Westward Ears, Eastward Eyes

by Eric Osterhus (United States of America)

Making a local connection USA

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It finally came into view, moments before daylight made its escape to the west. A handmade structure sealed with dried mud at every gap and joint. A single chimney pipe braced its sloped tin roof, secured by the desert stone that composed its rounded walls. The ceremonial Hogan kept watch over a modest homestead enveloped by the seemingly endless sandscape of Navajo Nation. It was hard to ignore the contrasting beauty that appeared just beyond its confines, where two colossal spires pierced through a flourishing canyon; a proverbial Eden amidst an otherwise barren landscape. “I see you’ve found Bear’s Ears.” A wise, weathered voice approached from the small house adjacent to the Hogan. “Our people grow and gather on the land surrounding it, just as we always have.” She opened her hand to reveal a small bundle of autumn sage in her palm. Its rosy hues radiated against her aged, earth-tone skin. The aroma from its minty leaves filled the air between us as she placed the bundle in my hand. “It’s vital to our healing ceremonies. The yarrow and primrose in our medicines, the sagebrush and the juniper… they all grow just beyond where you can see.” She motioned back towards the lush terrain surrounding the monument’s towering formations. “Is it what you expected?” I wasn’t sure what I expected. This landmark that stood as a tribute to the Navajo ancestry found itself in the crosshairs of a divisive land battle, while its children stood to bear the ultimate burden. I was no stranger to the decision that had been made, knowing the inevitable had become reality. Gathering would soon give way to extraction. We entered the Hogan where a dimly burning fire was surrounded by a dirt floor and stone walls, charred by generations of time-honored ceremonies. She singed the edges of the sage before reciting a Navajo blessing for safe travels in her native language. Placing her calloused hand on my shoulder, she turned our attention back towards the doorway. “The entrance of a Hogan always faces east to welcome the morning. We’ll continue to do the same, just as we always have.” Little more was said. Little more needed to be. There was no minimizing the profound impact this would have on the Navajo, yet somehow, her hope remained the same. As the sun set to the west, her focus remained to the east, where her Earth Mother’s light and provision would soon rise again. Just as it always had.