Something called ‘kneel down bread.’
And if you think making tamales sounds time-consuming and difficult, you ain’t heard nuthin’ yet!
A little explanation is in order first.
When I was 41 years old, I had the good fortune to meet a 16 year old Navajo girl. For some wonderful reason, she and I instantly bonded and have been close friends…no, much more than that….more like chosen family…ever since. Both the little pot and the clay sheep, in my painting, were gifts from my Navajo family...along with some other things I treasure beyond measure.
Her family lives in the traditional Navajo way. That means in hogans, with no plumbing or electricity…and way up in some beautiful mountains on the Navajo Reservation in Northern Arizona.
On one of my visits there, it was green corn time….meaning the first of the corn crop was just beginning to ripen. It was time to make ‘kneel down bread.’
I wish I had pictures to show you of this, but I don’t. On the very first day of my visit, my camera jammed, so I got no pictures at all. That broke my heart! Even so, if I actually had pictures, I couldn’t use them here because the family doesn’t want me to ‘publish’ them. Which I completely understand and respect. So you will have to use all your imagination skills and help me out here, ok?
YIPPEEE! My friend gave me permission to at least use two pictures! And...she told me, this is how you 'say' kneel-down bread in Navajo. Ha! Trying to get me to say a word correctly in their language is a huge laugh! Anyway, it's ntsidigo'i.
And so……………
On the little hill-top where the bread is always made, right about here……….
.......we dug a hole in the earth.
A big hole! About the dimensions of a really large dining table and probably a foot deep.
After the hole was dug and smoothed to Grandma’s specifications, my friend, ‘S’ and I climbed a much higher, steeper hill to begin gathering wood. It had to be the right wood, though. I often picked up a dead branch only to be informed that it wouldn’t do….for one good reason or another.
After several trips, sometimes dragging huge portions of fallen trees, we had a sufficiency of appropriate firewood piled next to our ‘oven’, where we began our fire. Grandma, (Masani) through an interpreter, gave me instructions and I was pretty much made official fire tender. Occasionally, one of the women of the family would check on me to ensure that I was creating the needed deep bed of coals….equally distributed all over the earthen oven. This required that I be almost constantly raking the burning wood hither, thither and yon…and always, of course, adding more fuel to the fire.
Did I mention this was in August and it was HOT! And I was sweating like a pig!!!
And one more little thing…..if, perchance, nature called…which thankfully, it didn’t very often as I was sweating out a lot more liquid than I was taking in, thereby eliminating the need for many trips to the outhouse…..
I would have had to walk a good 100 yards to the absolutely clean, little ‘necessary’ house.
I took this picture, on another visit, right from the seat…I kid you not!
What a view, don’t you think? One time, I sat and watched a family of ground squirrels scampering all over that red hillside…….but………I digress.
Back to my story………….
While I was tending the fire, the older women were sitting on the floor in Grandma’s hogan, shucking a huge pile of corn and cutting the tender kernels off the cobs. Some younger girls would then grind the corn, using an old-fashioned hand grinder attached to a wooden bench outside.
When the corn was ground, it was put into the fresh, green corn leaves and wrapped. Absolutely nothing was added to the corn…no salt, no flavorings of any kind…nothing but green corn sweetness!
When the fire was deemed ready….by Grandmother, of course, I was told to rake all those red-hot coals out of the pit.
All the prepared bread had been carried up the little hill and we began placing it, side by side, row after row…like a bunch of little green soldiers…right on that hot, hot ground.
Next, came a covering of cardboard…and then a layer of dry sand. All those hot coals were raked back over everything …along with some more wood chips. Within an hour, the bread was done.
When all the ashes, the sand and the cardboard were removed we were left with loaf after loaf of one of the most delectable dishes imaginable.
And we 'kneeled down' and gathered up all that glorious goodness! And that's why it's called 'kneel down' bread.
I swear to you that I have never, in my life, eaten anything better!
Is ‘kneel-down’ bread worth all that work?
Absolutely!
Do I wish I had some to eat right now?
Absolutely!!!!!!!
Would I do it all again?
You bet I would...if I could get one of those kids to climb up and down that mountain gathering the firewood! And I think I could. And if I couldn't, Masani could, for sure!
As you can imagine, this was an experience for which I am deeply GRATEFUL!!!! But way more than that, I'm grateful for the blessed bond between that wonderful young woman and me. I love her like a daughter/little sister/friend.
And now, I'm bawling 'cause I miss her!
8 comments:
What a cool story Sharon. Where is this reservation located?
Donna, It's mostly in North Eastern Arizona, but also in New Mexico and Utah.
Such a cool experience to be invited inside a world unexperienced by so many others...
The mini excursions of wonders so precious one knows for certain they are walking on special ground.
Special ground, indeed, Joan. I knew it, for certain, when I was standing...and kneeling...on it.
Sharon, much of my young childhood was spent scampering around on sandstone hillsides just on the edge of that very same reservation in the four-corner region of northern New Mexico. Some of my fondest memories were of taking a ride onto and across the reservation and seeing the women in their beautiful silk and velvet clothing, with their lovely squash blossom turquoise jewelry, and their long hair done up in a gorgeous twist on the back of their heads ... tending to their flocks of sheep along the roadside ... their hogans in the distance. Many of my dear friends in grade school had come from that nearby reservation. We were a little bunch of rainbow-colored friends. Such fond and beautiful memories you've brought to my mind with your story. Thanks, Skay!
Karen, It is truly a gift to be 'understood.' And only one who has known the beautiful Dineh land and people can truly understand.
Ironically, there is a group in Facebook that makes the same bread, although not traditionally baked in the ground, its still as good as ever, Kaibeto Kneel Down Bread I believe the group is called.
Thanks. I did check it out. I sure wish I lived close enough to buy some! Yummo!!!!
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