MONUMENT VALLEY NAVAJO TRIBAL PARK 36°56’18.6”N 110°05’29.8”W
LIANNA NIXON
“What memories will water continue to hold?”
the wind carries sounds of horse hooves in pens and rustling of juniper branches. I unzip my tent to see the sun has not risen yet, but east of the sky’s deep slumberous blue meets a pale-yellow line. I roll out of my sleeping bag and slip on jeans and a fleece. I take in a deep breath filled with the smell of clay, horse, a hint of wildflowers, and coffee. Following my nose to coffee with a mug in hand, I look about the box canyon where we sleep. The ancient rocks here have unique formations, garnering different names and stories. Sprouting from the tallest point in our Canyon is a great Thunderbird Mesa. Reveling in his presence, I had set my tent even with his head so that I felt like his wings surround and protect me throughout the night. As the sun rises, it wakes the earth around us with vibrant illumination. Before you see the sun above the canyons, its rays touch the sandstone walls first; they are on fire in deep reds, coppers, and oranges. Then, the rest of the Valley dotted by brittlebush, yucca, purple sage, and grasses that have called this Valley home since the beginning—lights up as it greets the Sun Warrior for another day.
She is coming today to meet us.
Effie, our guide, whose grazing grounds we sleep on, is a Diné (Navajo) Elder and horseback riding guide. She is a retired nurse and now grandmother. Effie’s family is one of the eleven families that live inside Tsé Bii’ Ndzisgaii (Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park). The Valley is a sacred site for the Diné; it is the pinnacle of their creation story, the union of Father Sky and Mother Earth, from whence all life sprang. You see it most strongly as Mother Earth’s hands rise from the Earth to the Ethereal, keeping harmony with Father Sky. Her family has been here ever since they could remember, since the Owl Woman outsmarted the Spanish conquistadors, found refuge among the red rocks, and drank the dew from the juniper tree. I have known Effie for a few years, spending hours listening to her stories in her hogan and watching her weaving intricate patterns into rugs, detailing important stories and practices handed down to her for generations. But today is my first ride with her across her grazing grounds. Effie has the most extensive grazing grounds of all the Park residents to support her herd of sheep. When she was a child, she and her brothers roamed with them throughout their lands, caring for them. We saddle up our horses. I am on a large blue roan mare, Diva, my mother’s horse, who has carried me throughout many places in the West. I try to pet her face, but just like her namesake, she is not in the mood for affection. Her breath quickens, and she claws the ground in excitement to ride and feel the clay and sand underneath her hooves. Effie meets us in camp on the back of her palomino Rhythm, alongside her brother Kee. Her hair is tied back in a Tsiiyééł (traditional bun). She is wearing her regalia, a golden blouse paired with a long skirt and moccasins. She is dripping in turquoise and her favorite beads. Her smile is infectious, and her laugh can fill any canyon. Kee dips his cowboy hat in greeting and Effie exclaims, “Ready to ride?” And so, we begin our journey.
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MOTHER VOLUME FOUR
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