- Life & Leisure > *Life & Leisure F1 > TCD Traveler: Pueblo Culture: Living in the Past
- January 23rd, 2011
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- By Manya Kaczkowski
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TCD Traveler: Pueblo Culture: Living in the Past
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Pueblo North House in Taos
“Are they painted on?” I wondered out loud, fingering the swirling black lines dancing across the delicate, egg-shaped vase.
“They’re horse hair,” says potter and tribal member Tony Mirabal. He’s an older man—the winds of time have carved lines into his skin—similar to the cracked earth outside, in the dry New Mexican desert. I peer into the back room of the shop, where Mirabal carefully wraps our vase, marveling at the simplicity—and the underlying richness—of life here in the Pueblo of Taos.
We came for the art—which we definitely found−but in between the turquoise, pottery and traditional woven wall hangings, we became enthralled with the bloody history of conflict between the natives, the Spaniards, the Mexicans and the U.S. Government. I’m not particularly proud of what our leaders did—they followed the path of the Spaniards, marching in to take over the territory and impose their own customs upon the natives, which resulted in many deaths and severe damage to centuries-old religious and cultural practices. Yet, there is pride: the Pueblo People of New Mexico have proudly stood their ground for thousands of years, and have somehow remained an integral part of the fascinating blend of cultures in the state today.
No matter where you travel in New Mexico, you’ll get a taste of native culture. But if you want to see the real thing….a preserved, abandoned community once occupied by some of the first families on this continent, plus a thriving pueblo where the people live much like their ancestors did more than 1,000 years ago, check out two locations: Bandelier National Monument and the Pueblo of Taos.
Ascending a handmade ladder at the Bandelier cliff dwellings
Bandelier
The first thing I feel at Bandelier National Monument is, well, alone. Oh, there are towns nearby; Los Alamos, home to the top secret nuclear bomb development “factory” in the 1930s and ‘40s, is only 15 miles away, and tiny White Rock is even closer. But you’d never know it, as you wind your way along the road built by the U.S. Civilian Conservation Corps in the mid-1930s, along with 70 miles of trails, a visitor center and lodge. It’s wild, lovely and desolate, especially during the winter months. Look up, and you see orangey cliffs, checkered with thousands of caves in their crumbly volcanic ash surface—ash deposited here during two massive eruptions of the nearby Jemez Volcano more than one million years ago. Look down, and it’s canyon after canyon, studded with trees, cactus and whatever else grows in this arid, unforgiving landscape.
Yet it’s hauntingly beautiful. The views are spectacular—not only of the nearby cliffs and canyons, but the surrounding backdrop of the Pajarito Mesa and Caja Del Rio Plateau to the east and the snow-covered Jemez Mountains to the west. I swear I see Jeff Bridges riding up over the crest in the distance—in fact, part of True Grit was filmed in New Mexico. Frijoles Creek still breathes life into the canyon, as it has for thousands of years, and here is where we find the ruins of many ancient communities.
Although it is home to the extinct native cultures of Tyuonyi and Tsankawi, among others, this site is named after Adolph F. A. Bandelier, a self-taught anthropologist who came to New Mexico Territory in 1880 at 40 to study the region. The Ancestral Pueblo People are believed to be descendants of hunters and gatherers who came into the region more than 10,000 years ago. For thousands of years, they roamed; eventually, pit houses were built mostly underground, and later, stone dwellings. From the visitor center, we set out, exploring remnants of homes where families lived from as early as 1200 AD. By that time, they were cultivating crops: maize, beans and squash.
Tyuonyi, one of the Bandelier villages, is a fascinating, circular complex made of stone and mud, one to two stories high, that housed about 100 people. A central plaza has three kivas (round, underground structures where ancient religious ceremonies took place—think sweat lodges). The stone walls are intact, but the roof, which was likely composed of logs stretched over the top and packed together with mud, has vanished. As we walk through the rooms, I visualize the families that lived and worked here: men hunting, women tending the fields and smoothing mud onto the outer walls of the ancient condo.
Further down Frijoles Canyon is where the cave dwellers lived, building stone apartments directly in front of the bluffs surrounding the canyon and rear rooms dug into the soft, crumbly rock walls behind them. You can still see the caves, but the stone homes in front have disappeared. A replica gives visitors a glimpse of how the Pueblo People lived. We climb into several of the cave rooms (cavates) using wooden ladders. Indentations in the face of the cliff indicate where logs were used as roofing material for the front rooms.
I’m intrigued by the petroglyphs carved into the rock above the dwellings—each has a significance, but each forever remains a mystery. Some are recognizable animals, and some appear to be humans. In the back walls of dwellings are painted designs called pictographs. One looks a lot like the pattern on a Southwestern blanket I have on my bed back home. Suddenly, I’m connected.
Dusk is approaching; we head back to our hotel on highway 502, windows open to the glorious 65-degree weather. Gradually, I realize I’m hearing what sounds like millions of birds beginning their evening chatter. We pull the car over to see if we can score a picture of them, twittering their goodnights from millions of holes eroded into the volcanic rock—their own little cave dwellings. But we can’t catch a glimpse…is it really just the sound of the ancestors, wistfully whispering to us across a 10,000 year path?
Taos
The San Geronimo bell tower at Taos
On one of our last days in New Mexico, we head north to Taos. The Pueblo of Taos is at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. High up in the mountains is Blue Lake, in a sacred area open only to tribal members. Sacred, perhaps, because it is life-giving: Red Willow Creek, running all the way down from Blue Lake into the middle of the pueblo, is the only source of water for the 100 or so tribal members who live there full time. There is no electricity, although some of the residents have propane heat.
We pay a small admission fee and a little extra so I can take photos. It is not considered appropriate to photograph a tribal member without their permission, and tips are appreciated.
The Taos Pueblo is said to be the oldest inhabited community in these United States. We see adobe buildings—more condos–rising up out of the desert in smooth-walled, earth-toned magnificence. The North House and the South House are more than 1000 years old, and the newest thing on them is the doorways—originally the rooms could only be accessed by climbing a wood ladder and entering an opening in the roof.
We learn, on a brief tour, that the San Geronimo Church, built in 1850, is one of the newest buildings in the pueblo. About 75% of the tribal people still practice Catholicism (imposed on them by the Spaniards in the 1600s). The first San Geronimo was built in 1619 by the Spaniards using native laborers. The Pueblo People revolted successfully in 1680, but the Spaniards returned in the 1700s, and a second church was built on the same site. More than 100 years later, Charles Bent, governor of the New Mexico and Arizona territories, was slain by Taos townspeople and some natives during the U.S. war with Mexico. After that, the U.S. Army burned down the church–with many people inside of it. The saddest sight at the pueblo, to me, is the bell tower and cemetery—the only remains of that terrible incident.
After the tour, we stroll freely through the pueblo, exploring the shops and grounds. Pueblo People are everywhere, simply living their lives, baking bread, creating art, visiting with neighbors. We do our share of shopping—first examining the vases at Tony Mirabal’s shop, and telling him we’ll be back later to purchase one. I select a pair of turquoise and bone earrings at another studio. We are mesmerized by one of the artists, who takes down a drum with a picture of a white buffalo, and plays for us, after explaining the significance of the animal—the females are considered sacred. A female tribal member sells us magnets that have been fired in her indoor kiva (fireplace), then introduces us to her son, telling us how he attends college at UNM in Albequerque through a long-distance program—at the age of 16. We buy a loaf of bread that was baked in an outdoor stone oven. It’s one of the first chilly days of the year, and almost everyone has their indoor kivas lit, although most doors are open to the outside. The woodsy smell is infused into everything: our clothing, the bread, the desert air. I know I’ll never forget that fragrance.
When Tony Mirabal emerges from the back room to hand me our package and a business card, painstakingly cut out by hand, he’s much nicer now than the first time we stopped in, a couple of hours ago. I’m thinking that maybe a lot of people say they’ll be back—his is one of the first shops you see—and then never return. Still, the Pueblo People, toughened by their life’s destiny—savage wars, internment, then abandonment—have a strong will to carry on. They’re the ones with true grit.
Photos by Manya Kaczkowski
Manya Kaczkowski is a freelance travel, food and lifestyle writer who hails from a little cabin in Wisconsin’s Northwoods. Her work has been published in Midwest Living, Wisconsin Trails and Wild Blue Yonder. Her book, Milwaukee’s Historica Bowling Alleys, was published in November, 2010.
