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Authors: Aimee & David Thurlo

BOOK: Plant Them Deep
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Herman walked up to the animal, and it turned its head, letting out a sad cry. “You’re right. It’s young, and it may still survive if we can get it out. I’ll walk back to the road and bring my truck. I have a tow strap, so maybe we can find a way to pull or lift the calf out.”
While Herman hurried back to his pickup,
Rose began trying to figure a way to get the stranded animal out of what was essentially a ten-foot-deep, steep-sided ditch. A cave-in had toppled a
section of embankment, probably the same spot where the calf had fallen in. The mound of soft earth had blocked off the arroyo in the direction that apparently led downhill, and tracks showed where the calf had walked back and forth several times. The
arroyo was probably blocked at both ends.
Rose decided that the best bet might be to try and carve off more of the sides, shaping a slope gentle enough to allow the calf to climb out with their help—if it could get on its feet again. Getting closer to the edge, she found a crack in the ground where the embankment was starting to break away. It would eventually topple into the wash.
The sound
of Herman’s pickup got her attention, and she waved to him as he pulled up within ten feet of the bank, the front of the truck facing her.
“Don’t get any closer. The sides have been breaking away, but that gave me an idea,” Rose called out. “Do you have anything we can use as a lever to pry off more of this embankment?”
Herman stepped down out of the cab of the truck. “Thinking of making a wide
enough ramp so we can walk the animal out?” Seeing her nod, he added, “It could work, if we plan it right.”
“There’s a sturdy-looking branch over there”—she pointed toward a juniper—“that we can use.”
It took about ten minutes and two branches, but together they managed to carve off enough earth and sand to fashion a gentle slope leading into the arroyo.
Rose went down and walked over to where
the calf was. It had managed to stand up on its own. Using the tow strap like a lead, they coaxed and pushed the weary animal back up to the surface.
“Can you load her into the back of your truck?” Rose asked.
“Yeah, she’s small. I think I can lower the tailgate and we can help her up,” Herman said. Moments later, with Rose
pulling and Herman pulling, the task was accomplished.
“I’m sorry to
put you to all this trouble, but Sara Ahasteen is a widow and would have had a lot of trouble handling this by herself. Although her daughter comes to help from time to time, she’s pretty much on her own.”
“Her daughter lives off the reservation?”
Rose nodded. “She works in Albuquerque. That’s where she got her job after college. She’s asked her mother to come join her many times, but that’s
hard on the older ones, you know? All Sara’s ever known is the reservation, and she feels that she belongs here between the Sacred Mountains.”
“What about her clan?”
“Most of them live in Arizona. She could join them, but she wants to stay here where she raised her family.”
Ten minutes later, after loading up the plants they’d collected, they pulled up in front of a small stuccoed, wood-frame
house. The pine-branch corral next to it was in good condition, but it now stood empty.
They waited in the truck, and soon saw a Navajo woman about Rose’s age walking in their direction from over a low hill. She was wearing a long skirt and a loose blouse. Her skin was weathered and dark, but there was an agelessness about her that attested to a spirit as tough as the land itself.
Rose climbed
out of the pickup to greet her as Herman went around to the back of the truck to lead the calf out.
“Yáat’ééh,”
Rose greeted.
Sara Ahasteen smiled as she saw the scrawny calf that Herman led out of the truck.
“There she is! I’ve been searching for that poor animal since the sun came up,” the woman said. “I can’t afford to lose any more livestock. All I have left are a few cows and that calf.”
“Something has happened to the land around here, hasn’t it?” Rose asked.
Sara nodded. “There was an old settling pond from the uranium mines near here at one time. After the water evaporated, they buried the waste chemicals that were left over. That was about thirty years ago, but I still remember the man telling us that the chemicals would never leak out of their containment area and harm the
soil. But now it looks like they were wrong. Near as I can tell, some have seeped into the groundwater.”
“Have you reported it?” Rose asked.
Sara shook her head. “Most of the families who used to live here had so much trouble with the land that they just moved away. I’m the only one left these days and no one’s going to do anything for just one person.”
“I’ll report it for you anyway. Maybe
someone can help,” Rose said as Herman led the calf into the corral.
“All right.”
Rose watched Sara take a bucket of water to the animal, then give it a small handful of grain and a flake of old hay. When she looked up again, Rose recognized the emotion she saw mirrored in Sara’s eyes. It was the
ch’ééná,
a mourning for what could never be part of their lives again. When the land cried, Navajos
like Sara cried with her.
T
wo hours later, not far from home, Rose stretched in her seat, trying to loosen her seat belt a bit. “Do you think they’ll send someone who can figure out what’s wrong with the soil over there?”
“Probably,” Herman answered. “They may even run some tests. But I doubt anything will be done to fix all the damage. You can treat the water when you pump it out of the ground, but that won’t
help the plants, or the animals who happen to feed on them.”
Rose had rolled down her window to let in some fresh air. As the midafternoon sun beat down on them, the temperatures had risen to the low nineties. “Are you still planning to go with me to the ceremony at the Navajo Forestry Department later this afternoon?”
“Of course, but this trip took longer than we planned. We’re not going to
have much time to rest up.” Herman stopped the truck in Rose’s driveway, and they both began unloading the plants they’d gathered.
“I know. I’ll prepare a small good-luck plant to present to the new director of the nursery, then shower and dress up.” She thought of Henry Yazzie. He was a modernist, but he’d
been raised in a traditionalist family. The small plant would be a gift he’d appreciate
and value.
“Okay. I’ll go home, clean up, and meet you back here in forty-five minutes. How’s that?”
“All right.”
Rose went around the side of the house carrying the potted plants they’d brought to her small garden of medicinal plants and herbs. She set them on top of the soil, intending to give them a day to acclimate, then went into the house.
Jennifer and Dawn came into the kitchen from
the living room just then. Seeing her grandmother, Dawn ran over and gave her a hug. “I’m going to ride Wind. Come watch,
Shimasáni!”
Dawn was nearly four now, and always used the Navajo word for grandmother, something which pleased Rose a great deal. “I can’t, little one. But you can tell me all about it later.” Looking at Jennifer, she added, “Remember that I may be late tonight. You’re prepared
to stay until my daughter or I get back?”
“Yes, I’ll be happy to do that. And please don’t worry. She and I will play games and after she goes to bed, I’ll watch some television or read until one of you returns.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. Of course, you’ll get paid overtime, as usual.”
As Dawn and Jennifer went out the back door, Rose smiled. She approved of Jennifer wholeheartedly. Her
granddaughter couldn’t have a better sitter. To make things almost perfect, Jennifer was a traditionalist.
Ella would never be traditionalist, but having Jennifer around almost made up for it. In a lot of ways, Jennifer—Boots—had become like another daughter to her, one who shared her beliefs. Maybe their combined influence on Dawn
would persuade her to choose the old ways someday. The possibility
never failed to cheer her up.
Rose went out to the storage shed, picked up a small clay pot, then added water to a wash pan full of her homemade soil mix. Mixing the muddy soil with her hands, she squeezed the excess water out of a handful, then placed the soil loosely into the pot.
Taking a small hand trowel, Rose went out into her garden and walked to the far row. “Oak under a tree” was a
small shrub so compact that it was barely six inches tall. She’d always liked its clusters of small yellow flowers. To the Anglos, it was just creeping barberry, but to the
Dineh,
the plant was believed to remove bad luck, and its pollen was considered a general cure-all.
Rose transplanted the hardy young plant she’d grown from a cutting early in the spring, placing it in the prepared soil already
in the pot. Once finished, she went back inside to clean up and get ready.
Thirty-five minutes later Rose stepped into the living room wearing her long indigo skirt and a velveteen blouse of the same color. It was fastened at the waist with a silver concha belt that her son Clifford had made for her. An impressive-looking silver and turquoise squash blossom necklace hung from her neck.
“Wow,
you look great, Mom. Hot date?” Ella Clah, Rose’s tall, slender daughter asked from the kitchen doorway The sandwich she’d obviously grabbed as a quick snack was still in her hand.
Rose rolled her eyes. “Hot date? Only if you’re referring to the fact that the temperature outside will be one hundred by sundown.”
Ella laughed, then stepped back into the kitchen. “Touchy”
“You have the strangest
sense of humor, daughter.” Rose shook her head, joining Ella and pouring herself a glass of water. “What are you doing home at this time of the day? Caught your share of criminals earlier than usual?”
“I wish. Actually, I was hoping to catch my daughter and say hi, but she and Boots have already gone out riding. That pony is hard to compete against,” Ella added with a smile.
Hearing the deep
rumble of Herman’s pickup approaching, Rose went to the porch to greet him.
Ella followed. “Where are you off to?”
“To the ceremony at the new tribal plant nursery. As a Plant Watcher, I have an interest in how that’s run.”
Ella sighed softly. “Mom, I really worry about you,” she said softly. “I know you’re doing what you think is right, but tread softly. You made enemies by campaigning against
gambling, then you placed yourself right in the middle of the controversy surrounding the nuclear power plant.”
“I’ve only spoken the truth, daughter, and they all know it.”
“The fact that you’re right ticks them off even more, so watch yourself. Bad enemies have long memories and they’ll strike back at you when you least expect it.”
“I’ll be careful, daughter, just as you are,” Rose said gently.
As Herman came up, Ella smiled at him, then, with a quick good-bye, walked to her tribal police unit.
Rose gazed at her agile, athletic daughter as she climbed effortlessly into the unmarked blue Jeep. “My daughter still doesn’t understand why I stopped being the stay-at-home mom she’s always known.”
“You’re wrong about that. She does—she just doesn’t like it. I think she wants things the way
they used to be.” He paused, then added, “We all do that to one extent or another—wish for what has past, what was familiar. Can you blame her?”
Rose smiled. “You’re a wise man.”
“Are you ready?”
Rose went back for the potted plant, then joined Herman at his pickup, where he was holding the door open for her. As they set out, Rose ran her fingers lightly over the large squash
blossom necklace.
The sterling silver and turquoise piece was adorned with ten squash blossoms fashioned of silver, five on each side, and at the bottom was the Naja, a horseshoe-shaped design worn by early Spanish horsemen. The Naja held seven turquoise stones set in silver bezels spaced evenly around the horseshoe shape. Each of the squash blossoms also held matching stones set in silver, separated from one another
by two rows of large handmade silver beads. Like many of the things she treasured, it was a link to her past.
“That’s a beautifully crafted necklace.”
“Thank you. It’s been in my family for generations. Someday I’ll give it to my daughter, and eventually she can pass it on to her daughter.” She paused, then added, “This necklace is much more than a piece of jewelry. It’s a link that connects
the women in our family. That’s why I’ve always treasured it.”
Forty-five minutes later, Herman parked outside the large new facility located near Toadlena, southwest of Shiprock and in the foothills of the nearby mountains. There were at least two hundred people touring the nursery, which was spread over several acres.
“I’m glad to see so many people supporting the tribal nursery,” Rose said.
“I understand they’ll specialize in native pines and other varieties that can be replanted to take the place of the trees we harvest for lumber.”
“It’s a sensible plan,” he answered, “replacing what we use.”
They were walking toward the main entrance to the facility when two men she recognized came up to her. One was her granddaughter’s father, Councilman Kevin Tolino, and the other was Councilman
John Begay.
“Aqalani,
greetings,” Begay said, using both the Navajo word and the English equivalent.
“I speak Navajo, Councilman,” Rose said, amused.
He nodded. “Oh, of course. Force of habit, that’s all.” He
cleared his throat and continued. “I know you’re probably in a hurry to get out of the heat, so let me get right to the point. We need your help. The tribal council has been receiving
complaints from several of our medicine men and herbalists. They claim that native plants needed for rituals and medicinal purposes seem to be quickly disappearing from the Rez.”
“Sometimes the Plant People move on.”
“This is more than plant succession or natural selection, although the extreme weather we’ve had the past few years is definitely a factor. We’ve been told that there’s evidence
that someone has been indiscriminately harvesting our ceremonial and medicinal plants—just digging them up and carrying away as many as he can. Whoever is doing this leaves only the weak or diseased plants behind. This is making a serious situation even worse. Some of these plants are already endangered. Naturally the tribal council shares the concern of our medicine men.”
“Earlier today, east
of Gallup, my companion and I saw where holes had been left by someone digging up plants. Perhaps this is another incident. What is it you want from me? Do you need someone to investigate these reports?” Rose asked.
“Yes, and we naturally thought of you, not only because of your knowledge of plants, but also because of your active interest in matters that concern the tribe’s welfare. We also
want you to take it a step further,” Kevin said. “We want you to conduct an official plant survey for the council and determine the status of these plants around Shiprock and the Four Corners area. Then we’d like you to draw up a plan we can use for the entire Navajo Nation to ensure that any endangered Plant People are given the chance to reestablish themselves and increase as they’ve done in the
past.”
“Our ultimate goal is to restore our Earth Mother to the way she was before overgrazing, industrial activities, and the population explosion among the
Dineh
took its toll,” Begay
added. “As a longtime leader of the Plant Watchers, you’re ideally suited for this job, and we hope you’ll accept. Of course, you’ll be paid for this,” he said, quoting her a salary, “and your traveling expenses
will be covered.”
“We’ll also assign someone to assist you in case you should need a driver or require technical help with anything,” Kevin added.
“It’s a very tempting offer,” she said. “How soon do you need to have my answer?”
“As soon as possible,” Begay said. “We want to make sure we don’t lose any of our native species completely.”
She could see no reason to turn it down. It was the kind
of work she would love doing for the tribe. “Then I can give you my answer now. I accept.”
“Wonderful!” Begay said. “Come by my office tomorrow. I’ll answer any more questions you may have, then give you the list of plants we’ve been told may be endangered. You may discover there are more. We’ll also have an instruction sheet—really a form—that will show you how we want the reports structured.
You can start as soon after that as you wish.”
As the two councilmen walked away, Herman glanced at her, a serious expression on his face. “I have a feeling your daughter will be very upset that you didn’t consult her before accepting this job. If someone is stealing the tribe’s plants, you could be stepping into the middle of some nasty business.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. But as a Plant Watcher,
there’s no way I could have turned this down.”
“I understand, but I just don’t trust politicians. can’t help but wonder what their real motive is—you know, the one they aren’t telling you about.”
Rose laughed. “Oh, I thought of that right away. I’m sure that this appointment is designed to keep me from bothering the tribal council for a while. Otherwise, they could have
picked someone else equally
qualified for this work. I can think of a few right now in the Plant Watchers group. But with my public campaigns against gambling casinos, power plants, and mining, I’ve become the burr under their saddle. They want to give me something to keep me busy.”
Herman chuckled. “You hold them publicly accountable for the decisions they make, or don’t make, and that’s as it should be.”
“By offering
me this job, they’re officially saying that I’m a respected authority and expert in the field. If the time comes when they get angry enough to want to label me an extremist or discredit me in any way, they’re going to have a tougher time doing that without making themselves look bad.”
“Good thinking, woman,” he said. “I wish you luck.”
“I’ll need it—but not as much as a new pair of comfortable
walking shoes,” Rose answered with a smile.
Herman spotted Henry Yazzie standing beside a forestry truck. “There is the one you were looking for. While you go talk to him, I’m going to say hello to some friends of mine.”

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