Petroglyph Site #5

 

"Great canyon walls towered above me, and I drank of their coolness.  Then I emerged on a high plateau where a long wind stole softly across the open levels fresh with sage and sego lilies."--Louis L'Amour from his novel, Silver Canyon

Petroglyph location: Southwest Utah

The Legend of the Indian Blanket

When passing on the freeway, if you know what you're looking for, one can spot a red-painted pictograph high on the cliffs. The glyph is sixteen feet across and four feet high, resembling the shape and design of an Indian blanket. It beckons to an earlier day before the freeway existed, and to a world much different than that of today.

The paint has been dated at 250 years old. If that is true, then the glyph could possibly be associated with the Pahvant, a band of the Paiute tribe. The legend itself does not come to us through the Paiutes, but through the local settlers that arrived in the 1850's.

According to the legend, many years ago a group of Paiutes were traveling through the area on their way to a winter camping area when the baby of one of the ladies passed away. Sadly, the mother had to bury her baby and move on. During the winter she was troubled with the thought of her baby being alone in the cold. She returned to the burial site during the spring and painted a blanket on the rock face. This way the baby could use the blanket when she was lonely and cold.

The following is a another depiction of the legend, written by Kathleen Lillywhite for the St. George News:

“According to legend, many years ago a Paiute Band traveled to a winter camping area. The frozen winter sun slipped behind a row of tamarisk shadows, and a baby girl was born. One little breath, then the wind swooped up the baby's cry. The mother held her close, wrapped her in a shawl and stroked the tiny body until it was cold.

“Using a dead branch that hung from a cottonwood tree, she dug a shallow grave at the base of a towering wall. The river babbled music to the weeping mother's sad song. The water gushed by as she slipped her baby into the earth and pushed cold dirt into a mound and covered her.

“Not many moons elapsed before the mother took up her basket of little clay paint pots―a pigment mixed of hematite mineral for the color red and blood, milk and honey as a binder. Combining urine to make a medium of liquid paint, she brushed colorful strokes to paint the blanket on the rock partition above her baby's grave. The loneliness was covered by a blanket to keep her baby warm.” ♠

Photo from across the canyon.  Arrows point to two different painted blankets.

Sources

Lillywhite, K. (2016, September 25). Ancients day; 100 hands of Moqui at Fremont Indian State Park. St. George News. https://www.stgeorgeutah.com/story-series/days-series/ancients-day-100-hands-of-moqui-at-fremont-indian-state-park/article_016aa8d0-93e9-5817-8de2-7d360d29628a.html

State of Utah Office of Museum Services. Sheep Shelter [brochure]. https://site.utah.gov

First Hours in CDMX

San Jerónimo Street in Mexico City.

Just after 8 am we left our hotel on Calle San Jerónimo and entered the narrow old street. The morning sun glistened on the upper level of the brown brick buildings that seemed to bend with the contour of the street.

Most of the rolling security shutters on the shops were still down. I didn't know if that meant they were not yet open for the day or were closed permanently.

We walked along a busy road toward Mercado de La Merced, a bustling market in the center of Mexico City. Many were just now setting up shop while others pulled vending carts along the side of the road, still unassembled.

Across the street I noted the dome and bell towers of an old church. It was boxed in on both sides by so-called modern buildings, now tarnished and falling apart themselves.

Templo de San Pablo el Nuevo.

At the end of the street we arrived at the market and along the outer extremities crowds began to gather and vendors displayed their wares. On the corner a vendor had already prepared a line of taco meat that filled the air with aroma.

We entered inside the market, but to our disappointment, only a few vendors had set up shop. Looking for breakfast, we returned to the taco stand on the corner.

My mouth watered as I eyed the selection of stewed meats. I chose the alambre since I had never seen that option in the States.

He scooped the warm meat onto four corn tortillas and sprinkled them with onion and cilantro. Two tacos for me and two for Jordan. I drizzled a mystery red sauce over the meat, then we ate them standing up, using a nearby unused vending cart as a table.

The flavorful food hit the spot. The meat practically melted in my mouth. Tacos for breakfast in Mexico City. What else could we ask for ?!

Tacos de alambre.

We walked our way closer to the historic center. I was still amazed that since we had left the airport the night before, we had not seen another tourist. That still held true. Now as we ambled about the streets, they became more full and chaotic with locals on their way to work or wherever they might be going.

We passed by a plaza with yet more street vendors beginning their day. Most of them had large parasols above their booths to protect from sun and rain. They sat casually with their goods, like they had for the last thousand days, completely unaware of two gringo tourists infringing on their world.

I was amazed at how many old churches we saw dotted along the way. Most of them appeared to be from the earlier Colonial Period in the 15― or 1600's, built with gray bricks and rocks, perhaps looted from the old Aztec city.

Street market at Pino Suárez.

Parroquia de San Miguel Arcángel. 

Detail on historic building in Mexico City.

I decided to take a closer look at one of these old churches. Like the others, it too was built with gray brick. I noticed the bell tower silhouetted against the blue sky.

Then I saw the plaque on the outer wall. We moved closer and it confirmed that this was the church I had studied about. The plaque read: “Here are the remains of Hernán Cortés.”

Inside the church was simple and unpretentious. Old dim paintings hung on the wall and two lines of pews ran to the front.

At the front, behind a red plaque, embedded in the wall, were the remains of the Spanish Conquistador.⸻I've been to the graves of both Christopher Columbus and Francisco Pizarro, and Hernán Cortés certainly wins the award for the least prestigious memorial.

We returned outside, walking down José María Pino Suárez Street. As we walked I noticed the streets became cleaner and the cafes on the side became more geared toward the tourist. Buildings, it seemed, became older and more grand.⸻Then we saw it. We came to a massive plaza with the cathedral on the far side and a large Mexican flag in the center. This was the Zócalo. ♠

Church with the tomb of Hernán Cortés.