So Much More than a Store-Bought Pig and a Skinned Knee

"The word “Acoma” and related words which are equally correct and historically applicable- Akome, Acu, Acuo and Ako- denote “a place always prepared".

”There is a great difference of opinion as to the age of the Acoma Nation. While traditional Acoma oral history reflects on a time far beyond our imagination, a time of creation and emergence onto this world, the Acoma people have always known of a special place called 'Haaku,' a spiritual homeland prepared for their eternal settlement. Recent excavations on Acoma Mesa tend to suggest that Acoma was inhabited before the time of Christ. Archaeologists agree that it has been continuously occupied from at least A.D 1200...." (from the puebloofacoma.org website)

After one thwarted attempt to visit Acoma Pueblo a few years back, my friend Tom and I journeyed to Acoma this week. The 15-mile drive from the Sky City exit on I-40 to the heart of the old pueblo is not for the casual visitor. It requires some intent. Once you get past the modern development that one sees in the first few miles from the Interstate, the reward is rich open land--valley and mesa, awe-inspiring beauty.

Tourists at heart, we watched the video, walked through the museum, visited the gift shop, ate a big brownie from the cafe, and bought the trip up to the heart of the old pueblo, which early in its history was home to 6,000 people. 

A National Historic Landmark, San Estevan del Rey Mission Church--founded by Franciscans in 1629; work on the church completed in 1640.

A few of us chose to hike back down from the mesa. Don't be fooled by these nicely laid out steps. Most of the hike is challenging and at times frightening. I passed the "store-bought" pig I had bought from one of the people selling outside their houses from left hand to right hand, stepping gingerly on the mostly narrow rock-steps, gripping the hand holds carved into the rock walls. The thought of slipping and tumbling, without question a disaster to body and mind, perched right at the front of my brain. One had to sit on one series of flat rock and butt descend on "steps" not more than 6" wide. That heart bypass I had on November 1, 2012 crossed my mind a few times.

There I am, having made it most of the way down. I turned to take a photo of some of our trail mates. Tom is waving in the foreground.

My unfired greenware pig bank, crudely decorated. "That's my grandma's work". Maybe it is. I like the  pig.

With only a skinned knee, and a pig bank unbroken, I made it safely to the road leading back to the cultural center.

Does this look a little like a proud llama?

Safely back on level ground. Epilogue: I had somehow forgotten that hiking down in some ways is much tougher on the body than the hike up. Two days later, my quadriceps are screaming. Sitting and rising, climbing steps--ouch, ouch, ouch!

Tom leads us back.

A gathering of watchers.