Sunrise Ceremony - Canyon de Chelly

by Charles Keen

(Note: Charles is a volunteer from Chelmsford, MA who attended his first food run in 2008. He has returned annually since. His initial reference is to an optional sunrise ceremony which is held in conjunction with each food run.)

Sitting on the cold rocks overlooking the depths of Canyon de Chelly in the white light awaiting the arrival of the first yellow rays of the sun Linda Myers posed two existential questions:  “Who Am I?” and “Why Am I here?”.  The questions are embedded in the cosmology of Navajo creation stories of the Hero Twins, but of course they apply to each of the 40+ members of our circle.  We are asked to attempt answers.  We struggle with these lifelong imponderables as did the twins in her story; one spent much time seeking wisdom among buffalo and bear elders and was rewarded with deep insights while the other tried a short cut following the trickster coyote and finally recognized his failure.  The questions continue to resonate.

Who Am I?  I grew up on an Iowa farm with five younger brothers; we fed cattle and raised corn .  Dad was a self-taught agricultural economist; business and markets were discussed at every meal.  Mother was a teacher with a deep sense of education, history, and genealogy.  She insured that we all knew that we were 14th generation from the Mayflower; I later learned that Dad’s paternal ancestors only arrived in the 18th century from Sweden.  Both parents insured that all of us had extensive higher education and saw ourselves establishing careers off the farm. We did but with an imbedded sense of the Land.

Age and experience has burnished some of the sharp edges of youth.  Marriage, two fine daughters, years in Canada, travel, challenging work building and deploying Internet precursor technology in many countries, and death  have been part of my life’s journey.  I have sought experience and understanding.  I enjoy getting past national politics and propaganda to discover the common elements of family, work, and culture in our individual everyday lives.

Why Am I here?  Over the years I have gained a sense of place in several countries and in the American Midwest, Northeast, East, and Pacific Coast.  However my sense of the history, culture, and place of the Southwest United States had been shaped only by Westerns and 30+ thousand foot airplane window views.  I had some sense of the sorry and sordid history of the treatment of American Indians but with details only from the East.

Exposure to the Adopt-A-Native-Elder organization and the opportunity to go on food runs – I have now done four – has given me a ground level sense of place and the lives the Navajo live.  It is a close-up view of agriculture, commerce, health care, diet, housing, culture, history, and intergenerational family life I could never gotten from books.  Visiting the Navajo Nation Museum and Zoo at Window Rock gives a sense of the Navajo view of themselves.  Stopping at the Hubble trading post at Ganado provides the context for the sources of the colorful rug weaving art practiced today.  Spending time with experienced ANE volunteers has given me a sense of the deep respect they share for the Navajo culture and elders they support. 

Navajo history now has a distinct shape.  One cannot look down into the Canyon de Chelly and not see its walls as the site of their 1862 US military roundup and forced Long Walk to a New Mexico multi-year imprisonment; many died.   One then remembers depression era Bureau of Indian Affairs enforced culling of sheep herds and the recent Peabody Coal engineered police enforced family resettlements to clear title and access to rich Indian coal.

ANE food runs provide countless small insights into Navajo life.  Diet and medical problems are apparent. Loose sheep, cattle, and horses grazing on street and highways reflect both limited rainfall and an early New England sense of town common grazing lands.  (I always shudder at the sight thinking of many youthful, dangerous episodes chasing our escaped farm cattle off the busy US Highway 30.) The sense of common lands is reinforced as homesteads seem plopped in random clusters without separating fences or individual driveways.

 Flashes of humor and financial need are apparent during giveaway activities and in the types of supplemental medical supplies some elders receive.  The numbers of grandchildren who bring elders to food run sites reflect parents working off the reservation.  Noting whether elders speak Navajo or English to the grandchildren gives a hint of the durability of the culture.  Carrying supplies into an elder’s trailer, hogan, or house gives an intimate sense of both income and living arrangements. 

Details aside, the overwhelming sense one gets from elder faces, smiles, gentle handshakes, or a thank you given in broken English or Navajo is of genuine gratitude.  We volunteers are privileged to support a proud people who have lived hard lives with little income in a harsh land that they cherish deeply.   We are welcomed as caring outsiders who truly want to help.  Food runs, of necessity, are well organized; the pace is hectic and the physical conditions sometimes brutal.  Still, I feel privileged to be part of the ANE process; it has given me a sense of a special place and a people whose rural sheep herding traditions are under immense economic and cultural pressures for change from the larger American society.  I treasure the time spent on the food runs with these unique People.

Better Roads - A Winter's Tale

by Mary Robertson-Begay

(Note: Mary is a resident of the Hardrock area of the reservation. She has been a key supporter of ANE for many years, and the Big Mountain food run is held at her family Homeland. Mary writes about a series of crippling snow storms that affected the reservation during  January 2010.)

My favorite time of the year is winter. I love the snow and enjoy watching it all fall softly to the ground. Well, I almost started to . . . almost got tired of it last month. January brought on snow, and more snow, and even some more. We were now up to three feet in some areas and higher in other areas. We had not seen this in Hardrock for a long time.

My husband, Harry, and I work at the Hardrock Chapter house. He is the Community Services Coordinator. (Talk to Harry and "Jack-of-all-trades" is redefined in your vocabulary). I rent an office space there for the Hardrock Council on Substance Abuse, Inc. - a tiny 501(c)(3) organization. For us, work is eight minutes away. We live about 1/2 mile off the pavement, so on most days it's smooth sailing.

We started to receive calls from community members on the second week of on/off again snow. Our Chapter President, Percy Deal, rounded us all up and declared an emergency in Hardrock, although that really did not mean anything because in order for us to receive aid from the county or state, the President of the Navajo Nation and Governor of Arizona need to declare an emergency. That did not come for several more days. In the meantime, the Chapter hired two citizens and their modified four-wheel trucks. Some staff members practically moved into their offices. These people began to operate a shelter without any food or sleeping areas. We had to go shopping for food for the shelter and obtained sleeping bags.

The two four-wheelers were on constant call to dig out people stranded on roads and pick some up from their homes that needed to get to a doctor right away. Patients were beginning to miss dialysis appointments because there was just no way for them to get to the hospitals. Many of the elders were running out of medication, food, and water. Not only was it the elderly, but also young families who were used to living on a weekly supply of food.

Finally we started to see help, first from the Hopi Resources Enforcement, and then the National Guard. I am sorry to say that the Navajo Nation did not step up until the very end, and that was only after begging and pleading with the Navajo Relocation Commission office in Window Rock. The National Guard brought their big trucks, and we were able to load up hay, food, and water for the people who lived the farthest away from the chapter. On a good dry day, an hour is how long it usually takes to go visiting. It took the National Guard, a big grader, and Harry as a guide, almost the whole day to reach the farthest home. The National Guard was able to help out for two only days  the first time. The second group came three days later and helped out for a day and a half.

In the meantime, we had to keep the fire going at home. We were constantly making snow piles to make way for our sheep and horses. The Chapter, where we bought hay, was low on their supplies because the vendors could not get the trailers in. Shoveling snow from our roofs was fun and scary if you've never done it. Our truck would sometimes freeze to the ground, and we would bring out hot water to defrost it before it would move again. The tire chains did not come off for weeks. Pretty soon the truck was parked at the pavement, and we would walk. The half mile felt more like five in our clunky snow boots and always carrying what we could from the store.

The psychologist who works with me explained that we are sun people and that only the sun would bring back our smiles and dampen our anxiety. Attitudes began to show at work, staff members became short tempered, and frustration flared. We cried because there was not any more we could do.

Community members became angry with us for no reason. The first Chapter meeting after all of this, the building was filled to capacity. We heard support from some of them, but others still felt we did not do enough.

Then I began to wonder - - - what happened to us? At what point in one's life does one start to think that someone else is responsible for them? My mother, rest her soul, taught us to be independent. Never look upon another person's table thinking that you should be fed, she would say. I remember her saying, "take care of the sheep, in turn, they will take care of you". I guess I was very fortunate to have someone who did not let me do things my way. All in all, would I do it again? Yeah, no doubt. We just need better roads. But then again I would not want thousands of unfamiliar people at my door asking for the way to the Grand Canyon, or the shortcut to - - - wherever.