The Indians of the Painted Desert Region: Hopis, Navahoes, Wallapais, HavasupaisJames, George Wharton
Religion
The Indians of the Painted Desert Region: Hopis, Navahoes, Wallapais, Havasupais
James, George Wharton
Indians of North America -- Southwest, New
Except for a little wild meat of this kind, secured seldom, or a sheep,
which is too valuable for its wool to kill on any except very special
and rare occasions, the Hopis are practically vegetarians. They are
not above taking what the gods send them, however, in the shape of a
dead horse. A few years ago Mr. D. M. Riordan, formerly of Flagstaff,
conducted a party of friends over a large section of the region
presented in these pages, and when near Oraibi a beautiful mare of one
of the teams suddenly bloated and speedily died. In less than an hour
after they were told they might take the flesh; the Hopis had skinned
it, cut up the carcass, and removed every shred of it. I afterwards saw
the flesh cut into strips, hung outside the houses of the fortunate
possessors to dry, and I doubt not that horse meat made many a happy
meal for them during the months that followed.
[Illustration: HOPI CHILDREN, AT ORAIBI, WAITING FOR A SCRAMBLE OF
CANDY.]
When a Hopi feels rich he may buy a sheep or a goat from a Navaho, or
even kill a burro in order to vary his dietary.
Corn is his staple food. It is cooked in a variety of ways, but the
three principal methods are piki, pikami, and pū-vū-lū. Piki
is a thin, wafer-like bread, cooked as I have before described.
On one occasion, at Oraibi, an old friend, Na-wi-so-ma, was making piki
for the Snake Dancers. When I took my friends to see her, they all ate
of the bread and asked her all manner of questions about it.
Na-wi-so-ma was very kind and obliging. One of my party wished to
make moving photographs of the operation of making piki, so she
cheerfully moved her tōō-ma (cooking stone) outside. She insisted
upon placing it, however, so that her back was to the blazing sun,
which rendered it impossible to make the photographs. It was in vain
that I explained to her why she must face the sun, and, at last, in
desperation, I seized the heavy tōō-ma and carried it where I
desired it to be. In my haste in putting it down--rather, dropping
it--it snapped in two, and I had to repair the damage to her stone and
feelings with a piece of silver ere we could proceed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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