Each generation included childhoods and losses and discoveries and griefs.

Each generation passed something to the next — not just genetic material but knowledge, practice, language, the specific way that humans teach each other how to survive and how to make meaning.

The 120 beads.

If you were to line them up, each one separated from the next by the width of a single bead, they would extend roughly two meters — the length of a tall person lying down.

Each one was produced by hand, by someone working with a stone borer and a piece of bone, in the cold of a Siberian winter or the brief warmth of a Siberian summer, for the specific purpose of accompanying a dead child into whatever came next.