Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Apparently, this is called a metate. It's a trough made in stone from the grinding of corn or other grains by Native American women, back in the day.
I came across this metate while stomping around under some boulders during my recent trip to Arizona.
I was so excited. It felt like I had scored on a treasure hunt. It felt like I had entered a shrine.
Nestled under a huge boulder overlooking the valley, this was a kitchen with all the bells and whistles.
Multiple work stations.
I sat for a while in this ancient kitchen, sitting where Native American women sat, milling maize, prepping for meals, gossiping, laughing. My eyes followed the blackened trail of creosote from long-extinguished cooking fires, a wall treatment curling up to the spaces between the boulders above.
I found myself gathering amongst whispered memories in the room in which we all tend to congregate.
And ran my hands through the smooth curves of the metate.
And admired the beautiful granite countertops surrounding me.