The Field

The Field

In Toadlena, the place where I come from, there is a field not too far
off from the house; it isn't exactly all green in color and it really isn't
flat, but it is just a little ways off… just across the wash.

There were two horses, Smoky was a smoke gray horse we had. He sure was
feisty if you didn't handle him right, like when we rode him to the
trading post he would get spooked and the next thing you knew he took off.
He used to take off at a full gallop and then next thing you knew were going
pass the trading post hanging on for dear life with my sister hanging onto my
pants trying not to fall off. The old folks waiting for the mail outside on
the steps would just laugh. That was the kind of horse we had.

We also had a Blackie, a big black stallion, but gentle and easy going.
We used to ride him bareback and he was a good horse, but sure was slow.
Going to get the mail took all day cuz he would sort of just eat his way to
the trading post from home, going from plant to plant. When we finally got
there he liked to stand by himself. We did not have to tie him up, he just
stood there and waited for us by the door. I used to look at him standing
there and he would always be looking at the old barn next to the trading post,
it was the trader's. The old trader had a few bales of hay there to sell and you
could see the  loose bales laying on the ground. Old Blackie used to stand
there and look that way. He was sort of old and the fence was too high.
Everyone once in a while we used to sneak over there and grab a handful
of hay and give it him. Anyway, these two horses used to be in a small corral
not too far from the house.

My dad and grandpa used to use those old time yokes and use a plow you
steered by hand. The field was across the wash and you see that wash is
pretty steep. There is nice stream at the bottom which always had water in it
and there was pond right there. We had put some good flat rocks across the
stream so you could walk across to the other side. The trail to the field was
well worn. I liked it and didn't like it at the same time. It was nice to
walk in that pond, but usually we had to get water in buckets to carry to the
field to water the plants there.

That old plow was used to make rows for planting and with corn we used
to stand behind my dad and follow him with a bag with a few kernels in our
hand. We would plant them in the side of the furrow and had to be sure we
didn't bury them too deep or too shallow. When you are small it takes a
couple of years to get the hang of it, but you finally learn. When you do this
you can see the trees growing at the edge of the field and you learn how
every bush, every plant looks, because you stand there all day. At midday
we would go home and eat and it was pretty good.

My dad used to tell my aunts to help, so they could get an equal share
of the corn on e it was all grown, but we usually didn't see them around
when it was planting time. I can see still my father with the horse reigns
around his neck making the rows, doing that takes a lot of time, but somehow
it got done.

The pond at the bottom of the wash had two old buckets by it and we would
have to take those buckets and dip them in the water and carry them up to
the field. We used to pour two buckets of water on each each plant. When
you are small you think about the steps you take to carry the water, I
remember it took about 300 steps to get the the field, I still remember each one.

My foot prints are still there somewhere. That is what you call dry farming,
when you had to water each plant twice a week. It was something we all did,
everyone in the family.

My sister during this time of the year sure liked going to the Christian
Reformed Church for bible learning during this time every year, but
after the growing season was over she wouldn't go anywhere but stay home.
I kind of  think she did that so she wouldn't have to carry water.

One of the things that is good about it is you see those corn stalks
grown and just before it is time to pick the corn, my dad used to take us out
there and cut off a stalk at the root level and open it up for us. We used to
chew on this part and it was sweet, like sugar cane. It sure was good.

My Grandma (Shimasani') and Mom (Shima') used to go out and gather the
corn pollen dusting eat plant top, I can still she the deerskin pouches they
would carry and how they were all yellow colored inside. I remember my
grandmother, putting corn pollen on my head and on my tongue and
blessing me. It is called Hozhogo Nahasdlii', the Navajo Blessing Way,
a prayer that you can Walk in Beauty all the rest of your days. My mother
used to do the same with us kids. That pollen came from our field, our work
and was a part of our life. I still have those pouches and they are still yellow.
It is our way of life even now that I am far from home. This is what I remember
about that field just across the wash not too far, just over there. I can see it from
here, yes that is it, in Toadlena, where the mountain is cracked and the
water flows from there....rustywire