Plant Them Deep Page 3

  “Mistakes certainly have been made in the past, but we can’t let that stop us from trying to make things better. We need to compete with the Anglo world economically if we ever intend to stand on our own as a tribe. I want to bring methods I’m certain will work for us here and teach The People how to become first-class farmers and herdsmen. I’ve applied for a grant to establish demonstration crops in previously uncultivated areas so I can prove that what I’m proposing really works under our particular conditions. I know that’s the only way I’ll ever really convince people.”

  Rose smiled, admiring her determination. If enthusiasm was a building block to success, nothing would stop Maria. “The Plant People given to us by the gods are hardy and can survive here. They come back year after year. Designer crops don’t usually make it past our baking heat or droughts.”

  “Substandard grazing promotes malnutrition and disease. We have to introduce more nutritious plants as quickly as possible. They’ll crowd out the low-yield native species, and in time our animals will be grazing on quality feed. That, in turn, will improve the health of The People who depend on their animals for food.”

  Rose considered saying more, but the look on Maria’s face stopped her. The young woman was a selective listener, choosing to hear only her own words. But Rose knew they’d meet again. She’d fight anyone who wanted to do away with the Plant People here on the Dinetah.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Herman saying good-bye to his friends and coming over to join her, and was relieved.

  “The ceremony’s about to start,” Herman said, greeting Maria with a nod.

  “John Joe is a great medicine man,” Maria said. “He’s really into our culture, and has his own style. Everyone I know is really impressed with him.”

  “What do you mean his ‘own’ style?” Rose asked. The Sings depended on exactness to work. A chant litany allowed for no deviation from the formula. Theirs was not a religion in which one pleaded with the gods. Navajo prayers were meant to compel the gods to obey. Some prayers were so powerful that they could never be repeated in the same day, or be done in part. Unlike the shamans of other tribes who relied on visions and dreams, Navajo medicine men relied on symbols and knowledge. “Either the prayer is right or it isn’t.”

  Maria shrugged, then, seeing a friend, hurried over to meet another woman her own age. Rose gave Herman a worried look. “A modernist hataalii who is ‘into’ being a Navajo? That makes no sense. What on earth does she mean by that?”

  “I’m not sure,” Herman answered. “But now I’m curious. Let’s go find out.”

  The hataalii, a handsome, energetic-looking young Navajo man, came out of one of the small buildings in the middle of the nursery grounds. The moment he appeared, Rose was reminded of a movie star making a spotlighted entrance at a film debut. There was something flamboyant about him and that put her off instantly. A proper hataalii should have been humble in appearance and manner.

  “John Joe is so impressive, don’t you think?” she heard one of the younger women whisper. “If I ever needed a hataalii, I’d go see him in a second. Wouldn’t you?”

  “That depends,” her companion answered, brushing back her long black hair, which hung down to the seat of her jeans. “I admit he’s good-looking—and single too. But if I were sick and really needed the Sing to work, I’d go see Clifford Destea. John Joe looks good, but image isn’t everything. Clifford’s Sings work.”

  Rose nearly laughed out loud. As Herman caught her eye, she had to bite her lip to remain quiet.

  As the ceremony continued, the hataalii stood beside a cluster of young pine trees, surrounded by the crowd, which had formed a loose circle around him. All eyes were upon the hataalii now, and, sensing it, he began a Song to the Sacred Mountains, beginning with the one to east, where the gods first appeared to man.

  With a flair that reminded her of a magician onstage, John Joe brought out a pinch of pollen from his medicine pouch, touched the pollen to the tip of his tongue and his forehead, then threw the rest upward. It caught in the breeze and sailed up as he said an invocation.

  Last of all, his voice rose in a Song of Blessing, and when he finished, an unearthly stillness settled over them. Not even the birds marred the silence.

  John Joe smiled to those gathered there, turned, and walked away, disappearing through a doorway into the main building.

  A heartbeat later, a loud cheer rose, and the celebration started. People moved quickly toward a row of long tables filled with refreshments.

  Waiting in line, Rose had to admit silently that the young medicine man had done everything right. Her only objection was the blatant showmanship.

  Soon, friends came to greet Herman and Rose. Everyone, it seemed, was talking about the new hataalii.

  Lena Clani came over with some punch for Rose. “That certainly was an interesting ceremony,” she said. “I’m not sure I like his playacting, but he’s certainly rekindling interest in the Old Ways among the young ones. That’s a good thing.”

  “Yes, that is,” Rose admitted. “I suppose I can overlook his cockiness in exchange for that.”

  As Lena greeted another friend who’d come up, Rose excused herself and went to meet Ron Charley, one of the young workers at the nursery. She’d known his clan almost all of her life, and felt comfortable advising him on the best ways to get the nursery’s pine seedlings to grow and propagate.

  “Thanks for the information. I appreciate it,” he said after she’d offered her advice.

  “And you might consider setting aside a section of the nursery for growing native grasses. We could make them available to the mining companies and ask that they use our own plants to reclaim the areas their operations have damaged.”

  “I’ve made that recommendation myself,” Ron Charley said. “The area where my grandmother used to take her sheep to graze is barren land now. Strip-mining has taken quite a toll. I’d like to see that land restored the way it once was.”

  Eventually Ron excused himself and Rose took her own tour of the nursery. When Herman caught up with her at last, people were already starting to leave.

  “I think it’s time for us to go too. We’ve both had a long day,” he said.

  Rose nodded. She could tolerate the heat better than most, but late afternoons were meant for the indoors—unless it rained. Then, like most of her neighbors, she preferred to sit on her porch and watch the rare event that always cooled as it blessed the parched ground.

  THREE

  The next morning, Rose waited in the reception area of the tribal offices in Shiprock for Councilman John Begay. She’d been looking forward to this meeting and beginning her work for the tribe. Her daughter seemed to support the assignment, at least in a backhanded way. Ella had said, “This should keep you out of trouble for a while,” then smiled.

  Ella hadn’t fooled her, though. It was her daughter’s way of showing respect without seeming sentimental.

  As she glanced down the hall, she saw Maria Poyer arguing with someone. The man had his back to her, so she couldn’t make out who it was, but it was clear that the young woman was pressing the issue. Rose thought about straying in their direction, curious to find out what they were arguing about, but just then Begay came out of his office. Seeing her there, he smiled and invited her to join him.

  Moments later Rose took a seat in his sparsely decorated office. Already inside, seated at a small table, was a young woman who was clearly Indian, though Rose was sure from her skin tone and facial features that she wasn’t Navajo or Ute. Although young, she wasn’t wearing slacks or blue jeans, what seemed to be the uniform for young Indians these days. Instead, the Native American girl was wearing a long, dark blue skirt and a loose cotton blouse. Her only jewelry was an inexpensive watch, and she had a small book bag beside her on the floor.

  “Yáat’ééh,” she greeted, then smiled. “And that’s the extent of my Navajo.”

  Rose laughed. There was something engaging about her easy smile.
“That’s all right. You already know as much as many New Mexicans, and your pronunciation is much better than the yacht-tuh-hay I usually hear from non-Navajos.”

  “I’m Sadie Black Shawl,” she said with a nod. “I’m Oglala Sioux from the Pine Ridge Reservation, and I’m here on a work-study program at the college. I’m going to be your helper.”

  “Sadie’s a very competent conservationist,” Begay said. “She’ll advise you on the scientific and technical matters you’ll need to include in your reports.” Begay reached into a folder, then handed Rose several documents, which included topographic maps and a list of plants that were of special concern. “You probably won’t need the maps, since you’ve lived here all of your life, but your helper might find them useful.”

  Rose suspected that Sadie’s job was also to keep an eye on her and make sure she stayed out of the council’s hair for as long as possible. With the nuclear power plant issue coming up for debate again in the council, they wanted to make sure she wouldn’t be around to interfere. Of course, that wouldn’t be necessary now, since she’d already made her position clear. “How soon will you be ready to start working on this, miss?”

  “As soon as you are,” Sadie answered. “And please, just call me Sadie. Our tribe uses names.”

  “Okay … Sadie, let’s go, then. We have a lot of work to do.”

  As they went outside, Sadie saw Rose’s old pickup and hesitated. “Your truck has obviously served you well, but if you’d like, we can take my Jeep and that will free you to watch for specific plant types.”

  “You’re very diplomatic,” Rose said with a tiny smile. “But if you’re worried about breaking down somewhere in the hills, you’re underestimating my truck,” Rose said. “On the other hand, it would probably help if you drove your Jeep so I could keep an eye out for the Plant People. You’re right about that. So let’s stop by my house first. I’ll leave my truck there, and we can pick up a jug of iced water to take along with us at the same time. Summer is never easy on the reservation—on any reservation, I’d expect.”

  Sadie smiled and nodded. “You should see our winters.”

  When they arrived at her home. Rose invited the young woman inside. Sadie seemed very easygoing and calm, and Rose had a feeling they’d work together well.

  “To really understand the crisis we’re facing, you need to see for yourself one of the reasons why the Plant People are moving away,” Rose said. “Have you visited any of the areas that mining has affected?”

  Sadie shook her head. “All I’ve seen are photographs in books and magazines, and a few films. Most of the latter were very out-of-date.”

  “Then I’d like to start by showing you stretches of healthy desert land, then taking you to the areas that have not been successfully reclaimed,” she said, offering Sadie a glass of iced herbal tea. “Then you’ll be able to see firsthand how fast our plant populations can sink to a critical level, particularly if someone is harvesting what’s left.”

  Sadie accepted the tea while Rose went to the back room to change. She returned a few minutes later wearing a long skirt and a smooth flowing cotton blouse with sleeves that would keep her from getting scratched up.

  “This tea is good.”

  Rose smiled. “It’s made up of common herbs like chamomile and brook mint which I gather just for this recipe. But I also have a secret ingredient,” she added with a smile. “It gives it just an extra tangy taste.”

  “My mother has her own herbal tea mix too. She won’t even give me the recipe,” Sadie said with a chuckle.

  “You’re far from home …” Rose said, purposely leaving the sentence hanging.

  Sadie nodded. “I’m the youngest of six girls. All of my life I’ve had to compete with my sisters. No matter what I wanted to do, they’d done it before me, and usually better than I could. I needed to go out on my own someplace where my work would be judged on its own merits, not compared to whatever my sisters had done.” She paused, then continued. “But it’s more than that. I came here to learn my own strengths and weaknesses. That was something I could only do away from my family.”

  Rose smiled. “There was a time when my daughter felt the same way you do about that. She left to find herself too, and was gone for many years before she returned.”

  “I expect I’ll go back home someday too.”

  Once they were under way, Rose gave her directions to an area near Narbona Pass, which was farther south from Shiprock than the new nursery she’d been at yesterday. That forested area, named for a Navajo warrior, was one of the few places on the reservation that still looked just as it had when she’d been young. As far as Rose was concerned, the hour-long trip would be worth it.

  “How did you get involved with this kind of conservation work?” Rose asked.

  “I like to fix things. When I was younger, I’d collect stuff people threw out—from old garden tools to hair dryers. I’d fix them up, then sell them or just give them away. I’ve never liked discarding things, but I hated having old junk just lying around. It still makes me a little crazy when people abandon a car or haul out an old refrigerator and leave it outside to rust.”

  Rose nodded thoughtfully.

  “These days, I’m still doing the same thing, but on a larger scale, and what I’m trying to fix now is something much more important. The land is at the heart of all the tribes. It provides food for us and our animals, and gives us minerals. But if we don’t take care of the gifts as well as the gift giver, we’ll lose it all. My goal is to repair the harm that’s been done—both here and on my tribe’s land.”

  Rose smiled, in complete agreement. “It’s a worthy goal. I fight hard to protect life here, because this is our home.” Rose looked out her window. “If this isn’t worth fighting for, I don’t know what is.”

  “Tell me about the place we’re going to visit.”

  “It’s southwest of here where the piñons give way to the ponderosa pines. I used to go there as a young woman, herding sheep and goats. It’s a place of peace—wonderful during the summer, and so much cooler than it is down by Shiprock. The Plant People who live in the great mountains are tough enough to survive the hardships of the Navajo Nation.”

  They fell silent the rest of the journey. There was no need to talk. Even without further words, they understood each other now. To fix—not discard. With those words, the alliance between them was formed.

  The first place they visited was everything Rose had described. Sadie visibly relaxed as she walked with Rose, who pointed out some clusters of Indian rice grass, “That plant grows much more abundantly at lower altitudes, and can even be found on sand dunes. Long ago, the grass was picked, and the chaff burned off so that the seeds would come free. Those would then be gathered and ground into cakes or cooked with water to make mush,” Rose said. “We all knew how to live from the land back then, even though it was hard work to do so.”

  They walked around the dry western forest for what seemed hours. Rose checked the list of endangered plants, but found none of the rare species in that area. At least there were no spots where it appeared plants had been uprooted

  “This really is a place of peace,” Sadie acknowledged as they returned to her SUV.

  At the second site, farther north and in the foothills, Rose showed Sadie land that had been ravaged by uranium mining. Few things grew here, though the mines had closed many years ago. Settling ponds that had once been filled with contaminated water had been left uncovered like open sores. “Children still swim in those during the rainy season, and livestock drink the runoff where it collects,” Rose said. “The land here is cursed. Our people believe that knowing the name of your enemy gives you power over him, so we named the uranium dust Yeetso, yellow monster. Once it was freed and allowed to roam our land, all Yeetso has done is cause us pain.”

  “It’s all so sad. If death had a face, I think it would look like this,” Sadie said.

  “This is at the heart of many of our problems. Collection sites
for herbs and important plants are diminishing because so much of the land is no longer well,” Rose said, “Things will get worse in a hurry too, if someone is harvesting the Plant People and taking them away.”

  “We have a big job ahead of us,” Sadie said.

  “The first thing we need to do is examine the collection sites very carefully and verify which plants are the most endangered. Once we know that, we can take whatever steps are necessary to protect them.”

  Sadie took a deep breath. “We’ll also want to search for new, untouched collection sites for the plants that seem in shortest supply. If we can’t find any new sites, then we’ll need to present the tribe with some plans that will help them remedy that situation.”

  As Rose and her helper walked back to the Jeep, they went through an area filled with open mine shafts. Suddenly someone yelled out a warning, and Rose stopped in her tracks. She reached for Sadie’s arm and pulled her back, looking around for the person who’d called out to them.

  A moment later, she spotted a tall, sunburned Anglo man wearing a cowboy hat, jeans, and boots, and large metal-framed sunglasses. “What on earth are you two doing wandering around here?” he asked, hurrying toward them. “This is a dangerous place. Go home.”

  “We are home,” Rose answered firmly.

  “Then you might consider fixing up the porch.” The man stepped in front of Rose and Sadie and, using his walking stick, hit the ground before him hard. Wood splintered, then an instant later the pieces of rotting wood fell into a dark shaft that seemed to go on forever.