Plant Them Deep Read online

  “An air conditioner in a medicine hogan?” Rose said.

  “It won’t make the Sings any better if we’re all half dizzy from the heat.” He invited them to sit on sheepskins on the floor. “What can I do to help you two ladies?”

  “We’re members of a traditional group of herbalists. Perhaps you’ve heard of the Plant Watchers?” Rose asked, and, seeing him nod, added, “We’re looking into reports that some of our native plants are quickly disappearing, and some no longer available at all except by chance discovery.”

  “I know. I’ve seen some evidence of that myself. It looks like somebody is digging up and hauling away the good plants. Twice, I’ve had to sell herbal supplies I’ve collected from my garden to other medicine men who haven’t been able to find what they needed.”

  “We may have to come to you to purchase some starter plants too, if we can’t find the varieties we’re searching for. May we see your garden?” Rose asked.

  “I only sell the parts of the plants that are needed to conduct a ceremony or make an herbal infusion for a patient—not the plants themselves. Those I keep for my professional use.”

  “I understand. But may we still see which plants you have in your garden? Some native plants are so scarce, they’re endangered, so it would help us to know what you have here and could make available to others.”

  He stared at the hard-packed clay floor several moments, then looked up. “I hope you won’t take what I have to say personally, but I don’t show anyone my garden. The Plant People need to be left alone in order to thrive. I don’t even go to my own garden unless I need to collect something, or care for the plants themselves. The Plant People appreciate that extra courtesy. That’s why I’ve never had a shortage of plants, and why I’m now in a position to help the other medicine men.”

  “Then would you please give us a list of the things you grow? That would help.” Rose tried to keep her voice level and unemotional, but the man was starting to irritate her.

  “My garden is not nearly as extensive as people think,” he hedged. “However, if you need a specific plant or herb, I can usually find what’s required. What my garden can’t supply, I usually locate at my special collecting sites. But I don’t choose to share any of that information with others, because, like our ways teach, to share all knowledge is to deplete yourself.”

  “Then I guess we’ll be going,” Rose said coldly.

  Lena stood up and faced him. “The plants belong to all.”

  “But the knowledge of them is something we have to work for as individuals,” he answered easily.

  Rose shook her head, but said nothing as they walked back to the pickup. Soon they were on their way.

  “What an annoying man,” Lena said after they’d both fumed for several minutes.

  “I wonder why he didn’t want us to see his garden,” Rose said thoughtfully. “His explanation sounded like lawyer double-talk, not the words of a medicine man. I wonder if he has something to hide and, if so, what that is.”

  “Now you’re thinking like your daughter, the cop,” Lena said. “But I can’t blame you. He certainly wasn’t much help, and obviously very selfish with what he considers his.”

  “He’s probably afraid we’ll cut into his business. He’s selling herbs that The People can’t find, and that can become very profitable for him. Notice the new truck and air conditioner? He can set his own prices and others will have to meet them or do without. But I definitely don’t care for his attitude. I expect more from a hataalii. I’d ask my son to talk to him, one healer to another, but I doubt it would help.”

  The bumpy, dusty journey back to the highway exhausted both of the women. By the time they reached the paved road. Rose felt as if she’d permanently dislocated every bone in her body. She stopped, and tried to get a tiny grain of sand out of the corner of her eye with a tissue.

  “That’s a road that only should be traveled on horseback,” Lena said with a long sigh after they pulled back out onto the highway.

  Rose drove carefully, never increasing her speed past forty-five, afraid that she’d stress her truck even more. It now had at least two new separate rattles.

  As the road curved to the left, she noticed a tan pickup she hadn’t seen before about four car lengths behind her. Knowing how slow she was going, Rose stayed to the right so the driver could pass. But a couple of minutes went by and the pickup remained with her, matching her speed.

  When Rose glanced back for a third time, Lena turned around in her seat. “I think the driver of the pickup is a man,” Lena said, “but he’s too far away to identify. If he keeps following us, then drive straight to the police station. We’ll see what he does then.”

  “Good idea. I’ll do just that if he’s still with us by the time I reach the hospital turnoff,” Rose said.

  A heavy silence fell between them. Some people talked incessantly whenever they were afraid or uneasy, but Lena and she had always reacted in the opposite manner. It was one of many traits they’d shared all their lives.

  When they reached the hospital turnoff, the truck was still there. “The police station it is,” Rose said, making a right turn at the next intersection, then circling back to the highway. The truck stayed with them, but always kept its distance so they couldn’t see who the driver was.

  Four minutes later, as Rose approached the police station, she slowed to make the left turn, but the pickup suddenly turned right onto an adjacent side street and headed off in the opposite direction. Relieved, Rose exhaled softly and continued going instead of pulling into the station.

  “You don’t want to go in and tell your daughter about this?” Lena asked.

  Rose shook her head. “I’d rather not, if it’s okay with you. She’d worry, and there’s nothing she could do about it now. It’s not a police matter, because nothing illegal was done. I have enemies and this was probably an attempt to scare me. If he’d wanted to harm us, he would have done more than just follow us. This is nothing I can’t handle,” Rose said firmly, amazed at how certain she sounded. The truth was that, deep down, she wasn’t very sure at all.

  FIVE

  Ella joined Rose for breakfast the next morning. Dawn had already eaten and was outside with Jennifer, feeding the pony and adding water to his trough.

  “Mom, twice this morning Boots has started to say something to me, but she keeps changing her mind. Something’s bothering her. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

  Rose realized instantly what must have happened. Lena had probably mentioned the incident with the tan pickup yesterday when she got home, and Jennifer had learned what had happened. Avoiding Ella’s gaze, Rose poured cold water into the teakettle, then began selecting herbal teas from the cupboard to make her own blend.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Rose said, keeping her tone light. “If she has something to say, Boots will get around to it eventually.” Then she made the mistake of looking up at her daughter.

  Ella’s gaze sharpened, and she gave Rose “The Look.” “Spill it, Mom. What’s going on?”

  Rose sighed and told her everything about the trip and the pickup that followed them. “It’s not a big deal. All I can tell you is that it was a tan pickup and we think the driver was a man. That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

  “True, but you should have told me this last night.”

  “Told you what? That it was possible someone followed us into town? I’m not even completely sure that it was a deliberate thing. He may have simply been traveling in the same direction we were. That’s the most direct route from Colorado, you know.”

  “Is it possible someone may be hoping you’ll lead them to different collection sites?” Ella said. “The fact that someone’s digging up certain native plants already worries me. Can’t you let someone else handle this survey for the tribe? I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “As a police officer, you’re in danger all the time, daughter, and I’ve learned to accept it. This is something I have to do.”


  “Okay, Mom, you win—for now.” Ella gave her a hug, then reached for the pistol and holster that she kept on the high shelf in the kitchen out of Dawn’s reach. “I better get going.”

  The telephone rang and Ella stopped in midstride. Rose shook her head. “It’s for me.”

  Accepting that her mother’s instincts were as reliable as caller ID, Ella hurried outside.

  As she picked up the receiver, Rose had a feeling that the caller would be Bradford Knight and she wasn’t wrong. She listened to what he was proposing while watching her daughter hurry to her police vehicle.

  By the time Rose finished the call, Herman pulled up in his truck, waving at Ella as she drove away. Rose welcomed her old friend inside and offered him a cup of coffee. She didn’t drink coffee herself normally, but she always kept some on hand for her daughter and visitors.

  “So what’s on your schedule today, dzání? I came to help.”

  Lately, he’d taken to calling her dzání, the Navajo word for woman, whenever they were alone. Although it was old-fashioned. Rose liked it.

  She sat at the table across from him. “I made an appointment early this morning to meet Mr. Knight, the ecologist from the power company, at the old mines south of the power plant just past Hogback.”

  “Yes, I know that area. The mining company tried to reclaim the land after they’d removed all the coal, but they picked a lot of plants that don’t normally grow here. Although it looked really green the first two years, everything in that first try except the tumbleweeds and snakeweed died.”

  “Knight called to say that he thinks some of the plants on my list are growing there now,” Rose said. “I hope he’s right.”

  “I’m surprised to hear the Plant People are moving back in. That area was not contaminated with poisons in the soil, but strip-mining took a heavy toll there. The layers of bedrock that held the rain close to the surface are gone.”

  “Maybe some of the organic matter from the plants that they tried to introduce retained a little moisture in places,” Rose suggested. “I wanted to go and check things out right away. We can take my truck.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s going anywhere this morning,” he said ominously.

  “What’s wrong with my pickup?”

  “Besides two flat tires? It’s leaking so much oil, your oil pan much have been punctured.”

  “I had a feeling about that,” she said dejectedly. “The red light was on by the time I got home yesterday.”

  “I’m sure it can be fixed as long as you made it home with most of the oil still in the crankcase.” He stood up and rinsed out his cup. “You ready to go? My truck’s right outside.”

  “Let me make a phone call first. My daughter knows the mechanic who maintains the police cars and I want to arrange for him to come by and fix my pickup.”

  Herman nodded. “You better tell him to come out in the tow truck, then. I think he’s going to need to haul it back to the shop.”

  “Good idea,” Rose replied, reaching for the telephone.

  The sky was a vibrant blue as they set out toward the southern tip of the Hogback rock formation, a place that had held much coal at one time. Once past a few scattered homes near the highway south of the town of Shiprock, the dirt road they took alternated between rocky and sandy stretches, the former jarring their teeth and the latter stirring their stomach contents as the vehicle fishtailed back and forth like a mud puppy in an inch of water. Heading east, they soon descended into the old flood plain of the San Juan River, where there was more of a mixture of clay, sand, and water rounded boulders.

  When they were still a quarter of a mile away, Rose spotted a shiny new Jeep parked in the middle of a field. Here in the sediments of the river valley lay what was regionally known as the bosque, the forested areas that bordered the rivers. Grasses and herbs had once been plentiful, as well as trees such as the cottonwood. Now there were vast stretches of barren land dotted with tumbleweeds, and in some places alkali left white deposits where water had pooled and evaporated. Scraggly salt cedars, not native to the Southwest but now widely distributed, sucked up precious water with their deep root systems and gave little in return to The People.

  “Help me look for ‘tenacious’ and ‘sweet cattail,’” Rose asked Herman as they parked, then walked over to where Knight stood.

  He nodded. “I’m familiar with Teel’likanif,” he said, using the Navajo name for “sweet cattail.” “A hataalii I knew used it for a Shooting Way my mother had done once. That was many, many years ago,” he added with a rueful smile. “All I remember is that it had a central, leafless stalk with greenish flowers.”

  “It’s probably not quite flowering yet, so just look for something with long, cattaillike leaves, kind of like big-bladed grass or mariposa lilies, but larger.”

  “Without the flower and stalk I’m going to have a hard time spotting it, but I’ll try.”

  “Head towards the marshlike areas, and look around where you find saltbrush and saltgrass. If we split up, we’ll be able to cover more ground faster.”

  “Done.”

  As Herman walked away toward lower ground, she met Knight, who hadn’t moved. “Thank you for calling me this morning, Mr. Knight.”

  He nodded. “I went over the list carefully. I was able to identify most of what you’re searching for by their latin or common names, but I wasn’t able to come up with anything for ‘frog tobacco’ or ‘salt thin.’ I searched quite a few books and spoke to some of the professors at the college, but I haven’t made much headway.”

  “I don’t think there’s a common name for either. Some plants are familiar to us, but not to everyone else,” Rose said.

  “I did find a few campanula plants for you. They’re not in very good shape, but they’re there.”

  Rose didn’t recognize the name, but when he led her to where a few of the plants were growing, she knew. “We call this ‘sweet cattail.’” Once again, she could see signs that the person with the entrenching tool had been here. “Someone has taken the best—and as many as they could.” She looked around, trying to spot Herman, and wondering if she should call him back or let him keep looking in case there were other “sweet cattail” plants nearby.

  “Maybe he’s trying to cut his losses by making up with volume,” Knight said with a shrug.

  The casually spoken words made her cringe. The Plant People were alive. They were gifts from the Holy People, not nuts and bolts in the hardware store. “This person doesn’t understand what he’s doing. It’s the only way to explain what’s going on. Our method of collecting plants is very specific, and respectful to the plants and our people. We don’t just bring a shovel and help ourselves,” Rose said.

  “Apparently not everyone around here shares your respect for nature,” he said. After a brief pause, he added, “But I can see why the situation worries you. I understand that many native plants have medicinal uses.”

  “That was our sole medicine for generations,” Rose said. “These days, many of us still rely on it, though we do go to the doctor as well.”

  “I’d like to learn more about your medicinal plants. For example, that plant, Dimorphocarpa wislizeni,” he said, choosing one at random. “Does it have a specific use?”

  “I don’t speak Latin. Point,” Rose said. Knight indicated a plant with small white flowers and flattened fruit that looked like eyeglasses. “We use it as a medicine for itchy skin, insect bites, and other ailments. We call it ‘gray kangaroo rat food.”’

  “Very descriptive.”

  “Navajo plant names usually are. In many cases you can tell something about the plant by the name.”

  “Scientific names denote genus and species, and usually the genus name is descriptive. It’s a way of identifying not only the plant, but its background—like a clan name.” He regarded her thoughtfully, then added, “Considering you have no formal training, I’m surprised the tribe gave you the job you now hold.”

 
“You have the education, but I’m the one who knows the uses for each plant.” Bradford Knight was apparently trying to put himself in a position of superiority, but when it came to plants, she was too sure of herself to allow anyone to rattle her.

  He nodded once and smiled. “Okay—it’s a standoff between academic and field experience.”

  Rose gestured toward a spindly herb that stood about three feet tall. “Do you know that plant?”

  “Croton Texensis, Texas croton.”

  “We call it ‘spider food.’ It’s great for removing skunk smell from clothing.”

  Knight continued questioning her about the medicinal uses of the plants, and asking her to point out the ones that were endangered or of particular value.

  Finally Rose pointed to a cluster of small daisylike flowers growing low to the ground. “Do you know those?”

  “Chamomile, yes.”

  “I’m sure you know it’s said to be a great cure-all for almost any stomach ailment.”

  He nodded. “So I’ve heard. Since there was no written Navajo language until recently, knowledge about plants must have been passed on from generation to generation by word of mouth. Remarkable. It’s amazing how your people find a use for almost everything in your environment.”

  Maybe it was the way he said “your people” that made her suddenly feel like a rat in a laboratory cage. He was one of the most annoying, patronizing Anglos she’d met. For the first time, she wondered if it was a good idea telling him about the practical uses of local plants. Knight might just be seeking knowledge, but how he’d be putting that knowledge to use wasn’t clear, and she didn’t trust him because of where he worked. “We continue to keep our eyes and ears open. Some of the more recent findings about chamomile I learned from the Discovery Channel.” She smiled at him. “You could say it’s knowledge passed from word of General Electric.”