During the winter the people ate the monotonous food because they needed the nourishment. Now they eat for the joy of eating. Eyes gleam with anticipation as each family gathers around the fire in the late afternoon while the mother prepares the main meal of the day. There is cornbread, made in any one of a dozen ways. Deer meat is being roasted or boiled, or is bubbling in a thick stew. A pot of greens is stewing or a pot of beans, flavored with some spring plant, boils on the fire. A great pot of thin corn gruel, which will be drunk as a tea, simmers on its bed of coals. At last the food is ready and the steaming pots are placed on the ground in the midst of the family group. As soon as all is ready the man of the family selects a sample of food from each pot; a few beans, a pinch of greens, a small piece of meat, a bit of bread, a few drops of tea. These he throws into the fire as an offering to the gods. Then the eating begins. The only tools are the fingers and they are plunged eagerly into the food, hot though it may be. Chunks of meat are picked out and if too hot are held on a piece of bread. Bones are gnawed on, then dropped back into the pot as the fingers are needed for something else. Dunking is common and the bread is used to scoop up the thick stew. Toothless old men, becoming impatient, pick up the bowls and drink over the edge. There are long-handled ladles for dipping out the soup and broth, and stein-like mugs for the tea. During the meal there is little talking; the accent is on the food. The only noise is the licking of fingers and the loud smacking of lips that express appreciation for especially succulent morsels. As the men settle back, swollen from overeating, they seek relief in deep rumbling belches, each of which is a pat on the back for the cook. No words are necessary for a slow rumbling belch is far more expressive. It speaks of a full, happy stomach, complete relaxation and sleepy contentment. Each belch brings happiness to the fond wife and mother and she smiles as she removes the empty pots from the midst of her gorged and sleepy family. Darkness is still an hour away but as the sun drops behind the opposite canyon rim the chill of the spring evening creeps into the cave. Women sit by the fires, robes around their shoulders, and visit idly. The men and older boys go to their kivas to talk, to doze, or perhaps to gamble a little. The children, following the shouted directions of their mothers, gather the turkeys which have been feeding on the trash pile in front of the town and drive them into the rear of the cave where they will be safe from prowling night animals.