“Taos Pueblo is over a thousand years old, the oldest pueblo north along the Rio Grande, one of the oldest inhabited places in the United States. It’s a World Heritage Site and a National Historic Site.” She raised her hand and pointed. “Notice the scaffold set up along one side? See where those weathered areas are being plastered with fresh clay? They’re using the same type of clay and building methods as their great-great-great-grandfathers. New units are added, when needed, and built in traditional style.

“The inhabitants don’t like us getting too close or trying to get inside the pueblo itself or taking pictures of them,” Martha said. “It’s their home, after all, not a museum, and they welcome us to designated areas, shops and”—she waved her arm—“this open courtyard. They sell delicious bread that they bake in those beehive-shaped ovens over there.”

Several members of the group began to shoot, while others, cameras dangling at their sides, tripods on their shoulders, ambled toward tables crowded with pottery, jewelry, colorful shawls, blankets, and strings of dried red peppers.

“Do let’s get some of that bread. I can smell it,” Sadie said.

Amelia looked around for Miriam. She and Ben were strolling toward the ovens, deep in conversation. When they reached the ovens, Ben spread his jacket on the earth, bowed to Miriam, and waved, indicating that she should sit. Miriam threw back her head, laughed, and sank to the ground onto his jacket.

The odor of fresh baking bread drew Amelia and Sadie toward the ovens. An unsmiling Native American woman with a colorful shawl about her shoulders and turquoise necklaces layered about her neck slid a long wooden spatula into the oven and retrieved several loaves of brown-crusted bread. She didn’t mind being photographed, had probably done it hundreds of times for tourists and photographers. Amelia thought that she expected a tip, though the woman did not actually say that. Amelia would have liked to linger, to chat, to ask about pueblo life, but the woman, her baking done and her sale made, turned and walked briskly away.

“I don’t think they like tourists,” Ben said as Amelia and Sadie joined them under a tree.

“I’m actually embarrassed to be here,” Amelia said. “She wasn’t very friendly when she sold us the bread.”

“This is very, very good bread. Do you like it, Mama?” Sadie asked.

“It’s very good bread,” Miriam said.

Ben pulled off an end of a loaf. The golden crust crackled as he broke it apart, its odor spilling into the warm air. He held up a chunk. “I agree, Sadie. It’s incredible bread.”