GRAVE DIGGERS

Pinewood Coffin.

        “Throw down that heavy bar!” I yelled up to Elder Cameron. “I need something to break up this  rock.”

      Why would anyone choose to put a cemetery in this God forsaken spot? It was a rock quarry from Hades. We had been digging away since first light. Now it was mid afternoon and we were still at it. The late August sun had been beating down on us all day. Purgatory couldn’t be any hotter! “Doing service should have its limits,” I silently thought to myself.

Blazing sun beating down.

      “I think we are about seven feet deep!” I called up to Bruce. “Oops! I mean Elder Cameron.” Bruce and I had been good friends in High School and now we were missionary companions digging graves on the Navajo Reservation. The irony was overwhelming. Bruce had written me over a year ago, expounding on the discomforts of digging graves and getting stuck in the mud. And now here we were, tag team partners digging graves together in Crownpoint, New Mexico. With thousands of missionaries and hundreds of missions, what were the chances?

Grave digging with a shovel.

      The only way we could continue digging deeper was to scoop up the rock chips with a small shovel, then lift the heavy bucket filled with rubble above our heads and hopefully into the hands of a waiting companion. While holding the bucket up high I began to feel light headed, a bit dizzy. I think the heat and lack of water were getting to me. You might say, I was losing it!

Crownpoint Cemetery. New Mexico.

       “Why are WE doing the digging, rather than the funeral party’s relatives?” I asked myself. Oh, that’s right – “superstition.” Fortunately for the deceased’s family, they had recently accepted the gospel, but unfortunately for the missionaries they still clung to a few superstitions such as digging graves and touching dead bodies.

      Even now the two sister missionaries assigned to Crownpoint were in the basement of the small rock-walled hospital dressing the body of the deceased woman. No doubt she would look great for tomorrow’s funeral service at the LDS chapel.

Gravel side of a freshly dug grave.

      Several months earlier I personally witnessed superstitions concerning the dead. After completing the grave site formalities the wooden casket was slowly being lowered into the deep hole.  Holding the ends of two heavy ropes, four strong men (two on each side of the grave) used extreme caution, carefully balancing the coffin as they eased it slowly downward.

      Suddenly, without warning, the gravel sides of the hole gave way sending the casket crashing to the bottom, followed close behind by all four men who landed in a tangled heap on top of one another. This may sound a bit irreverent, but the scene that followed was total chaos. Tumbling into an open grave and landing on top of a pine coffin was the worst thing that could possibly happen. It was unthinkable, an experience nightmares are made of!

      In an effort to escape the men in the deep hole were frantically jumping about in a desperate attempt to reach the outstretched arms of those trying to help. Unfortunately the gravel sides continued to collapse sending some of the unsuspecting helpers into the abyss. The screams of those witnessing the event and the mad scramble that ensued was almost comical. As an outsider it reminded me of the old Keystone Cops silent movies. As we watched the chaotic scene unfold, my companion and I struggled to maintain a dignified composure. Eventually ropes were used to extract the funeral victims and with great joy the problem was finally resolved. I’m sure a local shaman was called to assist in the cleansing process. Ah, those hard to shake superstitions!

Looking up from deep in a grave.

      Now where was I? Oh yes, at the bottom of a deep grave, delirious with impending sun stroke. Elder Cameron and I finally finished up work at the cemetery, the Sisters did their part beautifully, and the funeral service the next day went off without a hitch.

Crownpoint, New Mexico.

      You wouldn’t think that being assigned to Crownpoint, only 30 miles south of Whiterock, would have been a big change – but it was. Crownpoint was the cultural center of the southeast corner of the Reservation. There was a Bureau of Indian Affairs office and a very old rock hospital with minimal services (probably built soon after the Long Walk); a road service center sporting a dump truck, loader and a couple of graders, and, of yes, I can’t forget the one gas station! Hallelujah, hallelujah! No more hauling of 50 gallon drums of gasoline.

Windstorm and lone stop sign in Crownpoint, New Mexico. 1965.

      To put things in perspective, the town’s streets were almost all dirt roads with a few exceptions found around government buildings and housing areas. We did have one stop sign right next to the official post office. Crownpoint did have a trading post, but unlike the one in Lake Valley, it served mainly as a community grocery and convenience store where one could find fresh fruit and vegetables, along with some hardware items. Directly across the road from our LDS Chapel was a handy dandy laundromat. Chances were, if you used it, your clothes would come out dirtier than when they went in, especially after a previous patron had just washed their grimy saddle blankets, etc.

Current Crownpoint Elementary School, NM, with the familiar yellow school buses.

      The most notable difference was the number of children. Everywhere you looked there were kids, and more kids. This small town enjoyed the luxury of a public elementary school to which kids were bussed a considerable distance from the nearby communities of Burrego Pass, Dalton Pass, and Coyote Canyon. The town also had Government Boarding schools for both Elementary and Junior High students living away from home. The town’s population of about 200 adults was made up primarily of Native Americans, most of whom worked at the schools or for other services provided by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. 

Crowpoint LDS Chapel. 1965.

      One of the biggest changes was having our own chapel with a cultural hall and basketball hoops. For the Elders this was big deal! Even better, we had LDS adults who ran the Branch and took charge of church meetings. In addition to proselyting, the Elders and Sisters worked in support positions in the Branch, mostly teaching and conducting activities for the youth. Working with the youth was one of the most enjoyable parts of my mission!

Elder Rogers' Primary class with a bobcat skin. LDS Chapel, Crownpoint, NM. 1965.

      Elder Cameron and I lived in an old trailer next to the chapel. Wow! Indoor plumbing and electricity. How had I lived without these? From time to time, though, I missed the charms of the simple, rustic life I had led in the wilds of Whiterock. It was hard to beat the hot artesian shower.

Current view of the Elders' home in old abandoned trading post in Whiterock, NM. 2012.

      The Sister missionaries lived in a much nicer trailer close to the government housing area. Since there were no restaurants in town it was wonderful to have two Polynesian Sisters who loved to surprise us with tasty, mouth-watering “Island cuisine.” Not that they didn’t owe us big time for all the occasions when we dug their van out of the mud. They seemed to have a knack for finding the worst spots to get stuck! But, all in all, I was looking forward to the new experiences Crownpoint held in store. 

Elder Rogers digging the Sister Missionaries' van out of the mud. 1965.

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!