After many years away I got back to Taos Pueblo today. It's ten minutes away from my home, but living near something extraordinary creates the illusion that one can return anytime. Time passes and I returned with my visiting family. The pueblo is more than 1,000 years old. The Taos Pueblo people are one of the few tribes - if not the only ones in North America - who were not forcefully relocated from their lands. No one lives in the village proper these days and many residences have been converted into shops that sell handcrafts - jewelry, drums, music, pottery. I have always found the Pueblo to be a magical place with a spiritual atmosphere. Today though, two things happened when I stepped into the village. It felt rundown and neglected and the magic was elusive. I was dismayed by the sight of the imposing five story building cracked and crumbling in places. Photos I'd taken of the place years ago, alive with laundry and curtains in windows, is now deteriorating and desolate. In the past the Indians remudded the buildings every year. Walls sparkled with adobe mud and straw, glints of mica. The village is divided in half by the Rio Pueblo and when we crossed over the wooden bridge we noticed the other side of the village in much better condition. I have no idea of why this is happening to this amazing site. I am not privy to Pueblo politics. There is a casino now (just outside the village) and one would think that revenues from it could easily pay for upkeep. But as I said, I am not privy to the inner workings of this sovereign place. It just felt sad.
Last night was my birthday dinner. At some point in the afternoon five cooks (one an actual professional chef) and one dog (underfoot) were in the kitchen whipping, sauteing, marinating things. The house had been decorated earlier with balloons, crepe paper chains, a festive tablecloth. An extended family member arrived and nine people dined on chicken marsala, butter mashed potatoes, brown rice, marinated grilled salmon, salad, champagne, chocolate swirled strawberries, tiramisu, apple cobbler, ice cream, and one enormous green alligator birthday cake (no, I don't get the connection either but it was inscribed with the names of the three of us with birthdays within days of each other and was fun and silly - maybe that's the only connection that matters). After dinner we went outside onto the second floor deck and lighted sparklers left over from my birthday party five years ago! They sputtered and sparked and this time the smoke detectors didn't go off.
We have one more day together before everyone has to get back to their lives in New Mexico, Connecticut, Nevada. This has been an extraordinary week and one I'll remember as long as memory persists.
In words of love
a tiny bit of exaggeration
feels right.
Antonio Machado
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