November 2011
The Culture, The Church and the Chile
by Karen Boehler
Long ago, in 1810, so the legend goes, in a fertile valley enclosed by dry, rocky badlands, Don Bernado de Abeyta, a farmer and a Penitente, was performing acts of penitence when he noticed a light in the ground where a sacred spring had once flowed. Abeyta dug up the dirt and discovered a large crucifix of a dark Christ. He and his fellow Penitentes carried it in procession eight miles to a church in Santa Cruz. But the next morning the crucifix had mysteriously returned to the spot where it was found. This happened three times, so the villagers took it as a sign that they should build a pilgrim sanctuary in this sacred place. El Santuario de Chimayó is now considered the "Lourdes of America." This small Roman Catholic Church north of Santa Fe receives up to 300,000 visitors every year. Thousands come to get healed by the sacred dirt in a side room, and hang their crutches on the walls as they leave. But the priest supposedly said, "It is God who heals, not the dirt." Ross Chavez Martinez, a farmer now in his seventies, honors his grandfather, Francisco Martinez, who helped build El Santuario and took care of it. "Grandpa is buried right outside the front door of the church," he says.
Early Risers
Martinez was born and raised in Chimayó, one of eight children. His family farmed eight acres. "The land didn't belong to us," he says, "so we divided the harvest—two parts for us and one part for the owner."
He describes a rigorous life. "Dad got the boys up at 3:30 every morning and went out with a lantern to irrigate. If you didn't go, you got a good spanking." His sister stayed at home with his mother to cook. Around 7:00 his father left to work in Los Alamos, and the boys spent the rest of the day hoeing the fields that weren't being irrigated. "At noon my sister brought us food. We ate under a tree, and went right back to work.
"We made a good living from chiles," Martinez continues. "We sold them in front of the church, at small stands by the road, or went door-to-door. A bucket of chiles sold for thirty cents. We drove to Santa Fe with our melons, apples, peaches, and chiles. You could make sometimes eighty-nine dollars a day, which was a lot of money back then. Chimayó Chiles are famous. Today you pay between thirty and fifty dollars a bushel. And the ristras are more," says Martinez.
Holy Chiles
Because Chimayó Chiles are grown in the same soil where the crucifix was found, they are often called "Holy Chiles." Many Chimayó families were careful not to mix their heirloom seeds with anyone else's, even their neighbors.
In the fall, farmers picked the chiles and strung them on strings as long as the farmers were tall, then doubled the ristras to ten feet and twisted them together.
According to Benigna's Chimayó: Cuentos from the Old Plaza, by Don J. Usner, the late storyteller Benigna Ortega Chávez, recalled stringing chile with her family by lantern light until her fingers ached. But they also laughed and told riddles and cuentos to pass the time. The women roasted the chile in traditional hornos, outdoor adobe ovens, which gave the chile a unique smoky flavor.
The Taste Sensation
What is it about Chimayó Chile that has captured the taste buds of the most discerning connoisseurs? In Saveur Magazine Deborah Madison wrote, "Its perfume is remarkable—a particular mix of sweetness, richness and spiciness—simultaneously grounding and exhilarating. It is piquant without being overbearingly hot, with a bite that offsets the complexity of its distinctive chile flavor."
Selected from national small-food-production artisans, red Chimayó Chile powder won the 2010 Taste Test Award in the Artisanal Category. They describe it as, "An unbelievably complex mix of smoky, sweet and earthy flavors with modest heat . . ."
Marie Pilar Campos, founder and chief executive officer of the Native Hispanic Institute (NHI) explains, "There's not so much heat that it overwhelms the flavor and upsets your stomach."
The Chimayó Chile Project
Unfortunately, in the sixties and seventies the hard work of farming gave way to modern times. Like many do, the young people left to find jobs in the city, left for college or to join the military service, and many fields in the formerly green valley of Chimayó stood fallow. Martinez says with a laugh, "I have two sons. They don't do the farming, but they still come home for the chile."
In 2002, Campos discovered that Chimayó Chile was on the verge of becoming extinct. "Only about five farmers were still growing it," she says. She founded NHI and sought financial support at the legislature for her Chimayó Chile Project.
The goal was to revive the Chimayó Chile industry. Victoria and Jose Martinez of Chimayó donated some of their heirloom seeds; volunteers planted three quarters of an acre and grew enough chile to supply five farmers with seeds the following year.
Then NHI sought to reclaim the traditional name, "Chimayó Chile" from companies that had no historic connection with the native community. In 2006, the Institute provided the village farmers with legal and technical assistance so they could incorporate. The United States Patent and Trademark Office registered their trademark in 2009.
Since the inception of the Chile Project, over sixty farmers from the Chimayó Valley area, have formally participated with NHI in growing Chimayó Chile and preserving the old traditions. Faced with the recent drought, Martinez remains optimistic. "Even in a bad year, the land can yield up to 300 bushels of chile per acre."
The Heritage of Native Chile
Today a new threat looms over Chimayó Chile. This year during the New Mexico legislature, House Joint Memorial 26 requested the board of regents of New Mexico State University (NMSU) to "assist farmers with the development of disease-resistant strains of chile using any promising technology and methods."
The reasoning behind the memorial is that chile production in New Mexico has declined by two-thirds since 1992. New Mexico chile farmers "have been devastated by chile plant diseases…" and either "reduced or stopped farming chile because of the economic risk resulting from the threat of plant disease," the memorial states.
During the legislature this past February, Campos delivered a statement that said, "This joint memorial is asking the New Mexico State Legislature to allow genetically modified companies to use our state as a testing ground for their experimental products. Endorsing such a measure places traditional chile strains at risk of contamination and possible extinction due to the aggressive nature of these experimental products."
The memorial passed to endorse research in genetically modified chile at New Mexico State University. Researchers at NMSU say they are interested in developing herbicide-resistant strains that will not have to be hoed and weeded.
Campos worries that the cultural heritage and genetics of native chile could simply disappear. Many chile farmers in both the northern and southern part of the state share her concerns.
Chimayó Chile is Hot, Hot, Hot!
In spite of the controversy and recent drought, Martinez is hopeful about the future of agriculture in Chimayó. "It has been great working with Marie Campos and the Native Hispanic Institute," he says. "Now we have young people interested in farming. I don't think Chimayó Chile will go extinct."
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