Mack
Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Red-Willow
People
The
original Taos is not the plaza, but rather Taos Pueblo (www.taospueblo.com), some two
miles north of town. Home to the
Red-Willow People, the Pueblo occupies some 90,000 acres of northern New
Mexico, and has been their land for at least a thousand years. The North House and the South House in the
Pueblo proper date back a full millennium, which makes them coeval with
Westminster Abbey.
Hey,
maybe Taos Pueblo and the City of Westminster could make a twin cities
agreement.
A
beautiful little stream flows between the North House and South House, bordered
with willows and benches, and visitors are asked not to wade in it or drink
from it since it is the source of water.
Someone had tossed an ordinary new kitchen mop into it, though, and one
wonders what domestic squabble that was about.
One
‘net encyclopedia advises that the Red-Willow People are “secretive” and
“conservative.” This is errant nonsense;
they are in fact hospitable and open to the point of garrulousness. Remember that Taos Pueblo is an autonomous
state, though they do not yet require passports. When visiting any autonomous state, say,
Canada, one does not judge Canadians to be secretive if the ministry of defense
does not provide the visitor with detailed information about the airport radar
codes. Similarly, Canada could hardly be
considered conservative for not cluttering Ottawa’s Parliament Hill with chain
coffee shops, hamburger joints, and neon signs advertising “Genuine Canadian
Dancers in Costume.”
It’s
their home; they want it to look nice.
Several
hundred folks still live in the North House and South House, and by mutual
agreement without electricity or piped water.
San Jeronimo / Saint Jerome Church is illuminated with gas for night
liturgies, and otherwise people do very well with doors, windows, skylights,
and probably early bed-times.
Most
everyone else lives in houses close to the crops, presumably with electricity
and water.
The
government offices near the front entrance – or, rather, border crossing – are
connected to utilities, and the rulers’ pickups are parked out back next to the
visitors’ restrooms. Does the leader of
any other nation drive a pickup truck with muddy boots and workman’s tools in
the back? I think he’d help you fix that
broken gate you’ve been meaning to get to.
One
of the most prominent features just inside the entrance is the tower of a
ruined church. This is the site of the
first St. Jerome, from 1619. That church
was destroyed in a revolt against the Spanish in 1680, and was rebuilt a few
years later. In 1847 the United States
acquired (nice euphemism) New Mexico, and there was a great deal of confused
fighting in and around Taos. In one of
the rowdier misunderstandings, the new American Governor of New Mexico was
scalped. In front of his wife and
children. And then he was murdered. Again in front of his wife and children. Now that’s a bad day at work. Whether or not the Red-Willow People were
involved, the U.S. Army thought they were, and attacked the Pueblo. The result was a massacre of several hundred
people who had sought refuge in their parish church.
This
isn’t Disneyland, okay?
The
new Saint Jerome’s, about a hundred yards away, dates from 1850; the remains of
the previous one are a memorial and a cemetery.
Just as we wouldn’t want furriners bopping around our maw-maw and
paw-paws’ graves with cameras and fizzy drinks, visitors are not allowed to
enter that bit of truly sacred ground.
We
visited early in the morning to avoid the mid-day heat. Early hours are also the best time for
pictures because you can do the Ansel Adams thing so much more easily with the
area mostly empty of people. You’ve seen
pictures of the buildings all your life, but for some reason few people
photograph them framed by the shifting blues and greens of the Sangre de Cristo
Mountains.
The
sunlit and almost golden facades of the buildings are at first silent and
seemingly deserted, but then the shopkeepers begin opening their doors and
putting out their signs, and suddenly there’s a lot going on. The shopping is fun, and the artisans enjoy talking
about their work, and Mom’s work, and how Grandpa worked, both at the
craftsman’s bench and on the land.
We
met Mrs. Chili Flower in her nice shop, which features jewelry made by her
family. Her son, Richard, also sells by
the side of the road west of town close to the Rio Grande Gorge. Just look for the sign that says “No Vending
on Highway Right-of-Way.” Hey, New
Mexico is calm like that.
The
Red-Willow People speak Tiwa, Spanish, and English, and the last, at least,
quite idiomatically, not that anyone from Texas can with reason critique any
accent at all. A bit of culture shock at
first, but then you’ll feel quite at home.
They’re
really nice folks; you ought to go visit them.
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