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 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 once 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 grow 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
John Rustywire.