What I Took Away From a Trip to Dinétah

We were on the first flight to leave Knoxville on November 12, and upon arrival in Phoenix, Arizona, drove several hours north to Tuba City, the capital of Dinétah. The city sits in a low spot between four Diné sacred mountains. The drive was full of remarkable scenery. Just after we crossed the border onto the reservation, we saw a billboard proclaiming: "no uranium mining," as the nation had just passed a moratorium about a month prior to our visit. There is a point along the drive where there a perfectly straight line divides the beige sand one typically associates with Arizona and the vibrant reds, oranges, and purples that characterize the reservation.

Shruband just across the border - one of the best artistic photographs I took on the trip

After visiting the gorge, we went to the Grand Canyon. After having lunch by the rim, we visited the gift shop and climbed to the top of the observation tower. Having seen traditional merchandise earlier that morning, we were alarmed by the number of racist and culturally insensitive souvenirs for sale at the canyon. We also learned about the debate over returning management of the Grand Canyon National Park to the Diné, and that the leading argument against it, to quote a politician, is that they "may not want to use it the way we intended it to be used."  The irony of that statement is overwhelming. We rounded out the afternoon with an incredible hike down into the canyon on Bright Angel Trail. The canyon makes you realize how small you are from above, but it makes you feel much smaller from within. I enjoyed getting to converse with my colleagues and take some amazing photographs on the way down. Getting back up, however, was quite a hike (pun intended).

That evening, we had the first of many "reflections" in which we concluded the day by talking about high points and low points and generally conversing about our observations over dinner. It was that evening that Vanessa left us with perhaps the most impactful quotation I have heard with my own ears: "history, we say it's his story, it's not our story." She also described the long running exploitation of the reservations coal, uranium, and other mineral resources as the "raping of mother earth," who is respected like a deity along with father sky in the Diné culture.

After a good night's sleep and a slightly less early wake up the next morning, we headed out to a rock formation known by Vanessa as the Elephant's feet. She had enjoyed going there as a kid. We got to spend some time climbing around on the rocks before heading just back up the road to the Red Lake Trading Post for a day of service work.

The post is currently owned by Emmet, who took over after his brother, an army veteran, took his own life. Since his brother's passing, the store had fallen into a state of disrepair. It would be our task for the day to help restore it. We also met a couple of stray dogs, common on the reservation, that had taken up residence at the shop. Emmet didn't have a name for them, so we called them Haagen and Daz after the ice cream manufacturer. Who knows why. Maybe everyone was just in the mood for ice cream in the hot sun. Some people painted the inside, some constructed flower beads, overhangs, and benches outside, and others, me included, collected trash that was scattered about the property. In Dinétah, you will find glass shards in all sorts of bright colors scattered all over the ground from discarded alcohol bottles. Alcohol and drug struggles became commonplace after the government confined the people to the reservation. Diné culture follows a matriarchal model, in which women are in charge of property and governing, and men were historically in charge of hunting and defense, roaming the open land. But after the formation of the reservation, that was no longer a possibility, leaving many men with no sense of purpose. The results are still very visible today. At Red Lake, it was perfectly quiet. And there was enough land that for a couple of hours, I was on my own, alone with the desert. It was a time to reflect on many things in my life, and on my next steps. I walked down close to the property fence and looked out at the expansive horizon. There was much to think about even just after two days on the reservation, and I took this photograph, which I entitled "The Broken Road" of a dirt path that wound through the shrubland on the other side of the fence. It's intentionally minimalist, as I felt it captured the sense of loss present on the reservation.

"The Broken Road"

After a long day's work at red lake, we headed back into Tuba City for dinner, which starting that night was prepared by Jade, one of Vanessa's daughters. I'm an infrastructure nerd, so I was delighted to pass the Tuba City Wastewater Treatment Plant on the way back into town. The land is wide open, so you could see the entire (not particularly large) plant. I would include a photograph, but I don't have any because I was too busy pressing my face to the glass in the van, and it turns out no one else is a sanitation nerd. Before we ate dinner, we had an hour-long session about basket making.

That night during reflection, we discussed how great it was to have made a positive impact on the community. Things at the store were much better than we had found them. Apparently, service work done by travel groups typically has to be redone by the travel agency afterwards because it is lacking, but I am pleased to say that Vanessa indicated our work was so good there was no need for that.

On our third day, we had the opportunity to visit the Tuba City Friday flea market. There were many local wears, primarily jewelry and food, for sale. Some vendors, like those we met at the Little Colorado River Gorge, choose not to sell at the flea market because of the expectation of lower prices, which they feel would undervalue their work, which typically comes in smaller quantities than items at the market. Our visit to the flea market was abbreviated by 50 mph wind gusts that stirred up huge dust clouds. We had dust in our eyes, in the hinges of our sunglasses, on our clothes, and it was hard to stand up. Vendors' tents even began to blow over. It was like a scene on a desert planet in one of many science fiction movies.

After the flea market fallout, we headed five minutes up the road to Castle Rock, which would prove to be one of our favorite stops on the entire trip. Castle Rock is a group of giant rock formations you can climb up on. You can see for miles, and it's a great spot for contemplation. It's amazing that a place like that is just right next to town, and you can just go as you please.

An enlarged view of probably the smallest formation at Castle Rock as seen in the introduction - I am particularly proud of this photo

In reflection that night, it was hard not to focus on how much we enjoyed Castle Rock. It turns out, climbing something really big is satisfying to one's inner child. Being on top of the rocks was just so freeing. We finished the day by experiencing a mock Kinaaldá, a ceremony held for a girl after she first menstruates. In western culture, puberty tends to be this taboo topic that no one discusses and that leads to a lot of shame. In Diné culture, though, it is celebrated as a coming of age. One of their most important deities is Changing Woman.

The following day, we headed out early to a rural village on the Hopi reservation. We were lucky enough to witness a Hopi tradition called the Basket Dance. People walk in circles in the village square while singing, and they throw objects up into the air to be caught by people standing on rooftops. It is believed that if you catch something, you will find yourself blessed with many more of that same thing in the future. Of course, one item that is popular--hence the name--is the basket. A classmate was lucky enough to catch one. The locals all clapped, cheered, and commended him. It was frigid up on the rooftops that morning, but we got to see something almost no one gets to see, and that we will almost certainly never see again. I do not have any pictures of the ceremony, and you won't find many online either. Perhaps one really old artists depiction. But photographs are strictly prohibited at the ceremony, as it is to be kept sacred and special to insiders. In fact, photography is not permitted in the village at all.

We drove back toward Tuba City, and we stopped at Coal Mine Canyon on the way. Vanessa and her daughter Chanumpa told us about the way people hid out from the American Cavalry in the canyon, having to find food and water to support their families at the bottom. At night, the rock formations cast shadows in the moonlight, which as the moon moves, the locals say look like women dancing. Locals consider the canyon to be haunted by ghosts of people who hid there. The canyon just sits in a massive shrubland by the side of the highway. There is nothing for miles, no signage, no indication whatsoever that there is anything there. But if you turn off the highway randomly at the right moment, you will find a narrow dirt road, which if you follow for what seemed like it could have been ten minutes, the canyon just appears right in front of you out of nowhere. The land is so flat you cannot even see the canyon coming until you are right up next to it. Before descending into it, we met a woman who has a small farm on the rim of the canyon. She pointed out her house on the horizon and told us she had to move it back many years ago due to the unstable ground near the canyon caused by mining activities. Then, she pointed to a small windmill much closer to us and told us it was the power source for her water pumping system. But it sat on a sinkhole formed by those same mining activities, and she expected that sinkhole to swallow it at some point in the coming years. That windmill is depicted in my favorite photograph I took on the entire trip.

The doomed windmill - my favorite photo from the trip

We had a blast hiking down into the canyon. The Grand Canyon may be impressive in scale, but the utter lack of all commercialism and human presence at Coal Mine Canyon combined with its history hits different. On our way back up, the occasional snowflake fell. Back at the top, we had ten minutes of silence to reflect, interrupted constantly by the sound of a drone. We cannot be sure why that particular drone was there, but the next time you see the Apple TV screensaver that flies through Coal Mine Canyon, you'll know how disturbing to the peace its production was.

The following day was Sunday, and it was much slower. The entire day was dedicated to a traditional sweat lodge experience. In the sweat lodge, water is poured over red hot "grandfather rocks," called as such because they were here before us and will be here long after us, filling the interior with steam. There are a series of four rounds, with rocks being added each round, making each round progressively hotter. The rocks are stored in a fire outside until they are needed in the lodge. There is an optional fifth round called the Warrior Round, and I have been told its name is quite appropriate. I was not able to go in the sweat lodge for medical reasons, but I was able to sit just outside it and listen to the conversation happening within. The sweat lodge is a place of contemplation and a way to 'vent' for the Diné. People share their struggles and their reflections with no judgement in the completely dark space. The experience has a way of changing people, of causing them to open up. The discussion my colleagues had during the experience was quite profound. But there is a rule: "what happens in the sweat stays in the sweat." No one discusses or shares what is said outside of the sweat lodge. And, thus, in keeping true to that culture, I won't share any details of that conversation.

Monday was our last day on the reservation. We once again traveled out to the Hopi side for another day of service work. We aided in "putting fields to sleep" for the winter. Corn is the traditional crop of the Hopi people, and after a full day of work, our Hopi guide gave us a gift of blue corn seeds. He told us to take them home and plant them if we wished, but never to sell them, as the Hopi view the corn seeds like their children.

Us working in the fields

Throughout the day, you would hear the occasional echo of colleagues shouting out thank you to the land in the Hopi language. We finished our final evening around a campfire at Vanessa's house, where she told us: "you know where to find us, and you are always welcome here. Someday, come back and visit with your own families. We will be right here, behind the water tower."

Our final night in Dinétah

As we drove out before dawn the next morning, we watched the sun rise over San Fransisco Mountain, or the body of Changing Woman in Diné culture.