The Domicile

Thanks to the warm heart of the newest member of our extended family, I was recently treated to visiting the Phoenix Botanical Garden. One of the displays was a path created in the beautiful setting of Papago Park—a part of the desert surrounded by reddish hills covered in cave-like openings—a surreal landscape. The theme of the trail was how the Indians lived here several hundred years ago. They invented the ramada—a shelter made with the barest minimal resources—sticks on top of supports to provide shade, but not much in the way of keeping off the rain—but then, rain in the desert? Not a problem of everyday life for them. I don’t know what they did when it rained…but getting wet was a sure thing.

Their houses were not much more than a bare covering, either. They bent down poles like an overturned bowl and thatched the cracks between them with grasses and shrubs, anything they could lay their hands on. There was one opening in the south? East? But the structure sure didn’t keep out flies or mosquitoes or wind or rain or rattlesnakes or unfriendly visitors (the neighboring tribe).

One wonderful idea they had was to keep the kitchen out of the main dwelling place, thereby forgoing the chore of cleaning up after a meal so you could go to sleep in a neat environment. Their kitchen was under a ramada just a hop skip and a jump away from the living room—the bowl domicile with the southern exposure. The floor was dirt, which I must presume turned into mud when it did rain.

Now, it gets chilly in the desert even in the summer at night. Imagine how uncomfortable it must have been for them in the winter “living area” when it rained and the wind blew, and they had a sick baby and were hungry and fighting all intruders who would have liked to take away from them even what little existed. Yet, they survived long enough to pass the torch of life along to their descendants and managed to get through the stone age times and live to build casinos and make do with what they had, just like their grandparents.

At least the plains Indians covered their teepees with animal skins to make the “houses” wind and rain repellent, and to keep them warm. And the house was mobile—just use the supports as portage material and roll up the skins, let the women carry them, and be on your way. The Arizona Indians had to start all over again if the game ran out or the neighbors got on their nerves, or whatever reason they had for pulling up stakes. Maybe they stayed because they had no place else to go, unlike those of us who live here in the winter by choice—an amusing thought. Progress, it is wonderful.

The shaman made house calls—what else, there was no hospital. It was important for him or her to have good bedside manners, as big trouble could occur if it was decided that he didn’t know what he was doing. Imagine what it was like, being born naked in a hostile culture—the desert is full of thorns and poison—and to really live off the land without a wheel or a steel ax or a written language. They may not have lived a long time, but I bet it seemed like a long time.

Never deprecate indoor plumbing.