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    Old Spain in Our Southwest: Facsimile of the Original 1936 Edition
    Old Spain in Our Southwest: Facsimile of the Original 1936 Edition
    Old Spain in Our Southwest: Facsimile of the Original 1936 Edition
    Ebook179 pages2 hours

    Old Spain in Our Southwest: Facsimile of the Original 1936 Edition

    By Nina Otero-Warren

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    About this ebook

    Nina Otero-Warren’s book, Old Spain in Our Southwest (1936), recorded her memories of the family hacienda in Las Lunas, New Mexico.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSunstone Press
    Release dateApr 1, 2014
    ISBN9781611392326
    Old Spain in Our Southwest: Facsimile of the Original 1936 Edition
    Author

    Nina Otero-Warren

    Nina Otero-Warren's Spanish conquistador ancestors dramatically altered the social and political landscape in Santa Fe, New Mexico more than three hundred years before she herself made waves as a twentieth-century suffragist, educator, political leader, and businesswoman. Otero-Warren's contributions to her community were not just in the political realm. She headed efforts to preserve historic structures in Santa Fe and Taos and built close ties with the artists, writers, and intellectuals who congregated in the area during the 1930s and 1940s. She was instrumental in renewing interest in and respect for Hispanic and Indian culture, which had for a time faced scorn and ridicule. She continued her life at Las Dos as a businesswoman, educator, writer, and political activist until her death in 1965.

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      Book preview

      Old Spain in Our Southwest - Nina Otero-Warren

      THE WIND IN THE MOUNTAINS

      THE WIND IN THE MOUNTAINS

      A STORM was coming over the country around Santa Fé, the ancient City of the Holy Faith. This southwestern country, explored and settled nearly four hundred years ago by a people who loved nature, worshiped God and feared no evil, is still a region of struggles.

      I spent this night on my homestead in a small adobe house in the midst of cedars on the top of a hill. We face the great Sangre de Cristo range as we look to the rising sun: a beauty too great for human beings to have had a hand in creating. Cedars and piñones, twisted, knotted, dwarfed by the wind, were all around me. Arroyos were cut in the ground, innocent looking in dry weather, but terrible in storms, for the water rushing through them can fell trees and roll bowlders as easily as children roll marbles.

      I watched the sun sink gloomily behind a yellow light. The hills looked gray and solemn. At a distance we heard a dog bark, a coyote howl. A shepherd was calling to his dog. The shepherd and his dog, taking warning of the coming storm, were herding the sheep to protect them better. Here and there the shepherd picked up a stray lamb and carried it in his arms. He made a fire quickly and soon the fragrance of coffee and burning cedar filled the air. Smoke rose above the trees, a signal in olden times of hospitality, perhaps, or hostility, for the Indians have not always been friendly. Soon the herder laid a sheep pelt, thick with wool in the grease and gray with sand, on the most level stretch. He threw his only blanket over his shoulders and lay down on the extemporized bed. A look at the fire, a glance at the sky, the exclamation, God help us!, and he dropped asleep to the sound of his sheep bleating.

      In the only room of my house, a melancholy candle was flickering as if gasping for breath. As the darkness came down like a curtain, I lit the fire to try to make the room more cheerful. I had a feeling of vastness, of solitude, but never of loneliness. Crickets and myriads of other insects were incessantly buzzing. The night was alive with sounds of creatures less fearful than humans, speaking a language I couldn’t understand, but could feel with every sense.

      In the night the storm broke, wild and dismal. The wind hissed like a rattler, and as it struck the branches of the trees, it made a weird sound like a musical instrument out of tune. Trees were bowing as if in obeisance to their Master. An unmuffled candle alone illuminated the small room. It kept vigil through the stormy night.

      At dawn, the clouds parted as if a curtain were raised, revealing the outline of the mountains. The hush following the storm was tremendous. Again I heard a voice in the canyon. The shepherd was kindling his fire and rolling up his sheep pelt.

      Ah, me, he said to himself, "we must get out of this wild canyon. Here we must leave four of our little lambs dead. Bad luck! But … then … here comes the light, the sun, and, after all, this is another day."

      As the shepherd was extinguishing the camp fire, there appeared on the top of the hill a form with arms stretched to heaven as though offering himself to the sun. The shepherd from his camp and I from my window watched this half-clad figure that seemed to have come from the earth to greet the light. A chant, a hymn—the Indian was offering his prayer to the rising sun. The shepherd, accustomed to his Indian neighbors, went his way slowly, guiding his sheep out of the canyon. The Indian finished his offering of prayer. I, alone, seemed not in complete tune with the instruments of God. I felt a sense of loss that they were closer to nature than I, more understanding of the storm. I had shuddered at the wind as it came through the cracks of my little house; now I had to cover my eyes from the bright rays of the sun, while my neighbors, fearing nothing, welcomed with joy another day.

      AN OLD SPANISH HACIENDA

      AN OLD SPANISH HACIENDA

      THE Spanish descendant of the Conquistadores may be poor, but he takes his place in life with a noble bearing, for he can never forget that he is a descendant of the Conquerors.

      In the old days the great Spanish families lived in haciendas. The hacienda was not just one house, but was actually a small community. There was the house of the patrón, smaller houses for the peones and a chapel. The house of the patrón was a one-story building with thick walls, made of adobe, a mixture of clay and straw. It was a complete square with a courtyard or patio in the center; on which all the rooms opened. The entrance to the house was through a large hallway which also served as a living room from which doors opened into other rooms. The rooms were large; each room had long windows opening on a balcony or porch overlooking the patio. From them, one could enjoy the flowers or could see the clear moon. Never did anyone but peones expose themselves to the sun. There were shutters on the windows which were closed at sundown and opened at sunrise.

      The bedrooms in the house were completely carpeted; there were great high beds with feather mattresses. A giltframed mirror hung over the washstand, which had a white marble top; there were a couch and large chairs. On the papered wall hung portraits of members of the family, the frame in gold with a strip of red velvet next to the glass; a table was at the bedside with a candle-holder and a basket which was filled with fruit or cakes when the room was occupied. The reception room was most formal and was kept closed except on state occasions—a baptism, wedding or funeral. This room had a very high ceiling. A big window looked into the garden. Heavy brocade curtains hung at this window, and the furniture was upholstered in wine-colored velvet. Huge mirrors stood on pedestals with marble tops, made of carved wood, painted with a gold paint. A large candelabra, with glass prisms, to hold as many as two dozen candles was in the center. A marble mantelpiece with a wax bouquet on it stood at one end and over this was an oval glass.

      Near the house of the patrón were the houses of the peones, who were not slaves, but working people who preferred submission to the patrón rather than an independent chance alone. Each family had a house with two or more rooms, depending upon the number in the family; a kitchen and bedrooms. Usually they received their guests in the kitchen but on formal occasions they used their bedrooms as the patrón used his reception room.

      There was always a chapel where the mission priest celebrated Mass once a month. There the peones assembled to pray on certain days and seasons and to sing their own hymns. There, images of the Saints occupied a place on either side of a small wooden altar carved and painted white. Above the altar was a niche where the patron saint of the patrón stood, looking down on his large family. There were no pews; chairs were placed near the altar for the patrones. The servants knelt and sat on the floor. Paper flowers of all colors, in vases of china, as well as colored flowers of glass decorated the altar. The candle-holders were made of brass and the sanctuary lamp of red glass with prisms. The walls were whitewashed, the beams exposed. High windows let in the light.

      For a week the people of the hacienda of Don Antonio had been preparing for the monthly visit of the priest. The chapel must be in readiness, for not only the priest but all the señores of the adjoining hacienda would be there. The servants had been plastering the chapel, repairing the cracks where the water had come through the mud and sand which was a part of the roof. The women did the plastering. They worked all during the day save for the afternoon siesta time. They protected their skin from the hot sun by a face powder which they made for this purpose. This face powder called cáscara was made of dried bones finely ground, mixed with herbs and made into a paste.

      On the day the priest arrived, the hacienda took on a fiesta air. All except necessary work stopped, everyone must attend Mass. Every home heard the chapel bell, and guests from the adjoining haciendas arrived in high coaches and in straw-filled wagons. Everyone was eager to come, for the people loved pomp and ceremony whether it was a funeral procession, a wedding or a fiesta Mass. On all occasions there was time to laugh, to love and to pray. There was no great hurry, no locking of doors, for no one ever entered the home of another unless he were invited.

      So the Dons and Doñas came in high coaches, drawn by prancing bays, a man on horseback behind each coach to give assistance in case of emergency. The peones came in wagons, on burro-back or on foot, the many children clinging to their mothers. They were all proud of the masters they served, proud to be part of the family. Some had traveled far, but they tried to hear Mass whenever possible, for this was part of their duty and would bring them good luck. It was always noticed if a neighbor did not come and he was considered a savage who did not know the Catholic belief or else did not abide by his Christian teaching.

      The church was filled with people, the children more numerous than the grown-ups. When Mass was over, the double doors of the chapel were swung on their wooden pivots and opened wide. The patrones of this and adjoining haciendas left the church first. As they arose from their knees, they saw through the door a white marble statue, a gray stone image of Saint Joseph, a cross of granite, for the cemetery in front of the chapel was the resting place of those members of the family who had departed. Even on a feast day they were reminded to pray for their dead.

      As they left the chapel the patrón, Don Antonio, greeted the visiting señores with an invitation: "Come to my house, señores, the Doña is awaiting you. We hope to have the pleasure of your company for dinner. My house is at your disposal."

      The señores, who had already planned to stay, accepted with a bow: A thousand thanks—if it is not too much bother, we will appreciate it.

      In Spanish homes preparation is always made for several guests. Distances are great and transportation slow, so whether a person is on a business or social visit, he is the invited guest of the señor. Cold lunches are never eaten. If, on a long journey, a meal has to be eaten in the open, a stop is made, food cooked and a rest taken.

      As the señores proceeded to the house, the servants extended invitations to their visiting friends and with bustle and chatter they went home

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