Saying Hágóone’…

For seven and a half weeks I left the beauty, comfort, familiarity, and peace of my lovely mountains and lost myself on a desert mountain in Northern Arizona. Here I lived, loved, and learned. For seven weeks I was not myself, but who the people of the Navajo Nation, the Shepherd Alliance, and St. Anne’s Mission needed me to be. I came to this desert haven looking for something, looking for peace and purpose. I found so much more than I ever dreamed.

Since the last time that I escaped to the desert around Phoenix two years ago I have craved the peace of the desert. And so, with this fond memory and craving I made my way to the village of Klagetoh on Memorial Day. I was in love from the moment I stepped out of the car. There is one thing that few people talk about or think of when the topic is the desert, and that is the desert’s greatest treasure: her people. And so it was with great wonder and thankfulness that I dove headfirst into the Navajo culture and allowed myself to be a part of their world. I learned so much from them. I learned to love myself, to trust the world around me, to laugh easily, to hide behind my eyes, to work for trust, to be flexible, and to relax.

The peace that Sister Desert and her children offered so readily to me will never be forgotten. And that is the greatest gift that either of them gave me or could have ever given me. They taught me how to take this peace and lock it in my heart so that it is mine forever, even over a thousand miles away. But I cannot stay in the desert forever. I am a child born in the shadows of the oldest mountains in the world. I was raised in North America’s Rain forest. I am a child of water. And so, with both sadness and joy in my heart I say “Hágóone’ (good bye)” for now. My mountains are being destroyed by the greed of the coal companies. They are crying and calling to me. They are calling and I must answer… May the peace that I have been given by the community of Klagetoh, AZ reverberate in the hearts of all who pass through that blessed village.

HOME

We will see each other soon, Sister, but for now I must go home….

Tacos for Tekakwitha

Kateri Tekakwitha

Many of you may not know the story of Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha: how she lost much of her family to small pox, was persecuted by and fled from her tribe, or the miracles attributed to her. It is a story that needs to be known, but this is not the place for me to delve into the wonders of her life and death nor is it my intention. However, I HIGHLY recommend that you do research into her yourself. Believe me, it is well worth it.

Now onto the main event. Tekakwitha (pronounced Te-ka-with-a) died in 1680 at the age of 24 and the canonization process started in 1884. She was declared Venerable by Pope Pius XII in 1943 and beatified by Pope John Paul II in 1980. She is the only Native American to ever achieve such honor. Quite a feat, but not enough to the over half a million Catholic Natives that look to her for strength and protection, including many of the Navajo that Maddie and I are currently working with. That’s where the Tekakwitha Conference comes into play.

Tekakwitha March

Tekakwitha March

There has been a lot of talk about the Tekakwitha Conference since we have come here and that is because the 71st Annual Tekakwitha Conference is being held a mere 4 hours away in Albuquerque, NM (well and because we’re living in a Catholic Mission). A number of the parishioners here at St. Anne’s and from All Saints’ in Ganado (15 miles away) are traveling to Albuquerque to attend the Conference. The only problem is that many of those going do not have a lot of money as it is and will have several fees and dues to pay over the next few weeks for the Conference, not to mention the cost of lodging and food for the 4 day conference. So, in order to ease the burden for some of the less affluent the decision was made to sell Navajo Tacos at All Saint’s as a fund raiser. And, as per our association with St. Anne’s, Maddie and I were asked if we would like to attend and help out with the Tacos.

Navajo Taco... MMMMMmmmmmm

When we arrived at All Saint’s we were directed to the kitchen and as we walked through the door and announced “WE ARE HERE TO HELP!” the first question we were asked was “Can you guys help make Fry Bread?” The irony in this question is that since about the first weekend that we had been on the Rez Maddie and I have been saying that we wanted to learn how to make Fry Bread. So, the elder that was frying the dough showed us how to shape the dough (which is not NEARLY as easy as the Navajo make it look or seem!) and put us to work making a few pieces of that yummy-ness. Then, from about 11 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. Maddie and I were put to work doing all kinds of cooking errands: dicing tomatoes, chopping lettuce, grating cheese, shaping dough, frying dough, stirring beans, putting the tacos together, selling the tacos, and serving the customers. It was SUCH a busy day, but enormously enriching.

We were working with four women throughout the day who entertained us with stories, or their chatter, or even their frights (the elder screamed upon seeing a lizard in the kitchen and her scream sent us ALL RUNNING!). Also all the different customers and their joy in supporting their community and speaking to others was so uplifting. They even made, after everything they owed for the supplies was taken out, $227.21! It was a blessed day served in the name of the Blessed Kateri.

Praying for Rain…

One of the first things that I learned coming to Klagetoh was how incredibly easy these people are to fall in love with. Klagetoh is a small village with a population estimated at 1500 people (yep fellow Bereans, the same size as our campus) and one (JUST one) gas station. Other than a few churches, the “housing”, and some sheep “ranches” that’s all there is to Klagetoh… On the surface. But dig a little deeper and you find a precious treasure: LOVE.

Maddie and I are staying at St. Anne’s Catholic Mission, just inside the Klagetoh limits. St Anne’s is SUCH a part of the community and the community is a part of the Mission. In fact, all of the interviews that we have done so far have had some connection with the Mission. Because of this we have been directly involved with the Klagetoh community since day one. We are constantly having cookouts with community members, playing with the local kids who show up on the playground every evening, or having coffee with the parishioners every Sunday after church.Those first few days it was so hard to get a read on these people, to learn what they were really trying to say, to earn their trust. But after a few days you just fall for these people. The biggest experience that I have had with this has been in joining their prayers for rain.

Sidewalk after a Shower

The very first Mass that we attended here the parishioners asked G-d to send them some rain then afterward, while the congregation was having coffee in the Hogan, several people that we talked to mentioned desperately needing rain. They were concerned because all the water pumps have gone dry early this year. Now, I have lived in  Appalachia for most of my life and before that I lived in Florida. I have been near water my whole life. In fact, the house that my family currently lives in has a pond in the backyard, a creek on the side, and a lake about a mile and a half away. The county I live in in Ohio has at least 6 lakes that I can think of, and I know that there are more. Berea, Kentucky, where I currently attend college, is jokingly (and half-seriously) referred to by the student body as “Kentucky’s rainiest city”. It rains at least once a week there and generally more often than that. I’m also the daughter of a farming family meaning that I was brought up with a fear of not just too little rain, but too much rain as well. But living in the shadows of the mountains that are home to “North America’s rain forest”, I never thought I would be praying for rain. Sure, on hot days when the humidity was weighing down on me like guilt on the soul, I have wished that the rain would just break, but I have never before taken the time to take such a request to the Lord. And yet, here I am.

When we arrived in Klagetoh one source informed us that Klagetoh hadn’t received rain during the growing season for five years… FIVE YEARS… Most of my fellow SPA interns have spent their lives in the Eastern part of this colorful country. In that cooler and greener region a drought is a month or so without rain. Here the drought had gone on and on, with the occasional clouds or a wet winter to moisten the earth enough to tease the villagers. Shortly after we arrived here, about a week to be more precise, the drought finally broke, just a sprinkle, but it was SOMETHING. It was nothing short of a miracle to see the relief on these people’s faces. But I must say that I am still not fond of driving through a hail storm on a desert highway that I don’t know stuck behind a semi-truck. Yeah, not much fun.

Rain Gutter

Since then we have had the occasional cloud cover and heavy winds that carry the scent of rain to our longing noses, but the promise is never fulfilled. We were, in fact, asked to not go running earlier this week because there had been lightening flashes in the sky and lightening strikes are very common among runners in the Southwest. But the rain never came. Rain, and storm fronts, bring a coolness to the land that is not generally there. The wind whips and pulls at you with angry fingers, but delivers nothing. The animals are becoming as desperate as the people. From the free-range horses and sheep, to the birds that are suddenly finding shelter in the sheep corrals, we are all just waiting… Waiting and praying. Praying for rain.

Epilogue:

So, just an hour after I had written this post and saved it to the drafts to be revised later I was in the Hogan making dinner when I look outside and miracle of miracles Heaven’s lifewater was falling down. It only lasted about twenty minutes and the ground was practically dry within fifteen minutes, but it was RAIN. The clouds are still hovering over us, making their presence perfectly clear and implanting a sense of clausterphobia in the mind by hiding the wide open blue sky we have become so accustomed too. Let’s hope they will drop their burden upon us and refill the water wells…