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.

anything will do

anything will do

on the road
from coalmine
mesa
on to hopiland
first mesa
dirt road
from tolani lake
miles
of
dirt road
hot sand
no wind
midday
under
the
sun
no breeze

after the first night
thinking on kinlani
a lonely ribbon
just a road
how far from coalmine mesa
on the way to nageezi

no one on the road
tough to walk
no ride
sun beating down
hot, hot day
wanting a ride

he walks

how would it be…
how would it be…
it would be nice
to have some kind of wheels
how would it be…
to go
from here to there
to go
where you want and when
to kick back and enjoy the tunes
feeling cold air
a cool drink right there

feet tired
skin hot
dry
dry air

there goes one now
a nice ride
didn't even look
just heading on down the road
need just…
some wheels…
anything will do
one that can go from..
here..
to there

take me there
what would it be like
not worry about the tires
engine getting hot
not enough juice
anything will do…
just… anything will do
an old 70 Ford with a good engine
maybe a Chevy with any kind of rims really
a torn seat, a cracked window who cares
just so long as it runs

burning up
on the highway
dust in face
heat
from
the
road

an old truck pulls up
a hopi says
it runs
not so pretty
but it will get you there

jumping in
crawling in
the miles slip on by
it is so good…
to get a ride
just any ride
the wind whistling
a breeze blowing
miles slip by
cool water from a jug

it is a nice day

rustywire rustywire@yahoo.com

she has flashing eyes

She has Flashing Eyes
(by Johnny Rustywire)

Light snow fell on the cedars and there was peace and quiet in the
stillness. A Navajo father, but he could have been anyoone's father rode on horseback with his daughter on a journey together from sunset to dawn to find a place beyond Fluted Rock. It is winter and they are bundled up and travelling in such a way is simple, you have to go from here to there and the path is clear to see.


If it was so with life it would be simple to go about and not find the
pitfalls that somehow make their way to cause one to stumble.


He and his daughter go on to meet the dawn, they are bundled as they go
East to Tsinijinii, one of the Sacred Mountains. He rides a little
behind her and in riding their silence speaks about family, love and
caring as they pick their path to early morning light. She is no longer
just a shild but has grown and now can find her own way.


At dawn some things make themselves clear and at times she wants to go
her own way. So you follow behind and let her pick the path to go. When
she was a child she was wrapped in a blanket made by her nali, (aunt) and was placed in cradle board and watched him as he went about his chores. He would sing her songs, and among them was a Riding Song, an old Navajo tune that spoke about getting up early before the sun and getting ready to head out and the song lifted itself in the movement of the horses and he would sing it as he worked.


He stopped for a minute and remembered this girl with flashing eyes, made so as she had five brothers and learned to stand up for herself and so could handle all of them. I suppose many fathers think about how a small child stood there next to them, he remembered her small hand in his.


He took her to high bluffs and on many walks talking about family, the
stories of life and how certain things happen. He lifted her to tall red rocks and watched her play and she grew little by little. There were times when he would carry her and wipe her tears from her face. She is a child still but at times her eyes flash at the sound of my voice.


Let me go my own way, so you step back and without saying a word let her go, hoping that choices made are the right ones.

Atsa Biyazh, is the time of eagles being born after big snows and in that there is a time for little eagles. In watching them on the next way way up high it is hard to see a bird take flight, to one day decide it is time to make their own way. You see them fall time and time again, and dusting themselves off slowly crawl back up and try again. So it is with her.


Riding behind behind her, she wants to go on alone, not listening to
anything that is said, just flashing eyes meet me and so we go on. You
want the best and sometimes you have to go with what comes. It is the way life teaches you and so you learn little by little. I sometimes think that life is not so much for good times but to deal with the hardships that come along.


So it goes with daughters and flashing eyes. Be careful and take your ime, watch where you step. I see that she steps out and goes out on her own. Along the way I think she should go another but then this path is new to both of us. We go on.


She stands near my height, and her hair is long in the way of her grandmothers. She has a strong will and when angry has flashing eyes, so it goes sometimes.


I find that she has grown up and is no longer a child, she is a woman child, still my little girl but then turning with flashing eyes and speaking about her own way of doing things. We ride our horses to early
morning light, so I follow her as she goes on ahead.


The girl with flashing eyes rides far out ahead and little by little as
we cross the mountain of life she rides further ahead until I can only see a figure narrow in the distance, a mere spect on the horizon. We have made the trek to this Sacred Mountain, and the end of my land, Dinetah, the boundary.


She turns and waves at me. I can see her motions as she looks back at
me and she slowly turns around and goes beyond what places I have known. The horizon has become misty and my eyes become cloudy and gentle rain falls on my hands. So it is with this father and his daughter....

rustywire

tahzi

didn't sleep good last night?

Why?


I don't know I just felt uneasy I guess, something kept waking me up,
I don't know what it was or where it came from it was just there.


Sometimes it's just like that, once a long time ago when this country
was still new to our people, a young Navajo boy left his family, he
was poor and had done some things he was ashamed of, so he left the
country where they lived decided to cross into a new area that he had
not been to before.


Where was this place?


It wasn't really that far off, not too far from here, but a little
further than the places he had known. It is said he left his family
and lived only on small things you could catch on foot. It was a time
when our people wore animal fur for cover and yucca plants were made
into clothes.


They didn't have a Walmart?


No this was a long time before they had Walmarts, and roads and even
any kind of trading posts, everyone walked around on foot. Anyway saw
a mountain far off and went to that country and there found a
beautiful valley where there was tall grass, streams of fresh water
and trees of all kinds. He thought to himself I would like to make
this my home, but there must be someone else who likes this place, it
is too good to be by itself.


What kind of place was this valley?


It was halfway up the mountain, there were mountain flowers, birds,
and the sky was blue, the breeze cool and it didn't get so cold. A
place where you would like to spend the day just being there, a place
you find that you don't want to leave.


Are there places like that, grandfather?


Yes, there are places like that. You will find one some day as you
travel around and you will see what it is like yourself. This young
man was by himself, he didn't have anyone with him, except for a
turkey.


A tahzhi' (turkey)?


Yes, a tahzi', it was a special turkey.


How was it special, grandfather?


It had special powers, it carried with it a special gift. This turkey
was his friend and followed him everywhere, even to this spot on the
mountain. In it's wings it carried the seeds of corn, melon and other
plants that men need so he could start over. It followed him around
and that is why he was there to help him start over with his new life.


Who would think of a turkey as being a friend to someone. There are
funny looking, grandfather. I don't think I would like a turkey
following me around.


This turkey followed him so he would not be lonely, so this turkey
stayed with this young man to keep him company.


Was there anyone else around there with them?


No, the young Navajo searched all over walking in a circle going
outward to see if there were tracks for something to show that other
people were around, because people like places like this so he thought
surely there must be someone around, so he looked closely going out
each day in a bigger circle and found no one.


So he was alone?


Well one night he couldn't sleep like you. He tossed and turned and
couldn't sleep so he got up and looked around. When he sat up he saw
a faint light way up on the mountainside, he saw firelight. Someone
was up there, he could see the light way way up there. He put a forked
stick in the ground and looked through it and went back to sleep. In
the morning he looked through it and saw the spot on the mountain and
went up there to look for it. He left the turkey there and went up to
find the place where he saw the light. He searched all over and didn't
find anything.


What was it?


He didn't know. The next night the same thing happened. He saw the
firelight and to help him find it, he placed a second stick behind the
forked one and lined them so he could see in the morning where on the
mountain it came from.
The next day he went up on the mountain again, to find the place where
the light came from and searched all over the place he had seen and
didn't find anything. He wondered about what he had seen.


What did he see? If he saw a fire then it had to be someone up there.
There had to be people up there, someone was there.


The young Navajo couldn't sleep good, he thought about what he had
seen at night and when nightfall came he saw the light again. This
time he took a stick and lined it up on the mountain, it pointed
straight to the place he saw the light. In the morning he set out
straight for that place he had marked. He went over every rock, tree
and plant looking for the something there.


Did he find anything?


Yes, he found many things there.


What did he find?


In the light of dawn he found a rainbow in the feathers of his pet, he
found that in the light there is also darkness, witchery and
teachings. He found out about life, a wife and some things he had
never known before existed in having a parner, he also lost his
friend, his pet turkey, the loss of black clouds, the sight of
rainbows. He learned that there is treachery in the offer of cornmeal
mush, and meat, that where there is a smile there is also hidden
anger.


He found all these things?


Yes, that is what he saw in the light way up on the mountain.


How come you say it like this to me, I want to tell know how he found
each of these things?


I would tell you, but there are some standing the shadows of those
trees, not too far from here, you can't see them but they are
watching. They want to know these things too.


Where?


Just over there, they would like to travel with us to the mountain top
and like to learn about the dark side, to tell you that coyotes have
beards, that light comes from spaceships, that trees talk and that
they somehow were there.


Are there really people like that grandfather?


Yes, they listen and don't understand what they hear, so maybe we
shouldn't say anything anymore, because it changes shape in the wind
and somehow it beconmes theirs.


Oh, the grand child said, then when will you tell me about such
things. When we are alone my grandchild.


What was the name of the young Navajo man?


He was called, the One who teaches himself, that is what he was
called. He thought he knew nothing but then when he thought about it
he found that maybe there was more to life than what he had seen, so
he needed to listen to himself, to that part that speaks to us and
tells what we should do something and when not to do something.


What was his english name grandfather...


I don't know....


rustywire@yahoo.com

they scare me

she has brown eyes
they were clear
she was smilng at me when she came in
I was tired
long day at work
sitting there reading the news
will you read this to me
her little hands held a book
a small book
there were pictures of dinosaurs
they looked up at me
they scare me
she left to put it away
she brought another one
there were tigers, lions and bears
they scare me
she left to put it away
another book appeared
there were all kinds of bugs
big ones
spiders
creepy crawly things
they scare me
she left to put it away
there she stood
it sat there in her tiny hands
cowboys and indians
she held it up high
I looked at it
I did not really see it
they scare me I said
she just stood there
she held it up again
she said
do the cowboys scare you
I mumbled something
she said, what scares you
I looked at the book
saw the indians riding horses
looking wild
riding horses across the plains
they scare me I said

she stood there
then she laughed
and laughed
I really looked at her
what's so funny
her big frown eyes looked
right at me
she said
but we are indians grandpa
we are the indians
I laughed at the thought of it
so she gave it to me
and we read about those cowboys
and them indians


rustywire

Shima

Come on, Sonny it is time to wake up. She shook his leg and let him know it was morning time to get up to go to school. His hair was all bushy, his eyes still had the tracks of the sandman and he rubbed them.

Shima, Shima, let me sleep.


She shook his leg and told him how are you going to build me that house you promised me. He opened his eyes and could see through the window the sun was coming up and he had to get up. He layed there and tried to cover himself up with the quilt made from old levis, it was still cold and he just layed there.


The smell of of a wood fire, and the biscuits brought him up out of bed. He slipped down and made his way to the wash basin and sprinkled water on his eyes and then reached for a biscuit, they were sitting in the middle of wooden table in the small house. The butter was just right there and he was going to smear a bunch of it on one.


You have to wash up first, she said pointing to the wash basin. He looked at it and made his way over there and could see out the screen door. The old man was out early in the distance over by the sheep corral. The sun was just breaking over the edge way over by Chaco Canyon, the fingers of light raced across the ground.


The school bus would be coming soon and he washed himself up with the warm water she had boiled for him, he washed behind his ears and under his neck and got his red checkered shirt on, a wool one and those old wranglers with the boot cut, slipped on his boots and was ready to meet the day. He went outside and ran over to the corral and told the old man it was time to eat. As he turned back to the house he could see his mother bringing in wood inside from the wood pile. She was dressed in a long dress the kind Navajo women wear, her hair was all tied up.

As he walked with his father, he said. How did get to know her, Shima. They walked slowly and his father slowed a bit and said way down there, by the wash she used to herd sheep for her grandma and she used to sit on the rocks and sing those sheep. I used to see her and whe was just about your age. We didn't go to school back in those days except when we had the time, we used to do a lot of work around the place of our parents. She was like that, she was the oldest sister and she helped out, but she would sing those old Navajo traveling songs to those sheep. I used to see her there every once in a while, she wasn't much older than you. She was able to keep those sheep together, she sat there on just below that mesa on
the rock; the place she used to sit is still there. I will take you
there.


Anyway, after we had grown up I saw her at the trading post and we used to see other here and there, the old folks made a match, they arranged it for us, so we got together. This has always been our home and it will be yours someday he said.


The crunch of the dirt made large sounds as they walked up the small house. He looked at his mother (shima) and she was putting mush on the
table and coffee with potatoes and biscuits. It was all hot and ready
to eat. They sat down and he looked at her and could see her hands were soft, from mixing the dough for the bread. He remembered that when she worked she would sing and he would listen to her as she sang those old songs. When they went to town she was quiet, but at home she would sing here and there and he liked to the sound of her voice. He looked at his mother carefully, and could see that she worked hard for them and she always touched his cheek before he went out the door to catch the long bus ride to school.

She touched his cheek and told him to go to school and study hard. He would tell her some day Shima I am going to build you a house over there by the cedar trees and you won't have to chop wood and haul water anymore.

She would laugh to hear a seven year old say that to her and she said you have promised me but first you have to go to school and listen to the teachers and do good.

It is the way to learn about what is like out there way beyond Dinetah
(Navajoland). She would smile and him and watch him as he ran through
the cedars to catch the bus.

In turning around he would always see her standing there, watching him, looking after him to see that he got to school to learn about the world. She stood there with her hair tied up in a bun, wearing a long dress, white tennis shoes, and an old apron, she would be throwing out the wash water on the ground and feeding the left overs to the sheep dogs. She would stand there by the shade house (chao) and watch after him. It is a sight that comes to mind even now after all these years.

Shima! Shima! (Mother! Mother!) he would call her as he left each day
and she would always be standing there watching after them, way out there in Navajoland.

rustywire@yahoo.com

Woozchiid a time of strong winds

Woozchiid-is a time for strong winds, a time when the winds blow and the snow goes away. Way out in the sticks, where the days are slow and the clouds ride the wind way up high you can sit and wathc them a all day. In looking from a high point on the mesa you can see the shadows move slowly following an ant trail as it moves small boulders across the ground to a mound a little ways off.

In the distance there is a wagon with iron wheels headed to the trading post, old man Salt and his kids are headed that way to check the mail and buy a few things like Blue Bird flour, coffee and maybe some sweet stuff like a can of peaches.


In the distance there are pinon trees and juniper with their shaggy bark like spotted specks dropping off to the flat lands. The wind blows and the rush of it passing throught th ebrances whitles softly and neary the limbs rustle as it to say let us shake off winter and wait for the long sunny days of summer.


In the cleft of the an old juniper he finds a cut he made long sgo, when he wat a young man. He stood there when he was young and swung at the tree, but it was hard to cut and he went to find another tree; a pinon that would burn better than this one so he left it to go on to see his grandchilren when they would come through here on the Chuska Mountains.


The distant sky showed a small speck that went round and round way up
high, a new eagle taking flight following the wind as it soared on the
wind going higher and higher until it could not be seen anymore.


The ground is soft, and warm as he holds it against his skin, it is the color of Navajo sandstone some way, to him it is just tle'zh, dirt but it is good to feel it and know that this is home.


In the distance is the place of his birth, along the wash where old man Natani and Matana raised him in this valley, where the worn trails of sheep herders follow the clefts in the rock and washes to find a spring way down the south were a slow gentle spring of cool water marks the spot where the noon day sun would find him on many days and the sheep would graze as he watched over them.


It is Spring, the stiff wind blows, Woozchiid, Woozchiid.


"Shi che', She che' (Grandfather) the small boy said.


"Shush, be quiet, he is sleeping," said his mother Ninibah.


"Che'"(Chay-it sounds like in English)(Grandfather)


He stood there next to the bed, and saw Che' laying there stiff and covered with a blanket, it was far from Dinetah (Navajoland) far off
from there.


His Grandfather looked at him and thought to himself, "We were there you and I just a minute ago above Toadlena, on the mountain, a mesa near there and we went for a walk and I showed you the places I know"


Ninibah looked at him, her father and felt wondered what to say to him, now that he was here in this nursing home, so far from home. She stood there and made quiet talk about the weather, and going to the store in town to buy a few things and fixing the truck. He listened as she spoke seeing a little girl running through the sage brush, now here she was a mother now.


He looked at her and said it is ok, I know where I am, this is Sunday
and I am in a nursing home. I remember I fell and woke up here.


She looked at him and and said "Is there anything I can get for you?"


The old man looked at here and said, "I want to go home."


She looked away and said, "You just have to stay here a little longer."


The old man turned his head and could see the clouds moving along way
up high through the window and he was running along it's edge rhrough
the sage, feeling the stiff wind against him and the soft red earth
under his feet.


The young boy touched his hand and his eyes were bright and dark. "Che', when you come home we can play, ok?"


The old man smiled and held his hand, and they talked the afternoon
away.
rustywire@yahoo.com