This week has been particularly tough for a number of reasons, but one that is top of mind has to do with May 1st.
As some of my friends may know, and for those who don’t, I am half American Indian. My mother is a full-blooded American Indian, from the Navajo, San Felipe and Isleta tribes. I grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, but moved away to the East Coast in the 5th grade. When I moved away I lost contact with a lot of my heritage and understanding of my own culture, but as I’ve grown older I have made it more of a point to ask questions and be curious about who I am and where I come from. A majority of those questions have to do with old family recipes that I can try to cook to bring some of home to my daily life.
May 1st is one of the most important days for my people at the Pueblo of San Felipe, which is located about 20 miles North of Albuquerque. We call it a “feast day,” where our people gather and perform ceremonial dances and prayers to ask for a fruitful summer. We pray for rain and good intentions for our people and their families. They’re also used to answer our own prayers of good health for family, friends, and ourselves, cultivating strength from our ancestors that have passed on. We also celebrate with our families by sharing food and long conversations about the day. When I was younger, I used to participate in May 1st practices every year, but once I moved away, my life became about futbol and school. I haven’t been able to participate for almost 13 years, but this year was supposed to be different. Since I had graduated from Wake Forest in December, I was preparing to return home and participate with my people and my family, spending time immersed in my culture and heritage as an adult. But, our best friend COVID-19 cancelled our feast day for the first time in almost FOUR-HUNDRED YEARS. My own grandmother does not remember the last time that the Pueblo of San Felipe sat in silence on May 1.
To celebrate the day my family exchanged a series of funny one-liners and memories from a collection of feast days in the past. Everyone bantered back and forth, sending “Haha’s” and Heart Emojis, recalling funny and sincere memories that has bound our family closer together. My Gran sent photos of our family in our traditional garb from years past and my uncles kept the jokes coming literally the entire day.
As with any cultural tradition, food is ESSENTIAL. I mean...food is everything. It can make or break a bad date, or can create a buzz of memories on your taste buds. And since we couldn’t go home, I figured I could at least bring a part of home to the East Coast. I FaceTimed my Aunt and had her explain how to make one of our family's staples: potato salad. I threw on my apron that my grandmother had sewn for me and got to werkkkk. Chop, chop, chop, dice, dice, dice, smoosh smoosh, taste test, and BOOM, potato salad complete. I then proceeded to make the best batch of homemade tortillas, fresh and fluffy and perfectly salted -- just like my aunt and grandmother taught me.
These moments aren't about whether or not I am feeling happy, but making sure that the ones that I am closest to continue finding little pleasures in this never-ending feeling of upside down. My mom has worked every single day for 15+ hours since the middle of January when coronavirus started infecting the world. She is working with FEMA on a collaborative task force as a representative and expert on the Public Health Service in response to COVID-19. She is representing the interests of Native people to ensure that Native people have access to resources and funding from our government. Like other essential workers she's just being a badass. We’re all experiencing this time period in different ways, but if I can bring my mom a slice of her home while she works relentlessly to make my home normal again, then I’ll make her a potato salad once a week.
When my mom got home from another 15 hour work day I showed her my finished product paired with green beans and pork chops. I felt excited because 1. Chef Mads in da house and 2. Because I felt that my family was all together in a few family recipes. I didn’t get to go home and participate and dance, but I’d like to think someone was watching over me as I made some bomb ass tortillas. Xoxo
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