Navajo Country. Spritual, austere, stunning, contrasting, grand by design…it’s difficult for me to find adjectives to describe this area in Arizona. I feel as though any words I can summon are inadequate and only skirt the reality. In fact, through this entire recounting of our travels I’ve probably expressed similar frustration at being able to describe a location several times, if not most of the time. It’s simply true, though. This country is blessed in its sublime and dramatic architecture. The hand of God, forming this geography over millions of years and through continually successive blending, chiseling, sanding, grinding, washing, is busy yet.
Canyon de Chelly is a thing unto itself. It is unique to us. Far below the rim there meanders a little stream. Most of the time you can wade it without getting your knees wet, Yet, it has carved a miraculous honeycomb of canyons with the most beautiful colored sandstone imaginable. You can walk right up to the precipice of the canyon nearly its entire course without restraint and gaze into its belly. Every perspective is different and inspiring. This canyon is not a preserved monument, however. Yes, it is managed in part by the US government as a “monument”, but it is living and working Navajo land. Families still farm the valley floor. The rim is an unbounded open range for horses, some cattle, sheep, what have you. Talking Rocks still tell their tales and give their instructions to those who would read and see. The Navajo guides, who are the only ones who may take you into its interior, still tell the tales of the peoples who came before and the creation stories of the Canyon. Its a muddy and dusty place...an earthen place yet as spiritual as the invisible air.
It had rained for as few days prior to our arrival here and when we had set up our RV camp it began to snow. It snowed ferociously. I feared that we would become stuck in the miry clay. Our feet and clothes were clogged with the stuff as we ventured out to experience the day. The dogs, Dash and Heidi, loved it and romped. We found a Navajo man named Howard who had property on the rim. It was a campground of sorts. It is called Spider Rock Campground after the wondrous rocky spire located here by the same name. Howard is a great guy and is an affable sort. Howard is also a guide and we had arranged for him to take us into the canyon for a tour. I was torn whether to take the jeep tour or the hiking tour. Both would have been great, but as it was, no tour could be taken due to the condition of the valley floor. Mud, mud, and more mud, making travel impossible. Still, we had a great experience touring the rim and taking in as much of the place as we possible could. At times we couldn’t see the valley floor for the thick snow falling.
There is a town here, perched at the entrance to the valley. It is called Chinle and it is about as Navajo a town as you’ll ever see. The people here are friendly when encountered and most of them get along in this 21st century just as any of our citizens do. However, there is a creeping sense of poverty in places. Along the edges of the town and its outskirts you cannot help but notice the harsh living conditions of some of the citizens of the Navajo nation. This is not due to the Nation of Navajo itself. These are industrious and hard-working, proud citizens of both the Navajo and US nations. But I think it is this duality of nations that might foster some of this poverty. Some folks here fully adopt the 21st century American way of life. Others take on the old ways of the Navajo. It seems to me there are those who are caught between the two worlds and struggle to balance their lives. "To which nation do I owe what?"... might be the problem. And perhaps "Who am I?"might be another.