Navajo Nation, ancients, pioneers

Friday, August 12
The plan . . .

A delightful weekend: We begin with going along for the ride to northern Arizona to be with friends while having a change of scenery and are fascinated with the unexpected. But to begin at the beginning:

9:30 p.m. Friday: following friends Barb and Bud across the Navajo Reservation of northern Arizona. The full moon’s light is dimmed some by scattered clouds, wondering if we will see any streaking trails from the Perseids meteor shower.

This long day began about 6 a.m. as Chris and I packed for the weekend getaway. The plan involved Barb coming by at 8 and the three of us filling our trusty 4 Runner Ruby with enough paraphernalia to supply several families of nomads for several weeks, providing the nomads wanted to have an electric food cooler, binoculars, cameras and books, plus backpacks, hiking boots and swim suits.

We intend to meet Buddy at Crown Point, New Mexico, right about suppertime after he drives over from Albuquerque, and to attend the Navajo rug auction there. Their interest in native weaving was piqued recently when they attended the Smoki rug auction in Prescott where they definitely were not going to purchase anything, or so they said.

Chevelon Canyon, Rock Art Ranch, Obed, ancestors . . .

The earlier part of the plan is to scout the Chevelon Canyon petroglyph site for a field trip Barbara has set for her Yavapai College program. Ruby takes to the washboardy dirt road like the trooper she is; after quite a few miles of kicking up a rooster tail of dust, we reach our destination, a conglomeration of weathered wood buildings nestled in neatly arrayed old farming and ranching implements.

Barbara has made previous arrangements with the rancher, Brantley Baird, to get a taste of what her group will find on their journey. I am instantly enamored of Brantley, who puts me in mind of the many honorable, chivalrous gentlemen cowboys who were so much a part of my growing-up life. I am disarmed and charmed by his self-effacing ways and dry sense of humor.

Brantley provides a fascinating tour of his unique ranch museum, an eclectic collection consisting of incredible prehistoric pots discovered protruding from eroding sand on the ranch and various artifacts, implements, guns and articles of daily life used by the pioneers of the area and more than can be seen in an afternoon. Amazingly, he cites the origin of many of the articles; many of them originated with ancestral members of his and his wife’s families, or are artifacts he has found himself.

As he refers to a nearby settlement, I am compelled to ask the name of it and am at once flabbergasted and not surprised as he names Obed, a short-lived pioneer settlement on the Little Colorado River. I have long wanted to find the site of Obed, having learned about it while researching family history for my niece Shannon. Her great grandmother, May Peterson, was born there in 1876 to Danish parents who were part of the Latter Day Saints group who crossed the midwestern plains to Utah walking and transporting their worldly goods in handcarts.

From Brantley, I am surprised to learn that Obed is not the obscure lost site of my imagination, but a fenced, signed location that I can easily access and photograph on another trip. He validated what I had read about the settlement: it was inhabited for only about a year, abandoned because of the swampy, malarial conditions.

The canyon and petroglyphs . . .















After an interesting tour of the artifacts housed at our starting point, Brantley leads our little group to the site of a very old Indian rock house and a mud sweat lodge.

Then we are guided to the canyon’s rim, where he tells us what to expect from the rock art site deep in the bottom; it is one of the most extensive and interesting petroglyph sites in the Southwest. Our time constraints prevent us from climbing down to view the petroglyphs, so this place definitely goes on the “must return” list.


Navajo rug auction . . .

We arrive at Crown Point with sufficient time to peruse the multitude of offerings. Long tables in the elementary school gym are stacked with several hundred hand-woven rugs of every size and design. Many are of ancient traditional designs, but plenty of others are striking with more contemporary patterns. There are trees of life, reservation scenes, samplers of various patterns, even some that mimicked Oaxacan rugs.

Many of the Navajo weavers are present, mostly sitting in the back of the room and standing around at the sides. I think it must be difficult to watch finicky bidding on something that has taken so many painstaking hours to create.

The no-nonsense auctioneers move the bidding along at a rapid pace; there is no time to ponder whether you want to agree to that next $100 increase: either nod quickly or lose the item to a competitive bidder. Although the gym is filled with people, only a small number are bidding, which means that many rugs are “no sale”.

We learn that this is the favored auction by the weavers because they receive 90% of the sale price, as opposed to other venues that might take as much as 50% commission. The monthly sale is known to proceed until as late as midnight, but bidding slows by about 9 after many buyers have made their purchases for the evening. In talking to various folks, we find that some here are dealers who will resell the rugs and others are buying for their own use. We think that the prices are very low compared to most retail markets.

It is a very different proposition than the Smoki Museum auction that includes time for hearing backgrounds of weavers, patterns and traditions, but this is interesting in its own right.

Rhodimer family history surprise . . .

A phone call from cousin Jerry leads me to do some late-night family history research (love that laptop). He has questions about Gerturde Rhodimer. We know that she was at least partially raised by her grandmother, Ada Belmont (Coykendall) Rhodimer who was later married to Edward Nichols and Samuel Hagerty. Ada is my great, great grandmother. After extensive searching, we had previously found Ada’s unmarked grave site in Wheat Ridge, Colorado. Because we are told that Gertrude died in her teens, I wonder if she might be buried near Ada, so begin searching in that same cemetery.

My surprise is monumental when I go online and find a photo of a gravestone for Ada. Chris and I were at that site in 2008, when we were given the grave location for Ada and the record that said her resting place was not marked. So now the mystery is: did someone in the meantime have that stone made for her or were we shown the wrong location and it was there all along? We shall see. At any rate, I am relieved to know that she is memorialized that way.




Saturday, August 13
Exploring . . .

We breakfast heartily at the buffet in our Quality Inn’s restaurant and then allow Ruby to take us on an explore. The day presents us with an aspect of the Navajo Reservation that we had not previously enjoyed. When I think Navajo Reservation, I think Monument Valley, not forested mountains such as this.

From the town of Window Rock, the Navajo Nation’s capital, we climb onto the Defiance Plateau, site of Fort Defiance and up to the Washington Pass lookout, elevation 9,370. Storms all around us are growling by the time we reach that summit, so our hiking is cut short, but we do not depart before enjoying the awesome distant views of misty, rain-shrouded plains and mountain ranges.

A small herd of the plentiful horses on the Reservation are spooked by our passage, providing an exciting view as they gallop around us and away. All the horses we see on this trip are beautiful healthy animals.




Asaayi Lake, more . . .

The fun of an explore, of course, is not knowing what you might find.  Another of our finds this day is Asaayi Lake, a small picturesque reservoir in a cliff-lined bowl topped and cut by the green of the forest.

 Asaayi hosted some folks fishing from the banks, kayaking and picnicking. We join the fun to enjoy our lunch at a covered picnic table on a perfect day, temperatures probably in the low 80s under a sky scudding with rain clouds interspersed with temperate sunshine.




 

Driving through varied landscape: lower elevations consist of sagebrushed plains, we marvel at the sights that greet us. Some of it is magnificent in scope and some of it is fascinating in uniqueness.









At more than one point, we invoke the “stop, stop, stop, go back, go back, go back” mantra, first to climb up a slope to inspect a truly amazing mushroom









and another to photograph velvet-antlered deer peering out of the sagebrush.













One more stop nets a picture of a dog taking a break from a nearby Navajo camp to bask up to his haunches in the mud soup of a cow tank.

 And Barbara takes time to collect a bit of sage to take home.

This country is pocked with fascinating convoluted rock formations made from various geologic layers, giving us an array of colors. We see gnarled and pointed spires, lava-capped mesas and buttes, and fluted rock cliffs. Descending from the mountains, we spot a distant dust storm on the leading edge of rain. The scene makes an isolated rock island appear to be floating above the valley floor and almost completely obscures famous shiprock to its left.

As we look forward to an evening meal in the restaurant of our lodging place, we are a bit taken aback to discover that the place closed at 6 p.m. - not much of a dinner hour. The kind and accommodating manager offers to rustle us up some club sandwiches but we decide not to bother her with our “late” supper and head to Denny’s, seemingly the only non-fast-food establishment open at such a dire hour. (Note to self: supply self with food when visiting Window Rock or prepare to dine at an unseemly early hour.)

Sunday, August 14  
Navajo code talkers . . .

We find the Sunday breakfast buffet to be supplemented with mutton posole stew, a delicacy that is unfortunately not offered until three-fourths of our group has eaten more than is usual for that time of day. Buddy, however, pronounces the traditional dish to be good.

The wonderful serendipity for today is that this national Navajo Code Talker week and we are smack in the middle of the Navajo Nation’s capital where a major ceremony is being held.
A monumental bronze created by Joe C. Oreland and cast in Prescott Valley is the centerpiece of Window Rock’s veterans memorial.

We had intended to view the statue this morning anyway, but now find ourselves in the midst of throngs of people, news photographers and a group of Navajo code talkers.




















I am thrilled beyond words to be a part of honoring these men. Shaking their hands and thanking them is a privilege I will never forget.

We remain for a portion of the ceremony, much of which is conducted in the Navajo language, before we reluctantly leave. Today we are heading home from a weekend so filled that it feels more like an entire week.

Hubbell trading post . . .

The historic Hubbell trading post is our last stop. We have all been here before, but the ambiance and charm of the place is a strong pull. We spend substantial time inside perusing the array of rugs, pottery, jewelry and antiques.
A Navajo lady and I strike up a conversation that ranges from traditional rug designs to disappointment that the younger set seems to be more interested in hand-held electronics than following in their elder’s footsteps.

Later, we watch her weaving, discuss the possibilities of the Artist in Residence program here for Chris, and I wander the barns and garden, reminding me how much I miss my large summer vegetable gardens.

We picnic once again, this time in the shade of the overhanging tree branches, and bid farewell to Buddy as turns back to Albuquerque and we drive south to home and Rowdy. We appreciate that Paula has stayed here to keep him company, but even so, he seems happy to have us home and we are sated with our full three days.