ANGRY TURKEYS and TASTY PRAIRIE DOGS

Navajo Nation in Winter.

        Ah, Winter, you old jokester, you! What have you been up to? First you lull us into warm complacency. Then when we least expect it, you douse us with freezing arctic ice. Yesterday was Indian Summer, but today we are digging out long johns and searching for winter clothes. I was half expecting that our desert surroundings would stay comfortable year round, but nonetheless the high plateau unleashed its frigid fury. There wasn’t much snow, but what blew in stung our faces and caused us to duck for cover.

        The weather wasn’t the only change happening in Whiterock. My senior companion, Elder Harward, had received a transfer notice and would be moving on to his new area in Arizona. I was sorry to see him go. He had been a hard-working, patient Trainer. Ready or not, it was my turn to be a Senior Companion. Elder Kurtz, my new partner, had just arrived from Canada.  He was tall, enthusiastic, and couldn’t wait to get started. To say he was surprised by our rustic living conditions was an understatement! I couldn’t help smiling when I told him it was only one of many surprises yet to come.

Abandoned Trading Post where Whiterock Elders lived. 1965.

        Of course I gave him the deluxe tour starting with our unique artesian shower spot. We then visited the Tsaya Trading Post that housed the post office and provided a life line to home. Next we did a quick walk through Lake Valley Boarding School, and the Lake Valley Chapter House where we would be holding our weekly church meetings.

       Hmmm, what family should I introduce him to first? Why, the Pioches, of course. Mr. Chapter President, himself, would for sure make a good impression. Earl and his wife were impressed with Elder Kurtz’s gusto and got a kick out of his Canadian accent. But best of all Earl wanted to celebrate our new Elder’s arrival with a feast in his honor. So, the day and time for the great event were set. “Don’t be late,” were Earl’s parting words. It was right nice of old Earl to make Elder Kurtz feel so welcome! My detailed description of Sister Pioche’s crisp fry bread, hot out of the pan and smothered in warm honey, had Elder Kurtz’s mouth watering in anticipation.

Whiterock,, New Mexico, in winter. But where are all the people?

        As we began trucking through the back roads of Whiterock, Elder Kurtz asked, “Where are the people?” “Níláahdi. Over there,” I remarked and pointed toward the horizon with my lower lip, mimicking a common Navajo gesture. “Where? I don’t see anything,” he said puzzled. “Look harder,” I answered. “Can’t you see the small brown bumps nestled in the distant hills?” “I think so,” he said. “That’s where we’re going!” “On these terrible roads?” “You’ve got it, Elder! You better get used to them. They don’t get any better,” I chuckled as we bounced along.

Muddy road with icy ruts near Whiterock, New Mexico, in winter.

        Navajo camps are always hard to spot from a distance, but now that the cold weather had settled in the plume of gray smoke rising from a hogan’s smoke stack made the task a bit easier. As we drove into camp, we were most often greeted by a committee of yapping dogs. The dogs were generally friendly. However, we were once chased by an enormous turkey. We stayed in the safety of our truck while the feathered beast stalked us, fanning its tail, stomping its feet, while angrily shrieking and shaking its bright red gobbler. With some effort, the family finally chased the feisty critter back into its pen.

An angry gobbler.

        Visitors were a rarity in the far reaches of Whiterock, but our truck was easily recognizable. The locals knew we were “Gamallis” (Elders) and we were seldom turned away. Hospitality to visitors, even unexpected ones, seemed to be part of the Navajo culture.

Southwest Indian Mission truck with Gamalli above camper door.

      The arrival of colder weather kept family members closer to home. “How can we help you?” was usually our first question. Their answers were touching. Concern for family away from home was uppermost on their minds: “Could you pray for our kids away at boarding school?” “My son in Vietnam needs prayers.” “Could you pray for my husband away working with the railroad crew?” These were but a few of their immediate worries. Some of the families even asked us to bless a sick sheep or other livestock. Kneeling together on the hard clay floor of a humble hogan and sincerely asking the Lord to ease their concerns and lighten their troubled hearts was a choice experience. We then taught them the simple steps of prayer so they could seek these blessings on their own as needed.

Elder Kurtz, the Canadian mechanic.

        Every camp was different. Some had prepared well for the winter weather. Piles of chopped wood, a stash of coal, and feed for their livestock were readily available.  Others were less able to stockpile needed supplies. We helped the best we could. Open veins of coal could be found tucked away in the nearby hills and canyons. Wood was harder to come by in the Whiterock area. There were a few cedar trees, but the nearest pine forests were forty or fifty miles away. Like Paul Banyan we used our brawny muscles to chop what wood we could find. The coveralls we kept in our truck came in handy on such occasions. We gave rides to elderly people who had no transportation so they could get to their Chapter House and pick up critical goods. For this they were extremely grateful. “Ahéhee, ahéhee, ahéhee!” (Thank you, thank you, thank you!) were their parting words.

An elderly Navajo couple.

        Off and on in our travels we ran into LDS members who, because of their isolated situations, couldn’t attend Sunday Services. So, just like Meals-on-Wheels, we were there to deliver the Gospel’s warmth, love, and spiritual nourishment to those in need. They almost always invited us to teach them more about Jesus Christ. Our memorized flip-chart presentations about Our Savior’s mission on earth, His atoning sacrifice, and subsequent resurrection were well received.

        A few camps had strings of drying peyote buttons strung around the interior of their hogans. This usually meant that some or all of the occupants were participating in a version of the Native American religion. Peyote, a strong hallucinogen, was used in their ancient prayer ceremonies.

Dried peyote buttons.

        After a handful of isolated stops and endless miles of jarring roads under our belts we wearily headed back to our place, arriving after dark. Just another blessed day in the life of two missionaries serving on the Navajo Reservation!

         

The Big Feast

        The day of Elder Kurtz’s welcome feast finally arrived. With empty stomachs we rattled our way to the Pioche’s camp. Approaching the front door a strange sight greeted us. Lying on the wooden steps were two very dead prairie dogs, both with fresh bullet holes through their hairy bodies.

Prairie Dog.

       Inside Sister Pioche was scurrying about her wood-burning stove, turning fry bread in hot oil, and melting butter over kernelled corn. Meanwhile, Earl sat at a modest wooden table surrounded by four folding chairs. Two places had been set and we were invited to sit down. On the table was a pitcher of orange Kool-Aid, a jar of honey, and a plate of piping hot fry bread. Earl suggested we start with the fry bread and honey. 

        While we were munching and joking with Earl, his wife stepped outside and retrieved the two prairie dogs. She then opened the heavy metal door to her stove, and carefully laid the dead critters on the red hot coals. Being the polite elders that we were, we tried to ignore the disgusting smell of burnt hair and the sounds of sizzling, popping flesh, and managed to carry on a somewhat normal conversation. About fifteen minutes later when the sounds emanating from the stove had subsided, Sister Pioche, with tongs in hand, carefully extracted the charred carcasses and laid them gently on each of our plates. Ah, a little Kool-Aid, buttered corn, hot fry bread, and a black lump of charred prairie dog.  What more could we ask for!

Delicious, toasty Navajo fry bread.

        With a knife and fork I began to dislodge a tasty leg. You couldn’t rightly call it a drum stick. While working on the leg, I would stop often to snack on some fry bread, nibble at some corn, and sip some Kool-Aid. I knew eventually I would need to take a bite of that leg I’d been working on. After putting off my first bite for as long as possible I gave the leg a quick twist and it pulled loose, thus exposing the abdominal cavity with its guts, organs and who knows what else. Mmm, yummy! I began nibbling ever so carefully at some well-done leg muscle when my attention turned to Elder Kurtz, who was ripping away at his prairie dog and expounding on how delicious it tasted. “Could I bother you for some salt and pepper?” he politely asked.

      At this, Earl burst out with a huge belly laugh, and continued chuckling and snorting until finally he choked out the words, “Do-ya-shonda, Bilagáana!" Roughly translated it meant, “Stupid white man!” Still fighting back a laugh, Earl squawked, “We just wanted to see if you were dumb enough to eat it!” It was then that Sister Pioche unveiled a pan of delicious fried chicken, removed the disgusting “course number one” and fed it to the dogs!

        Well, Elder Kurtz, welcome to the “Rez” and a little taste of Earl Pioche’s belly-busting sense of humor!