SECOND PART – Skip’s Back
Mari had smartly changed the venue for the party from her house to the Lodge at Hyde Park. The little bit of snow didn’t matter – we were inside. Mari and her husband Bob knew almost everybody in town and Bob insisted on inviting all their friends. Lots of folks with state capitol connections were there. The Park Service let us have a private room and an open bar. The few other hearty campers at Hyde Park in cold early November joined the party. It was as if all the political baggage we brought to small town Santa Fe fit right in.
Best of all, some members of the Navajo Nation showed up. For years, Mari, her sisters and brothers, had had a special relationship with the Navajos – negotiating a deal to let the Navajos sell their home-made jewelry out of the shop on Canyon Road – exquisite turquoise bracelets and hairpieces, the world famous “Squash Blossom Necklace,” and beautifully woven blankets.
Mari introduced us to John Tsoodzif (pronounced “soods–if,” a Navajo word for Turquoise Mountain or Blue Beard). Tsoodzif had long hair pulled back in a pony tail. He had a beautiful turquoise string tie that matched his velveteen shirt. He told us that Deb Haaland was the best thing that had happened in America since Little Big Horn. “How do you think your Montana cowboy friends remember that battle?” he asked us. (Months later we were still trying to figure out if he was trying to be humorous or not – of course the Indians massacred the Cowboys in that battle.)
“Well, I’m going to speak for all us Minnesota white guys in the room,” Steve said:
“The Native Community’s leadership on saving the earth, thinking about water as being sacred – not a property right, has been essential, the best legal leverage we have, for moving the environmental movement forward, getting young people involved, actually making things better. The majority of court cases are being decided your way – our way – and the American people, at least in Minnesota, and young people across the nation, are grateful for your lead on all this. Thank you!”
Those of us nearby actually clapped hearing Steve say this. Folks all around piped in.
Tsoodzif eloquently talked about how the earth belongs to all its people; that in traditional Native American culture, no one “owns” the land or the water; that we’re all entrusted with the sacred duty to preserve it for those to come; and that the pipeline fight was a natural one to take leadership on.
Another of the Navajos, recognizing that the media still portrays Trump as having a grip on too much of the populace, characterized Trump’s rise as just a comma in time, Trump a mere firefly in a swamp:
“There are many people, some shine as bright as the sun, some only have the light of a firefly. The universe is large. All of us acting together leave a lasting impression. A mere firefly in a swamp has no footprint. Time is immortal. There is no Trumpism – only Trump. We will outlast him because we are more than one. The people, together, are Mother Earth’s heart and soul. It’s not what happens tomorrow, or next month, or while Trump rules over us. No one individual can win alone. Time’s immortal. Life moves on. Trump is a mere comma in time.”
Meanwhile, Patty was noticing Skip was mostly keeping to himself, not his usual effusive self. She walked over to him, “Hey, what’s going on? How you doing?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” he replied.
“Look, I know you’re a little disappointed about a Rumpkin Legislature not taking off, but hey, the trip’s a success – nobody has bailed – and we still’ve got another dozen we’re off to visit.”
“Yah, hey, by the way,” Skip replied, “Rocky told me you did a great job defending the idea with that lawyer in Tucson – telling him election reform was about to sweep the country, calling the Republicans dinosaurs, the Democrats same-o same-o, and the Indies on the rise. I couldn’t have done better if there myself – thanks.”
“Come on,” Patty said, “join the party, you know there are a couple former New Mexico legislators here, right?”
The week in Santa Fe couldn’t have been nicer. Even had a frisbee golf tournament using nature’s landmarks as holes, with a water hole where you could choose a long-distance throw and maybe have to wade in the frigid pond to retrieve your frisbee, or the safe way across the bridge. We got to know all the camp dwellers playing charades and bridge in the lounge into the early morning hours, but it was so friggin’ cold at night most of us snuck back to the Land Yacht to sleep, and Jack and Sally ended up taking a room in town.
The last night in Santa Fe, a Saturday night, Mari and Bob threw another party for us, a smaller one this time, with some Navajo elders as special guests, and a great traditional feast of venison, squash and cornbread hoecakes. Before supper, we started Facebooking with Eloise and Susie back in Montana about how it was going with those cowboys helping on Eloise’s campaign. By the end of supper, Susie and Eloise were on the task of making our “Indians and Cowboys” Facebook friends.
The next morning, Jack officially proclaimed us a caravan to the great delight of Peaches and Sunshine, with all three vehicles taking off for Norman, Oklahoma, where Rocky had a friend to look up from playing in international bridge tournaments.