Thursday, August 31, 2017

Those Kids Who Wander Around...

Sometime ago there was boy who used to ride is old bike all over the place and I used to see him every once in a while, it was the places that I saw him that surprised me.....we would go to Farmington to the movie and he would be there on his bike, and he would go to Shiprock and he would be at the store there...he would ride that bike through the rain, wind and go for miles just to go somewhere.
I used to talk to him and he was bright, a smart kid and he was never with anyone. I asked him how he got to town and he would just shake his head and shrug his shoulders never answering.
After a while I would see his mother and asked her if he could stay with us since they lived way out in the sticks and she said no. She is a distant relation who I never saw with her son, he just kind of wandered around on his own staying with his grandfather who was an old man. I saw his mother again and told her that her son was a pretty smart kid and sometimes he stays over to our place, it seemed like a lot of times.
He was an easy going kid with a nice smile and each time I tried to take him and rasie him, his mother resisted. After a while I let it go...I ran into him the other day and we talked for while and he told me when he was small no one wanted him. He is full grown. I told him I wanted him to be my son but his mother said no. He told me you should have tried harder.
We sat for a long while and he grew up alone making IT to Portland and ended up on the streets there and had a hard time. He told me his mother did not want him but wanted his social security and thought that was what we wanted it. I told him that I explained to her that I would raise you as my own with any support from her or any money so I was not interested in any money but I did not know what the situation was.
He told me he had a hard life. He is a truck driver now driving between Arizona and North Dakota and has three kids. I said I know you are doing well now and are a good father. There are some things I regret and one of them is not being able to raise him as my own son. He looked at me and said, I thought no one wanted me. I said that is not true. You will always have a place here I told him. He was needing to talk to someone and we talked for some time and then he left. I can still see him riding that bike on them reservation roads as a kid, he rode a long ways to make a life for himself.
Later on in the day my grandson asked me to pick him at school and so I did and he had a girl with him, I didn't know her but he told me her name was Joe. I said that is a crazy name for girl, he didn't say much after that.
When i got home that night I thought about this girl and just before bed i asked him about her. He said to me in passing...she is my sister. That took me by surprise when he said that, he said his father has other children and she is one of them. I know his father by name but have nothing to do with him as he has never been around and never provided anything for my grandson, he is a stranger to me. I
learned that my cousin had a daughter and she had a child for this guy and Joe is her daughter so she is related to us distantly and yet I didn't know her and that is why I wrote that I am think I know everything and sometimes find out something I should have known a long time ago Anyway my grandson told me Joe has lived in seven foster homes as she has grown up and he said she needs a place to stay. Well we talked about last night and it looks like we have a new member of our family joining us...I will not make the same mistake I made a long time ago and let a child go on their own again...so that is what is on my mind today...

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Hashtlish-Mud…

Hashtlish-Mud…

Haschtlish is a Navajo word, which means mud…it is also one of the groups of the original Navajo people we call clans who settled Dinetah-Navajoland, it tells us who are our relations Navajo groups through kinship that are related by birth through the eons of time as our people disbursed and settled over a large area in the Southwest. This clan relationship ties Navajos together so they know their relatives and distant relations, as we are all connected. We use to describe where we come from by birth, our origin as it were and identifies us as a people from a certain place and time.
We tell our children this so they will know their relationships to other of our people when they first meet, it is a form of introduction and so they know instantly distant relatives at their first meeting.

Now days when people talk of the Mud people it is seen as derogatory, a name for people with a shade of brown in their skin coloring, and yet for Navajos it is a part of us, as we use the names of striped rocks, colors and colorings of animals to describe where we come from in ancient times, so it is not a bad thing at all.

My grand daughter goes to school in a predominantly non indian community which is a mixture of checkerboard lands, indian and non indian scattered in 40 acre parcels across the Uintah and Ouray Reservation in northeastern Utah. She attends a school within the boundaries of the reservation which is adjacent to the reservation headquarters, actually a stone throw away from the tribal offices there. The Utes are a minority in Utah with just 5000 souls if you count every single one of them and the rest of the area is predominantly non Indian in nature…in Navajo we refer to them as Beligaanas, in Ute they call them Americuchu and there are 40,000 of them there so they outnumber the natives by quite a bit.

By chance or by design take your pick, the native kids attend one school in the area that sits on the hill above the reservation community, so at this school the native kids outnumber the non indian kids by quite a bit. All the kids get along pretty good, but with this last election, Trump carried Utah by a wide margin, the natives for the most part did not vote for Trump so when he won it sent a shock wave through both communities and this was felt by everyone even the kids that go to school there.

My grand daughter got to school early to get breakfast as most kids eat before classes start, so when you come in the building you pass by the principals office and go onto the lunch room, this one morning there was a chair sitting out by the school office door and on it sat a red baseball hat…a Trump hat with the slogan Make America Great Again, no one was sitting around it or by it..it was in plain sight and everyone gave it a wide berth as they passed it to go eat. As the school day started the hat stayed where it was and no one removed it…some kids talked about throwing it in the trash but others primarily the non indian kids said it is hat of the newly elected president so it should stay where it was…in any case no one, no adult, no teacher, no school official or the principal removed the hat. The school staff is primarily non Indian and since no one removed the hat some kids thought maybe it was because the school staff had voted for Trump.

As the school day started it was as if something had come over the school and kids in each classroom it seems had to choose a side, those that were for removing the hat and those that wanted it to stay, this division was evident as it was along racial lines. Indian sided with Indians and White kids with White kids, and the seating in each class ended up with Indian kids sitting with Indian students and White kids with or by other White kids, a division occurred and it stayed this way all day as the Trump hat sat on the chair all day.

When lunch came the kids went to eat in the cafeteria and again Indian kids chose to sit with Indian kids and White kids with their own kind, since the native kids outnumbered the non Indian kids, the non natives sat around two tables and they ate that way with each group watching eat other. Normally the kids sit anywhere they want to but on this day they sat divided. When it came time to go to recess for lunch they went out side to the playing fields and again the groups were divided by race, with each group looking at each other murmuring.

One side of the other got to talking and they said things to each other like we should stick with our own kind, and that one side was better than the other, some of the people in each group were saying things like only Indians can come over here, and the other side said only Cowboys can play on this side. That is how it was when it started to rain, a slow drizzle and the kids sat in the rain and watched each other and pools of water formed and it got muddy. The white kids stood by the slide out of the mud and native kids were in it, someone called the natives mud people, and some kids said we are mud people because we are close to the land it is our land t and so it went some harsh words were exchanged and each side had its own area.

Some of the older kids could see what was happening and went to the teachers and some of the teachers said there was no problem and so some kids with cell phones called home and told their parents there was going to be trouble with the school because of the Trump hat. Some parents of the native kids decided to come to the school to see what was going on and left for the school. As this was going on, there was this one kid by the name of Homer.

Homer came in late, he came to school after lunch while everyone was at recess and he went to the playing field to go play; by chance Homer is not a native but a kid with reddish blonde hair whose parents work at the local gas station part time and they lived in a little trailer house surrounded by the indian community, so Homer had been raised there with the native kids. He grew up with them and was poor like them. When he got to the field the kids were divided, the non Indian kids were by the playground equipment and the native kids were playing on the open field near the mud.

Homer stood there and was wondering where he should go and one older native girl who knew Homer well since she had been invited to his birthday party not so long before all this happened called him over to the native kids and so he looked at both groups and went over to the native kids who were standing there and they said to him Homer you are now a member of the tribe.

Among those kids were actually several tribal groups, some Ute, some Navajo, some Pueblo, some Shoshone, some Arapaho and some Paiute, actually all kinds of Indians or parts of different native peoples. The girl who called him over was part Navajo and Ute and she said we have to adopt this child as a member of our tribe.

A tribe the kids formed among themselves on that playground in the rain, and so the native kids gathered around and said yes we have to make him an official part of us, and so they went to a mud puddle nearby and the girl reached down and took a handful of mud and told Homer to kneel down, he looked at the kids around him and knelt down, when he did that the girl raised her hand to the sky and said we who have made our own tribe of Indians here on this field do hereby adopt and name Homer a member of our tribe and so they rubbed mud on his forehead, and each native kid did the same and then they said we have to name him an Indian name so that he is known by that name from here on out.

One kid called out, let us name him White Belly and the kids laughed and said no that is not a good name and so someone else said let us call him Little Corn and the group said yes that is a good name for him and so they told him you are now known as Little Corn and he was named. Just then the school bell rang and recess was over and the kids ran inside to class.

That is how Homer became Little Corn on that playing field on checkerboard Indian lands by a group of native students.

There is a little more to the story as some parents showed up at the school some for Trump and some against and when school let out the kids went out to the parking lot where they were met by BIA police officers who were there just in case there was trouble by some of the parents but there was none, the hat was gone by then…it had disappeared….so it happened it happened that way when a red had appeared on school grounds that said Make America Great Again….this is the way it happened in so many words on day when a new tribe was formed to adopt an outsider into the indian community but in reality he had grown up with these kids and knew all of the from the first day of head start years ago…rustywire
I can hear the music now,

The strings of a violin start slowly.
I hear the words...
"Guys come to you
with lines that aren't true
and you pass them by..."

I am standing in our old wooden house
I have just finished washing my face and hands from the wash basin.
My hair is combed.

I wear a simple shirt and clean blue levis.
A mirror hangs on the wall above the wash basin.
I think I look pretty good for a rez boy from this out of the way place.
KWYK radio out of Farmington is playing on the transistor radio...
"I don't wear a diamond ring...

I don't even know a song to sing...."
I am in our old house.
I close my eyes
and dance slowly around the wooden floor
and out past the screen door.

The old sheep dog laying by the door
watches me coolly
as I dance across the yard,
jump the fence,
and head through the juniper trees.

"Let me try,
I don't even wear a diamond ring...
la,la, la, loving you...."

She is back from the Mormon placement program,
a black long haired beauty
getting off the bus from Brigham City.
She lives down the road.

She is fair,
and I know she is from around here.
Mmmm, time to get to know this one
What is her name?

"Listen to me....
la la la la loving you....
come on and take my hand...."

We get to know each other from checking the mail.
She walks up to the trading post for her parents
and I just happen to be standing there each time she comes up.

We start to talk.
She is here just for the summer.
I am a plain rez boy,
I help her family with hauling hay and water.
Her mother invites me to eat with them.

"You will see the things I said are true....
the way I am saying them to you...
listen to me...
la..la..la..la..la..loving you."

Their place is simple.
They have no electricity or running water.
Some would call them poor,
but we are all that way.
I have nothing to offer but myself.
I know where she comes from.

I know I am not like the white boys she knows from Utah.
She is a Navajo Girl.
She gives me life
and brings some things I had never known
to this out of the way place.
Her roots are in this land,
Her home is a hogan and sagebrush,
and though she tries to forget it,
in time these things always return,
and she is mine...

"All I know these things are true....
I love you...
I never saw a girl I needed in this world...
you are the one for me,
let me hold you in my arms..."

We stand next to each other,
and with a knowing look, she comes close to me.
There is an aura about her,
and I am a part of it.

We stand there on a dusty plain,
in sand,
sagebrush moving softly in the breeze,
and dance to this song:

"la..la..la..la..la..loving you"
There is nothing like it.
She is my everything,
taking my breath and life and my heart forever.
The song ends.

I am driving down the highway.
My mirror shows my face a little older.
I go on down the road,
wishing her well where ever she may be.
rustywire

Navajo Wedding Basket

My granddaughter asked me about what is going on with the things that are going on in the world today...there is talk about racism, war and hatred and she asked what about us, where do we fit in all this?

I thought about her question and saw the Navajo Wedding Basket on the wall and went over and took it down. I then sat on the floor and held the basket.and told her when this basket was made some women went out toward Blue Mountain...not too far from Shush Bi Jah....Bears Ears and went up into the high country looking for a certain kind of plant. The kind they use to make this basket. 

They had to pick it by hand, looking for each plant, walking a long long ways. The woman who made this her name was NakaiDineh. She told me that these kind of plants are harder to find now days so they have to go a long ways. They walked and walked taking some water and slowly one by one they gathered the plants they needed.

When you go to these high places you get tired and get a chance to rest and you get to see how large are country is, Dinetah, the place where we live. In this place they were looking at from horizon to horizon sits our home, you were there somewhere in it but you didn't know it. Their hard work was a blessing to you, because they were going to make this basket, strand by strand, starting from the center.  Here is the center of the basket, the beginning of life, just like how you started out, Can you feel the center? That is your beginning

It is like life. We all start from someplace and grow and all those around you want the best for you, your family, your mother, your father, your cousins and all your relations. We are all like that, we want the best for our children. They want you to have a good and happy life. So as they wove this basket strand by strand they looked for the strong plants, the tough ones and they are like people who are strong and tough who want good things for you. 

These people come and go and you want to be around those kind When you are small that is what we want for you to have, to know good people and these relations, friends and people in the community are the best people we know of, they are all around us...and so your life is woven into their life day by day, hour by hour and in this way as you keep that circle tight you get the best of life, of good thoughts...Hozhoji the Beautyway it is all around us.

There are times when things get dark and difficult...just like when the night is so thick you can not see anything but you know that daylight is coming. The dawn will find you so as you grew up all the people that matter to you are close to you. You know them by name You can trace their life here in this basket.

This basket is so well made it will hold water what we need for life.  So those things that matter to you are close. Many things will come to you that are not good. You have to avoid them. You have to step carefully where you go and sometimes it seems that all is lost but if you stick to what you have learne seeking goodness and light you will find your way.  In this way you have to be strong that is why Indian people have strong names in the native way….you a strong Navajo name. It is because you are part warrior girl. Your father is not around, where he is i don't know and sometimes this gets you down but the rest of us are around you and we have woven ourselves into your life just like this basket. 

You have been given a certain gift as a young Navajo girl and someday you will have children and you will want them to have the best in life so you will have to continue on and make it so.. This basket celebrates life it also represents your woman hood.

The red is for woman because they will endure hardship from child birth and some difficult times. It is a part of life..This is one of those times. What happens out there in the world is not always easy to understand but what you know is that we have to be kind to one another, to love and support each other, to go on together. Our people have endured much, suffered much and we will go on and you will too.

Don't let what happens affect you. Listen to what is in your heart, your soul and in your blood because we have survived. We go one through you. So remember you come from a strong people. When we put the basket on the shelf it is to help us remember these things. That is why good people you meet and get to know will weave themselves into your life time and time again. You want those kind of people around you, avoid the other kind. They represent strife and hardship. Look for the best and go for it. Make it a part of your life. Rustywire
Out On Navajo Mountain

Old Man Bedonie from Navajo Mountain stood there. He was an older man with a square chin and a speckled gray beard. His hair was still as black as coal and he looked North toward Utah and thought of his grandchildren.

His son had married one of those Beligana girls from Salt Lake and his son had said they were going to be married forever. They had five kids and of all his children he never had to worry about him. they always seemed be doing well. The kids came to spend time on Navajo Mountain with them when they were small, running around the place, chasing after the sheep finding out what a summer sing was and having to have to cut and haul wood. They learned to grow corn through dry farming and then one day his son called.

He told his father that his wife had run away with his best friend; after a little while more he called and said she took the kids and house too so he was all alone now. That was years ago. Those kids never came back after that.

Old Man Bedonie looked at the screen door and it was silent now. It used to bang open and shut as those kids ran in and out and now those little ones were lost to them. They were being raised as Beliganas (White People). He sat down and thought of all their names and remembered the names given them each one named after a sheep. He thought about how they used to run and play. He held each one when they were small and he thought will they remember this old beat up place or try to forget they ever came here.

He sometimes thought of them from time to time. They liked to ride the horses and he had to hide the bridles and halters to keep them off the horses sometimes riding but barely hanging on by the tail. The black and the painted one;.one slow horse and the other fast. They used to like to ride them all the time.

Now the horses were old and had not been ridden in a long time. They just kind of stood around now and slept and ate moving slowly. Ii guess just kind of like him. That was maybe ten or twelve years ago since those kids had been around the place.

Bedonie went about his work around the house looking north every once in a while as if he could see them way up there but they were not there.

His son from Teec Nos Pos (Place with a Circle of Trees) came with his children and they stayed a few days and brought life back to the place; fixing up the corral and hauling hay from Cortez.
It was getting on toward evening and as he was sitting at the table having a cup of Navajo Tea and then he heard the screen door open and then it closed slowly. He turned around and saw a young woman maybe 20 years old dahtsi (maybe) and she said, Hi Grandpa

Before he could say anything else the other children had heard her voice, her long lost cousins came in and saw her from the other room and grabbed her and took her in there. He didn't get a chance to talk to her. Her cousins, her brothers and sisters in the Navajo Way of speaking took her in as if she had just gone since yesterday and he could hear the talk and the laughter as they sat and spent time with each her.

The old man just sat down and remembered a little girl with light brown hair. He remembered she wrestled a goat to the ground long ago.trying to ride him and he kept throwing her down and now after all these years she had made her way back here to this place far from anywhere and she was home.

The old man just sat there and laughed and smiled to himself and went to the door and threw out his tea and looked at the stars. Bedonie thought it is good to have my grandchildren home together. They will go on and we will continue on and with that he sat outside and with he could see the corral that even the old horses had a lively step to their gait and he thought I guess I am not the only who missed her.....rustywire

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Across the Rez Line

Across the rez line…

I was just a rez joe…just to live my life on my own land..
But wanting that life the sits just right there
Across the rez line…

The wind is blowing..it always blows out here
I was the first born the son of my father
From that place just over there…a place with no name
I wanted to cross that line and go over there

But wondering how it will be for me…can I find what I am looking for there…
I can hear the howl of the wind…somehow the look of it is just plain
But I can’t get there from here…they don’t like me there and I have done nothing to them
I have done nothing to them and they look at me like I don’t belong…

What they have is not mine….you can’t have what we have…
You need credit…money and…you have to fit in and you my friend…just don’t
All I want is a taste of the life…here on the rez…to have it at home…

There is a wall there…you can’t see it…but it is there…no bricks…no fences…
It has always been there and you can walk through it but to stay out there you have to leave
All you know and love behind….your home is no longer your own…you have to leave it…
I just want to look around but they don’t want me there…they don’t have to say it…

They way they look says it all…I am wondering why in all these years are there none o f those
Who look like me living there…running a place…have a small business…enjoying life there…

You can come here but you can’t have what we have…their voices say…stay across that line…
Stay on the rez…you are fine over there…we can come and look at you…and I can see that wall
Across that rez line….just another rez skin looking for a better life..having to choose where to live…
And now I am an old man and still I can see that life across the line…does not include my or my own
They say it is here if you will leave that place behind…that place with no name…across the rez line…rustywire

Bus Stop

Bus Stop

He sat at the bus stop on the main drag; central and smiled at me as I stepped up to wait for city bus. He was quiet at first but looked unafraid to look people in the eye way out here in the big city. downtown Phoenix Arizona is pretty rough toward evening a lot of strange types move around the street, but he sat there. His features where finely chiseled, high cheekbones, narrow eyes that had laugh lines around the edges and his perfect teeth gleamed white in the
evening light.

He said, “Where are you from?”

“Shiprock” I said and he looked at me and smiled real big. “Nataani Nez” (the Navajo way of saying Shiprock) he said and went on, “Me, I come from Tuba City, down by Moenkopi Wash; went to school there in Tuba.”

He talked about the old trading post and dorm there, the way he used to play on the bluffs behind the school up near the water tank. He said somewhere there his initials are covered on there. He originally comes from the Gap, a slice in the red rocks where he spent his youth. born for the edge of the water people he said, his teeth were sure white.

He just sat there and said hey there to everyone who came up and smiled at them; some said hello back others just stared off into space. He talked to no one really. his hair had wisps of gray around his ears and it was kind of shaggy. He finished school back in ‘62 yeh’ daahh, he said and spent his time with the Union Pacific seeing the west from the rails; and saw the west coast hitch hiking from Washington to Mexico.

He was sort of an old guy. He sat there and told me all this and so I missed the bus to listen to
him. He was from around that way, the western side of the Navajo rez cuz when he spoke of snow he said yas like they say it, instead of how the Shiprock Navajos say zas.

A young Navajo girl came up with her book bag and sat down looking tired and worn out. He smiled at her and said, where are you from?

She looked at him and turned away. H just stood there and he said to no in particular, there was a girl one time from Carino Canyon, Salt Clan she was, she could really make me laugh, her hair was long like yours. You look like her he said. Her name was Ella Mae Benally, I left to go Wingate and never saw her no more…don't know what happened to hers.

The girl looked at him and said, Yahtahey, Shi Chei I am from Tohatchi, born for the Salt people. My mother is named Ella Becenti, she used to be Ella Mae Benally she is from Chichiltah by way of Carino Canyon.

He smiled really big and said when you see her tell her you saw Begushee Beye’. The young girl looked at him and he said, she used to call me “Little Cow Eyes” and he laughed remembering a time when he was young and full of life when his spirit ran free and there was gleam in his eyes as told her your mother was a good one. She wanted to be a dental technician and went to California on Relocation, maybe it was Oakland for school, and I think…anyway that is what someone said one time.

The young woman extended her hand and shook his hand. From far across the valleys of the desert they were for a minute standing within the Four Sacred Mountains, taking a break from the city life, hustle and bustle and remembered the smell of sage, and the taste of cool water and slight breeze over sandstone.

For just a little bit they were just three Navajo sharing a little bit of home. She got on her bus and waved at him as she left and then the handicap bus pulled up and they picked him up. He said he going back to his daughters place over in Mesa and that he sometimes took the bus to just sit there at that bus stop and visit with the people who came by and then he was gone.
rustywire

The Spring

The Spring

I stood with my grandson, I am an old man and we came to my spot on
this mountain top. I have been here many times and with me, all those
that have come before have taken a little of their vision and shared
it with me.

I can see far and it is pretty, clear across the valley and all the
places there. My sight is not so good but I know it looks the same, it
is beautiful.

My great grandson has helped me to this spot. I can not remember his
name, but he looks a little like me when I was his age. His body is
young and strong. He helped to stand tall and erect. I told him the
story of his fathers and how we had survived to bring him life. His
eyes are bright, wide and innocent. He listens patiently to the
rambling talk of an old man.

Look over there, that is the place I have spoken about, it is a
spring. There you will find fresh cold water. When you are thirsty you
can take a drink and wash yourself on a hot day. You can lie down next
to it on the grass, soft earth and enjoy the day.

He looked at me and said, I can't see it.

I can not see so clearly, but I know it is there. I tell him how it
sits against the mountain, how the earth is cracked there and a small
stream flows into a pool, somehow made through time. My vision is not
that good. I tell him how it has always looked.

There is nothing there, Shi Che' (honored grandfather) There is only a
road and an oil well.

Oh, yes, I remember. The tribe was having a hard time and so the need
for money was great, those were tough times.

Someone needed the water to put back into the earth to bring up oil
way down there, below. My spring is no more.

Where have we gone with these things my grandson, I am sorry it is not
here for you.

I didn't take care of it like I should have and now it is gone. I
can't remember all that was here, but yet some of these things are
gone.

Remember there was a time when it was there and that it refreshed us
so. I wish I could give you a drink.

How is it so that this water is gone forever. Who can take away water,
but yet it is so. The grass is gone and so is the quiet spot. I stand
here, and those behind me in the shadows, my fathers weep and so I
find myself standing with tears streaming down my cheeks. I feel old
and tired and my soul hungers for what was once ours. My heart cries
our a mourning song for the morning dove, the plants, the mountain
tobacco and the quiet times that are no more.
rustywire

Up on Red Lake Road

It was winter time and the rez roads were pretty wet
Muddy and slippery, one of them was Red Lake Road
Two Navajo cops were working swing shift
They worked the area around Fort Defiance
It was snowing, cold and wet, and they wore
Heavy coats the large green filled down type

A little girl called from the store and told the dispatcher
There is a friend of mine I am worried about
He hasn't been to school for a few days
His parents drink, and he lives up Red Lake Road
Can someone go up there and check on him
His name is Engelbert, he's about 8

The call was logged in and the dispatcher said
If someone gets a chance, go up there and take a look
The radio crackled, "If you want to get stuck, go on up there"
One of the officers said the road was too bad, too muddy
The kind if you go in you will have to work out
What is the call about?

A Welfare check, a friend of hers from school
Didn't come for a couple of days, the parents
She said they like to drink, but nothing else

Is he hurt?
No.
Well if she calls back ask her for a little more than that
The shift went on and cold snow fell
The lumbering white police panels moved around slow
The day was done and they went home.

Swing shift starts at 3 in the afternoon
It was about 6 when she called again,
Can someone go up and check on my friend
He lives on Red Lake Road,
He didn't come to school.

How old are you little girl?
About 9
Is something wrong with him?
No, he just hasn't been to school, he likes school lunch
They have nothing to eat at home, so he is always there

Can someone go and check on him, his name is Engelbert.
The dispatcher told her she would have one of the officers
If they had a chance go on up there.
She put it out to the three officers on duty
If you get a chance one of guys check on him, Ok?

The night wore on it was cold and wet, December it was
The pinons were heavy with snow and the wind was blowing
The red clay of Red Lake was slippery stuff
It was sticky and the road when it got wet became mud
Rutted and broken up, it was a rough ride even when dry
No one liked to go up there, only a few people stayed there
Way up North, more toward Navajo than Fort

At 9 o'clock there was a stiff breeze the wind picked up
Eugene Atcitty was working when the phone call came in
It was the little girl, Has anyone gone to Red Lake Road
Where are you calling from?
From the Seven to Eleven store in Fort.
Where do you live?
Blue Canyon, up Blue Canyon
The dispatcher calculated the distance.
You walked two miles to make this call through the snow?
Yes, I want someone to check on my friend, Engelbert.

The radio crackled and it was the dispatcher
The little girl called again about the boy on Red Lake Road
She told me she walked 2 miles to make the call
Where is she now?
At the Seven to Eleven Store.
I am headed that way.

Two units pulled in and the girl was wet and cold
She said, let' s go up there right now to Engelbert's.
What about you, where to you live?
On the way to there, but I have to show you where he lives
And so the two four-wheel drive units headed out
There lights lit up the falling snow.

Officer Atcitty was a Vietnam Vet and knew the area
He was from Fort Defiance, the other one was from
Navajo, he was Frank Henry a big boned tall guy.
He followed because he know one of them would get stuck
The headed out those three to where the pavement ended
Red Lake Road disappeared into the snow field
The went off road and started to slide, going off road
Taking the hillside through the pinons going North

The little girl said Engelbert was her friend
She looked out for him cuz he was small when he got on the bus
He was just a little rez kid who lived in a hogan
They went on and she said it is there, the place was dark
The pulled up to a pair of hogans and no one was home
Officer Henry got out and went to the door and it was padlocked
He could see the other one was slightly ajar and went over there
Atcitty was right behind him, there were no tracks in the snow
It was a wasted trip, Engelbert was not there, no one was

They knocked and no one answered they pushed open the door
And there they saw him, tied up and wearing only his shorts
No fire in the wood stove, it was cold and dark in there
They went to him, and felt him and he was cold but alive
He was tied up he said so he wouldn't run away
The flashlights cast a bright light on him and this what they saw

He was little boy lying on a cot tied by a rope to a post
His hands were bound and he was nearly naked
The room was cold enough they could see their breaths like clouds
He had burns on his arms and legs, from cigarettes
His arm was broken and he was near dead, pale and ashen
The cradled him in their arms and took him to the unit

They left one unit behind and headed out
EMTs met them on the way and away they went
Fort Defiance Indian Hospital, way past midnight
They all waited to see how he would be and he just layed there
If she had not called and had not kept bothering them he would be gone
But she wouldn't give up on her friend Engelbert

Those two big men went for smoke standing outside
If you looked closely you could see the tears in their eyes
Engelbert came around and this is what he said

I tried to be a good boy, my uncle didn't want me
I tried to eat what they gave me but it was old and cold
I got sick and they wanted to go to town.
The went for the wine, the night lights
My mother and her boyfriend they left me

My uncle tied me up so I wouldn't run away
He said he would be back and he went away
That was two days ago.
I want my Mom.
I want my Mom
That was all he said

That is the way it happened
I was there that night
And when Christmas comes
His face haunts me still

No matter what some people do to their kids
Even in the worst way
the children
they say
I want my Mom
I want my Mom

rustywire

Gathering by the Rio Grande

Sitting watching Sam. He is making a new set of
bussels to dance with. His hair is long, tied in
the back and is going nearly all gray. His craggy
face has laughing lines that melt the years away.
He is patiently wrapping the hackles, the tips of
the bussels, small feathers that go on last.
His outfit is near ready, and for him it is the
week before he can take off from work.

His wife, works as an LPN, she dances as well,
she comes from Washington, far from her native
home at Salish Kootenai. Her buckskin is white,
and covered with elk teeth, a prized possession
indeed, so hard to come by.

These two dance traditional, but Sam this year is
dancing fancy, a dance for young men. He has been
seen twisting and turning at strange places like
the parking lot, in the grocery store and at
work, getting the moves just right. It takes
practice to get them so that when you are fully
dressed you move like a bird in the wind,
floating and dropping and turning to dance in the
sky, hanging aloft. How elegant they look.

Sam is taking his grandchildren with them, they
are headed South, going to Albuquerque. They
seatsh waiting for them in the arena, there at
the Gathering of Nations.

Sometimes when he talks he talks about his life
at home near Carson City, where he comes from and
that many of the people he knew are gone from
there now. When he goes home is a stranger and in
some ways it is not home anymore. He has worked
and travelled many places and he calls Utah his
home now. He will be kicking back and retiring
next year and told me that he will stay where he
is at, as his children know the place and that is
their home now. Home is where you find it,
sometimes it is with the old ones, sometimes the
rez, and sometimes where your children are.

Sam, how do like going to Albuquerque? He looked
at me and got wistful. His gray eyes lit up and
he said, it makes me feel at home. I get to see
some friends, maybe family, maybe folks from home,
and then those other Indians I have gotten to
know over the years. I like to go and see them.
It is nice to see so many Indians in one place.

Isn't it too crowded. He smiled and said, No, you
just have to get there early, and when you get a
seat, you don't leave it. You bring your cooler,
food and stuff you need for the duration. It is
like camping out. My wife takes extra beads,
needles, scarves and shawls to share with those
that need it. We get to visit and I look forward
to it, so I am ready to go.

Sammaripa, that is his name. He will be there
dancing and his wife in her traditional buckskin.
They are good people and you can see the
excitement in their eyes. I can see Sam slowly
going across the parking lot, twisting and
turning, dipping and moving as if performing a
pantomine, but he is just practicing for those
few days where he will gather by the Rio Grande
with his friends and dance, and visit and feel
renewed again....

rustywire

It was just another enemy way

She stood a ways off, just beyond the firelight. The embers from the
bonfire lit up the sky and made the night gold on this bit of open
space among the sage.She glowed with the color of firelight, reds and gold giving her a
soft flow against the black night.

Summer Sing, the Nightway, where people travel for miles to gather on
a flat stretch of ground, to sing in a circle all night, and then to
dance the night away, to talk and to laugh. That is how it is done,
while a short distance away the healing ceremony goes on.

It was July and the nights were warm and pleasant. Folks gathered by
the firelight and when the songs raised up in the night caused the
ground to swell, the motion of dancers near the cedar fire swayed back
and forth.

Arriving with cousins, three of them; looking for chance to see some
old friends, relations and to hear the goings on around this area
known as Sanostee not too far South of Shiprock. Getting ready
earlier, meant a sweat, a quiet time to reflect and cleanse the mind
and body, to relax and feel the flow of the days' hardships melt away.
This is done alone in a small sweat made for one at the edge of the
forest, it is way of tradition.

Then to dress with clean clothes, a sign of respect to the family
where you will visit and spend the night, a pair of Wrangler Jeans,
some Dan Post boots, and a cotton shirt, western type. The old ones,
you know those clothes that are broken in from wear, the favorite
ones. You can really feel at ease in those clothes, they are soft and
supple. Comfort is the name of the game tonite.

Outside, an old beat up Chevy pulls up, baby blue, the Nez boys rush
in and say, What's the hold up and with a final look around, you take
off and away you go. Talking and laughing.

Eshkee, (Boy) You got cash money to pay for the dances?

Nah, he's got commodity cheese in his bag to cover it. (the Sing is a
woman's choice dance, and when you are asked you have to pay the lady
or else)

Do you think those girls from Bistai' will be there?

They don't have any good ones, that's a bad place. Nothing grows there
except rocks.

Maybe that one girl from there might come.

Oh, you mean the Towering House woman, she comes from Coyote Pass. I
remember her from a rodeo over there, a couple of months ago.

What is she called? I don't know her name.

You mean the one with long hair, down to her waist. Wears white boots.

Yeah, I think she is the one.

You mean that good looking one. She was with this one guy from Carino
Canyon, down by Gallup, big cowboy dude. I think she is still with
him, he had his arm around her.

Maybe, she will be there, think so?

Don't worry about it, she won't look at you.

She could be there you know.

Nay, ain't gonna happen, forget about it, think about the ribs and the
singing.

Baloney here is wanting some mutton ribs, the kind that are hot and
tasty and the grease runs down your arms.

It's Bedonie, not baloney, don't call me that.

That one girl, she was in (Totah-where the rivers meet)Farmington not
too long ago, he thinks to himself, she was at the store there with
her family and when she looked at him there was a certain look in her
eyes, yes I remember the way she looked. Maybe she might be there.

The rode on and took the dirt road cutting through the cedars, a
chizh-a-teen (narrow wood hauling road) the kind you have to know
where you are going to use. It was a bumpy ride and they travelled
through washes and bluffs, going slowly across big rocks and kept on
as the night fell.

In the distance, the flow of three bonfires lit up the sky and as the
drove into the Manygoats place, they could see that there were alot of
people already gathered there, trucks, cars and some wagons were
scattered all through the area. In the middle of it was the cha-oh
(large wooden shade house) where women were cooking and one could find
pop, cooked mutton, frybread, sweets and corn cooked in the ground,
sweet sweet corn. People were standing around their vehicles, and
children ran about playing with one another. On one side was the
ceremonial hogan where a second cha-oh sat for the immediate family
and visitors. It was crowded like how it is when you come out of a
movie house, people walking elbow to elbow. It was hard to see who all
was there, since the night was thick and the light from the bonfires
cast red shadows, a glow that flickered on the faces and bodies as
they walked by.

The four made their way to the food and found a plateful of ribs and
sat down on some rocks and ate. They joked and saw old friends and
family there. Across the way the center was open for a place to dance,
where woman asked the men and they stepped in time with one another.
The women's arm locked around the back of the man she danced with him
and his arm over her shoulder, a blanket or large rug covered them
both as they moved, There were many out there. He sat down and
finished off the ribs and the dogs were waiting for him to finish so
they could have a treat as well.

He stood up and saw his cousins had wandered off. He looked around to
see it he could see them. There she was. She stood a ways off, just
beyond the firelight. The embers from the bonfire lit up the sky and
made the night gold on this bit of open space among the sage.

She wore a white squaw dress, satin which hung down to the ground,
covering her dark brown mocassins fastened with a silver button that
gleamed in the firelight. Around her waist, she wore a large silver
concho belt, an old fashioned one, a family heirloom which covered as
red sash belt, the fringes hung down by her side. Her velvet blouse
was dark blue, shimmering in the light and when she turned she wore
two large turquoise beaded necklaces, with a string of orange coral
hanging down from her neck. Her long black hair was hanging loose and
free down her back and she held a pendelton blanket.


In that instant there was no one else there but just them two. She
moved in slow motion it seemed. She glowed with the color of
firelight, reds and gold giving her a soft flow against the black
night. She had soft eyes and yet her face was strong, as if she knew
this was her time and place. She was delicate, but yet moved with a
glow of Navajo women, who had come down through the centuries,
strength in her bones and yet soft at the same time. Her eyes were
dark and twinkled against the night, she was a sight.

He stepped toward her, and she moved the shawl, flicking him with it's
end. He was her choice to dance, and so they moved to the dirt floor
cut out of the sage. He looked into her eyes and thought, it is good
to be born here among these people, and I can hear that song they are
singing. How does it go. "On horseback I go, across mountains and
canyons I go, she waits for me there, she waits for me there. On
horseback I go, on horseback I go." It was just another Enemy Way Sing
on the Navajo Rez.
rustywire

Pow Wow at Fort Duchesne

The Pow Wow grounds sit off just the highway, the main thoroughfare
connecting Salt Lake City to Steamboat Colorado, it is a two laner, a
narrow road that runs through the rez. It has a large Pow Wow ground,
planted in grass this year and large shade arbor forms a semi-circle
around it with an opening on the east side where the flagpole sits. It
is a level area, and scattered around are campsites, where native
people and some visitors from around the world have come to take in
the Pow Wow this year. Just to the south of the Pow Wow circle are the
stew stands, temporary indian cafes set up to serve hamburgers,
lemonade, indian tacos, coffee and lost of fry bread.

On the North side of the Pow Wow arena there are many small shade
covers set up, where under them people have come to sell jewelry,
bones, hides, t-shirts, sandpaintings, pottery, and trinkets of all
sorts. Some camp next to their site with license plates from Montana,
New Mexico, Wyoming, Washington and Oklahoma. They have all their
goods layed out for anyone to come and see.

A young mother, a Ute woman brings her small child to the shade arbor
surrounding the Pow Wow circle. It is July and she has spent some
hours sewing a dance outfit for him. It is a small one, since he is a
year and half old. She never learned to dance herself, her family
never taught her, but she wants her son to know all about so she is
going to have him grow up in the way of Pow Wow traditions so he can
grow up to be a fancy dancer. She sets up the camping chairs in the
second row, and prepares to stay there all day. It is early afternoon,
the grand entry is at 7 tonight, but there will be intertribal dances,
where everyone who comes can get out there and shake a leg.

A drum group, River Cree from Enoch, Alberta, a small place west of
Edmonton in Canada gets here after driving 21 hours straight. They
find an open spot under the arbor to sing for the next four days.
There is room for fifteen drum groups to sing here. Word has spread
the prize money is going to be as high as $30,000 this year, so the
best dancers in Indian land are on the road to compete and dance. They
have to be here by 7 tonight for Grand Entry. The are coming with
names like Blackbird from Macy, Nebraska; Leaf from Standing Rock,
North Dakota, Denny from Rocky Boy, Montana and Largo from Coyote
Canyon. They will join the Windyboys, Sammaripas, Eaglechiefs,
Cesspooches, Blackhairs, and so many others who have come to dance and
see other wearing their new outfits and beadwork made over the long
winter. The River Cree boys go to the North side of the arbor and find
a good spot, they bring their chairs and set them up then they then go
to find an open stew stand to eat some frybread and a cool drink.

An extended cab Chevy truck with a horse trailer is parked next to a
stew stand on the East side, on the side of his shade covering it says
Silvereagle. A Navajo guy in a baseball cap is stepping out of the
horse trailer carrying flour for fry bread. He has an easy smile, his
name is Clinton Jim. He came with his wife, two sons and daughter and
they are serving frybread, mutton sandwiches, Navajo tacos, Navajo
burgers-a hamburger sitting in a piece of frybread served with green
chili. He comes from Eastern Navajo, a place called Crownpoint. This
is how he makes his living, he is headed to Taos next week, and then
to Dulce at Jicarilla Apache, then to Ohio for the Sac and Fox
celebration in the next month. He looks at you with a smile and asks
how you want your food and they make it fresh for you while you stand
there. There is line at his stand full of brown faces waiting for the
frybread.

Mexican Bob comes up and though he is 62, he hasn't gray hair on his
head and he has been hauling shade and setting up arbors for those
coming to camp. He has lived among the Utes for twenty years or more,
his face is golden brown from working a lifetime as a landscaper in
the local area, everyone knows him. He is thin, agile and moves like
someone half his age. His real name is Pete, he says someone named him
Mexican Bob a long time ago and the name stuck. He was born in Los
Angeles a long time ago, moved with his father to a mining town and
met his wife working as a migrant worker, and he came to this place
and now it is his home. He has son who is six years old that follows
him around closely, he wants to be just like his dad when he grows up
he says.

A young man, a new dancer makes his way around the arbor to families
setting up their chairs, putting in their water coolers and snacks for
the long day ahead. He is from Reno, and is learning to dance, can
someone help with how to tie a roach on, and he doesn't know how it
stays on top of his head so it doesn't fall off when he is going to
dance. A guy from Lapwai steps up and shows him to run his hair
through the top and to braid his hair to make it tight on his head. He
learns from someone who has been dancing a long time. He tells him
when you are ready come back to us and we will make sure everything on
your outfit is fastened on tight. You lose points for losing part of
your stuff when you dance and it is bad luck.

The announcer for the Pow Wow, the MC steps up to the mike and tells
everyone that Grand Entry is at 7, but that drum groups can gather in
fifteen minutes to sing an intertribal song to warm up their voices.
By the way he says, at the last Pow Wow someone lost their husband and
at the end of the Pow Wow no one claimed him. He says he brought him
along just in case his wife is here. Anyone that wants him can claim
him at Lost & Found. He would like someone to take him home, so he
won't have to take him back to Canada with him.


Let's see it's time to find a spot around this place to sit and watch.
Oh, yes, there is a place right behind the young mother. She is
sitting there in the shade, her son dressed to dance; he wears a
silver concho belt. I know it well since I made it for him. The drum
groups bring in their base drums and the sound of beating drums is
heard around the arena.

The MC sends out word and the drums gather in the center of the Pow
Wow arena, there are eight of them from many different places. They
set up their chairs all together. They are going to sing a song all
together, all eight drums. They sit down and in anticipation of what
is to happen the sound of eagle bone whistles resound throughout the
Pow Wow grounds. Dancers and singers run to the arena and a crowd
gathers to see these drums sing altogether. The arena fills with
dancers, young children, older women in traditional buckskins, young
men with large feather bustles making noise as they walk from their
bells ready to dance. Old men with their traditional outfits, grass
dancers and a lot of others who are not dressed who want to step into
the circle to take part in this beginning.

Just then the song starts and a the wail of the singers of all eight
drums sounds out.

WWWWHHHHAAAAAAAAAYZYYYYUHHHHH!

The song beings and the Fourth of July Pow Wow at Fort Duchesne
begins...

rustywire

Ke' the binding tie

"Shaa alchin e"- means all my children.

It is Thanksgiving and for us also a time of birth. It was a night
unlike this one when I sat up after feeling the movement of something
tiny and small moving against the wall of her stomach. She was from
the mountain country, having lived her life on the high plains with
her people. When I met her I liked the way she laughed and she had
long black hair hanging down to her waist and she could run like the
wind. She was now my wife. She didn't know my land or people, her way
of life was one of being raised on deer meat, pow wows and in her
language they call the circle of life-Noohrahvoop.


I can remember it plainly as it were this evening. We were young, and
had no money, just two rez kids starting out in life. We lived in a
small apartment, we were lying in bed when she said she felt something
in her stomach. it was the touch of a fleet soft flicker of life. I
can remember her eyes twinkled at the feel of this child, my child
moved for the first time inside her.

I looked at her, her hair hung loosely covering her breasts and just
parted over her stomach. I will always remember her sitting halfway up
and resting against the headboard just like that. I reached out and
touched her. She is a shy person and felt awkward that I was trying to
feel the movement and we laughed a little at one another. It was a
cold winter night, and we were alone together, no one but us. I had
never been here before, to know that this small tiny person growing
was reaching out and letting us know he was there and making his
presence known. This was not like any other night, this was our life
growing.

What will the future hold? Where will we be years from now? How will
things be as he gets older? How can such a thing be, a miracle, this
young life growing?

We have to find a horse, I said. She looked at me with large brown
eyes and said, Why? She said the flutter was there again. I sat up and
looked at her squarely. She looked curiously at me. I told her. When
it is time for him to be born, we will have to pack you up and take
you to the mountain, to the forest up there. There was a mountain
outside our window. He will need to born in the old way. She looked at
me as if I were nuts. She said, it will be snowing in November when he
is born, and what makes you think it will be a boy. I said, I always
planned to have my first child being a boy. It is the way it was
always supposed to be. She said. I'm sure. I said, don't you hear it?
What, she said. I looked at her and told her it is in the wind, the
mountain tops are calling his name. The rustle of trees know it. She
just looked at me and said, you're crazy.

I find myself this evening remembering what is to wait to hear the
sound of a baby's cry, a small voice sounding out that a new century,
a new life has taken root. My son who was a flicker of life is now
grown. He has just had a new daughter born to him born in the past few
days and my only daughter is just now waiting to hear the sound of her
own child making his way into the world. Where will they go and what
will they be? I am not sure, but looking back I stand with my father,
and his father and his father all the way to the time we began just
like a small voice, a new born held by a woman, our mothers who took
great pains to care for us from then to now. It begins again and
though I have not seen him yet, I know a little about him. I live a
little through him, though he has no name yet, but then he is one of
my children, a part of myself that will go on.

How far we have come, Ke' (family tied together by a mother's womb),
there is no english word for it. It binds us all the way back to when
the forests, valleys, mesas and plains were our only home. Going all
the way back to a time we can not remember, but lives in the stories
and legends of our clans, family and people, of those who were here
first.

My daughter spoke with me a little while yesterday and said she needed
some leather, some buckskin to make the cradleboard fit him. When he
is placed in it, he will be surrounded by zig zag lightning from his
feet to his head, which will be protected by a rainbow and shaded from
the sun. The long boards come from a tree, not too far from where we
have always lived. This young woman, my daughter now grown sat at the
feet of my own father as a child. I remember them talking and he told
her the story of how the cradle board is made and how the child is
wrapped. She was just a kid back then. She learned from her
grandmother that from pain comes life, that in a woven red sash belt
is needed to hold on to that this tie represents much more than just
something to hold on to, and that when all was done, that the child
would be protected and blessed by the Twin Heros, that such is the way
it has been and will always be.

I can see him, my father as he took her small hands and showed her how
it was done when she was just a child. Now she came to me and said
tell me again how it is with such things. We talked a little bit and
now it was my turn to talk about cradleboards. It is the way, Hozhoji,
I could here myself repeat my father's words; just like she knew.

My daughter is no longer a child, but will be a mother, and she will
sing, and dance in the house of her mother, and know the places of her
father. He does not have a name yet, but he carries the stories of
many lives in his blood, my wife's people and those of my own. His cry
will carry to the valley and to mountain top. It will not be loud and
we will wait to roll him in the snow and celebrate his first laugh
with a giveaway. He is the past and future tied together.

Tonight I can find no rest, I took a walk and looked around at the
earth around me and see the stars haven't changed their place, but yet
I know I will go on from this day and so will continue on. How strange
it is to know that for all the struggles, cares and woes that have
come to us, we continue to survive, to go on and to hope for long
summer days, the taste of cool water and to hear the laughter of
children playing not too far off. So I wait to see what the dawn will
bring...

rustywire

Walking the Road Home

Lying on a cot far from home, thinking of days where to just walk from
here to there is something more that just a walk, it is to taste
light, the feel of wind, reaching out and with fingertips feeling the
sage around. Each step, the sound of a familiar path, walking down the
road to home.

Where is it, that place a spot just over the rise. Take me there,
where the sound of my mothers voice laughs on the wind, the sound of
my father at work silently speaks to me of the struggles of his life
and his song to his family. Where are my brothers and sisters, the
sound of their voices come to me and we talk about nothing except what
happened last night, the movie just over there.


Grandfather, tell me the story of who I am and a little about
yourself, how yor path brought you here. Tell me the stories of our
youth of winter tales, the summer afternoons near cool waters. Talk to
me of where we come from, how we came to be. I want to know about my
people, and sing for me just once more the songs of our fathers. Yes I
want to know all these things.


Grandmother, where are you, yes I can see you just over there, your
smiling face and eyes that have seen my world and know the things of
life, the sound of children's laughter and their cries. Tell me about
how you met the old man, and how my mother and father came to know you
and something about just a day when they were small. Tell me about
your first place, the place you lived with and grandfather and let me
taste your biscuits. But most of all let me hear you call my name.


I long to hear the sound of the small stones as I walk the path to
home. That place just over the rise. I can remember its simple lines,
and kitchen table and the taste of my favorite food there. All of
these things I remember, my mind is the path to take me there so far
away and yet so near.


I am far from home and miss it so, my friends remember me. You don't
remember my name, but I am here waiting to be free, waiting to be
free.


Speak it, say my name, tell stories about me, how I lived and if by
chance you can take a minute write to me, just a word, to say, Hey
brother, we have not forgotten you. Yes that would be nice just say a
word.


All I wanted for Christmas was to be home, to walk through the door
and to eat a simple meal, a chance to walk down the road just a little
ways from home. Sweet sweet home, so far away but in my mind just a
step away....


(I wanted to say ayeehee'lah' (thank you) to those Indian boys locked
away in South Dakota, Oklahoma, California and Utah who sent me
pictures drawn with pencil of their homes, remembrances of pow wow,
the peyote bird, old girlfriends and pencil drawings of family
gathered around them. We go many different roads, some are more harder
than others, some make mistakes and have been sent away. Even these
men long to be home for the Holidays and they have written to me and
let me know they want to be free even for a few minutes.

what is a wannabe and whowantstobeone

I have met a number of people wanting to be native, Indian or claim to
be some tribe, and I think it is a sound all Indians, Natives or
tribal members hear all the time and you know how it is. I find those
people wanting to know more about a way of life that is diminishing. I
look at myself and see that what I knew is not all that I remember.

I have seen some who are not Native who know more than the Natives
about the Indian culture. I have also seen our youth not wanting to
know these things anymore and with the passing of the elders of our
tribes and peoples we lose ourselves more so into the melting pot of
America. I have seen some both Indians and non-Indians profess to know
more about culture, Indian ways, sings, sweats, pipe ceremonies than
other Indian people and who will and share these practices at a price,
for a buck and I wonder about them.


I had a friend of mine who died not too long ago, he was a Zuni, we
were like brothers. We figured one day we would hit the road when we
reached the age of 55 and become preachers and tell people they were
going to hell and get paid for it, more or less becoming charlatans,
flea bags and deceivers. It was a joke to us as we could see there are
some preachers who go out like this, not all, but there are some that
are that way.


In many ways Indian culture has gone down a similar path and there is
exploitation from every angle. I am not an expert in this field but I
have seen some of what I am talking about.


I have met some fake Indians and at times feel sorry for them and yet
they look on me with pity, maybe they know something I don't. Anyway I
am sitting at a computer and my children are scattered like sand in a
heavy wind. I am a survivor of sorts for my family as many of the
problems of reservation life have taken my aunts, uncles, cousins,
brothers and many other people I knew that were good and kind. I can
see that there is nothing to mark their time, other than they were
Natives just trying to get by and in the way of life did not find a
place to rest and call home.


I think this restlessness is the same with non-Indians looking for
some identity, they will continue to come to us, and to other
indigenouse peoples, it is the way of the world. I don't have any
answers, I still have a lot of questions about life just the same as
you I guess. There are no secrets to life here, just alot of people
trying to find their own way and by no means do native have the corner
on the right way to live your life, I am just trying to by the best I
can with what I have, and by chance was enrolled at birth.

Out On Navajo Mountain

Out On Navajo Mountain

Old Man Bedonie from Navajo Mountain stood there. He was an older man with a square chin and a speckled gray beard. His hair was still as black as coal and he looked North toward Utah and thought of his grandchildren.

His son had married one of those Beligana girls from Salt Lake and his son had said they were going to be married forever. They had five kids and of all his children he never had to worry about him. they always seemed be doing well. The kids came to spend time on Navajo Mountain with them when they were small, running around the place, chasing after the sheep finding out what a summer sing was and having to have to cut and haul wood. They learned to grow corn through dry farming and then one day his son called.

He told his father that his wife had run away with his best friend; after a little while more he called and said she took the kids and house too so he was all alone now. That was years ago. Those kids never came back after that.

Old Man Bedonie looked at the screen door and it was silent now. It used to bang open and shut as those kids ran in and out and now those little ones were lost to them. They were being raised as Beliganas (White People). He sat down and thought of all their names and remembered the names given them each one named after a sheep. He thought about how they used to run and play. He held each one when they were small and he thought will they remember this old beat up place or try to forget they ever came here.

He sometimes thought of them from time to time. They liked to ride the horses and he had to hide the bridles and halters to keep them off the horses sometimes riding but barely hanging on by the tail. The black and the painted one;.one slow horse and the other fast. They used to like to ride them all the time.

Now the horses were old and had not been ridden in a long time. They just kind of stood around now and slept and ate moving slowly. Ii guess just kind of like him. That was maybe ten or twelve years ago since those kids had been around the place.

Bedonie went about his work around the house looking north every once in a while as if he could see them way up there but they were not there.

His son from Teec Nos Pos (Place with a Circle of Trees) came with his children and they stayed a few days and brought life back to the place; fixing up the corral and hauling hay from Cortez.
It was getting on toward evening and as he was sitting at the table having a cup of Navajo Tea and then he heard the screen door open and then it closed slowly. He turned around and saw a young woman maybe 20 years old dahtsi (maybe) and she said, "Hi Grandpa"

Before he could say anything else the other children had heard her voice, her long lost cousins came in and saw her from the other room and grabbed her and took her in there. He didn't get a chance to talk to her. Her cousins, her brothers and sisters in the Navajo Way of speaking took her in as if she had just gone since yesterday and he could hear the talk and the laughter as they sat and spent time with each her.

The old man just sat down and remembered a little girl with light brown hair. He remembered she wrestled a goat to the ground long ago.trying to ride him and he kept throwing her down and now after all these years she had made her way back here to this place far from anywhere and she was home.

The old man just sat there and laughed and smiled to himself and went to the door and threw out his tea and looked at the stars. Bedonie thought it is good to have my grandchildren home together. They will go on and we will continue on and with that he sat outside and with he could see the corral that even the old horses had a lively step to their gait and he thought I guess I am not the only who missed her.....rustywire