Travel to the Hopi Nation
|
| |
| |
By Cathy Severson
I’ll be the first to admit I’m not a great desert lover. Having spent my life in the southwestern part of the United States, I’ve always lived in a dry arid climate where the only green in nature occurs after a snow or rainfall that quickly turn into various shades of brown.
I’ve been through the tribal lands of northwestern Arizona on a number of occasions. Like many people who drive through this rugged and barren country, the common reaction is, “Boy, did we ever screw the Indians.” That is a true statement, but I approached my travel to the Hopi nation, on this day, with a new attitude.
Instead of driving through the Navajo and Hopi Reservations to get to Colorado, I was visiting someone’s home. As we began to travel the endless miles through the seemingly bleak terrain, I thought of the people who had inhabited this land for many generations.
The Hopi people moved onto large mesas that overlook the expansive desert below for protection. They have occupied this inhospitable land for centuries. As we approached the road leading to the village, it was practically impossible to make the distinction between the boulders lining the mesa and the stone houses they protect.
At the top of First Mesa, it’s easy to get distracted by the apparent poverty and simple life the people live. After we’ve been there a few moments, older people slowly started to emerge with their crafts to sell. We enjoyed a tour around the villages, ending at Walpi which dates back to 1690. There are only a few inhabitants in this village and they have chosen to live without plumbing or electricity.
As we walk along the dirt road that surrounds the villages, another woman on the tour whispers to my friend Christa and I, “I could never live without beauty. There is no beauty here.”
My first reaction was to agree. As we looked away from the village on mesa, we could see giant cumulonimbus clouds form in the distance. We can see a rugged beauty in the desert as it changed color with the movement of clouds and sun.
We could see beauty in the faces of the older people as they told the stories about their crafts. Mostly the artists looked from ancient eyes, but they were still alive with love for their art and life.
There were a few young artists. I enjoyed one young man, in particular, as he shared the detail of how he took the root of a cottonwood tree to carve a Kachina. Using a simple Swiss army knife, he told of how the Kachina emerged from wood.
|
|
| |
|
|
|
| |
