Well past midnight, sitting by the fire at Baga Gazaan Chuluu, I watched the full moon cast such brilliant blue light over the landscape that I could see hobbled horses dip their heads to graze far in the distance. The brightness was almost otherworldly. Nothing obscured the view. Nothing could approach unseen. Exposure wasn’t frightening. It was freeing.
My body was revealing what years of archival study had not: landscape as ally, collaborator, protector. A realization shook loose: the historian’s body is a powerful tool for understanding. Far from the moon-drenched steppe, embodied understanding now shapes my archival work in essential and exciting ways.
