November 3, 2018
Eagles & trading posts . . .
Sure, the plan was to load up friends Tom & Pam and go to Canyon de Chelly, but that would be just a bit too straightforward for our liking, so we threw in a few other adventures along the way.
A mere 20 miles down the road brought us to our first stop - in Chino Valley. I hate to whiz right on by the bald eagle nesting site there without taking a look-see. A pair of eagles call a certain cottonwood tree home during each winter and typically produce a couple of eaglets every spring. We detoured on a dirt road just long enough to reassure ourselves that the magnificent birds had indeed returned to their huge nest perched high in a tree that has died, most likely due to the drought-induced water table dropping. I keep wondering how long those brittle branches will hold the weight of the eagles' nest.
When we first arrived, both adult birds were sitting side-by-side on the nest facing in opposite directions so it looked for all the world like a two-headed eagle. I wasn't quick enough to get that shot, but they stuck around for a photo anyway.
Hubbell Trading Post . . .
We did manage to put some miles on before our next stop. That one was planned: we thought our dynamic duo companions would be interested in seeing the Hubbell Trading Post, a designated National Historic Site.
I have been there several times and Chris many more; it's a destination for one of the field trips he leads for Yavapai College. Last Christmas season, he set up his keyboard and played for their annual luminaria festival, an exceedingly cold and windy occasion.
This trip the weather, while just polishing off a sizable rainstorm, had cleared enough that we could shiver through a picnic lunch, although we did not linger over it.
The trading post is on the vast Navajo Reservation, having been established in the late 1870s. John Lorenzo Hubbell bought the commercial center after the Navajos were allowed to return to the land from their far-away exile at Ft. Sumner in eastern New Mexico.
The main adobe trading post building contains a small general store with a wood-burning stove and a creaky wooden floor worn by the passage of generations of feet. Two smaller cozy rooms are chock full from floor to ceiling with wonderful artisan-created wares: hand-woven rugs, baskets, pottery and an amalgam of dusty artifacts, antique photographs and books alongside modern items for sale.
The site consists of a number of other buildings, including the Hubbell's house, a true treasure trove of native and Anglo artwork and furnishings.
One notable collection assembled by Hubbell (shown partially below) contains many sketches of Indians by Elbridge Ayer Burbank. The artist is known for drawing and painting more than 1200 portraits of Native Americans from 125 different tribes. He spent extensive time at the Hubbell Trading Post studying and painting Indians' portraits.
Interestingly, he became close friends with Geronimo during the years the Apache chief was detained at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, and was the only person to paint Geronimo from life sittings.
I found an engrossing website, http://www.harvard-diggins.org/Burbank/Burbank_Among_The_Indians/Burbank_Among_the_Indians.htm, that contains a true treasure: Burbank's own accounts of his associations with Geronimo, Naiche and others - an absolutely fascinating read.
Whenever we encounter a piano, I like to have Chris play, and I hate it when it is not allowed, as was the case at Hubbell's. What a waste of a piano! People don't seem to understand that pianos need to be played in order to remain in good condition.
The entire Hubbell property is intriguing with its weathered buildings and vintage accoutrements. Although not its original purpose, this hogan is used to house artists-in-residence at the trading post.
We thoroughly enjoyed wandering the grounds despite a chilly breeze and mud underfoot, a result of what was said to be the granddaddy of thunderstorms the previous day and night.
Pam tried her darndest to feed this horse a handful of hay, but no matter which stable entrance she went to, the cayuse went to another one. When at last they both ended up in the same place at the same time, Black Beauty snorted the hay right out of her hand!
This gobbler was the king of the roost in the chicken pen, or at least he was pretty sure of that status and told us all about it.
At the visitors' center, we tried our hands at carding wool, but the technique was beyond us.
For 20 years or so, Mary, a Navajo, has sat on the floor demonstrating her expertise and patience at rug weaving. When rangers are in short supply or otherwise occupied, she mans the desk to answer visitors' questions.
The canyon . . .
You knew it had to happen sooner or later: our first day on the road eventually culminated in a kamikazee run to all the viewpoints on the south side of Canyon de Chelly. While not the numbingly frigid temperatures we encountered that last December, the day remained overcast and a bit drippy, which caused me a bit of disappointment about the lighting for photographs. Nevertheless, it was with great excitement that we trooped around the canyon rim, making certain that we saw the stupendous sights from every vantage point available.
All the waterpockets were filled from the big storm of the previous day.
The canyon is teeming with prehistoric ruins, former abodes of ancient inhabitants.
I loved the view of this sweet eight-sided hogan tucked up against the trees.
Spider Rock (below) towers more than 700 feet straight up from the canyon floor. Its name refers to the mythological Spider Woman, not anything to do with its appearance. Spider Rock sits at the confluence of Canyon de Chelly and Monument Canyon within the Canyon de Chelly National Monument. The complex also includes Canyon del Muerto, which is where the bulk of our full-day tour the next day took us. The Monument is in the midst of the Navajo Nation, which cooperatively manages the canyon with the Park Service with varying degrees of success. Some Navajos live within the canyon, mostly only in the summer. There is only one trail down-canyon that is freely accessible without a Navajo guide; all other entrances must be Indian guided.
Black Mesa in the distance is where Chris worked field archeology many long years ago.
Adam and Antelope House Tours . . .
Chris reserved our tour with Adam Teller, who he uses for his Yavapai College trips, and we were delighted to have the time with him. He was forthright with comprehensive answers to our (okay, mostly my) questions about the canyon, Navajo life, culture and spirituality. Adam grew up at the canyon and spent his youth exploring its many dimensions. Although he went away for college, he never considered doing anything but returning to his home and working to promote understanding and peace among people.
I attempted not to ask for photo-op stops at every juncture, but this critter showed himself when we had barely begun, leaving me no choice.
It would be the height of folly to try to describe the beauty and mammoth dimensions we were surrounded with for the entire day, so I will offer my inadequate photos to do their paltry job. We planned our trip in hopes of coinciding with autumn color change and we were not disappointed on that count.
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| This 1873 graffiti and others on this prehistoric dwelling gives clear evidence that we are not the first to be fascinated with these places. |
Adam's sister, Tonia, maintains a luncheteria of sorts down-canyon. We stopped there for Navajo fry bread and a break from the bumping and lurching of the seemingly-springless vehicle on rutted muddy roads.
Tonia's husband carves kachinas that are arrayed in lines like colorful soldiers wanting to go home with any tourist who is so inclined to adopt one.
Catherine Paymella . . .
Truthfully, in the Navajo way of clan relationships, there are probably few people in the canyon to whom Adam is not related. Among them is his kinswoman Catherine Paymella, a traditional weaver in every sense of the word.
We visited Catherine in her hogan, a one-room affair that had been without power or water right up until two days previous. That was when an organization she didn't exactly remember the name of set her up with a small solar cell and two electric lights at no cost. She was thrilled because that would allow her to work without distractions into the night while others are sleeping.
Unlike many current-day weavers, Catherine keeps her own sheep for weaving wool, makes her own dyes from natural materials, and prepares her yarn from start to finish. She demonstrated for us many aspects of the arduous process. It was interesting to learn about the spiritual consciousness that is involved in the labors, such as that all the motions are done toward oneself to bring in energy rather than expelling it.
Only when all that is done does she begin work on a rug. Despite the intricate and symbolic designs that her rugs display, Catherine said she does not have a design in mind when she begins to weave; instead, she remains open to what is given to her.
And there she sits on the floor at 60-something years of age for untold hours, years even, a traditionalist in every sense of the word, but wearing her smiley-face Pepsi t-shirt and boots. We asked about whether sitting in a chair would be better; she said it hurts her to sit in a chair.
What a treat it was to visit with Catherine; she is a charming delightful woman living a lifestyle we can scarcely imagine. She loves to talk and she loves to laugh - what's not to like?
And those cats! Looked like litter mates; you have never seen healthier, more affectionate purr machines than that bunch. Catherine said they are her grandchildrens' that she is going to return to them, but I'd say she is quite enjoying their presence, and so did we.
Catherine's abode is tucked snugly into a protected canyon alcove where she has a wonderful orchard and a basketball hoop out front for the youngsters. A small trailer and shed serve as storage; she went there to retrieve apples for each of us, all carefully wrapped in newspaper.
It was a very long day - filled beyond belief with marvels of history, culture and the awesomeness of nature - but despite our heads reeling with all we had seen and heard, still we couldn't resist returning to the canyon rim for a view of the full moon rising. After all, how many opportunities does one have to watch a full moon rising over the rim of Canyon de Chelly!
Tearing ourselves away . . .
Because of our stops on the way to the canyon, we had not had time to peruse the views from the north rim, so we opted to start our third day with that. Those viewpoints involved some walking to access the cliff edges; I love wandering on that slick rock surface with its weather-carved gnarls and curls. Still, the indentations held water - what a boon for wildlife. We saw very few birds during our stay there, but were surprised to spot a couple of robins perched up above the canyon rim.
Our final views of Canyon de Chelly were as equally stupendous as everything that had gone before. As a result of this trip, I have determined that I must buckle down and learn how to use my camera to best effect. The frustration of not properly conveying the scenes I enjoy has reached an intolerable level.
Obed . . .
Our next destination was of far more interest to Chris & me than to our traveling companions, but they were good sports when we opted for a look around at pretty much nothing - the site of an early Mormon settlement near the Little Colorado River.
We had been by there previously on our way to the Rock Art Ranch, but wanted to take a bit more time to see what there was to see, which as it turns out is very little.
My interest in Obed resulted from learning about my niece Shannon's ancestry. Her great grandmother, May (Peterson) Brown came from Danish families that immigrated to the U.S. in the mid-1800s and crossed the Great Plains to Utah in handcart companies, a monumental and life-threatening undertaking.
May was said to be the first child born at Obed. The settlement failed because of malarial conditions with its proximity to the river meandering across the prairie.
"Arizona Place Names" offers this description of Obed: "The party of Mormon emigrants which arrived on the Little Colorado River on March 24, 1876, rapidly split into groups which formed the nuclei of four colonies. One of these was Obed, with George Lake as its leader. Obed is a character in the Book of Mormon. The site selected was swampy and malarial and, being in the path of the Little Colorado, particularly subject to rampaging flood stages. Before March 1877, the residents of Obed had joined other nearby Mormon communities and Obed was no more. The strongly built fort, however, remained standing for years, being used as a cattle corral by the Aztec Cattle Company until the building was torn down in 1895.”
Rock Art Ranch . . .
The unpresuming name of Brantley Baird's outfit fails to convey the scope of what that life-long rancher has built. The spread on which he grew up and has lived for most of his life encompasses lands on which natives had resided for milennia, thus he and his family have found a bounty of artifacts left behind from those who were there before.
The Rock Art Ranch lies beyond cities, beyond paved roads, out there on the scrub-vegetated flats all by itself.
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| It was a bit of a surprise to spot these lone yellow flowers blooming away out there amidst a lot of brown. I did attempt to limit my number of stops on the trip out of respect for fellow travelers who might not have understood my penchant for halting at every tiny little thing of possible interest. |
As the place name implies, part of the ranch's claim to fame is the prehistoric art painted and pecked on the steep rock faces of Chevelon Canyon; however, Brantley has amassed a collection of artifacts - both prehistoric and historic. The result is throughout the buildings . . .
. . . one of which is the only remaining bunkhouse from the famed Aztec Land & Cattle Co., known as the Hashknife Outfit, moved there from Joseph City. Baird's ranch consists of land once part of that much larger holding, which also owned the Obed fort mentioned earlier.
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| Presumably this is not a relic from the Hashknife Outfit, but no matter, I have a thing for old pickups, having learned to drive in one at a very young age. Oh, the stories I could tell! |
One of the educational field trips that Chris leads for Yavapai College visits and learns about the Anasazi and others who lived in that area.
We also explored the old Navajo camp that is on the ranch and heard from the señor about its history during Baird family's tenure.
This small Anasazi child's burial from approximately 1500 AD was discovered, excavated and re-interred with a sweet memorial constructed by a Girl Scout troop for Angel-Sazi, as they called her.
Chevelon Canyon . . .
Finally, we arrive at the rim of Chevelon Canyon and proceed down a steep staircase to wander at will along the banks of the peaceful stream. A path has been worn by visitors, making access to the gorge's petroglyph-covered cliffs relatively easy despite the lush vegetation and narrow willow-covered canyon bottom.
Because I have blogged about the rock art there previously and because I was chock-full of prehistoric wall pictures from Canyon de Chelly, I didn't do many photos of the thousands of pictographs, and was more taken with the beauty of canyon walls reflected in the water.
One work that clearly portrays a birthing is most impressive.
The late afternoon light was harsh on the upper canyon walls, but softly muffled when seen in the water below.
I have never left that beautiful gorge with its mysterious energy without wishing to spend more time there, and this was no exception.
One of our company who will remain unnamed, but it wasn't Chris, Pam or me, was fascinated with the many instances of rock art at Canyon de Chelly that were said to indicate a "Stay away" warning, and took advantage of the low-sun shadow to emulate the posture. And what is the point of anything if we can't play and laugh . . .
La Posada, Winslow . . .
Finishing out day three, we arrived at our lodging place for the night - La Posada - one of the old Harvey Houses that has been restored beautifully. A long chain of Harvey Houses once graced railroad lines in the late 1800s and into the 1930s, providing lodging and food to travelers. A few of them have been or are being restored to their former glory. La Posada was the last of the Santa Fe hospitality locations to be developed by Fred Harvey.
The place exudes grace throughout the interior and exterior.
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| I love fountains in general but this one really appealed me because I like nothing better than to stand under a waterfall and let the water drop onto my head. |
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| Friends Barb & Bud drove up from Prescott to join us for dinner celebrating Pam's birthday and for the night. It was Chris' and my first time to stay at La Posada, although he dines there regularly with his groups. I hope it's not the last. |
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| Yes! A piano for Chris to enjoy while the rest of us relax to his fine brand of music! |
Of all the times I have been to (well, actually through) Winslow, Arizona, I seem to have been one of the few folks who have not done the tourist thing there, which is to have one's photograph taken while "Standin' on the corner", an activity that stems from the Eagles song, "Take it easy".
Okay, so now I have been "standin' on the corner in Winslow, Arizona", and I gathered the tribe to stand there with me.
As we wandered our way to "The Corner", we enjoyed live music by Tommy Dukes, who was warming himself in the scant morning sun while interacting with tourists. He had quite the tales to tell when I asked him where he was from - Mississippi - and told about he and his brother being left with their father at a young age when his mother left to go west with a recently-acquired husband and who sent for the pair to follow along eventually on a long bus ride unaccompanied by adults.
They came to Winslow and there he remains, although plying his musical gifts at various venues throughout the country. Tommy was inducted into the Arizona Blues Hall of Fame in 1997; I thought it quite a treat to enjoy his music and banter.
Homolovi . . .
Whew! Fourth day: we headed for home, but not before one more stop. None of us had been to the newish Arizona State park - Homolovi - its proximity made it a must-see.
Aptly named: it means "Place of the Little Hills" in Hopi: indeed, the extensive site consists of ruins covering an expanse of rolling hills rising above the plain of the Little Colorado River, which I got a glimpse of below.
Off to the west, we had a view of the snow-capped San Francisco Peaks, the same that we see from far south in Prescott.
Far to the north, we could see the Hopi Buttes.
At the visitors' center, we learned that Homolovi related to the late migration period of the Hopi from the 1200s to the late 1300s.
Only a very small portion of the ruins are open excavations, such as the kiva shown below; however, it was amazing to see the sheer size of the inhabited area.
One last group shot by a nice woman from North Carolina who was touring the West in her RV . . .
. . . and that's it: four days filled with adventures, laughter, friendship, learning and sightseeing. Life is good indeed!
1 comment:
Wonderful photos! Next time you see Tom and Pam say hello from me. Tom holds a special place in my heart.
Charlotte
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