and the harvesting belong to the men. When the brilliant ears are
garnered, then the women's work begins. No other feature of the Hopi
household is so interesting as the row of three or more slabs placed
slantwise in stone-lined troughs sunk in the floor; these are their
mills. They are of graded fineness, and this is also true of the
oblong hand stones, or _manos_, which are rubbed upon them with an up
and down motion as in using a washboard. Sometimes three women work
at the mills; the first woman grinds the corn into coarse meal on the
coarse stone and passes her product over to the second, who grinds it
still finer, and the third finishes it on the last stone; sometimes
one woman alone carries the meal through the successive stages, but it
is a poor household that cannot furnish two grinders. The skill with
which the woman spreads the meal over the grinding slab by a flirt of
the hand as the _mano_ is brought up for the return stroke is truly
remarkable, and the rhythmic precision of all the motions suggests a
machine. The weird song sung by the grinders and the rumble of the
mill are characteristic sounds of the Hopi pueblos, and as the women
grinders powder their perspiring faces with meal while they work, they
look well the part of millers. Little girls are early taught to grind,
and they often may be prevailed upon to display their accomplishment
before visitors.
The finely ground meal is piled and patted into conical heaps on the
flat basket trays, making quite an exhibition of which the Hopi women
are very proud, much meal indicating diligence as well as a bountiful
supply of the staff of life. Grinding is back-breaking work, and one
humanely wishes that the Hopi women, and especially the immature
girls, could be relieved of this too heavy task.
While corn-meal enters into all Hopi cooking as the chief ingredient,
most of it is made into "paper bread," called _piki_, resembling more
than anything else the material of a hornet's nest. This bread is
made from batter, colored gray with wood ashes, dexterously spread
very thinly with the hand over a heated slab of stone. _Piki_ bakes
quickly, coming free from the slab and is directly folded up into
convenient compass and so crisp is it that it crackles like paper.
Sometimes it is tinted with attractive colors for festal occasions,
such as the Kachina ceremonies.
Before a dance the women busily prepare food and the girls go about
speechless, with mouths full of meal, "chewing yeast" for the corn
pudding. This and other ins and outs of the kitchen make the knowing
traveler rather shy of the otherwise attractive-looking Hopi food.
Surely corn is the "mother" of the Hopi. All the powers of nature are
invoked to grant a good crop by giving rain and fertility, and the
desire for corn is the central motive of the numerous ceremonies of
the villagers of Tusayan. If the prayers of the Hopi could be
formulated like the "_Om mane padme hum_" of the Hindus, it would be
in the smaller compass of these words, "Grant us corn!" Nor are these
simple villagers ungrateful for such blessings. Kopeli used to stand
looking over his thriving cornfield and say with fervor, "_Kwa kwi,
Kwa kwi_," "thanks, thanks," and it was evident that the utterance was
made with true thankfulness and a spirit of devotion.
It is difficult to imagine the ancient people without corn; but very
long ago, as the legends tell, they did not know this cereal. Certain
it is they were not then pueblo dwellers and had not spread far in the
Southwest. They lived in the places where there was game, and for the
same reason that the important food animals lived in such places,--the
presence of vegetation that would sustain life.
Their life was along the foot hills of well-watered and timbered
mountains rising from plains, where with the flesh of game and seeds
and roots of plants they could supply their semi-savage wants. Long
perhaps they roved thus as hunters until they drifted to the land of
promise--the semi-desert where agriculture of grain plants was born
and there they received "mother corn." Henceforward all the former
sources of food wrested from a niggard Nature became as nothing to
this food of foods, but even to this day the Hopi have not forgotten
their old-time intimate knowledge of the resources in fields not sown
by human hands. With corn, which possesses a high food value and is
easily raised, stored, and preserved, the Hopi and their Pueblo
brethren spread without fear throughout the semi-arid lands.
It has been pointed out that a constant diet of corn produces
disagreeable physiological effects, and this is suggested for the use
of chile and other condiments, the mixture of corn food with meat and
vegetable substances, and, in fact, for the multifarious ways of
preparing and cooking corn. This necessity for variety also gives an
explanation of the resourcefulness of the Hopi housewife and has
acted as a spur to her invention of palatable dishes.
The vocabulary of corn in the Hopi language is extensive and contains
words descriptive even of the parts of the plant that are lacking to
most civilized people. The importance of corn is also reflected in the
numerous words describing the kinds of meal, the dishes made from corn
or in which corn enters, and of the various ways in which it is
prepared by fire for the consumption of the ever-hungry Hopi. To give
an incomplete census of corn foods, there are fifteen kinds of _piki_
or paper bread, three kinds of mush; five of short-cake; eleven of
boiled corn; four kinds baked or roasted in the coals; two cooked by
frying; four stewed and eight of cooked shelled corn, making fifty-two
varieties.
After the paper bread, perhaps the most popular food is _pigame_, or
sweet corn mush, wrapped in corn-husk and baked in an underground
oven. Another standby is shelled corn soaked and boiled till each
grain swells to several times the normal size. The Hopi like their
food well-cooked and know the art of making each starch grain expand
to the limit. A book of Hopi cookery would be bulky, but how
interesting to the housewife who would know how to make plain food
appetizing without milk or eggs, and who would learn new and strange
combinations! There are cakes made from dried fruits, chopped meat,
and straw, put on the roof to dry; dumplings formed around old
hammerstones, corn dodgers, pats of corn-meal mush wrapped in corn
husk and boiled or baked, and many other styles of food that would
seem strange to other than a Hopi epicure.
When it is time to dine, a large bowl of stew is placed on the floor
as the _piece de resistance_ and beside it a tray of _piki_. Each
member of the family breaks off a piece of _piki_, and, holding it
between thumb and finger, it is dragged through the stew much like a
seine to catch as many particles of meat as possible, then deposited
far back in the mouth so that the stew adhering to the fingers may be
cleared off with a resounding smack of the lips. A traveler to Hopi in
1869 describes a more formal meal which consisted of mutton, dried
peaches, blue _piki_, coffee, and a drink made by steeping the roasted
heart of agave in water. This writer says:
You take a small piece, lay a fragment of mutton and some peaches
upon it or a little of the sweet liquid and bolt the mass, spoon
and all. This dinner, though prepared and cooked by Indians,
tasted better than many a meal eaten by us in border settlements
cooked by whites.
Hopi women assiduously gather the seeds of grasses and other plants,
which they grind up and add to corn-meal to improve the flavor of the
bread, or, perhaps, a prized bread is made entirely of the ground seed
of some desert plant. Oily seeds, such as those of the piñon, pumpkin,
and melons are ground to form shortening in various cakes and to add
richness to stews. Often food is colored with harmless vegetable
dyes, no doubt with the deep-laid scheme on the part of the mother of
the household to cause the familiar fare to be attacked with renewed
zest. Our tradition of "spring lamb with mint sauce" is duplicated by
stewed rabbit with _nanakopshi_ greens, which, with various other
herbs, are put to appropriate uses by the master of the Hopi culinary
art.
IV
THE WORKERS
The Hopi believe in the gospel of work, which is evenly divided
between the men and the women.
When it is said that people work, there is, unconsciously perhaps, a
desire to know the reason, which is rarely a subject of curiosity when
people amuse themselves. Come to think of it, the answer is an old
one, and a Hopi, if asked why he works, might put forward the first
great cause, _nusha_, "food."
Not only must the Hopi work to supply his wife and little ones, but he
must do his share for his clan, which is the large family of
blood-relations, bound together by the strongest ties and customs of
mutual helpfulness. This family is an object of the greatest pride, a
little world of its own, in which every member from the least to the
greatest has duties and responsibilities. So all labor--men, women,
and the little ones, who add their tiny share. The general division of
work gives the woman the affairs of the household, and the man the
cultivation of the fields. Men plant corn and the older women often
help hoe it, and the women and children frequently go down to the
fields and watch the crops to keep off birds.
When the harvest is gathered, taken up the mesa, and put into the
granary, man's interest in it ceases, except in the matter of eating a
large share. Never was a Hopi who was not hungry. Much of the woman's
time is taken up in grinding corn and baking bread. The water-carrying
falls to her, and this duty might give rise to a suspicion that she
has the larger share of the burdens, if the Hopi were not compelled to
be frugal in the use of water. Besides the duties mentioned, she may
also add that of potter, basket maker, house builder, and sometimes
carver of dolls and maker of moccasins. Then the children must be
cared for, but everyone takes a hand at that, including the children
themselves. If it were not for the numerous ceremonies, woman's work
in Hopiland would be much easier. Grinding, baking, water-carrying,
and the bother and hurry of preparation for various events continue
with painful iteration. The Hopi housewife can give full condolence to
her white sister who has borne the burdens of a church festival, and
the plaint that "woman's work is never done" would sound familiar to
her ears. Still, rarely is she heard to bewail her lot, and it may be
depended on that no maidens bloom in idleness about her house.
But the men also follow crafts, and of these, carding, spinning,
dyeing, and weaving are exclusively man's work in contrast with the
Navaho, among whom such matters are woman's work. His also is the task
of wood-gathering, which takes him far afield, since there is hardly
a growing thing in the neighborhood worth collecting for fuel. Coal
there is in the ground in plenty, but the Hopi make less use of it
than did their ancestors, and the householder sets out from time to
time with a burro or two for the distant mesas, where the stunted
cedars grow, to lay in wood for cooking. Each year the cedars get
farther away, so that at some future time the Hopi may have to make
use of the neglected coal.
A Hopi is in a fair way to become a great man among his kin when he
owns horses and a wagon. In consequence of such wealth, he usually
shows his pride by the airs he assumes over his less fortunate
tribesmen, and justly, too, because hauling supplies for the schools
and traders brings in the silver dollars that replenish the larder
with white man's food. Ponies are cheap, and twenty can exist as well
as one on the semi-starvation of the desert, so a Hopi teamster often
takes along his whole herd when on a freighting trip, to make sure of
arriving at his journey's end, and a look at his horses will prove him
a wise man.
Seemingly the men work harder making paraphernalia and costumes for
the ceremonies than at anything else, but it should be remembered that
in ancient days everything depended, in Hopi belief, on propitiating
the deities. Still if we would pick the threads of religion from the
warp and woof of Hopi life there apparently would not be much left. It
must be recorded, in the interests of truth, that Hopi men will work
at day's labor and give satisfaction except when a ceremony is about
to take place at the pueblo, and duty to their religion interferes
with steady employment much as fiestas do in the easy-going countries
to the southward.
Really, the Hopi deserve great credit for their industry, frugality,
and provident habits, and one must commend them because they do not
shun work and because in fairness both men and women share in the
labor for the common good.
An account of the arts which are carried on in the Hopi towns may
prove interesting to the reader who would like to know something of
the methods of the moccasin maker, potter, weaver, carver, basket
maker, and house builder, examples of whose handiwork are scattered
widely among collectors of artistic and remarkable things.
As though to keep up the dignity of the Peaceful People the wife of
"Harry," the new Snake chief of Walpi, frequently wears the cumbrous
foot-gear common along the Rio Grande. In spite of the scarcity of
deerskins, every Hopi bride must have as part of her trousseau a pair
of these remarkable foot-coverings, which require a large deerskin for
their manufacture. When the burdensome ceremony of marriage is over
the moccasins are laid away or worn out and never again may the woman
expect to have her measure taken for another pair.
But as moccasins are a part of the men's costume without which they
cannot run well over the yielding sand, and as there is no village
shoemaker, every man must make his own or go barefoot. Frequently in
the villages one meets a moccasin maker, chewing at the rawhide and
busily plying his awl and sinew while he goes gadding about. Just
before the Snake Dance, when every Snake priest must provide a pair of
new moccasins for himself, this art is very much in evidence.
The moccasin maker takes pride in hiding his stitches, and it must be
said that his sewing is exceptionally good in spite of the crude tools
of his craft. With the same skill he displays in other crafts, the
Hopi prepares the leather for the indispensable moccasins. The
simplest way of giving color to the leather is to rub red ocher or
other clay into the soft-tanned skin, as is seen in the red moccasins
of the Snake dancers. A warm brown is given to the leather with an
infusion of the bark of the water birch, and a black dye is made by
burning piñon resin with crude native alum. Sometimes the esthetic
tastes of a young man are gratified by moccasins dyed with aniline red
or blue according to his fancy.
If the visitor will give an order for a pair of _totchi_, he may see
the whole process at his leisure. A piece of well-curried cowhide,
preferably from the back of the animal, is produced, the outline of
the foot is marked out on it and a margin is left by the cutter for
the turning up of the sole. This is all the moccasin maker seems to
require, and his formula for the height of the instep has not been
divulged, but it must be effective, because moccasins are made to fit
with greater art than is displayed by many civilized shoemakers.
The soles are buried in damp sand to make them pliable, and the front
section of the top is sewn around the edge reaching to about the ankle
bones. The moccasin is then turned inside out and the ankle section
sewn on. Tying strings are added, or if especial style is desired,
silver buttons made by Navaho from dimes or quarters take their place.
The Hopi live a very long way from the range of the deer, a fact which
accounts largely for their use of woven fabrics. But deerskins must
always have been in demand, and these were got in exchange with the
Navaho, Havasupai, and other neighbors. In this way in old times
buffalo skins and pelts of animals came to Tusayan, and Hopi bread and
blankets went to remote mountains and plains.
It would be interesting to know whether the Hopi formerly were sandal
people or moccasin people, and this knowledge would reveal a great
deal that is now mere guesswork as to their history. The sandal people
would mean those of the south who were of Mexico, where no moccasins
seem ever to have been worn. The moccasin people would be those of the
north, the tribes of our mountains and plains, among whom this
foot-wear is typical. Perhaps the Hopi belong to both classes. The
cliff-dwellers wore sandals, and for winter had boots of network to
which turkey feathers were skilfully fastened as covering. The sandals
found in the cliff-houses are variously woven from rushes or agave
strips, or maybe a plain sole of leather with the toe cord, but those
worked of cotton showing ingenious designs are worthy of the highest
admiration.
Those clans of the cliff-people and the clans from the south that
congregated in Tusayan centuries ago were sandal wearers, while the
resident clans and those coming from the north, perhaps bands of the
Ute,--were moccasin wearers and impressed their language and moccasins
on the Hopi. This was much to the advantage of the Hopi, granting that
they had never thought of better protection than sandals from the
biting winter.
Everyone who visits Tusayan will bring away as a souvenir some of the
work of Nampeo, the potter who lives with her husband Lesu in the
house of her parents at Hano, the little Tewa village on the great
Walpi mesa near the gap. The house belongs to Nampeo's mother
according to Pueblo property right, wherein she and her husband, both
aged and ruddy Tewa, with their children and grandchildren live
amicably as is usual among the Peaceful People. The house below the
mesa, topped with a glowing red iron "Government" roof, is Nampeo's,
who thus has two houses, but she spends most of her time in the
parental dwelling at Hano.
Nampeo is a remarkable woman. No feeling of her racial inferiority
arises even on the first meeting with this Indian woman, barefoot,
bonnetless, and clad in her quaint costume. For Nampeo is an
artist-potter, the sole survivor in Hano of the generations of women
artists who have deposited the product of their handicraft in the care
of the dead.
In the household her aged father and mother are final authority on the
interpretation of ancient symbolic or cult representations in art.
Nampeo likewise carefully copies on paper the decorations of all
available ancient pottery for future use. Her archeological methods
are further shown by her quest for the clays used by those excellent
potters of old Sikyatki and by her emulation of their technique.
One noon under the burning August sun, Doctor Fewkes and the writer
climbed the East Mesa, the former to attend the Flute Ceremony at
Walpi and the latter with an appointment to pry into the secrets of
Nampeo, the potter. In the house, pleasantly cool and shaded, sat the
old couple and Lesu. The baby was being secured to its board for its
afternoon nap, while Lesu spun. It was a pleasure to examine the
quaint surroundings and the curious belongings hung on the wall or
thrust above the great ceiling beams,--strings of dried _wiwa_, that
early spring plant which has before now tided the Peaceful People over
famine, gaily painted dolls, blankets, arrows, feathers, and other
objects enough to stock a museum. Lesu did the honors and said among
other things that some of the ceiling beams of the room came from
ancient Awatobi, destroyed in 1700.
A small niche in the rear wall of the living room, at the back of
which stood a short notched log-ladder, caused some speculation. Quite
unexpectedly and in a somewhat startling way its purpose was
explained, for, when someone called the absent Nampeo, a pair of feet
were seen coming down the steps of the ladder, followed finally by
Nampeo, who, after a profound bodily contortion, smilingly emerged
from the narrow passage into the room.
Nampeo was prepared to instruct. Samples of the various clays were at
hand and the novice was initiated into the qualities of the _hisat
chuoka_, or ancient clay, white, unctuous and fragrant, to which the
ancient Sikyatki potters owed the perfection of their ware; the
reddish clay, _siwu chuoka_, also from Sikyatki; the hard,
iron-stained clay, _choku chuoka_, a white clay with which vessels are
coated for finishing and decoration, coming from about twelve miles
southeast of Walpi. In contrast with Nampeo's four clays the Hopi
women use only two, a gray body clay, _chakabutska_, and a white slip
clay, _kutsatsuka_.
Continuing her instructions Nampeo transferred a handful of
well-soaked ancient clay from a bowl on the floor by her side to a
smooth, flat stone, like those found in the ruined pueblos. The clay
was thrust forward by the base of the right hand and brought back by
the hooked fingers, the stones, sticks, and hairs being carefully
removed. After sufficient working, the clay was daubed on a board,
which was carried out, slanted against the house, and submitted to the
all-drying Tusayan sun and air. In a short time the clay was
transferred from the board to a slab of stone and applied in the same
way, the reason being a minor one known to Nampeo,--perhaps because
the clay after drying to a certain degree may adhere better to stone
than to wood. Sooner than anyone merely acquainted with the
desiccating properties of the moisture-laden air of the East might
imagine, the clay was ready to work and the plastic mass was ductile
under the fingers of the potter.
Nampeo set out first to show the process of coiling a vessel. The even
"ropes" of clay were rolled out from her smooth palms in a marvelous
way, and efforts to rival excited a smile from the family sitting
around as interested spectators. The concave dish called _tabipi_, in
which she began the coiled vessel and which turns easily on its curved
bottom, seems to be the nearest approach of the Pueblos to the
potter's wheel. The seeming traces of unobliterated coiling on the
bases of some vessels may be the imprints from the coils of the
_tabipi_. As the vessel was a small one, the coiling proceeded to the
finish and the interims of drying as observed in the manufacture of
large jars were not necessary. Then gourd smoothers, _tuhupbi_, were
employed to close up the coiling grooves, and were always backed from
the outside or inside by the fingers. Finally the smooth "green"
vessel was set aside to dry.
Then a toy canteen was begun by taking a lump of clay which, by
modeling, soon assumed the shape of a low vase. With a small stick, a
hole was punched through each side, a roll of clay was doubled for the
handles, the ends thrust through the holes and smoothed down inside
the vase, through the opening. The neck of the canteen was inserted in
a similar way. Now the problem was to close the opening in this soft
vessel from the outside. Nampeo threw a coil around the edge of the
opening, pressing the layers together, gradually drawing in, making
the orifices smaller until it presented a funnel shape. Then the
funnel was pressed toward the body of the canteen, the edges closed
together, soldered, smoothed, and presto! it was done and all traces
of handling hidden. Anyone knowing the difficulties will appreciate
this surprisingly dextrous piece of manipulation. Afterward, Nampeo
made a small vase-shaped vessel, by modeling alone, without the
addition of coiling as in the shaping of the canteen.
The ware when it becomes sufficiently dry must receive a wash of the
white clay called _hopi chuoka_ or _kutsatsuka_, which burns white.
Thereupon it is carefully polished with a smooth pebble, shining from
long use, and is ready for decoration. The use of the glaring white
slip clay as a ground for decoration was probably brought from the
Rio Grande by the Tewa; ancient Hopi ware is much more artistic, being
polished on the body or paste, which usually blends in harmony with
the decoration.