Meeting the people of Taos Pueblo

After our stay at the Taos library and a successful trip to the Plaza for ice cream and a hat, we drove a few miles north to Taos Pueblo for an afternoon visit.


I liked the famous church, with its blinding white courtyard walls set against the blue sky and its ornate wooden doors -- straight out of a poster. But even more, I enjoyed meeting a few of the pueblo residents. When the aroma of fry bread drifting in the air made us hungry, we went looking for some. One woman had a busy outside stand selling blue corn bread, but Michele wanted something more traditional. We found it in a tiny store, no bigger than a kitchen, run by a friendly, older woman. She invited us to sit in the few chairs while she plopped dough balls into a pan of sizzling oil and cooked fresh fry bread on a two-burner stove. We were going to order four, but after another customer showed us a plate-sized bread, we settled for two.


As we bit into our bread wedges dusted with powdered sugar and drizzled with honey, she told us a bit about herself. A few years back, she had been laid off from her state job, so she started her fry bread business to make ends meet. We talked about the raging Arizona wildfires to the south, and she recalled one that came perilously close to the pueblo and her house a couple of miles away. She told us the scrawny calico cat that John Michael befriended had kittens nearby, even as she tried to shoo it outside with her foot. The bread was delicious, but the conversation made it even better.

Further down the street, we stopped at one of the many galleries. While the boys each picked out a small pottery piece and a fetish doll, the owner, Sonny, and Michele chatted. Turned out, Sonny's family traced its roots back to the ancient communities at Bandelier National Monument, where Michele once worked as an archeologist. She said her mother running the shop next door knew of a beautiful picnic spot there. When Michele left to get the place, the boys in tow, I stayed behind to ask Sonny about the scads of foreign currency and dollar bills papering the wall behind the register. She said her uncle had started the collection at least 30 years ago, the money given by customers from around the world. I asked if I could take a photo, and she said she didn't mind: People always wanted to. I was the latest in a long line.

Her patience hadn't run out when I popped back in to ask about the interesting cross painted over her door. It was a zia, she explained, the symbol of the Zia Pueblo and of New Mexico. That was interesting enough, but she then told me about how the pueblo had sued the state for cultural theft and won a settlement.


We drifted outdoors into the hot sun, and her little nephew and two other pueblo children ran up. So the talk turned to kids and child raising. She complimented the boys' behavior. Then one of the two pueblo sheriffs walked up, making the rounds in his gray sport shirt and shorts, and shot the breeze for a few minutes, telling me a little about his job before moving on.

Finally, Sonny's mother emerged smiling from her shop with Michele. It appeared as though they had a nice talk, one of several that connected us to the pueblo more than simply walking around. As we were leaving, John Michael met a boy exactly his age selling bead necklaces. After exchanging the secret nine-year-old, non-verbal, cross-cultural affirmation of eternal friendship, John Michael selected a necklace to buy. If we had more time, they would have run off to play. We left Taos Pueblos with more than a few souvenirs; we left with email addresses of our new friends.