Indians of the Mesa Verde

The Wetherills themselves took a number of collections of artifacts from the cliff dwellings. Most of these collections are now in museums and since the Wetherills kept notes on their findings the material has real scientific value. In 1891, Baron Gustav Nordenskiold, a young Swedish archeologist, excavated in a score of the cliff dwellings and took a splendid collection back to his homeland. Soon after his return home Nordenskiold died and the collection was sold to a museum in Finland, where it rests uneasily today. In addition to the Wetherills and Nordenskiold, many other men worked in the ruins and they probably carried away an equal amount of material.

As a result of all this early work the ruins were well cleaned out before the area was made a national park. A number of cliff dwellings have been excavated by archeologists in recent times and little material of any importance has been found in them.

Even though the Mesa Verde could only be reached by a thirty mile horseback trip, it was visited by a surprising number of people in those early years. Some came only to see the ruins but many came to dig and on the return trip the packs often bulged with things taken from the ruins. Priceless artifacts which had so long been unmolested were thoughtlessly carried away.

As a result of these visits, however, the fame of the Mesa Verde grew and finally public sentiment came to its aid. Gradually there developed a realization that the ruins should be preserved for all time and made accessible to all people.

The first effort toward this appears to have been made in 1886, even before the discovery of Cliff Palace and the other large cliff dwellings. In that year a group of Denver people called attention to the need for a national park to preserve the ruins of the Mesa Verde. Five years later the Colorado General Assembly addressed a memorial to the Congress and in 1894, two petitions were sent to the Congress urging that a part of the Mesa Verde be preserved as a national park.

As the years passed, the agitation continued but little was accomplished. In 1897, however, the attention of the Colorado Federation of Women’s Clubs was directed to the problem and a committee of fourteen women was appointed to spearhead the fight. Three years later the committee was expanded into the Colorado Cliff Dwellings Association, an incorporated organization dedicated to the struggle for the preservation of the ruins.

With grim determination the women worked, both with officials in Washington and the Ute Indians whose reservation included the Mesa Verde. After years of disappointments their efforts were crowned with success for on June 29, 1906, the Congress passed a bill creating Mesa Verde National Park.

At last, after six hundred empty years, the cliff dwellings were again in the care of men who were interested in their well-being. These men were of a different race and their feelings toward the cliff dwellings were far different from those of the people who had built them. To the ancient people the cave structures had meant home and security. To the new caretakers they were a milestone in the story of mankind and as such they should be preserved for all time.

3
LIFE IN ANCIENT TIMES

In a little while we are going to do a very strange thing.

We are, first of all, going to go back seven centuries to the year 1268 A.D. Then we will climb down the trail and stroll into Cliff Palace. Somewhere near the center of the town we will find a comfortable seat on the roof of one of the houses. And for a year we will sit there, quietly and comfortably, watching the people. We will take no part in the activities—we will simply watch the inhabitants of the town as, through the year, they go their daily rounds.

There is no better way to understand what life was like in a cliff dwelling. The ancient structures themselves do not tell the whole story, nor do the artifacts in the museum. The well-built walls and the skillfully made artifacts are ample evidence of the abilities of the people but these articles of stone, bone and wood do not tell us all we would like to know.

The real story is in the people and if we are to understand it, we must see them with our own eyes. So, after setting the scene, we will go back to Cliff Palace in the year 1268 A.D., and take our seats. And when the year has passed, we will understand what life was like in the Mesa Verde when the cliff dwellings were alive.

We shall select Cliff Palace for our experiment because it was the largest of the cliff dwellings: certainly it was the crowning achievement of the Mesa Verde people. To modern man it may seem only a village but to the Indians it was much more than that. Located almost in the center of the great mesa was the largest cave of all. In it was the greatest structure they ever built.

To the people it was the big town, the hub of their small world. In their eyes it was magnified by comparison with the hundreds of smaller cliff dwellings around it. To them it was a city, the greatest they ever knew. Certainly there could be no better place for us to see the life of those eventful days when thousands of people lived in the Mesa Verde.

Before we take up actual residence in Cliff Palace we should answer one question, a question that is asked very often. How can we know what was happening in a town that was abandoned almost seven hundred years ago? The former inhabitants have disappeared and they left no written records. How will we be able to see the intimate details in the lives of those people?

It is a good question. It is often in the minds of visitors as they walk through the silent city and listen to the stories that are told about the former inhabitants. Intimate details in the lives of the people are laid bare. Assertions are made for which there is no visible evidence. The visitor can scarcely be blamed for wearing a skeptical look in his eyes.

Our knowledge of the intimacies of the ancient life has come from a number of sources. Through intensive study, archeologists, ethnologists and historians have worked out the details that go toward making a complete story. From countless sources they have garnered the bits of information that fit together in jig-saw fashion to give us a picture of life in a cliff dwelling. Unfortunately, some pieces of the picture are still missing; here and there are rather large and distressing holes. In some lines of research, blank walls have been encountered and mystery still enshrouds some of the phases we would like most of all to see.

On the whole, though, the picture is rather complete. By fitting together all of the bits of knowledge that have been given to us by various scientists we can see very well the happenings in one of the ancient villages.

The archeologist has given us the general background of the people of Cliff Palace. Decades of research have revealed the development of the Pueblo Indians during their one thousand year occupation of the Mesa Verde. But the archeologist has gone even farther and, in a general way, has traced the people back through countless centuries to their original home in a far continent. We shall see this long story of development in later chapters.

Originally the people came from Asia, drifting into America across the Bering Sea. From Alaska they drifted south and, after endless generations, reached the Southwest. Up to this time they had lived as roving hunters but somewhere in the Southwest they met other Indians who were farmers. This new life appealed to them and, borrowing the precious seeds, they gradually became a farming people.

At about the time of Christ they moved into the Mesa Verde region and soon some of them were living on the Mesa Verde itself. At first their culture was simple but for a thousand years it developed. Finally it reached its peak in the thirteenth century when Cliff Palace and the other cliff dwellings were built.

In addition to giving us the background, the archeologists have given us the material details of the ancient city. Through their excavations the actual remains have been brought to light, studied and interpreted. When we walk through Cliff Palace we appreciate the tremendous overhanging cave roof that protected the entire city. We see the results of the physical labors of the people; the houses with their smooth walls and bright paintings, the storage rooms, kivas, open courts, narrow winding passageways, firepits, and in the back of the cave, the trash room where the turkeys roosted.

In the nearby museum we see the actual physical remains, the skeletons and mummies, of the people themselves. We see their clothing and their jewelry. There also are the utensils and tools; pottery, basketry, bows and arrows, stone knives, bone awls and needles, grinding stones, fire drills, planting sticks, stone axes and mauls; an endless array of things that were once in common use.

All of this has been given to us by the archeologist. He has shown us the long background of the people and has unearthed, restored and interpreted the actual material things from the ruin. To many people these things seem cold and inanimate. They seem dead; just stone, bone, wood and clay. There is life in them, though, for they are the expressions of the desires, ambitions, loves and hates of the people. Every single article was produced because of some human desire or need.

The person who keeps this in mind is able to walk through Cliff Palace, even today, and see the former inhabitants, for in the results of their efforts they still live. Many visitors forget this and do not see the people. Even the archeologist often fails to see them as he is a scientist who deals only with realities. Sometimes he can not see the people for the walls.

Historians have also contributed to the story of ancient Indian life. The musty records of the early explorers of the Southwest contain many extremely valuable observations concerning the Pueblo Indians. These the historians have ferreted out.

As early as 1540, the Spaniards began to enter the Pueblo country when Coronado traversed almost the entire area. Other Spanish explorers followed Coronado. Missions were established in many of the pueblos and for three centuries the Spaniards were in close contact with the Indians. Later the American explorers entered the Southwest and they, too, came in contact with the Indians. The chronicles of these explorers, both Spanish and American, contain many passages concerning the life and customs of the Pueblo people. Many of these early records have been translated and compiled and from them we gain knowledge of Pueblo life during the last four centuries. It is true that not all of the observations were accurate. Many were spiced with prejudice and deliberate fallacy but still they have been of value.

The Spaniards came into the Southwest less than three centuries after the Pueblo Indians left the Mesa Verde and drifted to the South. The Indians were still living in terraced pueblos. They were still farmers; corn, beans and squash still dominated the food bowl out of which each family ate. In a material way they had changed little, so it is safe to assume they had changed little in their social and religious customs.

Even after the white men arrived there was little change in the life of the Pueblo Indians until within the last few decades. For that reason the early records, when properly interpreted, add much to our knowledge of the ancient cultures.

Ethnologists have done a vast amount of work that supplements the labors of the archeologist and the historian. The ethnologist is a scientist who makes an actual detailed study of a group of living Indians. Every cultural detail is recorded and there have been ethnologists who knew almost as much about the Indians whom they studied as the Indians knew about themselves.

Some of the ethnologists have lived in the pueblos for long periods of time. In some cases they have been accepted by the Indians and have even been taken into the priesthood. An outstanding example was Mr. Frank Hamilton Cushing, an ethnologist who lived in the pueblo of Zuni from 1879 to 1884. He learned the Zuni language, was adopted into the Macaw clan and was initiated into various religious societies. He participated in the religious ceremonies, wore native costume, ate native foods and took part in the various occupations and pastimes. Before he left the pueblo he became the second chief of the tribe and was made the head priest of the Bow, one of the highest religious offices.

Such men as Cushing have given us detailed knowledge of the legends, religion, ceremonies, social customs and daily life of the modern Pueblo Indians. Since these Indians are descendants of the ancient Pueblo Indians, this knowledge has enabled us to answer many questions.

The person who walks into Cliff Palace and views a kiva for the first time has not the slightest chance of guessing its original purpose. It is absolutely remote from anything he has ever seen. But when he is told that these same strange rooms still survive in the present-day pueblos and are used as club rooms and ceremonial chambers, the use becomes immediately apparent. In the center of the ancient kiva floor is a tiny hole that has no obvious purpose. That same hole is still found in some of the present-day kivas and the Indian explains that it is the spirit entrance to the earth. Even the wisest archeologist could never have guessed that.

Without the help of present-day Indians it would be almost impossible to answer questions about such non-material things as religion and social customs. We can dig up the bones of a man, every bone he ever possessed. But who can look at those bones and tell how many wives he had? Some people think it should show but it doesn’t. In order to answer the question we simply go to the descendants of that man. Without doubt they still have the same customs.

From all this it can be seen that the ethnologist has added much to our story. Since the Pueblo Indians of today are the descendants of the Pueblo Indians of a few centuries ago, a thorough knowledge of them is the soundest approach to an understanding of the ancient people.

In using our knowledge of the modern Pueblo Indians in an effort to picture life in ancient times we are faced with an important question. How much have the customs changed because of the influence of the Spaniards?

As soon as the Spaniards entered the Pueblo country they established missions in the Indian pueblos. The native religion was suppressed and a new religion was forced upon the Pueblo people. In the Rio Grande area in New Mexico this foreign pressure was strongest and there can be little doubt that the native Indian religion and customs have changed to some extent. In the western pueblos of the Zunis and Hopis the Spanish pressure was not so great. Missions were maintained at Zuni only intermittently and among the Hopis for only a short time. As a result the native Pueblo religion and customs of these western pueblos have undergone less change and they will be used, for the most part, in our effort to picture the ancient life of the Mesa Verde.

As we move into Cliff Palace to spend a year with the inhabitants we must not forget the sources of our knowledge. First, we have the cultural background of the people, their rise from roving hunters to stable agriculturists; second, we have the great ruin itself and the things the people left in it; third, we have the interpretations of Indians who are descendants of the ancient people. All these will be added together to complete the picture. We must realize, however, that there are questions still unanswered: some problems will never satisfactorily be solved. But if we use the knowledge that has been gained and remain within the realm of plausibility we shall be able to follow the people very well as they go through their daily lives.

Now we are ready to turn back the centuries. We are ready to walk into Cliff Palace and live with the people. How better can we see the life of the ancient city? We will follow the men, women and children, as they go through the daily round of life. Spring, summer, autumn and winter will pass. We will see the work, the play, the dreams, the desires, the happiness and the bitter disappointments in the lives of the people. We will take no part in the activities. We will merely watch.

What year shall it be?

It makes no difference as long as it is a good year, a normal year, with an abundance of snow and rain. That was the most important factor because of its effect upon the harvests. Tree ring records show that 1261 and 1262 were normal years, also 1265, 1266, 1267, 1268, 1269, 1271 and 1272. All of those were good years and that was the time when Cliff Palace was at its height. The people had been living in the cave for many years and the great city was surely at its peak.

Let’s take the year 1268. It is as good as any. It was a normal, happy year for the people of Cliff Palace.

Let the centuries roll back—it is 1268 A.D.

As we walk into Cliff Palace we find it at the very peak of its development. For generations it has been growing until now it fills the great sheltering cave. There are over two hundred one-room houses in the city; they fill the cave from end to end and rise in terraces to a height of three and even four stories. At the south end and again at the north end the terraced structures rise to touch the cave roof.

Scattered about the city are twenty-three kivas, the underground ceremonial chambers. Their flat roofs serve as courts where many of the activities take place. The roofs of the terraced houses are also the scene of much activity and throughout the city many ladders lean against the walls, leading from one level to the next.

To us Cliff Palace seems like a great two-hundred-room apartment house. To the occupants it is a city of two hundred houses, occupied by scores of families. Over four hundred people live in the city; they swarm about the courts and over the roofs like so many busy brown ants.

As we enter the city we notice immediately the appearance of the people. They are typical Indians. They seem rather short, the men averaging about five feet four inches in height and the women about five feet. They are heavy-set and as we watch them we get the impression that as a rule they are a short, stocky people. The skin color varies from light to dark brown; some of them are so dark they seem almost black. The eyes are also brown and the hair varies from dark brown to a deep lustrous black.

The people have broad heads and the back of each head is flattened, a deformity caused in infancy by a hard cradle board. The faces are broad and the cheek bones are prominent. Occasionally we notice “slanting” Mongoloid eyes. The people seem to have certain Mongoloid tendencies although they are not a pure Mongoloid type.

This town where we are going to spend the year is simply a large terraced apartment house built in a great cave. In the two hundred or more rooms live at least four hundred Indians, short, stocky, brown-skinned people whom we will know well before the year is over.

The centuries have rolled back to the year 1268 A.D., and we take our seats on a roof.

It is spring.

4
SPRING

Spring is a happy, joyous time for the people of Cliff Palace and there is much laughter and gaiety in the great cave. The bleak, uncomfortable winter is over; there is a feeling of freedom and broken bonds. Everything in nature indicates that a new year and new life are beginning and the people respond just as do the animals and plants.

The winter that is ending has been cold and even though the people became accustomed to it there was suffering and sadness. Many of the older people who were afflicted with rheumatism and arthritis suffered terribly and the children developed colds and other diseases against which the medicine men were powerless. Several deaths occurred in Cliff Palace last winter and there was sadness and fear in the cave city. These misfortunes were caused by witches, who are evil human beings with only one desire—to injure and destroy the people. Winter is the season when witches are most active so it is a time of fear and dread for the inhabitants of the town.

Now spring is here and the people are gay and lighthearted. Spring is ever a happy time for farmers for the miracle of new life never loses its thrill. Spring, the season of new life; summer, the season of growth and development; autumn, the season of ripening and harvest; winter, the season of suffering, death and sorrow. Then spring comes again and the eternal cycle has another joyous beginning.

In March the sun begins to be warm. During the morning, while still in the shadow, the cave is cold but in the afternoon when the sun creeps in, it is very pleasant. Some days the sun is actually hot as it beats into the sheltered cave. Chipmunks and squirrels, even the lizards, come out of hibernation to sun themselves on the warm rocks. The Indians do likewise.

As the sun begins to climb into the cave each afternoon the people come out to meet it. Uncomfortable winter clothing is thrown aside and soon most of the inhabitants of the cave are sunning themselves on the front terraces. Everyone is happy. There is much laughter and boisterous shouting. The aged men and women bring their rheumatic bones out into the warm sunlight and immediately feel new life. Gaunt old men, whose creaking joints have not climbed the cliff trails for years, get a new gleam in their eyes as they vow they will raise a crop of corn this summer. Aged women begin to twist their gnarled fingers as they dream of making pottery again.

The able-bodied men sit in small groups, dreaming and talking of the planting time that is coming. Wrinkled old priests assure them that it will be a fine season. All signs are right; the gods are smiling on their people. The women think of new pottery they must make, repairs they plan for their houses, and marriages they must arrange for their daughters. Young wives, in whom romance has not been dulled by too many children, playfully comb the lice from their husbands’ heads and dream of babies soon to come. Spring is a fine time for that.

Here and there young unmarried men lean against the walls, presumably dozing in the sun. But they are the busiest of all. Each one is endeavoring to catch the eye of some dusky young maiden whose full-rounded curves are causing her mother to think of a son-in-law. The young man’s eyes seldom connect; the ever vigilant eyes of mothers and aunts come between.

The really active members of the populace are the children. Some play on the trash pile in front of the cave; others scramble over the boulders that litter the slope below. Their rich brown skins flash in the sun as they endeavor to make up in one afternoon for all of the cold inactivity of the winter. Their shouts and laughter are mingled with the barking of their dogs and the gobbling of the turkeys they are disturbing. During the winter the turkeys stayed close to the cave but now they are scattered over the slope, nipping off the early buds and searching for the first insects of spring.

Not every March day is warm: some are blustery with the changeable weather of spring. A clear blue sky turns black in only a few minutes and heavy wet snow swirls into the canyons. The snow soon changes to rain, then a cool breeze swings down from the north and the rain becomes icy pellets of sleet. In a few minutes the clouds blow away and the warm sun shines again on a dripping, steaming world. Sometimes during the night, warm, wet snow falls, snow so heavy that its weight snaps limbs from the trees. The warm rocks and the bright sun melt it rapidly and often there is a roaring waterfall over the front of Cliff Palace cave as the water rushes off the mesa top.

The weather grows steadily warmer and winter is left behind. There is much activity in the city. Everyone is up at sunrise and the work of the day is immediately started. After several hours of work, breakfast is eaten late in the morning, then the activities are resumed. The second and last meal of the day, an early supper, brings an end to the day’s activities.

During the winter the cave became damp and musty; everything needs to be aired out. Clothing, blankets, robes and floor mats are spread out on the terraces and roofs to bake in the sun. The women tie small bunches of stiff grass with cords and with these brush-like brooms sweep the houses and courtyards thoroughly. Trash is swept into the back of the cave where the turkeys roost or out on the ever-growing trash pile which slides far down the slope in front.

Even the kivas, the underground ceremonial rooms, are cleaned and the walls are replastered to hide the soot that has accumulated. The men do some of the cleaning but women are often invited to help, especially with the plastering. It is considered a great honor for a woman to be chosen to plaster a kiva.

A major part of the spring work is the repairing of houses. It is work that never seems to end for repairs and alterations are always in progress in some part of the city except in the winter when it is too cold. Spring is the best time for the repair work as there is an abundance of water for the mortar and the home owners are filled with a desire to build and improve. Cracks are merely filled with mud and small chinking stones. Sometimes a small section of wall has bulged dangerously and must be replaced. Often the walls have been built on a foundation of loose trash and as a result, settle until they are in danger of falling. Such walls, sometimes entire rooms, must be torn down and rebuilt. Sometimes a house is deserted by its owners for some reason and gradually goes to ruin. As it crumbles the stones and the roof poles are used in the repairing or building of other houses. It is an endless cycle, this building and repairing of houses, and all stages of it can be seen in the town almost any time.

Most of the repair work is done by the women for the houses belong to them. When there is heavy work, new poles to cut or new stones to shape, the men help but even then the women supervise.

Very often, as is true among all people, the women change the decorations of their houses. A new whim stirs the housewife’s imagination and in an hour’s time the entire scheme is changed. The husband never knows what to expect when he returns from a day in the fields. Decorations are easily applied for they consist of thin layers of clay mud, spread on the walls with the hands. Sometimes the entire house is smoothly plastered with red, yellow, grey, brown or white clay. Other houses are plastered only on the outside; some only on the inside. Here is a house that is plastered half-way down from the ceiling; next door is one that is plastered half-way up from the floor.

Many of the walls are decorated with bright paintings. Red ochre makes a rich red plaster, while up on the mesa top is a layer of clay that gives a clean chalky-white color. When the two are combined, the effect is striking. Most of the paintings are small; the picture of an animal, a geometric design or perhaps just a band of color across a wall. In the center of Cliff Palace is a house that has a row of nine, bright red hands painted above the door. The woman who lives there placed her left hand on the wall and traced it nine times. Then she filled in the outlines with red ochre to produce the odd decoration.

Near the south end of the town is the most beautifully decorated house of all. It is the third-floor room of the great four-story tower, the tallest structure in the cave. The young lady who lives there is very artistic and all four inside walls are beautifully painted in red and white. The lower half of the walls she painted with red ochre. The upper half she covered with the chalky-white clay. Where the two bands of color came together she painted large red triangles in groups of three. Thus the edge of the red border consists of three triangles, or peaks, then a straight line, three more triangles, and so on around the room. On the white upper portions of the walls are geometric designs painted in red; parallel straight lines, parallel zigzag lines and parallel fringed lines.

The painting was cleverly done and the final effect is strikingly beautiful. The young woman is artistic in everything she does. Her pottery designs are the best in the city and she even wears her little yucca-string skirt at an artistically rakish angle. The men of the neighborhood often speak of her artistry. Their wives speak of her extremely poor cooking.

As spring progresses the weather grows warmer. The wet, heavy snows come less frequently and most of the days are full of sunshine. Sometimes sharp winds sweep off the snow-covered mountains to the north and cut across the mesa tops but the sheltering cave keeps them out of Cliff Palace.

As April arrives the effects of sunshine and moisture become evident. The grass is green, leaves are coming out on the shrubs and the earth is broken by the first tender shoots of myriads of growing plants. There is a damp, earthy smell in the canyons; the dank odor of rotting leaf mold, the heavy odor of wet clay. Through it all is the delicate fragrance of growing, budding plants. Back from the south come the first birds and spring is definitely in the Mesa Verde.

The earth-loving Indians are bursting with restless energy and everyone is busy. Sometimes the town is almost deserted as the call of spring draws them out of the cave. The cliffs echo with the laughter of small children as they play along the slopes and down in the bottom of the canyon. During the winter in the shadowy cave their skins became pale but already the spring sun is tanning them to a warm brown. Their hearts are light; they are like unrestrained little brown animals as they play the days away. They have fewer cares and troubles than the chipmunks and squirrels whose lives they make miserable. Each small boy carries a bow and each one knows how to set cord snares in the runways among the rocks. Sometimes a small hunter is successful and the cliffs ring with his exultant shouts as he brings a chipmunk or a squirrel or even a fat rat to his mother. At the next meal he is a hero and receives the choicest morsels from his kill.

Some of the older boys go out on the mesas for larger game. The wet, silent earth makes it easy for them to stalk the deer and mountain sheep that have never been alarmed by the thundering reports of firearms. At long range their flint-tipped arrows are not effective but they are clever stalkers and at close range the silent arrows are deadly. In the evening they return with their game. They trot proudly down the precipitous trails and through the city, hoping that the eyes of the maidens will rest upon them. But the soft brown eyes are always turned away—still they see.

Most of the men climb up to the mesa-top fields even though they are too wet to be worked. Their love of the soil draws them to their farms and they boast about the crops they intend to grow, or listen to the old men as they tell of the miraculous crops of bygone years.

Even though it is too early to farm, the men are soon busy. New land must be cleared to replace fields that have been farmed too long. The sagebrush and shrubs are pulled up or are dug out of the ground with digging sticks. Small trees are cut with stone axes but the larger trees are burned and in all parts of the Mesa Verde columns of smoke rise as men of the different villages clear the land. Usually this clearing of new land is done in the late winter and early spring when the cool damp weather makes it easier for the men to control the fires. If the burning were done in the summer, forest fires would result and vast areas would be rendered uninhabitable through loss of fire wood and logs for house construction.

The fields are owned in common by the village but they are allotted to the clans, which are groups of families related through the female line. The clan in turn allots the fields to its various households, or families. After a generation or two the lands farmed by members of a household seem almost to belong to it but the real control is by the clan. As long as a piece of land is farmed properly it remains with the household but if it is neglected or if the household dies out, the clan heads allot it to other households within the clan. Since the clans are matrilineal, with descent of property in the female line, a man farms land belonging to his wife’s clan.

In the early spring no one is busier than the women. Each day they scour the canyons and mesas for early plants that will lend variety to the diet. During the late winter the food became monotonous. Day after day it was cornbread, beans and meat. Principally it was cornbread and although it was prepared in a number of ways it became tiresome.

The early spring plants bring a welcome variation to this restricted diet. The green shoots of beeweed and tansy mustard and the first tender leaves of saltbush make delicious greens when boiled with pieces of fat and a dash of salt. Wild onions and juniper berries add an exciting flavor to a pot of deer meat stew. The puff-ball, a spherical, fungus-like growth six or eight inches in diameter, is sought eagerly after each warm spring rain. Toasted slices of puff-ball, eaten with a sauce made of salt and wild onions, are a real spring delicacy. Innumerable plants are edible and by countless generations of experimenting the Indian women have discovered their good qualities. They know exactly how to use each plant and new aromas rise from the cooking pots.

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.

Pottery making is a long, detailed process requiring much skill and only after many years of practice are women able to make pieces of the finest quality. Each step must be carefully and thoroughly executed or the final result will not make a woman’s husband proud when he compares her pottery with that of the other women.

Two ingredients are needed for the actual construction; pottery clay and a tempering material. The clay occurs in a shale layer at the foot of the upper cliff of the canyon wall. There are many deposits, large and small, and each woman has a favorite place from which she obtains her clay. Up the canyon from Cliff Palace, at the head of the right-hand fork, is an excellent deposit that is favored by many of the women.

The nights are now without freezing temperatures that would render the digging too difficult so the women begin to make pottery. Early in the morning the potter leaves Cliff Palace and sets out for her favorite clay bed. She carries a large basket and a digging stick and is accompanied by any of her daughters who are learning the art. The clay is usually soft and easy to dig and she soon returns with a basket of blue-gray earth.

The clay is spread out in the sun to dry and all stones and foreign particles are picked out. After drying thoroughly it is ground very fine on a metate, the same flat stone on which corn is ground. It is now ready for use.

The tempering material comes from an odd source. The woman simply goes out on the trash pile below the cave and picks up a quantity of broken pottery. This she grinds up just as she did the clay until it looks like fine sand. This tempering material is very important for it keeps the vessels from shrinking and cracking as they dry. Many centuries ago the ancestors of these women used sand and grit for temper. Some still use them but most of the women use ground-up potsherds. They are just as good and are much easier to obtain. Year after year the broken pots have been ground up and used again. Some of the particles the women are using today may have been used by their ancestors centuries ago.

When the clay and the temper are ready they are mixed, about one part of temper being used to two parts of clay. With her fingers the potter mixes the dry materials very thoroughly for a poor mix will give the pottery an uneven quality. Finally she is satisfied and water is added until she has a thick, heavy paste that does not stick to her hands as she works it. After this paste has been very thoroughly kneaded, actual construction of the pot begins.

From the mass of paste the potter pinches a small piece. With the palm of her hand she rolls it on a smooth stone until she has a rope of clay smaller in diameter than her little finger and several inches in length. The paste is so strong that she can pick the roll up without breaking it. Starting at one end she begins to coil this rope of clay around and around on itself, just as a snail shell is coiled. As she adds each coil she pinches it to the last one with her thumb and forefinger. When the rope of clay is completely coiled she rolls out another and adds it to the first. Coil after coil she adds until the rough pot is completed. At this point it is merely a long slender rope of clay which has been coiled around and around, up and up, into the desired shape, each coil being carefully pinched to the one below. The spiral nature is very evident and hundreds of evenly spaced thumbprints remain as evidence of the pinching together of coils.

If a cooking vessel is desired the inside of the jar is smoothed carefully but the outside is left rough and corrugated. Nothing is to be gained by smoothing and decorating the outside of a cooking jar for it will soon be blackened with soot.

If a water jar, or a bowl is being made, the work is only half done for it must be smoothed and decorated. Very carefully the potter rubs the vessel until the inside and outside are as smooth as she can make them. The vessel is still pliable and by working with her hands and a curved piece of gourd rind she can correct the shape slightly to make up for any mistakes she made in the coiling. At last the vessel is smooth and shapely and the potter is satisfied. She places it in the sun to dry and begins to coil another.

After a number of vessels have dried thoroughly in the sun the next step begins. From the mesa top, where it occurs just under the red top soil, the potter has brought a quantity of white clay. A small amount of this is ground up and mixed with water until a white, soupy liquid results. This is the “slip” and it is painted over the entire surface of the vessels giving them a chalky, white covering. Before the slip has dried, each pot is carefully polished with a smooth pebble. Short, brisk strokes are used and the entire surface is polished until it shines. This polishing is a tedious but important step for the smoothness, luster and hardness of the finished vessel depend upon it.

At last the pots are ready for the decorations and this is the part the potter likes best of all. It is her opportunity to demonstrate her creative ability. On Mesa Verde pottery the designs are always black, a color that is made from a local plant. Tender shoots of the common beeweed are boiled until a thick, brown liquid results. Pottery designs are painted with this liquid.

Out of thin air the woman snatches a design. She has a fierce pride in her ability to create these designs for she knows that later her finished pots will have to bear comparison with those of her neighbors. No tracings or trial pictures are made. She merely selects one of the sun-dried vessels, notes its size and shape and develops in her mind a design that will fit it. Following this mental picture she paints the vessel with the brown liquid. The brush is a small piece of yucca leaf, one end of which has been chewed to loosen the fibers. Her free-hand strokes are swift and sure and soon the vessel bears an accurate, carefully-balanced geometric design. At this stage it is drab looking for the brown lines are not attractive.

At last, after many hours of tiresome work, the potter has a number of pots ready for firing. This is the crucial step and the excellence of the pottery depends upon its success. The pots are carried down to one of the lower terraces at the front of the cave and stacked in a shallow pit that has been scooped out. Over them the potter piles the fuel; wood, bark and cakes of rotting humus from under the trees. When it is ignited it burns and smoulders, subjecting the pots to an intense heat.

When she is satisfied that the pottery is well-fired, she rakes it out of the fire, polishes it with a piece of cloth or buckskin and her work is finished. The brown paint has been changed by the heat to a deep black that stands out in striking contrast against the light gray background. From the simple ingredients; clay, ground potsherds and beeweed, has come this beautiful, enduring pottery. It is the highest artistic expression of the Mesa Verde people.

As the potter finishes her work she places the finest pieces in a row along the edge of the terrace or on her roof for all of the women to see. The poorer pieces she puts back in the dark corners of the house where they will not be noticed. Out of the corner of her eyes she sees other women placing their pottery on display and she smiles with satisfaction as she notes that her work is as fine as any. There is much good-natured competition among the women and each one tries to out-do her neighbors.

As the spring progresses tremendous quantities of pottery are made. All through the cave women are at work and pottery in all stages of construction is to be seen along all of the terraces and in every courtyard. Spring is the most popular time for this task. The winter is too cold; in the summer water is often scarce. During the spring all conditions are perfect and the nimble fingers are busy until every household is equipped with an ample supply of vessels of all kinds.