982.

Potsherds, Potlids and Politics: An Overview of Ontario Archaeology During the 1970's. Canadian Journal of Archaeology, 6: 167-194.

Parker, Lawrence "Bud" 1996.

Letter to the Editor. Arch Notes, (N.S. 1-3): 18-19.

Reid, C.S. "Paddy," ed. 1980.

Studies in West Patricia Archaeology, NO 1:1978-1979. Ministry of Culture and Recreation, Archaeological Research Report 15.

Reid, Peter 1979.

Is Ontario Archaeology Ready For the New Environmental Assessment Act? Arch Notes, 79(6): 2, 13.

Schiffer, Michael and George Gumerman, eds. 1977a.

Conservation Archaeology A Guide for Cultural Resource Management Studies. New York: Academic Press.

Schiffer, Michael and George Gumerman 1977b.

Part 1: Cultural Resource Management. In Conservation Archaeology A Guide for Cultural Resource Management Studies, Michael Schiffer and George Gumerman, eds. New York: Academic Press. pp. 1-17.

Trigger, Bruce 1977.

The Archaeological Base in Canada: Training, Facilities, Opportunities. In New Perspectives in Canadian Archaeology, Alexander McKay, ed. Ottawa: Royal Society of Canada. pp. 185-201.

Turnbull, Christopher 1977.

Of Backdirt and Bureaucracy: The Role of Government in Canadian Archaeology. In New Perspectives in Canadian Archaeology, Alexander McKay, ed. Ottawa: Royal Society of Canada. pp. 119-136.

Tyyska, Allen 1986.

Private Sector Involvement in Archaeology. In Archaeological Consulting in Ontario: Papers of the London Conference 1985, William Fox, ed. Occasional Publications of the London Chapter, OAS 2: 3-8.

Watkins, Joe, Lynne Goldstein, Karen Vitelli and Leigh Jenkins 1995

Accountability: Responsibilities of Archaeologists to Other Interest Groups. In Ethics in American Archaeology: Challenges for the 1990s, Mark Lynott and Alison Wylie, eds. Society for American Archaeology Special Report. pp. 33-37.

Wilson, Jim and Malcolm Horne 1995.

City of London Archaeological Master Plan. City of London Planning Division, Department of Planning & Development. London.

Woodall, J. ed. 1990.

Predicaments, Pragmatics, and Professionalism: Conduct of Archaeological Inquiry. Society of Professional Archaeologists Special Publication 1.

Wright, James 1986.

Ontario Research Update. Arch Notes, 86(3): 41-45.

Wylie, Alison 1993.

Facts and Fictions: Writing Archaeology in a Different Voice. Canadian Journal of Archaeology, 17: 5-25.

Wylie, Alison 1995.

Archaeology and the Antiquities Market: The Use of "Looted" Data. In Ethics in American Archaeology: Challenges for the 1990s, Mark Lynott and Alison Wylie, eds. Society for American Archaeology Special Report. pp. 17-21.

For further information or for additional copies of this paper, please contact:

Neal Ferris, Regional Archaeologist/Heritage Planner
Archaeology & Heritage Planning
Cultural programs Branch
Ministry of Citizenship, Culture & Recreation
55 Centre Street
London, Ontario N6J 1T4
(519) 675-7742; Fax: 675-7777
E:Mail : neal.ferris@mczcr.gov.on.ca

Home