In Which I Hope We’re Not Real Housewives
Last time, I had us finishing our guided tour of Taos Pueblo. We then took our time to look around a bit more. We took more photos of the North House. BTW, I should have mentioned that. You’re allowed to take photos. Taos has no problem with tourists and their cameras and phones. Some Pueblos do, and you have to be careful. We had checked first.
Anyway, we explored. A word of warning. I find Taos Pueblo quite beautiful. But, then, I grew up with adobe houses and buildings as one of the standard forms of construction. For me, Taos is thus a glorious example of the art -- free form, organic, round and molded.
About the photos: First, from Taos Pueblo, a couple of *hornos,* beehive-shaped ovens used to cook bread and much else. Hornos had their origin in North Africa, migrated to Spain, and then came to the American Southwest, where local people adopted and adapted them for their own purposes. (See: “Horno,” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horno)
Second, just a doorway at the Pueblo. I thought it was rather beautiful in its own way.
Third, and last, my usual “nothing to do with the story but I like it” shot, here’s Martha having an Americano courtesy of yours truly (amateur barista that I am) and the cool new expresso machine she gave me for my birthday. (And using the “Tractor Beam” ground coffee that David gave me.)
Seeing it at sunrise or sunset is amazing--it looks gold and shining, and you can see why the Conquistadors when they first came up the River thought they saw one of the Seven Cities of Gold...only later realizing their error, and still later realizing they were in a kind of social-environmental trap. They could not remain and live the life of leisure they wanted without starving to death in the process.
But, if adobe is not normal to you, then you might not see it as particularly attractive. You may see it, indeed, as a collection of ugly little hovels...mud huts, and such. (*) However, I’m betting you are not the type to see it that way. I’m betting that you will see it for what it truly is-- a mighty structure, noble and proud, and, in its own way, truly magnificent.
Anyway...we then walked about and visited some of the shops in the area. Several local artists have their studios here, usually in their homes. We saw several, some with some amazing pieces on display. We finally came to a jeweler’s. In his shop, a charming older man was working with metals and some gems. Among his creations was a lovely, tiny bracelet of silver and turquoise. This is, of course, my favorite sort of jewelry, and it is what I usually buy for Martha when she lets me buy her things.
We looked at it. We discussed it. Finally, she said, “For Hazel.” Our granddaughter. I agreed. We’d been looking for something for her. We already had a present for Miles, our grandson, but we were still short for Hazel, and this looked perfect.
We did buy it. (Emptied our wallets to do it. He didn’t take cards. But we managed, and there was an ATM in town. So no problems.)
It was sort of a struggle for us, though. We both of us had a vision of ourselves being the mother in the famous episode of Real Housewives who bought a diamond tennis bracelet for her four-year-old daughter ... who was completely unimpressed, and much more excited about the puppy her father gave her.
But...Hazel is three years older than the child in the TV program, and even if she is at the moment more interested in wearing a Labubu keychain on her backpack than a lovely piece of art on her wrist, that will change eventually. And I know her parents will keep watch of our gift and present it to her again, when the time is right.
Thus, we sort of made a transition that day. We moved away from just toys and fun things as presents, to things of beauty as well.
There was something profound in that.
Anyway, then we finished our visit and headed off again. We were going back into Taos, the town, and from there, to Santa Fe.
What we didn’t know, but would discover soon, was that first...
We’d be in a parade.
More to come.
Footnotes:
* I have, in fact, some unpleasant memories of taking certain tourists to see Pueblos and adobe houses and having them react as if I’d taken them into a slum. There was one particular incident with a man who was the second husband of one of my mother’s sisters. He was a complete boor, foolish and foul-mouthed, and a bit of a racist. Why on earth my aunt married him, I never knew.
Anyway, he and my aunt came to visit my mother. We took them to an ancient ruin dating back several centuries. He found a round rock, became convinced it was a geode, and wanted to break it in half. So he hurled it at one of the few standing walls of the ancient structure. It says much about the builders’ skills that the wall didn’t collapse, but merely wavered back and forth. It was also good that there were no rangers about or he’d have gone to jail.
My mother asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. He answered he wanted to see the “shiny stuff” inside the geode, and figured that the wall...in spite of its age...was just a piece of junk that no one would miss.
I thought my mother was going to kill him. In retrospect, that might not have been a bad thing.
Copyright©2026 Michael Jay Tucker
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