Mike Lord

Mike Lord

4th generation Santa Fe Gringo.

Friday, 14 April 2017 00:34

Holy Week - By Gloria Mendoza

Remembering my Mom today and all our neighbors and relatives that lived in our neighborhood.

The week before Easter we went to confession. We would go shopping for our Easter outfits. We would spring clean the house. We went to church each day for Holy Week. On Holy Thursday we would all go with my Mom and Aunt to the Santuario. However starting early in the morning we would visit each church in Santa Fe, pray a rosary at each church and light a candle. We would then visit each church on the way to Chimayo. We would arrive late afternoon, visit the posito, get Holy dirt and holy water. When we got home we would cook some Lenten foods early for Good Friday because we needed to be done by noon time. On Friday morning we woke up early and started cooking immediately. We had to finish by 11:00 am. My mom would have a tray with small crystal clear bowls lined up. We would serve some of our food into the small bowls and then cover the whole tray with a tea towel embroidered by my Mom, starched and ironed. We would take a tray to all our Aunts and Uncles who lived in the neighborhood. Then we had to finish by noon time because all radios, music and disconnected phones were shut off for the Holy three hours. We would kneel in front of a nicho that our Santo Nino de Atocha sat with candles lit, rosaries, scapulars and other small tokens surrounding him. We prayed a rosary and other prayers led by my Mother and Grandma. My Grandma’s prayers were in Spanish. We could not talk or do anything for those three hours. After our three hours we continued to deliver trays of food and finally sit to eat our meatless Lenten Meal when Dad got home from work. I have continued this tradition for 50+ years.

Saturday, 01 April 2017 17:23

Underground Pit Cooking in New Mexico

When I was growing up in Tesuque, every fall my father would host a party for all of his friends and their families.  He would cook a quarter beef underground.  This method of cooking in New Mexico was thought to originate with the pueblos and then passed on to the Spanish.  The method was quite simple. A large hole was dug and lined with rocks.  A large fire was built and allowed to burn down to coals.  Whn the coals were ready,they were removed,  the wrapped food was placed in the pit, the coals were put back into the pit, a cover was placed over the food, and the whole thing was buried.  After several hours, the pit was dug up and the food was served.

My dad used the same method, but the materials were updated.  His hole was lined with brick, and the cover he used was old roofing tin.  At 3:00 on the morning of the party, we would fill the pit with firewood and let it burn.  In the meantime, he prepared the beef.  He salted and peppered it and wrapped it in cheesecloth.  He wrapped several layers of wet burlap (which had been soaking overnight) around the meat and secured it with baling wire.  4 hours later, when the coals were ready, they were removed from the pit, the meat was placed on the bricks, and it was covered with the roofing tin.  The coals were shoveled on top of the tin and everything was buried with the dirt.  It took 8 - 10 hours to cook.

The photo is of my dad (right) and Herman Barkmann pit cooking at the Santa Fe Winter Sports Club in the 1960s.

--Mike Lord

In 1942, the NM State Tourist Bureau comissioned artist Wilfred Stedman to create the map "Battlefields of the Conquistadores in New Mexico."  It displays all (or most) of the battles that were fought on New Mexico soil from the coming of the Spanish through the American occupation.

Attached is a high resolution image of the map that can be downloaded, enlarged, and examined in detail.

Saturday, 18 March 2017 17:38

Indian Detours Harveycar Tour Map - 1928

By the 1920s, tourism had become a mainstay in New Mexico.  This map, issued by the Harvey Hotel's Indian Detours company in 1928, shows all of the tours that were avaliable.  Harvey had a stable of over 50 tour cars based in Santa Fe.  Tours were accompanied by a driver and attractive young women who were schooled in the history and culture of the places they visited.

Attached is a high resolution download of the map.

Friday, 24 February 2017 17:28

Georgia, Sarge, and Me - By Sandra Dippolito

When I was growing up, my mother ran the La Fonda Beauty Shop in Santa Fe. In the summer of 1966 (I was 14,) the phone rang at home. It was my mother. She told me to run over to the shop right away. I did not question  why, being such an obedient child!  My best friend Tinka and I ran barefooted to the La Fonda all the way from Casa Solana.

As we approached the front entrance of the hotel on San Francisco Street, we noticed a black limousine parked up front.  I looked at it and thought that maybe that the Beatles were in town!  It was none other than Georgia O'Keeffe!  I had met her several times at the beauty shop as my mother Dolores was her beautician.  My name was called out from the limo "Sandra....come here!"  Continuing to be a very obedient child, I went to car as Georgia opened the car door and told me to get in.  Who would do such a thing today?  I proceeded to get into the limo, and there was a huge box, with two chow chow puppies inside.  One was red, and one was black.  She then asked me which one I wanted.  I chose the red one.  It was like a dream.  Being a kid, I was not so focused on Georgia, but of course the puppy.  I said thank you and started to climb out of the car, when Ms.O'Keeffe said, "where are you going?"  I said: home!  She then said, "Where do you live?"  I replied, "Casa Solana," so she instructed Juan Hamilton, her driver at the time, to listen to instructions from me!

So much for another hot boring, summer day that had not ended up that way.  I thanked Ms. O'Keeffe again and she pleasantly smiled at me and said "you're welcome!"  My summer was no longer boring, for I had a puppy to train and take care of.  I named him Sarge, because he had a marking on his tail that looked like a Sargent's stripe.

Ms. O'Keeffe asked my mother several times if she could paint my portrait, but we never got around to it.  Could have, would have, should have.

--Sandra Dippolito

Thinking back to New Year's Eve when I was young. New Year's Eve in the morning my mother would wake everyone up to clean house. Once done her and her sister would start making food, finger foods, finger sandwiches, dips, Posole & chile, cakes and other goodies. Then they would send my Dad for beer, wine, whiskey and Champagne. My Mom had a little savings just for this occasion. We used to look for change in the couches and all over the house to help her "change" savings. Tonight was a very special night. We had to be in bed by 10:00 p.m. We had to rush and get everything done by then.....Why?......because people, mostly relatives and friends were coming to sing Las Mananitas to my Dad...after all it is the Feast Day of Los Manueles....my Dad's name was Manuel. They would come serenading at our doors and windows singing and playing guitars and violins. We would wake up, greet them, feed them and then the music, dancing and drinking began. My mother served a special drink to the women (her and my Aunt made it up) it was called greenie. Lime sherbert, ginger ale and vodka in a punch bowl. It was a house full of people, singing and they would stay until close to noon time on New Year's Day. All the kids slept on the floor of our bedrooms. Talk about celebrating. Now my family got used to coming over and playing board games for New Year's. We enjoy this better than any other type of celebration. My kids and grandkids are smart.....they don't drink and drive. Always a designated driver if they do drink. I wish you all a wonderful year and slow down on your drinking if you are going to drink. Be sociable.......don't get all locos and locas......lol. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!!!

A history of the first Spanish settlers in the Rio Tesuque and their church.

From Rita Padilla Haufmann.

Thanks to Ed Saiz for sending us this.

So many memories of Christmas back in the 50s and 60s. As an elementary aged kid, we would wake up early Christmas morning, go to church and come home. We were more excited about grabbing our nicely washed and folded flour sack, that Mom had waiting in the kitchen. We would grab our flour sack and go house to house saying our little verse of "Angelito's Somos". Our neighbors and relatives, who lived in the neighborhood, would fill our sacks with oranges, apples, candy, cookies, popcorn balls, and some with a little prayer printed on a card. I remember smelling the coffee brewing on the wood stoves of some of my Aunts who never wanted a gas stove. The smell of wood used in the wood stoves as we walked around the neighborhood. We would finally get home,, eat breakfast and finally open gifts. Never more than two gifts each. As we got older, if it snowed, we would go skiing. NO?..not at the ski basin. That was for privileged kids. We would ski holding on to the bumpers of cars and wipe out on the sewer caps which melted the snow. They were on the street. Oh what fun we had. The drivers knew we were holding on to the bumpers, so they would drive slow and wave as we went back to get in line to grab onto another bumper. This is a memory that goes back about almost 60 years. What memory do you have?

Thursday, 22 September 2016 20:29

Peña Blanca Summers - by Jim Baca

Peña Blanca, the home of my father and his ancestors, is a small village that lies between the Pueblos of Cochiti and Santo Domingo on New Mexico highway 22, about an equidistant drive north from Albuquerque or south from Santa Fe. In my childhood it was a place of summer daydreams, aromatic kitchens, ringing church bells, nightly visits to neighbors, homesickness, and the loving care of my Grandparents, Delfin and Lenore Baca.

In the summers, and sometimes at Christmas, my parents, Fermin and Dixie Baca would pack us kids off for ten days to this small and humble village to stay with “Grandma and Grandpa”. My identical twin brother Tom, and my big sister Carlota and I would travel the old highway 85 in one of Grandpa’s trusty but dilapidated trucks or cars. He worked as the supervisor for the Cochiti district of the Middle Rio Grande Conservancy District, an agency I would serve as General Manager for a short time some 25 years later.

The ride to Peña Blanca was always an adventure to be anticipated. In the 1950's the old two lane Highway, which was to spawn I-25 some years later, was as good a ride as anything one could hope for at Disneyland. There was a particular section between Bernalillo and San Felipe that provided a stomach churning topography for any vehicle. We came to call that section “the dips”. We looked forward to it and Grandpa never let us down. He worked the accelerator just precisely enough that we were weightless at the top of the mound and then picked up g-forces at the bottom.

Once we left Highway 85 at the old Domingo trading post we were onto the washboard dirt road into the village. This is where Grandpa taught us his method of singing. He would let out a single tone hum and every bump in the road would cause the car to buck and hence force a new note from Grandpa. The effect was especially impressive as he traveled on the ditch roads as he made his daily rounds of the main irrigation system from Cochiti to Agnostura. There was a strange and haunting melody that formed when he did this, much like chanting of the pueblo dancers.

The next obstacle to arriving at Peña Blanca was the old Galisteo arroyo crossing. If it was dry, there was no problem. If it had been raining hard anywhere north of the crossing it was downright dangerous. I recall a three foot wall of water hurtling down the arroyo after one violent thunderstorm near La Bajada. The water ran for a day before the crossing was passable and the antiquated bridge was declared safe for a few more months. Years later a modern structure was built there and that adventure was forever removed.

A few miles further through the Santo Domingo reservation, we passed over a clattering cattle guard and were in Peña Blanca. I always remember the dogs of the village running beside us snapping at the wheels. We children were petrified the car would run over these always emaciated canines, but Grandpa never gave it a thought and the dogs gave up the chase after a hundred yards to wait for the next pursuit.

The next landmark was Our Lady of Guadalupe Church. We would often stop for a visit and while grandma prayed we would look at the beautiful stations of the cross painted by Fray Angelico Chavez. My grandfather and many of his family were said to have been models for these magnificent frescos.
We visiting three children from the big city of Albuquerque were viewed by some residents of the village as “those twins and their sister who don’t speak Spanish”. Ours was not a bilingual household and so when we arrived in Peña Blanca for a visit we were always assured of constant ribbing in Spanish about our lack of language skills. My sister Carlota got the message, she went on to a Ph.D, in French and skills in three or four other languages.
My Grandparents at that time lived in a large and seemingly ancient adobe home with a tin roof. The house was connected to the store yards of the Conservancy district office. The warehouse, tool sheds and vehicle barns were full of trinkets and adventures for us kids and we hung around them much of the time. I particularly remember the tool sharpener in a dark corner of that building. When it was spinning, it provided a shower of sparks that could outdo any July 4th sparkler.

The house was gray colored with thick dappled stucco over adobe. The walls were so thick that you could sit inside the window recesses. Grandma used one of those deep windows on the cool side of the house as an icebox. Even interior walls averaged two feet thick with smooth white plaster. The house had wood floors and old furniture sprinkled with white lace doilies starched hard with a sugar solution cooked up by Grandma.
The first few years we visited the house there was only an outhouse to use. For us city kids that was a hard thing to endure, especially on cool mornings and dark nights. I always feared snakes might be lingering down below those holes in the boards and my visits were swift. Later on indoor plumbing was added and none of us complained.

There can be no doubt that the center of all activities was the kitchen with its wood and coal burning stove. Grandma was a master at using that stove for the incredible meals she would create almost everyday. I specifically remember the wonderful breakfasts. We would go out and feed the chickens the skins from the fried potatoes and onions that were always on the menu, collect eggs from the adobe chicken coop, and return for this meal that grandma insisted was so important to get us through the first part of the day. At least, just until lunch when she laid on another immense feast that might occasionally include her home made tamales. We eagerly awaited that most special of treats, sweet tamales with raisins inside. Dinner was usually leftovers from lunch. Essentially, another feast.

Nothing however could ever compare with grandma’s holiday banquets when relatives close and distant showed up. There were always three or four meat dishes, Grandpa’s spaghetti (a favorite of ours), lots of green and red chile dishes, squash, mountains of mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, beans, empanadas, bread pudding, flan and candy for the kids. It was something to see. Everyone pitched in at these occasions.

I remember another kitchen activity that grandma periodically performed. The making of soap. Lye soap. I don’t remember the recipe but I know there was a lot of mixing and boiling. I recall that the abrasive soap would clean anything. You sort of tingled after using it. I remember she would shave a bar of it and use it in a tub with a washboard for clothes washing. We kids would then wring the clothes out in an old fashion wringer.

We needed all that good food. The days were long and full of work and play. Mostly play. We awoke everyday to the sounds of the church bells from Our Lady of Guadalupe calling the faithful for 6:30am Mass. Grandma went often and we attended regularly too. Sometimes the Franciscans would let my brother and me ring the bells on Sundays.

The mornings were spent with Grandpa in the truck touring the miles of irrigation canals and checking on the progress of the work crews. There were frequent stops at the small general stores for Seven-Ups and ice cream. Often, Grandpa would buy a tin of sardines and eat them for a snack. Nothing grossed us out more.

After lunch Grandpa did office work and we kids took to the pasture next to the house that held the untamable horse Grandpa had bought for us. This was the “Arabian Horse from Hell” and we spent all of our time just trying to get close to him. Carlota was the only one who could deal with this horse. We named him “Wildy”. He lived for many years and we always loved him.

Also, in that pasture were a dozen head of sheep. We would get very excited when lambs were dropped and would try to adopt them as pets. I remember that terrible night when a pack of dogs killed many of the sheep. My grandfather went outside to end the maimed animals lives with a shotgun. It was the loudest and saddest sound I had ever heard. The ensuing hours were spent butchering the sheep. We stayed out of sight that day. Grandma could make a great mutton stew out of the slaughter, however.

We spent a lot of time at Grandpa’s apple orchard. This was my favorite place in Peña Blanca. There were eight hundred apple trees, a dozen cherry trees, and scatterings of peach, plum, nectarine and apricot trees. We learned how to irrigate, spray insecticide, clear underbrush and, in the spring, try to stay away from the beehives he kept for pollination. We also learned how to drive a tractor sitting on Grandpa’s lap.
Very often, the blossoms would freeze in late frosts, and I can remember the adults frantically burning old tires under the trees to save them. I remember my father injuring his back lifting heavy loads of apples onto the semi-trucks that came to buy these wonderfully flavored New Mexico apples. Sometimes there were bumper crops and then Grandpa would hand out ridiculous amounts of money to us kids. (Whenever Grandma and Grandpa visited there was always money handed out. My sister always got more because she was older.)

This beautiful orchard succumbed to the record hard freeze of 1972 and the trees were uprooted and burned a couple of years later. Believe it or not, we were unable to give away the apple wood for firewood. Fireplaces in Albuquerque were not yet in style.

After a full day of activities, which included the massacre of ants and water bugs by my brother’s and my BB guns, we would usually visit relatives in the village. There was no TV, of course, so people had to socialize or die of boredom. We often visited my Grandmother’s sister Ignacita and her husband Godofredo. The men smoked pipes and cigars while we children stayed with the women.

Godofredo’s garden was an extraordinary attraction. It was magnificent. It covered about a half acre and provided vegetables for the whole year. We snacked and munched through row after row of healthy produce.

I remember one particular visit to Peña Blanca at Christmas time. The village’s La Posada celebration will live in my memory forever. The small bonfires that lighted the way cast a surrealistic glow on the procession from home to home as the Joseph and Mary sought shelter. On Christmas night, we all traveled to Santo Domingo Pueblo to watch the dances. I will never forget the dancers covered with deer hides and antlers. I stood in fear as the men of the pueblo discharged their rifles into the air. During Mass all I could think about was the day’s activities and the nonstop banquet.

Grandma and Grandpa moved away from Peña Blanca in the early 1960's after his retirement. They had kept a home for years on South Broadway in Albuquerque and moved there. Our visits to Peña Blanca became less frequent through high school and college. My wonderful Grandparents passed away, Grandma in 1962 and Grandpa in 1979. I wish I had known them better and had spent the necessary time talking to them about their lives and the history of Peña Blanca. Small children don’t do historical research however, and we were no exception. More often than not we were homesick after a while in the village and became impatient and cranky.

I find myself returning often to Peña Blanca now. The family land is still mostly there and more beautiful than ever. In 1972 I had plans drawn for a home I would like to build on the orchard property someday, and I still have those plans in my closet.

 

--Jim Baca, 2016

Saturday, 16 July 2016 17:21

Santa Fe Fiestas Parades - 1929 to 1957

The Palace of the Governors Photo Archives has a 23 minute video spanning the Santa Fe Fiestas parades from 1929 to 1957.  The La Conquistadora Procession, the DeVargas Entrada, the Pet Parade, and the Historical Parade the way they used to be, when the celebration was by and for the community.  A far cry from what it is today.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7KyAAst794&feature=share

 

--Mike Lord

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