“When native people were first put on the reservations often they were given large doses of Epsom salts. The magnesium sulfate would clean them out but they still lived primarily on small game. Deadfalls were commonly used to trap that small game. Rabbits, ground squirrels and mice were commonly consumed.”
“What about bows and arrows,” I asked. June answered me with; “Bows and arrows were introduced during the Basket maker III period, which occurred about 450 A.D. I don’t know about you, but how many bow shots would it take to finally hit an animal on the run? Think about it, they would spend most of their time acquiring something to eat. Even if they were able to kill a larger animal, how would they preserve the meat? Sure, they made a lot of deer jerky but have you ever tried to cook with jerky? Again, the Anasazi were very small, thin people who lived on the edge of existence.”
I stood up and walked over to the living room where Hidalgo happened to be sitting, listening to our conversation. Reaching down and stabbing Hidalgo in the ribs above his small pot belly I laughed and said, “Not all Indians are skinny.”
Hidalgo grabbed my arm and pulled me down on top of him; tickling me like a rough housing kid. After the tease settled down, Hidalgo replied with a hint of laughter in his voice, “After the white man introduced all manner of food around here our people grew as tall and fat as you white people. There is a problem here that you need to understand. If your people had survived since eternity by barely living off the land and suddenly you had plenty to eat, your body couldn’t deal with the sudden prosperity. Have you ever eaten Indian fry bread? All it is, is dough fried in grease. Like doughnuts, it is extremely fattening. Navaho’s have barrel chest by nature, but now we are also fat because of the massive amounts of rich food we eat. Our bodies are not used to eating white man’s food. Just like you all, we relish what we can’t have.”
I answered with a snort, “So it is our fault, huh!”
Hidalgo answered me with, “It’s not my fault that there are so many good cooks around here.”
Frowning, Ken continued his explanation. “Even in places where food could be easily grown and local game was available, they were extremely limited in the food they had available to eat. Squash, mesquite beans, and the food plant that they domesticated; corn. The entire Anasazi people were being bothered by much more than dealing with the vagaries of environmental issues such as lack of rain or too much rain. Cold winters and searing summer days certainly bothered them; not to mention the problems of war with other peoples.”
June interjected, “But something was really bothering the Anasazi.” She emphasized the word really. “One theory I encountered recently involved corn. Corn or maize for most American Indians is considered sacred. In fact, many of their pictographic murals and petroglyphs include images of corn. Modern day Indians have corn ceremonies and corn dances. Currently, they think that corn originated in Eastern North America but it was really domesticated in Mexico. It returned six hundred years later fully domesticated and became the basis of survival for the Anasazi as well as all cultures in North America. There is a theory that many of the inhabitants of Chaco and other communities were suffering from a brain condition from eating only corn.”
“Chaco Canyon is located in a desert and because they were not living in an agricultural area virtually all of their food had to be imported. The easiest and probably the only food that could be carried long distances would have been corn. Outlying settlements probably traded corn for something in Chaco. The problem is corn lacks the key amino acids, lysine and tryptophan. When eaten exclusively, levels of serotonin in the brain begin to drop leaving the person in a state somewhat like sleep deprivation. Imagine what it must have been like; all the elders who were the tribal leaders lived almost exclusively on corn. Imagine your leaders having nothing to eat, every day, except corn.”
I thought about all of this for a minute then piped up, “So, if I can survive in the back pasture for a week eating only the local food you would have confidence in me?”
“Well it would help,” answered Ken.
“Fine,” I said, “Let me round up some cooking pots I can use over a fire and turn me loose.”
Ken followed my proposal with, “I suppose you’ll need a sleeping bag, tent and matches?”
“Well sure,” I responded.
June looked at me and said, “I hate to burst your bubble, but the ancient Anasazi didn’t have tents, sleeping bags and matches. Even if you could start a fire without matches what are you going to cook your food in? Pottery wasn’t invented around here until the Pueblo period about 750 A.D. All we could allow you to take with you is the clothes on your back. We couldn’t even let you wear shoes.”
“No shoes!” I exclaimed.
“No, you have to make your own by weaving plant fibers,” said Ken with a smirk on his face.
“I responded hopelessly, “Maybe I’ll take you up on your challenge this fall.
Turning to Hidalgo, I wondered how many times I would think about my dream when asking him a question and said to him; “In the meantime, tell me more about this place called Serpientes that this ranch is named after.”
Rattlesnake Clan
“The legend of Serpiente began as a racial memory among those most ancient of American Indian cultures. Oral traditions were recorded in those tribes, far removed in time and distance from those curious people who stumble into Serpiente now. Unlike the rest of nature, humans and coyotes are attracted to interesting places. Driven to satisfy their innate curiosity, they explore every feature of the natural landscape. This explains why they are always in trouble.”
“Of course, coyotes are much better at problem solving and escape than any human! They are, and have always been considered the tricksters among the many clans of creatures who co-habit the world. In the ancient, as well as in the modern world, coyotes compete with humans.”
Uncle Ken then added to the story while Hidalgo gulped a rapidly cooling cup of coffee, “Perhaps the mountains themselves provide a warning for those who learn to read them. Serpiente is a strange and mysterious place, accessible only by ancient and secret trails. Seen from the air, the only way to see the lay of the land, travelers observe monotonous miles of rugged sandstone canyons. The most forlorn and inaccessible part of the region is El Montano del Serpientes de Cascabels, a stark volcanic cone in contrast to the surrounding sandstone canyon lands.”
“The earliest of people, those ancestors who lived in this maze of canyons, built cities there, cities now in ruins now buried under sand. They walked secret trails carved through the sandstone canyons leading to waterholes, streams, and lush green valley’s where they grew their food. The climate was generally much wetter thousands of years ago and back then growing food like corn and squash was much easier. They lived there for thousands of years, prospered, and evidently lived in harmony with everyone.”
We were all silent as we pictured ancient cities in the windswept canyons. Hidalgo broke into Penny’s vision of the ancient cities by saying to Aunt June, “If I can have just one more cup of that wonderful coffee, I’ll tell you the rest of the story.”
Aunt June got up, walked over to the stove, and poured Hidalgo another cup of coffee, adding the sugar and cream just like he liked it. After a sip of hot coffee Hidalgo continued, “The legend goes that the Rattlesnake clans had always lived in the canyon, but in time the rattlesnakes that lived on the black mountain changed, growing larger and smarter. They warred with the other rattlesnake clans, eventually eliminating all other rattlesnakes near El Montano del Serpientes.”
“For many years the human clans who lived in the canyon lands had benefited from their relationship with the rattlesnake clan of Serpiente, but when the world changed and the seasons began to be colder and much dryer, trouble occurred. The human clan began to discover that their children were disappearing. The Rattlesnake clan was thought to be stealing and eating the smaller children. Indeed, perhaps in desperation, some members of the Rattlesnake clan wer
e stealing the babies, but no rattlesnake trails were ever discovered at the scene of the crime, only paw prints left by the coyotes. Yet, the rattlesnake clan was blamed, and soon there was war. In time, only the oldest and wisest humans were still alive.”
Pausing to sip the coffee, Hidalgo continued, “It is said that the human clan eventually conquered the rattlesnakes by killing all but the baby rattlesnakes, which they carefully raised as their own children. In time the rattlesnakes became dependent upon the humans, who provided all the food for them. Thereafter, for a thousand years, the human clans and the rattlesnake clans lived together in peace, and in time they prospered. The human clan even grew wealthy. The rattlesnakes, being creatures who naturally lived in deep and secretive places, knew where all manner of minerals and gemstones where hidden, and they obediently shared these with the grateful humans, even guarding the treasures for the humans within Serpiente. In this way, the ancient human clan lived peacefully with the Rattlesnake clan for many lifetimes, slowly accumulating treasure.”
Another sip of coffee preceded the final part of the story. “After a while,” Hidalgo continued, “the coyote clan grew envious. They were the ones who had actually been stealing and eating the children, and now they were outnumbered by both the human and rattlesnake clans. They began stealing children again. Unfortunately, even more warlike human clans, my ancestors, migrated into and discovered the clans of Serpiente and all-out war occurred. The human clans moved from the valley floors into cliffs and the most secret of places, but to no avail. All the peoples of those most ancient human clans were killed.”
I was by now completely perplexed. I had never heard stories like these before, even though in school I had learned about many eastern tribes, such as the Cherokees, who once roamed throughout Tennessee; they did not have similar stories as far as I knew.
Uncle Ken said, “When the first Anglos came into this area, stories circulated that there were many secrets in the Serpientes. People suspected that there were great treasures to be discovered there. Maybe the rattlesnakes now guard the treasure, hidden deep within the maze of caves under Serpiente.”
Finishing his coffee, Hidalgo continued, “After a while the children of this last human clan began to disappear. Upon realizing that the rattlesnake clan was secretly warring with them, they left the area, leaving petroglyphs to warn others who might stumble into the vicinity. In time, all knowledge of Serpiente died. The legend ended, the people vanished, and nothing of the story was left except ruins and petroglyphs. For the last two thousand years, all knowledge of Serpiente was lost to the world. It was not revived until the Spaniards arrived much later.”
I could only think to myself that the stories were indeed the most confusing and perplexing stories I had ever heard except for my dream that occurred on that dreadful bus trip. For some reason all of these stories seemed very important. Whatever was causing the animals to die seemed very real. By now, I had examined several dead animals for myself. They all looked the same. Not a trace of what was killing them could be found. I needed more information.
The Artifact
I settled into the routine of life in Serpiente, quickly making friends and making myself useful. During the day the ranch was run just like any ranch. Newly bought chickens were let out of the henhouse and allowed to run loose in the yard, just like chickens always do. But, each night they were rounded up and enclosed in the henhouse, which was boarded up so nothing could get in or out. Small calves were enclosed in the barn, which was sealed. Horses and larger cows were left to fend for themselves.
As the hot days of summer became more intense, we found more and more dead animals in the fields and the disappearances of small animals peaked. Then as fall approached, it all slowly subsided. But the ranch families around Serpiente were still wary; something was out there and few of them would entertain any ideas of mysterious rattlesnakes or coyote clans. Stories like those were just fantasy to the local ranchers.
I couldn’t stand the tension created by this fearful mystery. I had to solve the problem. First of all, I couldn’t stand to be cooped up in a ranch house every night during the hottest part of the summer, living in fear. Second, it just wasn’t in my personality to ignore a challenge. I love the outdoors just like my father does, and so I began to spend some time every day exploring the countryside. It was interesting and very different to me.
My favorite place to explore was the back pasture of the ranch where a canyon with a tiny stream of water flowed out of it making a serpentine turn and then miles below the ranch disappeared into the sand. In the distance the land became a labyrinth of deep canyons, each with secrets to hide. There, I found my first petroglyph, stick figures of humans and snake-like forms. From Hidalgo I learned more about Indian lore; from Corey I learned the skills that a real cowgirl needs to explore the country. But I was always under strict orders to return to the ranch house each night, where the whole family locked themselves in.
One afternoon while looking for petroglyphs, I discovered a tiny arch in the rock below my feet. Getting down on my knees I dug the soft sand away and discovered pot shards. Within a moment or two I discovered that they all fit together to form a ceramic vessel. I examined them, turning them over and over in my hand; black geometric designs drawn on a white pot. I kept putting them together until I realized what I was looking at. Each of the geometric designs was actually a snake. The heads of the snake converged at the lip of the vessel. It startled me when I figured it out. Gathering it all up I put the pieces into a large pocket in my backpack.
From Aunt June I had learned more and more about the Anasazi pottery. Used for over 700 years white ware pottery is the oldest pottery made by the Anasazi. It is made from gray Cretaceous clay with a slip of white kaolin clay.
The pottery in the ranch house always fascinated me. I always felt artistic myself and was intrigued by the designs on the pots. In the ranch house I discovered several piles of shards, in box tops, as if waiting to be reconstructed, glued together to show the work.
I offered to reconstruct the vessels but June suggested that I had more important things to do. I learned that colorful decorative vessels are not just pretty pots; they are pieces of social architecture. In their designs and styles you know who the maker and owners were or who they were trading with. Potshards are like calling cards, a person versed in pottery can tell you exactly what ruin or at least what region a shard came from.
Generally, in the north, bold black on white ceramics in the tightly painted geometry was made. South of Chaco, and many generations later, reds and buffs would be produced with highly stylized figures of humans and animals, polychromatic pottery appeared in the Southwest in the form of black and white designs painted on red or orange backgrounds.
I returned to the ranch house that night, putting my things away and then joining June in the kitchen to prepare dinner. Later, during dinner, I decided to show off my find. Taking the pieces out and reconstructing the pot enough to show the design painted on it. It all created quite a sensation, but after all the talk was over, June casually reached over and placed her hand on top of mine.
“I can tell you exactly where you found it,” June says. “I found the shards there years ago. I examined the pieces and then returned them exactly to where I found them. I would appreciate it if you would return them.”
Puzzled, I asked “Sure, but why do you want me to return them? Besides, there are boxes of pot shards all over the house. What is the difference?”
“Well,” June explained, “All of these collections were made years before the Antiquities Act was enacted.” Looking around the living room, June attempted to explain the significance of the pots and piles of pot shards scattered around the house. “Many of them were already here when your Uncle Ken bought this ranch from Mr. Miller, a fellow who looked somewhat like Gaby Hayes; a face full of whiskers and a rowdy disposition. He built the building that is now used as the chicken pen and lived in it for many years. Like everyone else in
this area he naturally collected artifacts. After all, once someone discards something it is up for grabs by others. When he became ill and had to move into town, we acquired the property at an auction in Belen.”
“To tell you the truth, I had never seen the place, I was a little intimidated but once I saw the site I fell in love with this place. As with all ranches in New Mexico water must be in abundance in order to support agriculture and cattle. That small creek that you like to hike to sinks into the sand around here where it is easily pumped out of the ground. Most people new to this area think it is pretty desolate but actually there is an ocean of water under out feet. Ninety-nine percent of the water that flows down that canyon actually flows underground.
I said “Well that explains some of the artifacts around here but this place is full of them.”
June looked at me and lowering her eyes and admitted that she had indeed been a collector years ago, but as she learned more about archeology, first as a student and later as a professional, her entire attitude had changed.
“One of the things that changed my perspective about collecting artifacts came about from a conversation with a gentleman over in Zuni,” said June. He said, “How would you feel if I dug up your grandmother, mounted her bones on a piece of ply board and put her up for display.”
“I really have mixed feelings about it all,” admitted June. Most of the antiquities that end up in museums such as the Smithsonian Institute are never viewed by the public. Many of the artifacts here are on loan to me from universities, I use them for lectures, and after all I am an archeologist. It is legal for me to possess them but the difference is I have never sold a single thing. You have to understand that there is a tremendous market out there for artifacts.” She reached over and picked up a single black on white pot and asked me if I had any idea how much it was worth.
The Family at Serpiente Page 6
