Granite Countertops...

Apparently, this is called a metate. It's a trough made in stone from the grinding of corn or other grains by Native American women, back in the day.

I came across this metate while stomping around under some boulders during my recent trip to Arizona.

I was so excited. It felt like I had scored on a treasure hunt. It felt like I had entered a shrine.



Nestled under a huge boulder overlooking the valley, this was a kitchen with all the bells and whistles.


Skylights.





Views.





Multiple work stations.





I sat for a while in this ancient kitchen, sitting where Native American women sat, milling maize, prepping for meals, gossiping, laughing.  My eyes followed the blackened trail of creosote from long-extinguished cooking fires, a wall treatment curling up to the spaces between the boulders above.


I found myself gathering amongst whispered memories in the room in which we all tend to congregate.

The kitchen.

I lingered.

And ran my hands through the smooth curves of the metate.

And admired the beautiful granite countertops surrounding  me.