Ancestral Puebloans (Cliff Dwellers)

High up in the side of a great big canyon, my stone walls soak up the warm sun. Inside, my rooms stay cool and shady, offering a safe place to rest. From my open windows, you can see for miles across the green and orange land. I am not a house on the ground, but a village tucked into the rock, like a giant bird's nest. I am the cliff dwellings of Mesa Verde, a special home built long ago by the Ancestral Pueblo people.

My clever builders, the Ancestral Pueblo people, began creating me around the year 1190. They were so smart. They used blocks of sandstone that they cut from the canyon walls and stuck them together with mud, like building with natural bricks and glue. They built room after room, stacking them on top of each other until I looked like a little town inside the cliff. They even built special round rooms that went down into the earth. These were called kivas, and they were very important places for ceremonies and community meetings. Everyone worked together, hand by hand, to make me a strong and safe place to live, protected from the wind and rain.

For about 100 years, I was filled with happy sounds. I watched children laugh and play games on my open plazas, their voices echoing off my stone walls. In the evenings, families would gather together to cook their meals and tell stories under the starry sky. The people who lived here were wonderful farmers. They grew corn, beans, and squash on the flat land above me, called the mesa top. To get to their homes, they climbed up long wooden ladders, which they could pull up if they needed to feel extra safe. I loved my families. I kept them warm during the cold winter snows and cool during the hot summer sun. I was a buzzing, happy home.

But one day, things began to change. The rain stopped coming for a very, very long time. This is called a drought. By the year 1300, it was too hard to grow food, and my families had to make a sad choice. They packed their things and moved away to find new homes near rivers with more water. I became very quiet. For hundreds of years, I slept, holding all their memories in my silent, empty rooms. Then, in the late 1800s, cowboys riding through the canyons looked up and saw me. They were amazed to find a secret city hidden in the cliffs. I was so happy to be found again.

After I was rediscovered, people knew I was a very special place that needed to be protected. On June 29th, 1906, a law was made to make me part of Mesa Verde National Park. Now, I am safe forever. Today, visitors from all over the world come to see me. They walk carefully through my rooms and look out my windows, just like the Ancestral Pueblo people did. I love sharing my story. I show everyone how clever and hardworking people were long ago. I am a reminder that their stories are important and can teach us how to build strong communities and take care of the beautiful world around us.