National Geographic : 1947 Oct
() National Gcographic Society Kodachrome by IIelen S. Williams "Business as Usual" During Baby's Lunchtime in Solola Market In most villages, Indian mothers nurse their children through one wide sleeve. The turkey (right) was already domesticated in the America that Spain conquered. Introduced into Europe, domesticated turkeys returned to North America with English settlers. benches with tiles in gray, blue, and yellow. Today an Antigua potter carries on in the old tradition. I copied some of the mottoes painted on square tiles and water jars and pitchers: "I am Yours, Pretty One." "Do not Tempt Me." "Heavenly Face." "Dreaming of Love." "I Die for You." "I Dreamed that You Loved Me," and, an anticlimax in tile, "To Love You Is a P'leasure." From the patio of a house that an old friend, Mildred Palmer, rebuilt in its colonial splendor, I could see the green cone of Agua, driving its verdant wedge into the sky above the carved stonework of the fountain. Indians Weave Fine Textiles Guatemalan naturals, as the Indians call themselves, excel in the weaving of textiles. The Palmer collection of native costumes and fabrics includes examples from nearly all of the 250-odd villages. Before the coming of Europeans to the New World, indigenes worked only in cotton. Spaniards brought sheep, and now Indians weave blankets, rugs, and some garments of wool (pages 535, 555, 563). In most villages, women have showier cos tumes than the men. The woman wears the huipil (a loose blouse), a wrap-around sarong like skirt, and some sort of shawl and head dress. Colors run through the spectrum from deepest reds through saffron yellow to blue and violet (page 534). From Antigua you may begin your climb into the Highlands in earnest. Though most mountain roads in Guatemala are not paved, they have an all-weather surface, and you may go over them even in the months from 'May to November, when daily showers scour the hillsides. To climb the heights-one road tops a pass at nearly 11,000 feet-roads twist in hairpin turns up hills and down into innumerable ravines. Dark pines and lichen-covered oaks clothe the hillsides, and wet gray mist swirls up from the valleys. The cold upland forest gives off a smell of resin and of charcoal fires.