Second Mesa Story

Or, In search of my ancestors,

One year, after traveling out with our rock hounding club friends to an American Federation show in Utah, DH and I ventured south to see the Grand Canyon lands and other parts of the southwestern Indian reservations. I particularly wanted to try to find out just what tribe it was that my grandmother was part of.

We traveled down through the Navajo Nation and entered the Hopi Reservation after staying over night in two or three places and seeing a wonderful and spiritual people and all that they have preserved of their own heritage. We knew what a struggle the Navajos have had, too, so it was a very poignant part of the trip.

I was also looking for an authentic Navajo spindle. I was never able to find one because they were being sold out wholesale or directly now to the west and east coast shops, I was told. I didn’t find out til later that there was an Tribal Fair at the Fair grounds a couple of days later where I could have probably bought one. Opportunity missed!

My grandmother’s people came from New Mexico, and we think they were Pueblo Indians so off we went to the Hopi Reservation after exploring Canyon de Chelly and other gorgeous places among the Navajo.

We arrived up on top of what we later found out was Second Mesa at near dusk and caused a huge stir of interest, since a vehicle as big as a school bus up on the mesas at dusk was pretty interesting. Everyone waved at us, even from inside their houses and trailers. We finally got completely lost and the sun was going down very fast so we stopped at a homemade sign that said this family had things to sell. They had been waving to us each time we passed their house. Around and around we would go and there they would be, waving back. Finally we stopped.

These Indians were a lot different looking than my grandmother so I knew right away that she was probably from another Pueblo tribe but I asked about her name and no, they had never had names like that. I also asked if anyone in the village still spun yarn from their wools and cotton, as in the times gone past, the Hopi spinners and weavers where the first in class and quality of all weavers and spinners. The family told us that their Father/Grandfather was an elder and his group of elders did all the spinning and weaving for their ceremonial clothing. So, I then showed them my spindle from a toy wheel, with some of the yarn I’d spun. This yarn, being dyed with Jello, was instantly interesting. They were intrigued and so I gave them the spindle full and some of the roving I’d dyed and not spun up yet to pass along to their Grandfather the next day. They asked if we couldn’t stay to meet him, but our time was too terribly tight. I still mourn that lost opportunity to meet some more of Grandmother’s ancestors, as the Pueblos are really all one people.

Most of those talking to us were the elder’s 20-30 year old grandchildren. And their mother was there as well, and she showed me a tiny pinchpot made of red clay that she had made and I bought that. I have so many sweet memories of that night. They wanted to see the inside of the Bounder, so up the stairs we went and I showed them all the fittings and fixtures. It was fun to see them all inside of the rig, these sweet, gentle and small people inspecting all the small things inside the Bounder. They fit in with it’s smallness and I could imagine them traveling all over the countryside in one of their own.

After talking about all the villages on the tops of all the mesas, and many other of the type of things that people talk about when getting acquainted, especially our tiny poodle who was being his very sweet self in wanting to have all the littlest great grandchildren pet or hold him, we asked our new found friends if there was someplace we could park the rig for over night. They told us that yes, there was a place, and if we could give a ride to work to one of them she would show us exactly where to park at the Hopi Cultural Center and Restaurant and Motel. To this day I am amazed at that trust, and feel honored to have had it.

We arrived at the cultural center after a drive of several miles. All the while we were watching the twilight fade and listening to the young Hopi’s gentle voice talking about the future for the Hopi now that their lands were to be returned to them. I’d studied Pueblo history off and on for decades since I was really researching my own ancestry so I had plenty of questions. She invited us again to stay, please, one more day, and come to the dances to be held that Saturday night. But you know how it is when a job awaits and you’ve had a precious three weeks off already. We had two more days travel just to get home.

That night we ate delicious Hopi taco take-out food from the Hopi restaurant in our rig and settled in for the night. The next morning, we woke up to the fact that the highway we needed to get home on was about 300 yards from our front step. Amazing.

I like getting lost. So many sweet adventures and great memories start out that way.

Hope you enjoyed my tale. And, I still haven't gotten my Navajo Spindle. Someday.....