Indians of the Mesa Verde

by Don Watson

During the winter the people ate the monotonous food because they needed the nourishment. Now they eat for the joy of eating. Eyes gleam with anticipation as each family gathers around the fire in the late afternoon while the mother prepares the main meal of the day. There is cornbread, made in any one of a dozen ways. Deer meat is being roasted or boiled, or is bubbling in a thick stew. A pot of greens is stewing or a pot of beans, flavored with some spring plant, boils on the fire. A great pot of thin corn gruel, which will be drunk as a tea, simmers on its bed of coals. At last the food is ready and the steaming pots are placed on the ground in the midst of the family group.

As soon as all is ready the man of the family selects a sample of food from each pot; a few beans, a pinch of greens, a small piece of meat, a bit of bread, a few drops of tea. These he throws into the fire as an offering to the gods. Then the eating begins.

The only tools are the fingers and they are plunged eagerly into the food, hot though it may be. Chunks of meat are picked out and if too hot are held on a piece of bread. Bones are gnawed on, then dropped back into the pot as the fingers are needed for something else. Dunking is common and the bread is used to scoop up the thick stew. Toothless old men, becoming impatient, pick up the bowls and drink over the edge. There are long-handled ladles for dipping out the soup and broth, and stein-like mugs for the tea.

During the meal there is little talking; the accent is on the food. The only noise is the licking of fingers and the loud smacking of lips that express appreciation for especially succulent morsels. As the men settle back, swollen from overeating, they seek relief in deep rumbling belches, each of which is a pat on the back for the cook. No words are necessary for a slow rumbling belch is far more expressive. It speaks of a full, happy stomach, complete relaxation and sleepy contentment. Each belch brings happiness to the fond wife and mother and she smiles as she removes the empty pots from the midst of her gorged and sleepy family.

Darkness is still an hour away but as the sun drops behind the opposite canyon rim the chill of the spring evening creeps into the cave. Women sit by the fires, robes around their shoulders, and visit idly. The men and older boys go to their kivas to talk, to doze, or perhaps to gamble a little. The children, following the shouted directions of their mothers, gather the turkeys which have been feeding on the trash pile in front of the town and drive them into the rear of the cave where they will be safe from prowling night animals.

As darkness falls the day’s activities are ended and quiet settles over the city. Mats, skins and blankets are rolled out on the floors of the houses and soon the people of Cliff Palace are asleep. The quiet of the night is broken only by the snoring of tired men and the barking of a fox across the canyon. The tiny sliver of a new moon sinks behind the western mesa leaving brilliant, low-hung stars to watch over the sleeping people.

During the early spring one of the most important activities of the women is the making of new pottery. Very little was made during the winter because of the cold but much was broken. Numb fingers often let the vessels slip and now each woman needs to replenish her stock of water jars, cooking pots, bowls, ladles and mugs. The greatest need is for the large water jars. In the early summer there will be a long period of dry weather. For at least a month, possibly for two months, there may not be a drop of rain on the Mesa Verde. The springs will dwindle and the great pools in the bottom of the canyon will shrink. There must be additional stored water.

There are no wells or cisterns so water will be stored in the large jars. The women must make many of them, each one large enough to hold several gallons of water. During the late spring rains they will be filled and set away in small storage rooms that were emptied of their corn and beans during the winter. When the dry weather comes the stored water will be of vital importance.

The women of Cliff Palace make the beautiful black-on-white pottery that is typical of all the people of the Mesa Verde. They are proud of the graceful shapes and exact designs and each woman strives to excel her neighbors. All of the women use the same methods and there is a surprising sameness about their products. Each one varies her designs and no two pieces are exactly alike but all are of a standardized type. Each piece proclaims its Mesa Verde origin.

The women are very proud of their pottery and seldom swerve from the conventional type. Sometimes when the men go to distant regions on trading trips they bring home a few pieces of foreign pottery. Their wives compare this pottery with their own and are always satisfied. They feel that their wares excel all others and continue to make the same types their mothers and grandmothers made.