Over the 4th of July weekend in 2009 I took a University of
New Mexico Continuing Education excursion to the Mescalero Apache ceremonial
near Ruidoso for the girls’ puberty ceremony. The whole thing takes 12 days to
perform and years for the girls’ families to prepare for, but four days of it
were scheduled to coincide with the annual ceremonial at which the Mountain
Gods dance.
There was a
midway, of course, with “fair”-type food to buy and souvenirs, umbrellas (for
the sun), jewelry and art, and an open space where traditional dances and songs
were performed all day, with bleachers and room to set up folding camp chairs
around the edge. Apaches and Native
Americans had come from all over. People camped in tents set up outside the
meeting grounds. The families of the girls going through the ritual prepared
mammoth amounts of food to feed anyone who showed up at meal time. Fry bread,
always. Other stuff, sometimes traditional, sometimes not. What appeared to be
green beans cooked in some kind of broth, salad, meat cooked in sauce (which
was excellent).
When we
arrived on the 4th, there didn’t seem to be a lot of people in
attendance, though more drifted in throughout the afternoon. Since it’s up in
the mountains, it wasn’t as blazingly hot as it might have been, and even so,
when the wind died down, it must have been nearly 90o. Evening came
on and they built the bonfire around which the four Mountain Gods would dance.
Night fell, and the Gods began to dance: several different sets of Mountain
Gods, doing a succession of dances which relate an important Apache myth. There
are four sets of Gods because there are sixteen dances, and each group does
four, so the groups have time to recuperate before they’re on again. The
dancing continues until 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning.
The moon, almost full,
came up, and on the other side of the mountain range, which seemed to rise
right on the other side of the highway, flashes of light began. We initially
thought it was fireworks. Instead it was lightning beyond the range, far enough
away that we didn’t hear thunder. While
the Mountain Gods danced, the four girls were in a teepee at the edge of the
dancing ground, its opening facing east. The girls were carrying on their own
ceremonies, dancing and singing under the supervision of medicine men. When we left at about 10:00 p.m., I think we
were all surprised to find that suddenly there were two or three times as many
spectators as there had been earlier. They must have drifted in like fog, to
fill the bleachers and set up their own chairs around the field.
The moon,
lightning, fire and social dancing (with a great ring of spectators dancing
around the edge, circling the Mountain Gods) will stick in my mind for a long
time. But the best memory is of a young Apache woman in fatigues, first watching in a dignified manner, then dancing in place
while chatting with a friend, and finally, as darkness came down, joining the
dance line when someone lent her a dance shawl.
The Apaches have a high regard for their warriors; at the entrance to
the grounds, military flags flew with the U.S. flag. In the Apaches’ casino,
Inn of the Mountain Gods, a few miles away, a plaque (a big one) lists all the
Apache veterans who have died while serving, from U.S. Cavalry Indian scouts to
losses in Iraq.
When we got
out to the highway about half a mile from the ceremonial grounds, we found it
had poured. But not on the ceremonial.
Not a drop.
