“AN OPENING INTO PEACE AND HARMONY”
by Michael Gaddy, ©2016, blogging at The Rebel Madman
(Jul. 17, 2016) — Author’s note: I wrote this article several years back and was most fortunate to have it published in the Navajo Times, the newspaper of the Navajo Nation. Our children’s, as well as our own experiences while we lived among these people are still treasured today. Being immersed in another culture was enlightening and challenging. We still treasure the friendships molded in the high plains of New Mexico among several families it was our pleasure to spend so many hours with. When our son left for Iraq in 2004 these people held a native ceremony for his safe return. Our lives have been so much richer for the time we spent with these wonderful people.
A multitude of memories swarmed in my head as I prepared to head for the Four Corners area of New Mexico, Utah, Arizona and Colorado and this year’s cattle drive. Has it really been 10 years since I first had the opportunity to play cowboys with the Indians?
Ten years ago, my family and I moved to the Navajo Indian Reservation. My wife had accepted a job there teaching in a Bureau of Indian Affairs School. Even though she was transferred to the Tohono O’Odham Reservation two years later, we have maintained contact with our Navajo friends. Some years our contact is centered on the spring or fall cattle gatherings and drives.
Actually, being invited that first year was quite a task. Our next-door neighbor in the school housing was one of the bus drivers. His name is Daniel Yazzie. Daniel and I had begun conversing over several games of horseshoes. Daniel told me about the upcoming fall cattle drive that was to take place that weekend. I asked if I might participate and was quickly, but politely, told no. It seems the Yazzie family had not had very good experiences with the “bilagaana” [Whites] when it came to cattle round-ups and drives. A year previous, one of the Anglo teachers had gone along and failed to last until midday of the first day. Daniel told me they just did not have the time or the personnel to bring me back when I got tired. He did reluctantly agree to allow me to go along after repeated requests. Although there was a gleam in his eye when I said to him; “you might kill me, but I will not quit.”
That first morning before daybreak I was pointed to an experienced cattle horse named Kim. The tack shed was pointed out and I began to saddle my horse in preparation for the day ahead. Several male members of the family were present and were talking rapidly and humorously in Navajo. I quickly realized, without understanding a word, that I was the topic of conversation. I turned to Daniel and asked what was being said and he told me that bets were being made as to “how long I would last.”
The fall drive is begun high in the Chuska Mountains. I was paired with Ray, the youngest of the Yazzie Clan and his young son who was called “Fudge.” We proceeded to work the draws and canyons, gathering the cattle and starting them in the direction of the main corral. The going was extremely rough. The cattle were hiding in the rough ravines between some very steep portions of the mountains. Ray and Fudge were mostly silent throughout the morning, only pointing and gesturing as to what I was to do.
About midday, I heard a high-pitched scream coming from somewhere on the mountain above us. I looked toward Ray and Fudge but they seemed oblivious to the sound. Moments later I heard the scream again. Little did I know that I was about to be introduced to the wonderful Navajo wit. I gave Ray an inquisitive look. He rode near and whispered what were to be the only words he said to me that day; “ You have to be quiet, there could be Indians around here!” I was to learn later it was his sister Fannie, using that scream to pierce the canyons as she beckoned us to lunch.
Even though this plethora of memories came rushing in, reminding me of the wonderful experiences, I knew in my heart that this drive would be different. The family patriarch had passed away this past November. He had fallen and broken a hip, and succumbed, as many do, to that lethal dose of pneumonia contracted in the hospital in Durango. Because of his age, he had never really taken part in any of the gatherings or drives in the past ten years, but he was always there. It would indeed be different without “Acheii.”
The 400-mile trek from Southern Arizona to Sanostee, New Mexico was uneventful except for a flat on the horse trailer as we approached the Zuni reservation. We made a couple of stops along the way to get the horses out of the trailer and walk them around to let them stretch out and relieve the monotony of the ride.
The first day of the drive is the gather of the cattle at the winter pasture. To accomplish this we break up into teams of two and go in all directions to drive the cattle back to the water hole. By the time we arrive there, the oldest daughter of the family has arrived with her crew to provide lunch to a group of hungry and thirsty cowboys and cowgirls. During the meal, a lot of good-natured kidding goes on. No one is immune to the merciless tirade of jokes. After everyone’s appetite is satiated, the 11-mile drive to the home corral begins.
This year the temperature is unusually warm. Somewhere about half way, the heat and dust combine to take their toll on the entire group. There is a lot of switching off from horseback to the cabs of the trucks. These trucks are pulling the trailers containing the calves that have tired to the point of exhaustion and would otherwise bring the drive to a standstill.
The fantastic scenery of the high desert plateau with its beautiful mesas and vistas, surely makes all the aches and pains recede to the back of the mind. Finally, the corral comes into sight. The cattle are driven into the corral with the help of several from the family who have remained at home. Horses are unsaddled, rubbed down, watered, fed and led to the corrals. Tired, worn out cowboys and cowgirls grab something liquid, collapse and wait for nourishment. The meal is eaten and the preparations for sleep occur almost immediately.
Dawn of the second day finds us feeding horses and making preparations for a long day of riding. In the first matter of business, the family matriarch makes the selection of barren heifers and steers to be saved for market. Then, all the remaining cattle are released and the drive for the summer pasture and much welcomed water begins. We traverse the flat dusty plains through the Pinons and Junipers to the magnificence of the Aspens and Ponderosa pines.
Lunch is a grand affair. The “old sawmill” is the sight as many members of the Navajo family accompany the Navajo ladies who prepare the meal and arrive to feed the many assembled there. The cuisine varies from the traditional Navajo fare, mutton stew and frybread, to hamburgers and hot dogs. Memories and experiences of those in attendance are painted and spread on the canvas of time as we nourish our bodies for the last part of the drive to the summit.
A wholesale transition takes place as we prepare to continue. Many of the family who only arrived for the midday meal, now take the mounts of those who have been working since dawn. How wonderful it is for many, who have wondered how they will be able to remount, considering their intake of the delicious meal. Bessie Lansing, oldest daughter of the Yazzie Clan, is lethal to anyone hoping to count calories. Just ask any of the thousands who passed through the BIA schools where Bessie prepared meals for over 30 years!
Before we know it, the day is waning and the summit reached. Time is taken to relax and visit with members of the extended Navajo family and then we begin the return trek to the point of origin for the day.
This is the time I take a relaxing reflection on the total experience. How wonderful it is to visit with the nicest folks on earth. The Navajos are a unique and wonderful people. My life, and the life of my family have been made so much fuller and richer by knowing this family and being allowed to be a part of this experience through the years.
As I ride my chosen path, alone in these beautiful surroundings, I welcome this time to offer my thanks to the spirit of the wonderful grandfather, “Acheii” who meant so much to everyone who had participated in this gathering. Although, as long as I knew him, a spoken language separated us, a common one, the love of this land and the family that is his, united us.
Nearing the corral, my horse senses food and rest are just over that next rise. She quickens her pace. I am left with just enough time to thank the creator for allowing me this journey that provides an opening into peace and harmony and a relationship with true friends.
Good story.