Viewing page 53 of 88

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

Wed. Aug. 10 - Panels shine because wrong paint was brought us from paint shop - Must be all repainted with matt color as I [[strikethrough]] [[?]] [[/strikethrough]] abominate a shine on a mural & so we get that all corrected & going. Then Mrs Atkinson comes in her comfortable big car with a colored chaffeur & with Chille & Mrs Harris and luncheons for all - for Picuris buffalo dance - Richard and Romando and Mr Faris to see us off - Something makes me say I wish Richard could go - "I could show you the way to Picuris" smiles Richard and Mrs A- eagerly makes room for him - [[strikethrough]] saying [[/strikethrough]] we will take Romando to another dance some time." Romando really must boss things, while I am away - he can't leave.

The tiny Mountain village of Picuris has few dances. Climbing a rocky road we passed a great tree with Mary Austin sitting in camp chair under it. Her friends were busy preparing a campfire dinner - A few miles farther on we stopped under another sheltering tree for dinner - Blasing sun merciless today - We peered through the cracks in the closed door of the little Mission Church. Oh what joy - what promise - Richard was sent with a dollar to the governor who came at last in this busy hour before the dance - a small man with a fine face painted with a chaste design of [[strikethrough]] white dots [[/strikethrough]] two lines of small white dots horizontal across each cheek. After the first difficulty of getting the door open he showed us with great dignity "the second oldest church in America" - It was so sweet and spoiled that we cared little about its date. Lovely paintings of Guadelupe and Raphael and other celebrities over the altar were in the true Southwestern tradition - that mixture of Spanish and Indian that brought forth one of the most charming and naive expressions of art on earth. The windows all right - just right. How seldom are windows just right.