GIANT JUMPING TOAD OF WHITEROCK SWAMP

Large Sonoran Desert Toad.

       You’d think if you were a toad, you wouldn’t pick a desolate place like the New Mexico badlands to set up residence. Nevertheless, there was a large community of these amphibians nestled near an artesian swamp close by the abandoned trading post the elders called home. Who knows, maybe Whiterock, New Mexico, was the Palm Springs of the toad kingdom.

Olympic Insignia 1952

      The toads didn’t seem to mind the sulfur water. In fact, they thrived on it. Evidently the extra minerals helped them become larger and stronger than normal. You might even say they were Olympians: "Higher, Stronger, Faster" was their motto. The muscular giants were not easy to catch. They could leap long distances in a single bound. But it wouldn’t be long before one of these athletic leapers would help us out with an important, upcoming event.

      Meanwhile, there was an item owned by a few Elders and coveted by the rest of us that was quickly rising on the “must have” list. The object of our affection was a small battery-powered, reel-to-reel tape recorder. Not only could it play missionary discussions in Navajo, but it could also capture the unique sounds of life on the reservation. Those listening at home could vicariously experience washboard roads, sheep bleating, dogs barking, and their own missionary speaking Navajo with the locals. We thought sending tapes home would be much more interesting than letters.

1960's GE Portable Reel-to-reel Tape recorder

      As it turned out a few weeks prior to being transferred from Whiterock to Crownpoint, a package arrived at the trading post. Wow! A package from home. That was unexpected! My excitement mounted as I cut through the strong tape. pulled back the cardboard flaps and hurriedly dug through the stuffing. Finally I withdrew a beautiful box displaying a picture of a reel-to-reel tape recorder. My, my, my – just what the doctor ordered! I couldn’t believe my parents would spring for such an expensive gift. Of course I kept the box.

        Elder Bruce Cameron, our District Leader, had expressed on many occasions his desire to have just such a devise, but as of yet his parents hadn’t given in. But now that he and I were companions we could share my recorder and both send interesting tapes home to our families. Being one of the best Navajo speakers in the mission, Elder Cameron took the time to record each of the missionary discussions on my small reels. What a guy! These tapes would be a valuable tool in teaching those who couldn’t speak English.

Post Office Box with Combination Dial

      Stopping at Crownpoint’s quaint little post office was always on our to-do-list. You never knew. There just might be a letter from family, friends, or the mission home. After carefully working the combination dial on the small mail box the door popped open revealing a single letter. “A letter from the Mission President,” Elder Cameron announced. This was followed by, “Mmm, I don't believe it!” as he read through the letter's contents. “We’re both being transferred! Shortly after I get back from teaching Navajo School, I’m off to the Mission Home in Holbrook for training as a Zone Leader, and you will be going to Borrego Pass with Elder Mike Stanley. While I’m away, the two of you will be covering both of your areas.” I’d enjoyed working with my old high school buddy for the past three months, but now he was moving on to greater responsibilities. Being appointed as a Zone Leader was definitely an honor.

Holbrook, Arizona, where Mission Home for the Southwest Indian Mission was located. 1960s.

      Early Monday morning Elder Cameron threw his gear into the back of Coyote Canyon’s truck, and he and Elder Stanley’s companion were off to Navajo School. I’d looked forward to working with Elder Stanley ever since I’d met him nine months earlier. He was a hardworking elder with limitless energy and a great sense of humor. We moved from assignment to assignment like busy beavers, hardy finishing one task before we were onto the next. Elder Stanley's fun personality kept me smiling and laughing as we worked our way through each day.

Elder Mike Stanley on horseback in front of the Crownpoint Elders trailer.

      The week was flying by quickly and it wouldn’t be long before Elder Cameron was back. There were plans to be made for his going-away party. We invited the Crownpoint Sisters to meet us at the chapel for a brainstorming session. Elder Cameron had led us to spiritual highs, but for this particular occasion we chose to focus on his playful nature and great sense of humor.

      The planning began in earnest. Those in our District would congregate thirty miles north of Crownpoint at the Elders’ trading post abode in Whiterock. There were some unusual rock formations in the area that would make for an exciting activity. The Sisters would prepare one of their delicious meals, and Elder Stanley and I would be in charge of parting gifts. Being a bit on the mischievous side, the Sisters confided in us their wicked little plot. They planned to make two small cakes, one with chocolate icing (Elder Cameron’s favorite) and another with white icing. They would load the chocolate iced cake with an abundance of X-lax (a chocolate-flavored fast acting laxative). The Sisters were giggling and laughing so hard they could hardly finish explaining their impish scheme. Whiterock was not the place to be if you had the runs! The toilet facilities were rather primitive.

Chocolate Cake with thick chocolate icing.

      The big day arrived. The Sisters had outdone themselves. The main course didn’t disappoint. Their Island cuisine was SOOOO delicious! The group could hardly wait to see what they had cooked up for dessert. Two cakes were unveiled and of course Elder Cameron was served a very large slice covered high in chocolate icing. Being on the Sisters’ good side we were served the cake with white icing. Of course we held back eating it until we saw the Sisters dig into their slices of cake, just in case they had a double-cross in mind!

      With dinner and desert out of the way it was time to surprise Elder Cameron with some parting gifts. Here the plot thickens. Remember the recorder box I saved and the big toads by the nearby swamp? Well, Elder Stanley and I caught the largest, most athletic toad we could find and carefully tucked it away in the recorder box. We then wrapped it beautifully with paper just transparent enough to make out the recorder image on the box. Then adding an attractive bow as a final touch we were ready.  Elder Cameron’s eyes grew large as he held up the package and strained to see through the thin paper. “Oh! You shouldn’t have! – I can’t believe you would –" were the sentiments being expressed as he tore off the wrapping paper revealing a box for a reel-to-reel tape recorder. With elevated excitement he lifted the lid exposing – not a recorder – but the largest Olympian toad ever seen in these parts! With a loud "ORK!" it leaped high and far, possibly setting a long-jump record. Everyone had a good laugh including Elder Cameron who took it all in good fun. We then showered him with other nice, but less expensive presents.

     

Valley of Dreams, Whiterock, New Mexico.

      Now it was time for our Super Activity – rock climbing, and leaping across chasms twenty to thirty feet deep. We couldn’t wait! Loading into our trucks we headed for the rock formations. As Elder Cameron squatted for launch, straining every muscle for takeoff, it wasn’t a loud ORK that sent him jetting over the chasm. Skidding to a sudden stop on the other side he exclaimed, “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I had diarrhea!”

Goodbye, Elder Cameron!

     Fifty years later I met up with Bruce Cameron and his family in Salt Lake City. His beautiful wife had just starred in a reunion performance of the well-known King Sisters Cousins. He introduced me to his wife and family saying, “This is the missionary companion I’ve told you about. You know, the present with the giant toad!”

     

CULTURE SHOCK

Navajo woman herding sheep on the Navajo Reservation. New Mexico.

“Ya'at'eeh.”

    The first Navajo family I met was the Begay family. “Ya'at'eeh.”  “O, ya'at'eeh" seemed to be the greeting. Elder Harward conversed in a mixture of Navajo and English. Their handshakes were not a firm, tight squeeze like I was used to, but felt more hesitant and limp.

The Begay family. Lake Valley, NM.

       This sounds a bit rude, but after stepping over the threshold and into their rock house I wanted to back out and run. The mixed smells of fried mutton, dogs, goats, wet wool, and cedar smoke stuck in my throat. Baby goats were hopping about on the furniture, mutts were everywhere, each one mangier than the next. The Begays seemed to have more dogs than sheep or goats. And the flies. They were everywhere! Hordes, no legions of them, all vying for the most annoying place to land. And in the middle of all this, sat Alfred’s wife with one bare breast exposed, serenely nursing a suckling child. Strange, but I seemed to be the only one who noticed.

      The Begays had been a stalwart, faithful family in the Lake Valley Branch for years. As time passed and I began to see beyond first impressions, I was drawn in by their genuine kindness, loving hospitality, and gentle natures. Someone was indeed changing, and I don't think it was the Begays!

NAVAJO FUNERAL

       Our next stop was the Tsaya Trading Post in Lake Valley. I would live there nine months and never see a lake (maybe it had existed in prehistoric times). The trading post was a great stop over for cold pop and a friendly face. Since there were no phones, it also served as the post office and message center for the community. Kay Ashcroft, the trader, handed us a note with a hand drawn map requesting us to dedicate a grave the upcoming Saturday somewhere out in the Badlands.

Tsaya Trading Post. Lake Valley, NM. 2012.

        Saturday came and we were off following the map and driving over some of the worst roads imaginable before finally reaching our destination. Situated in a small valley was a well-organized camp. You could tell immediately they took pride in keeping things looking neat and orderly.

Well kept Navajo sheep camp on the reservation. New Mexico.

        On a sandy hillside above the camp about thirty family members were gathered, most wearing traditional clothing. The men wore crisp cowboy wear and the women were dressed in colorful velvet tops with silver buttons and full length skirts. Their skirts were held up with a wide woven tie or a silver Concho belt. They were all decked out beautifully in their family’s collection of turquoise and silver jewelry. Most of the women and some of the elderly men wore their hair tied up with handspun wool, in a traditional bun called bi'tsiyeel. Standing next to a fresh grave they waited in quiet dignity.

Navajo woman in her tradition dress and jewelry with her hair tied in a bi'tsiyeel.

Navajo man in his western wear and traditional jewelry.

        We were greeted warmly and ushered close to where the casket lay open, the body gently draped with a beautiful Pendleton blanket. Reverently relatives would approach the modest pinewood casket and deposit expensive items next to the deceased. There were new clothes: hat, shirt, pants, and boots. Then came the jewelry: turquoise and silver bolo, squash blossom necklace, rings, bracelets and a very expensive Concho belt. The coffin was then securely nailed shut and covered with an exquisite Two Gray Hills rug, handwoven just for this sacred occasion. Riding tack was then placed on top: a new saddle, bridle and saddle blanket.

Traditional Navajo jewelry.

Two Gray Hills Navajo rug.

 
       Just as it appeared to be about time to dedicate the grave, a young man leading a shiny black horse stopped close by, retrieved a hand gun from a leather holster strapped to his leg, placed it to the side of the horse’s head and pulled the trigger. The blast rang loudly through the still air. The horse stood momentarily stunned, then crumpled lifeless to the ground. Elder Harward and I seemed to be the only ones totally bewildered by what had just taken place. Talk about culture shock!

Shiny black horse on the Navajo Reservation.

        We were reminded it was time to dedicate the grave. Then the casket was carefully lowered by sturdy ropes into the grave dug in the sandy side of the hill. Later on we asked a younger member of the group if she could explain what we had just witnessed. It turned out that the new clothes, expensive jewelry, riding gear, and the shooting of his horse were all part of an old tradition meant to honor well respected clan leaders. He and his horse would be wearing their finest as their spirits rode proudly into the afterlife.

      Who would have thought? Things were getting more and more interesting day by day!