All of Pueblo Street Holds it’s Breath: Part 2

Conclusion: Saturday midday was gray, cold, and slightly breezy. It had not rained regularly since the late summer monsoon season and that gave me a nudge of confidence. I had the omicron booster shot a couple days before and for 24 hours I was a quivering mass of jelly covered in several blankets. Nonetheless, I felt great and was ready for anything that was in store for me (softly giggling now).

One of the things I noticed sometimes in the past is my fires not getting to the ideal intensity that I would like. I would boldly make that a non-issue by absolutely overcompensating in my wood gathering prowess. There is an abundant supply of dead cedar on the homeland and often you do not even need to use a saw or an ax to cut down anything. It’s just laying there. One thing I should mention when you do gather materials is the role of prayer. As children we are taught to always have corn meal on hand, and that you ask permission first to borrow only what you are needing, and then give thanks for these blessings. It’s just something that’s a part of our ways that is second nature.

I had the wood ready. I had the cow manure ready. I even bought some extra metal mesh to reinforce my well-used frame that shelters the pottery. I lit a small pre-fire to get my piece and metal platform warm. Once it died out I methodically built the traditional cocoon: first the pottery, then the metal frame, the cow manure hamburgers (I found some colossal sized beauties that just one could cover a single side), then the cedar and wood chips. I completely covered the cage with the manure to prevent air leaks, then tried to do the same with the wood covering the dung. All the while I’m placing newspaper throughout the whole setup so everything can catch quickly. As I finished with the cocoon I wondered if it would be up to New Mexico Building Code Standards. I was that proud.

I then did the only thing left to do. I prayed. I prayed by expressing gratitude, and asking for enlightenment with whatever results were to come. As I finished it was completely still, no wind, and I whisked out my lighter and started lighting. The newspaper scraps responded in kind just as a small breeze began to arise from the southwest. I wasn’t worried. The north part of my wood was already catching well but I noticed the west and south sides were not playing along.

Being the pyrotechnics specialist that I am, I knew that quick action was needed. I added more crumpled newspaper to the stagnant areas and I went to my faithful lighter that has never failed me before. It failed. Again. And again. You know the sound. Any male child of the reservation knows you could use anything to start a flame: weeds, chick-fil-a bags, shedded dog fur and more wood chips. I saw a stray lighter fluid container. Empty. I should not have even thought about it anyway. I was in red alert mode as now the east and north sides were raging. I had a panicked jog going as I searched in vain for suitable flammable hosts. I ran to my rez truck and found old mail about Mark Ronchetti. That’ll work. I dug deeper into my messy vehicle and found a roll of new toilet paper still in the plastic wrap that never made it into the house. Yes! Toilet paper for the win! And it worked.

At last, the opposite sides agreed to light and we were in business. Cedar burns fast, hot, doesn’t pop, and literally has no smoke, which is why I was taught to use it. Our ancestors were geniuses with how they figured this all out. I was worried about the temperature difference on one side may crack the piece but I didn’t hear anything. After 18 minutes the cocoon started to fall apart on its own. The charred wood reduced in size, gradually slid down and brought the manure with it. At this point you can see into the cage. My piece was apparently still in one piece, and red hot. That was good. For the first time my shoulders eased into relaxed position and I sat down with my dog.

As I was taking victory selfies of me, my dog and the fire, I felt a moist droplet hit my phone. Hmm, it was nothing. The iPhone decreed there was to be no rain today. I looked at the sky. All gray and certainly nothing that looked like rain clouds. Another drop, and another. I started thinking if grandma was behind all this. I could hear the drops start to sizzle on the fire. Not good! Below not good! I sprang into action again, looking for any material that could serve as an emergency canopy. I had to cover the fire somehow. Please, grandma, no! Siri, do something! I looked around again. Nope, not the tarp. Or cardboard. Or the wheelbarrow. And there it was: a 5 foot long tin metal roofing material that I sometimes use as a door during bread baking. I quickly grabbed it a placed it over the cage and fire, not thinking that the cage itself could collapse due it’s red hot state. Fortunately, it didn’t. I also found other pieces of metal panels and formed yet another cocoon, this time made out of metal and with the fire on the inside. By this time we had a full-on shower happening and the sounds of the water sizzling and evaporating on the sheets were very hypnotic. Another lesson? Absolutely.

As I waited for the rain to pass (it didn’t), the remnants of the fire were charred enough that I could start raking the ash out. Slowly and carefully I did this and the transformed Spiral revealed itself: I was just happy it was in one piece, and the smoke clouds wereclearly cleaned off! I waited another 45 minutes until the piece was cool enough to handle. I used my wifes rubber kitchen gloves to pick it up and inspect the finer details of the firing. Please don’t tell her. Ninety percent of the spinach paintings came out the classic Cochiti jet black. At the top edges where the polygons start to spiral they were more of a gray color, and I wondered if the temperature variance was a factor. Most likely. One area where the edges meet has a microfissure. Not a dealbreaker, but it’s there and not unusual for this type of shape. Also, on one side of the painted area there was some bubbling that I’m not sure is from the spinach paint or was underneath the slip itself. There was also a tiny part where the black came off, revealing the red clay underneath. I’ve heard about laying the spinach paint on too thick this could happen and it certainly appears to be the case.

I could have easily went the kiln route and had the perfect firing with no artifacts but something inside me keeps prompting me to continue to fire outside, like a notification on my phone that I can’t close. I look at the finished Spiral and all of it’s unique outside firing features and now I understand why all of those things are there. They are telling a story, not only of how our grandmothers and grandfathers did these things but also how my experience now adds to theirs, and one day I’ll pass down this knowledge to my descendants, including my wacky toilet paper-metal cocoon story. It really happened. Spiral is the result. Thank you, grandma.