Barb and I are at our son-in-law and daughter’s place for thanksgiving. When we are in Colorado Springs I am able to get on the forum. (For some reason my satellite service from home in the Jemez does not allow me to get on this forum any more unless I leave town).
I continue to love life in the Jemez mountains. So often it feels like I am living in just the right place. The coming of winter is completely different out here on the rim of the canyon. We can see the season getting ready to change. As the fall season is drawing to a close, we might hear a soft rain in the middle of the night. During the following day the temperature here on the canyon wall may reach 45 degrees. But when you look just a little ways north towards Redondo mountain, you notice the peak is covered with snow. As the season moves on towards winter that blanket of snow starts to extend farther down the mountain, and from there down the canyon wall. At times we have had rain at our place and watched snow creep down the canyon wall, perhaps turning to rain a mere 100 feet higher up the wall.
The snow I see here in New Mexico is much different than I commonly experienced during the years I lived in Minnesota. New Mexico snow is often dry, and very light. It is the “powdered sugar” of snow. This dry snow sits lightly on the needles and branches of the big Ponderosa pines. It sits so lightly that the slightest breath of wind might create a mini-blizzard of blinding white snow. As I sit in our little canyon home with great windows and views I can see these “snow clouds” that spring to a momentary, stunning life and then expire after a few hundred yards.
The little school that I serve has had a great autumn sports season. For hundreds of years the Jemez people have enjoyed a reputation as elite cross country runners. This season our little high school won the state cross country championship in our division. There was a large feast and dancing set for about 1 week after the championship. This feast and dance is open to the public, and many come from miles away. All six runners and both coaches for this championship are Jemez. I love the way these coaches and young men were recognized. There were no speeches by old politicians or school board members. On that day there were hundreds of dancers, wearing incredible ceremonial clothes and jewelry dancing in the long, rectangular village plaza. The Jemez culture prefers not to cover (suffocate) the earth where ever possible. Because of this the village plaza is a large sandy surface, having been danced upon by thousands of Jemez footsteps, for hundreds of years.
As the traditional dance was drawing to a close, I saw the cross-country team, wearing their ceremonial clothing, including jewelry, sea shells and animal skins spread the large banner that announced their championship. They stretched it out and danced down the plaza and back. This part of the dance took only a few moments, but was thrilling to me. A Pueblo is in many ways a communal society, and the pride taken in the achievements of their young men was so powerful it almost seemed as though a separate living force accompanied them up and down the plaza. For the 100th time I mourned the Jemez practice of banning photographs of the dances.
The Jemez people have an unwritten language. They have always relied on the memories of their old men and story tellers to document the achievements of the past. As I stood looking out on the plaza I realized I have become an old man. And I have developed a love for the story, and a love for telling the story. Perhaps all of this means I am just beginning to understand some of what lies at the foundation of the culture.
I continue to love life in the Jemez mountains. So often it feels like I am living in just the right place. The coming of winter is completely different out here on the rim of the canyon. We can see the season getting ready to change. As the fall season is drawing to a close, we might hear a soft rain in the middle of the night. During the following day the temperature here on the canyon wall may reach 45 degrees. But when you look just a little ways north towards Redondo mountain, you notice the peak is covered with snow. As the season moves on towards winter that blanket of snow starts to extend farther down the mountain, and from there down the canyon wall. At times we have had rain at our place and watched snow creep down the canyon wall, perhaps turning to rain a mere 100 feet higher up the wall.
The snow I see here in New Mexico is much different than I commonly experienced during the years I lived in Minnesota. New Mexico snow is often dry, and very light. It is the “powdered sugar” of snow. This dry snow sits lightly on the needles and branches of the big Ponderosa pines. It sits so lightly that the slightest breath of wind might create a mini-blizzard of blinding white snow. As I sit in our little canyon home with great windows and views I can see these “snow clouds” that spring to a momentary, stunning life and then expire after a few hundred yards.
The little school that I serve has had a great autumn sports season. For hundreds of years the Jemez people have enjoyed a reputation as elite cross country runners. This season our little high school won the state cross country championship in our division. There was a large feast and dancing set for about 1 week after the championship. This feast and dance is open to the public, and many come from miles away. All six runners and both coaches for this championship are Jemez. I love the way these coaches and young men were recognized. There were no speeches by old politicians or school board members. On that day there were hundreds of dancers, wearing incredible ceremonial clothes and jewelry dancing in the long, rectangular village plaza. The Jemez culture prefers not to cover (suffocate) the earth where ever possible. Because of this the village plaza is a large sandy surface, having been danced upon by thousands of Jemez footsteps, for hundreds of years.
As the traditional dance was drawing to a close, I saw the cross-country team, wearing their ceremonial clothing, including jewelry, sea shells and animal skins spread the large banner that announced their championship. They stretched it out and danced down the plaza and back. This part of the dance took only a few moments, but was thrilling to me. A Pueblo is in many ways a communal society, and the pride taken in the achievements of their young men was so powerful it almost seemed as though a separate living force accompanied them up and down the plaza. For the 100th time I mourned the Jemez practice of banning photographs of the dances.
The Jemez people have an unwritten language. They have always relied on the memories of their old men and story tellers to document the achievements of the past. As I stood looking out on the plaza I realized I have become an old man. And I have developed a love for the story, and a love for telling the story. Perhaps all of this means I am just beginning to understand some of what lies at the foundation of the culture.
