Plant Them Deep Read online

  Rose climbed out of the pickup to greet her as Herman went around to the back of the truck to lead the calf out.

  “Yáat’ééh,” Rose greeted.

  Sara Ahasteen smiled as she saw the scrawny calf that Herman led out of the truck.

  “There she is! I’ve been searching for that poor animal since the sun came up,” the woman said. “I can’t afford to lose any more livestock. All I have left are a few cows and that calf.”

  “Something has happened to the land around here, hasn’t it?” Rose asked.

  Sara nodded. “There was an old settling pond from the uranium mines near here at one time. After the water evaporated, they buried the waste chemicals that were left over. That was about thirty years ago, but I still remember the man telling us that the chemicals would never leak out of their containment area and harm the soil. But now it looks like they were wrong. Near as I can tell, some have seeped into the groundwater.”

  “Have you reported it?” Rose asked.

  Sara shook her head. “Most of the families who used to live here had so much trouble with the land that they just moved away. I’m the only one left these days and no one’s going to do anything for just one person.”

  “I’ll report it for you anyway. Maybe someone can help,” Rose said as Herman led the calf into the corral.

  “All right.”

  Rose watched Sara take a bucket of water to the animal, then give it a small handful of grain and a flake of old hay. When she looked up again, Rose recognized the emotion she saw mirrored in Sara’s eyes. It was the ch’ééná, a mourning for what could never be part of their lives again. When the land cried, Navajos like Sara cried with her.

  TWO

  Two hours later, not far from home, Rose stretched in her seat, trying to loosen her seat belt a bit. “Do you think they’ll send someone who can figure out what’s wrong with the soil over there?”

  “Probably,” Herman answered. “They may even run some tests. But I doubt anything will be done to fix all the damage. You can treat the water when you pump it out of the ground, but that won’t help the plants, or the animals who happen to feed on them.”

  Rose had rolled down her window to let in some fresh air. As the midafternoon sun beat down on them, the temperatures had risen to the low nineties. “Are you still planning to go with me to the ceremony at the Navajo Forestry Department later this afternoon?”

  “Of course, but this trip took longer than we planned. We’re not going to have much time to rest up.” Herman stopped the truck in Rose’s driveway, and they both began unloading the plants they’d gathered.

  “I know. I’ll prepare a small good-luck plant to present to the new director of the nursery, then shower and dress up.” She thought of Henry Yazzie. He was a modernist, but he’d been raised in a traditionalist family. The small plant would be a gift he’d appreciate and value.

  “Okay. I’ll go home, clean up, and meet you back here in forty-five minutes. How’s that?”

  “All right.”

  Rose went around the side of the house carrying the potted plants they’d brought to her small garden of medicinal plants and herbs. She set them on top of the soil, intending to give them a day to acclimate, then went into the house.

  Jennifer and Dawn came into the kitchen from the living room just then. Seeing her grandmother, Dawn ran over and gave her a hug. “I’m going to ride Wind. Come watch, Shimasáni!”

  Dawn was nearly four now, and always used the Navajo word for grandmother, something which pleased Rose a great deal. “I can’t, little one. But you can tell me all about it later.” Looking at Jennifer, she added, “Remember that I may be late tonight. You’re prepared to stay until my daughter or I get back?”

  “Yes, I’ll be happy to do that. And please don’t worry. She and I will play games and after she goes to bed, I’ll watch some television or read until one of you returns.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it. Of course, you’ll get paid overtime, as usual.”

  As Dawn and Jennifer went out the back door, Rose smiled. She approved of Jennifer wholeheartedly. Her granddaughter couldn’t have a better sitter. To make things almost perfect, Jennifer was a traditionalist.

  Ella would never be traditionalist, but having Jennifer around almost made up for it. In a lot of ways, Jennifer—Boots—had become like another daughter to her, one who shared her beliefs. Maybe their combined influence on Dawn would persuade her to choose the old ways someday. The possibility never failed to cheer her up.

  Rose went out to the storage shed, picked up a small clay pot, then added water to a wash pan full of her homemade soil mix. Mixing the muddy soil with her hands, she squeezed the excess water out of a handful, then placed the soil loosely into the pot.

  Taking a small hand trowel, Rose went out into her garden and walked to the far row. “Oak under a tree” was a small shrub so compact that it was barely six inches tall. She’d always liked its clusters of small yellow flowers. To the Anglos, it was just creeping barberry, but to the Dineh, the plant was believed to remove bad luck, and its pollen was considered a general cure-all.

  Rose transplanted the hardy young plant she’d grown from a cutting early in the spring, placing it in the prepared soil already in the pot. Once finished, she went back inside to clean up and get ready.

  Thirty-five minutes later Rose stepped into the living room wearing her long indigo skirt and a velveteen blouse of the same color. It was fastened at the waist with a silver concha belt that her son Clifford had made for her. An impressive-looking silver and turquoise squash blossom necklace hung from her neck.

  “Wow, you look great, Mom. Hot date?” Ella Clah, Rose’s tall, slender daughter asked from the kitchen doorway The sandwich she’d obviously grabbed as a quick snack was still in her hand.

  Rose rolled her eyes. “Hot date? Only if you’re referring to the fact that the temperature outside will be one hundred by sundown.”

  Ella laughed, then stepped back into the kitchen. “Touchy”

  “You have the strangest sense of humor, daughter.” Rose shook her head, joining Ella and pouring herself a glass of water. “What are you doing home at this time of the day? Caught your share of criminals earlier than usual?”

  “I wish. Actually, I was hoping to catch my daughter and say hi, but she and Boots have already gone out riding. That pony is hard to compete against,” Ella added with a smile.

  Hearing the deep rumble of Herman’s pickup approaching, Rose went to the porch to greet him.

  Ella followed. “Where are you off to?”

  “To the ceremony at the new tribal plant nursery. As a Plant Watcher, I have an interest in how that’s run.”

  Ella sighed softly. “Mom, I really worry about you,” she said softly. “I know you’re doing what you think is right, but tread softly. You made enemies by campaigning against gambling, then you placed yourself right in the middle of the controversy surrounding the nuclear power plant.”

  “I’ve only spoken the truth, daughter, and they all know it.”

  “The fact that you’re right ticks them off even more, so watch yourself. Bad enemies have long memories and they’ll strike back at you when you least expect it.”

  “I’ll be careful, daughter, just as you are,” Rose said gently.

  As Herman came up, Ella smiled at him, then, with a quick good-bye, walked to her tribal police unit.

  Rose gazed at her agile, athletic daughter as she climbed effortlessly into the unmarked blue Jeep. “My daughter still doesn’t understand why I stopped being the stay-at-home mom she’s always known.”

  “You’re wrong about that. She does—she just doesn’t like it. I think she wants things the way they used to be.” He paused, then added, “We all do that to one extent or another—wish for what has past, what was familiar. Can you blame her?”

  Rose smiled. “You’re a wise man.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Rose went back for the potted plant, then joined
Herman at his pickup, where he was holding the door open for her. As they set out, Rose ran her fingers lightly over the large squash blossom necklace. The sterling silver and turquoise piece was adorned with ten squash blossoms fashioned of silver, five on each side, and at the bottom was the Naja, a horseshoe-shaped design worn by early Spanish horsemen. The Naja held seven turquoise stones set in silver bezels spaced evenly around the horseshoe shape. Each of the squash blossoms also held matching stones set in silver, separated from one another by two rows of large handmade silver beads. Like many of the things she treasured, it was a link to her past.

  “That’s a beautifully crafted necklace.”

  “Thank you. It’s been in my family for generations. Someday I’ll give it to my daughter, and eventually she can pass it on to her daughter.” She paused, then added, “This necklace is much more than a piece of jewelry. It’s a link that connects the women in our family. That’s why I’ve always treasured it.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Herman parked outside the large new facility located near Toadlena, southwest of Shiprock and in the foothills of the nearby mountains. There were at least two hundred people touring the nursery, which was spread over several acres.

  “I’m glad to see so many people supporting the tribal nursery,” Rose said. “I understand they’ll specialize in native pines and other varieties that can be replanted to take the place of the trees we harvest for lumber.”

  “It’s a sensible plan,” he answered, “replacing what we use.”

  They were walking toward the main entrance to the facility when two men she recognized came up to her. One was her granddaughter’s father, Councilman Kevin Tolino, and the other was Councilman John Begay.

  “Aqalani, greetings,” Begay said, using both the Navajo word and the English equivalent.

  “I speak Navajo, Councilman,” Rose said, amused.

  He nodded. “Oh, of course. Force of habit, that’s all.” He cleared his throat and continued. “I know you’re probably in a hurry to get out of the heat, so let me get right to the point. We need your help. The tribal council has been receiving complaints from several of our medicine men and herbalists. They claim that native plants needed for rituals and medicinal purposes seem to be quickly disappearing from the Rez.”

  “Sometimes the Plant People move on.”

  “This is more than plant succession or natural selection, although the extreme weather we’ve had the past few years is definitely a factor. We’ve been told that there’s evidence that someone has been indiscriminately harvesting our ceremonial and medicinal plants—just digging them up and carrying away as many as he can. Whoever is doing this leaves only the weak or diseased plants behind. This is making a serious situation even worse. Some of these plants are already endangered. Naturally the tribal council shares the concern of our medicine men.”

  “Earlier today, east of Gallup, my companion and I saw where holes had been left by someone digging up plants. Perhaps this is another incident. What is it you want from me? Do you need someone to investigate these reports?” Rose asked.

  “Yes, and we naturally thought of you, not only because of your knowledge of plants, but also because of your active interest in matters that concern the tribe’s welfare. We also want you to take it a step further,” Kevin said. “We want you to conduct an official plant survey for the council and determine the status of these plants around Shiprock and the Four Corners area. Then we’d like you to draw up a plan we can use for the entire Navajo Nation to ensure that any endangered Plant People are given the chance to reestablish themselves and increase as they’ve done in the past.”

  “Our ultimate goal is to restore our Earth Mother to the way she was before overgrazing, industrial activities, and the population explosion among the Dineh took its toll,” Begay added. “As a longtime leader of the Plant Watchers, you’re ideally suited for this job, and we hope you’ll accept. Of course, you’ll be paid for this,” he said, quoting her a salary, “and your traveling expenses will be covered.”

  “We’ll also assign someone to assist you in case you should need a driver or require technical help with anything,” Kevin added.

  “It’s a very tempting offer,” she said. “How soon do you need to have my answer?”

  “As soon as possible,” Begay said. “We want to make sure we don’t lose any of our native species completely.”

  She could see no reason to turn it down. It was the kind of work she would love doing for the tribe. “Then I can give you my answer now. I accept.”

  “Wonderful!” Begay said. “Come by my office tomorrow. I’ll answer any more questions you may have, then give you the list of plants we’ve been told may be endangered. You may discover there are more. We’ll also have an instruction sheet—really a form—that will show you how we want the reports structured. You can start as soon after that as you wish.”

  As the two councilmen walked away, Herman glanced at her, a serious expression on his face. “I have a feeling your daughter will be very upset that you didn’t consult her before accepting this job. If someone is stealing the tribe’s plants, you could be stepping into the middle of some nasty business.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. But as a Plant Watcher, there’s no way I could have turned this down.”

  “I understand, but I just don’t trust politicians. can’t help but wonder what their real motive is—you know, the one they aren’t telling you about.”

  Rose laughed. “Oh, I thought of that right away. I’m sure that this appointment is designed to keep me from bothering the tribal council for a while. Otherwise, they could have picked someone else equally qualified for this work. I can think of a few right now in the Plant Watchers group. But with my public campaigns against gambling casinos, power plants, and mining, I’ve become the burr under their saddle. They want to give me something to keep me busy.”

  Herman chuckled. “You hold them publicly accountable for the decisions they make, or don’t make, and that’s as it should be.”

  “By offering me this job, they’re officially saying that I’m a respected authority and expert in the field. If the time comes when they get angry enough to want to label me an extremist or discredit me in any way, they’re going to have a tougher time doing that without making themselves look bad.”

  “Good thinking, woman,” he said. “I wish you luck.”

  “I’ll need it—but not as much as a new pair of comfortable walking shoes,” Rose answered with a smile.

  Herman spotted Henry Yazzie standing beside a forestry truck. “There is the one you were looking for. While you go talk to him, I’m going to say hello to some friends of mine.”

  Rose went to meet Henry, and presented him with her small gift.

  “Thank you,” Henry said after she explained the plant’s significance. “It’ll be perfect right outside my office.” He glanced around. “I’m glad you came. I think you’ll enjoy what’s ahead. A hataalii will soon arrive and do a Song of Blessing for us. We’re trying to get things off on the right foot.”

  Rose nodded, privately disappointed. There had been a time when nothing less than a Blessing Way would have been considered, but a Sing that would take several days no longer fit in with those who always seemed to be in a hurry.

  Looking over her shoulder, Henry smiled, then glanced back at Rose. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Henry waved at a young Navajo woman examining a row of pines that were probably a year old now. Seeing him, the woman smiled and approached. She was wearing jeans, laceup hiking boots, and a short-sleeved cotton shell, and looked like many of the young people on the Rez these days.

  “Have you two already met?” he asked, then continued when Rose shook her head. “You both have the same interest in plants, though you have different viewpoints. Why don’t I leave you two to get acquainted?”

  The young woman gave Rose a cold smile. “I know who you are, ma’am, but I don’t think you know me. My name is Maria P
oyer,” she said, adding, “That’s my Anglo name, so I don’t guard it. Feel free to call me Maria.”

  Rose nodded. At least the girl knew something of her own culture. These days, Navajos who honored traditional beliefs only guarded their secret war names, keeping the power inherent in those intact. Anglicized names were commonly used now, put of necessity and habit, to avoid confusion.

  Rose still preferred to avoid the use of proper names, but she could see that in today’s world that wasn’t always possible.

  “I’ve heard you and I are on opposite sides of the plant issue,” Maria said. “I studied agriculture at college and came home to teach others how to use the latest research and technology I believe we need to bring in genetically engineered crops that will give us higher yields and better results. Some of our people rely too much on traditional methods and native plants for medicine and animal forage.”

  “Of course we rely on what the land provides. It’s our way,” Rose said. Maria reminded Rose of the many Anglos who’d come to the reservation over the years promising to make things better. They seldom, if ever, did, and often made the situation even worse. Then they left.

  “But we can make things so much better for ourselves,” Maria said eagerly. “One option is to replace native grasses with genetically improved high-yield varieties that will produce more nutritious feed for our livestock.”

  “But how many poor Navajos will be able to afford what’s needed to accomplish these high goals you propose? Even alfalfa is expensive. We’ve seen many ideas like these brought here before. Do you remember hearing about the new, improved breed of sheep they forced on us? The Navajo churro sheep thrived in our desert for nearly four hundred years. Its wool glistened and made our blankets beautiful. Then the government came in and killed two-thirds of our sheep, saying we had too many—that was the mandatory stock reduction. The poorest Navajos paid dearly for those losses. Then, when we were finally beginning to recover from that, they came back and decided to improve our stock. The government brought us other kinds of sheep. But they didn’t do well here. They became sickly and needed a lot of attention and care. Our four-horned sheep had been a gift the gods gave us so we would prosper. Without them, things didn’t go well. Recently, programs have begun to bring back our churro sheep. What we’d had at the beginning was found to be the best after all.”