Christmas in Santa Fe

By Eric Lindberg

The tourists are mostly gone now. Crisp winds whistle down the arroyos and carry the sweet incense of piñon smoke and roasting chilies through town. Pine wreaths hang from the wooden doors of adobe homes. To the east, early snow powders the high peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Range.

It's Christmas time in Santa Fe.

The town is legendary for its nonconformist ways, and the celebration of Christmas here is no exception. Borrowing from local Hispanic and Native American cultures, the city blends religion, tradition and a surprising twist.

Darrell Dawson is warm, funny and full of life—not someone you might think of as a devil in disguise. But every year in mid-December, his alter ego comes knocking, and he suits up head-to-toe in a body-hugging crimson costume, complete with horns, tail and a blood-curdling makeup job.

For one night, to the delight of hundreds of people, Darrell Dawson becomes the Devil. Satan. Old Scratch.

As a vital part of the annual Las Posadas (The Inns) celebration the week before Christmas, Darrell has been playing the part of Lucifer in Santa Fe for close to 30 years. With that much practice, he's become frighteningly adept at the role.

During the afternoon prior to the performance, friends gather at his home for fresh tamales, posole stew and pumpkin bread, and to watch his transformation into El Diablo.

"People don't expect the Devil at Christmas," he chuckles as a makeup artist turns his face into a ghoulish grimace. "It's far enough outside the usual holiday celebration to cause a little excitement."

Adjusting his horns, he falls into role, cackling fiendishly and striking devilish poses in his garden. "I like the element of surprise in playing the Devil for Las Posadas," he says, swinging his pitchfork. "Compared to this, playing Santa Claus would be pretty boring!"

Two hours later, dusk settles over the downtown plaza and people spill in from the side streets, bundled against the chilly night ahead. White bulbs strung in the bare branches of the plaza trees flicker on, turning the twilit square dreamlike.

A commotion on the roof of the Palace of the Governors catches the crowd's attention, and the Devil appears at the edge, pacing and hurling insults at those gathered below. Good-natured catcalls and boos are tossed back, causing him to glare and skulk away, only to pop up further down the parapet wall and unleash a new round of verbal abuse.

Sweet singing voices drift across the plaza, and a procession appears at the north corner. Mary and Joseph, dressed in long robes and cloaks, stroll slowly along the square, followed by a man playing a large tremolo harmonica, and several guitar-strumming troubadours. Trailing behind are dozens of people holding lit candles and softly singing Christmas songs.

The plaza hushes and all eyes turn to the procession. As Mary and Joseph pass, others fall in behind. Soon the street surrounding the square fills as hundreds join, singing and moving in a solemn yet joyful stream of celebrants.

At each side of the plaza Mary and Joseph halt before a building, and the crowd sings traditional songs in Spanish, asking for lodging for the night. The Devil appears, wailing back in Spanish to ask who is bothering him on this cold and windy night. He demands they go away and stop pestering him.

The pantomime is repeated at each side of the square, as two new devils shower the pair with taunts and rejections. Finally the couple arrives at the Palace of the Governors, where they are welcomed. The crowd cheers, doors are flung open, and everyone enters the courtyard for hot cider, cookies and Christmas carols.

This is Las Posadas, a poignant evening of religious folk theater reenacting Mary and Joseph's journey through Bethlehem seeking shelter on the eve of Jesus' birth. Although the event has been held in Santa Fe for decades, its origins date back to 16th century Mexico, where Spanish Roman Catholic missionaries created Las Posadas to teach the Christmas story.

Local historian Ray Herrera was born in Santa Fe, and he recalls a somewhat different Christmas as a child in the 1950s. "The town was much smaller then, and I don't remember seeing tourists at the holidays. On Christmas we would go around the neighborhood asking "Mis Christmas?" (My Christmas?). The neighbors would give us cookies, fruit, nuts and goodies."

"Christmas was a simple celebration. People lit farolitos (candles in paper bags) around their homes, more for spiritual reasons than for decoration. They burned luminaries (stacks of wood) for nine evenings before Christmas to represent the nine months of Mary's pregnancy. The feeling of community was strong."

Community is still strong here, in ways that invite everyone to participate. Two days before Las Posadas, the Palace of the Governors opens its doors to the city for an evening of "Christmas at the Palace." Jemez Pueblo resident Lawrence Toya sets the mood by welcoming guests at the door with drumming.

Inside the galleries, poets, a cappella singers, violinists, a choir and a Christmas Angel make merry. Outside, mariachi music spills across the courtyard. Stacks of piñon luminaries light the paths, spicing the chill night with fragrance and warmth.

A long line of children moves toward the canopy where Santa and Mrs. Claus wait with a host of green-clad elves to hear Christmas wishes. The younger ones grow wide-eyed and edgy as they near the big bearded man in red, and a few opt out at the last minute.

Mornings at the Plaza Bakery are usually busy, and this week before Christmas is no exception. As owner of this Santa Fe institution for the last 26 years, Fred Libby has produced holiday goodies for hundreds of parties, celebrations and sweet-tooth cravings. Perhaps the most well-known Christmas goodie is the biscochito.

First introduced to Mexico by Spanish explorers in the 16th century, these little cookies were originally made with lard. The ingredients have improved over the centuries, and biscochitos are now the state cookie of New Mexico.

Standing behind a glass case holding trays of the little delicacies, Fred offers a warm one fresh from the oven. "Some people still make them the old way with lard. We use butter and I think it tastes better." The secret to their addicting flavor? "Cinnamon, sugar and a little anise."

Across the square from the bakery at the Palace portal, the Native American arts market is in full swing under an electric blue sky. Lenore Denetchee, a silversmith, lives in Santa Clara Pueblo.

"At Christmas we get into the spirit by driving around Santa Fe to see the lights. We watch Christmas movies at home, and make hot chocolate with marshmallows." Nine days before Christmas they start burning luminaries. "Food is a big part of the season. We bake pumpkin pie and pumpkin bread, doughnuts and cookies. We make stews, posole, beef and garbanzo, lots of feast foods like turkey and ham. There's oven bread, orange and pistachio jello, and bread pudding."

"My pueblo has traditional dances around Christmas, and we do a lot of visiting and eating." She pauses. "But the important theme in my family is not to give gifts but to be close to family. This is the tradition I hope to pass on to my children."

As with any place in America, Christmas time in Santa Fe is a time of faith and family. But the blending of foreign and familiar, of luminaries and pueblo dances, of folk theater and biscochitos, is a celebration unlike any other. And for visitors, it can mean a devilishly good time.

Eric Lindberg is a Lakewood-based writer and photographer.