Shiyowin Miller, who had been adopted by Luther Standing Bear (author of "My People the Sioux" and other books) interviewed her best friend to
write this true story of the harsh life in the Navajo lands during the 1930s. It's a
wonderfully-told story, written mostly during the 1950s and ‘60s. Shiyowin died
in 1983, and when Shiyo’s daughter, Dolores (my wife) showed me the manuscript
in the late 1990s, I was amazed at the quality and depth of the story, and
could barely believe it had not been published.To me, it was like reading a Tony Hillerman novel, except it was true!
Everyone said that the book accurately depicted life on the Rez during that time, mixed in with some accounts of Navajo witchcraft. With some editing, Dolores and I got the
book published in 2002 by Naturegraph Press, which features many Native
American titles. If you do an internet
search with the book's title, you'll see some of the reviews that have been
published about this book.
The
following excerpts from THE WINDS ERASE YOUR FOOTPRINTS are
Copyright and may not be re-printed
without permission of the publisher.
from
chapter 3: Pentz's Trading Post
Juanita stood, head forward, her hair long and
black in the sunlight; she shook it, the drops of water flying. She ran her
fingers through it, the pale, yellow shreds of fiber falling lightly to the
ground. Luciano was washing his head now, in water that his mother had
prepared. Juanita began to comb her hair carefully, the comb snagging and
tangling in the still-wet strands. She stopped and disentangled the combings,
rolling them into a little ball. The wind caught it and tumbled it over and
over across the ground.
"Ah-yeeee!" Shimah exclaimed and went
running after the ball of combings. She brought it back and placed it carefully
in the fire, watching as the flames consumed it, talking rapidly to her son. I
am guilty of some small breach of custom, Juanita thought, and then was
surprised at the gravity of her husbands' face. He sat back on his heels, his
hair dripping unheeded.
"You must always burn your combings,"
he told her seriously.
"My mother says never to let any of your
hair escape like that."
"I'm sorry, Lu," she began. "It
was a bit untidy. But out here in the open I thought the wind would carry it
away."
"That's it: the wind might . . ." He
stopped abruptly.
Juanita was puzzled. It was such a little thing
for him to get upset about, and she had said she was
sorry. "Is there some tabu connected with
hair-combings?" she asked gently, trying to smooth the
troubled look from his face. "If I knew it
I'd observe it--you know I would." Shimah stood by gauging the
conversation by their voice tones. Luciano was still disturbed. "It isn't
exactly a tabu, but just don't be careless." It wasn't like her husband to
speak so. He'd always been patient about explaining even small things. She
turned away to hide the hurt.
Shimah plucked at her sleeve, speaking gently,
soothingly, as though to erase the hurt, the alarm.
"Tell my daughter-in-law to give me her
jewelry so that I can put it into the soaproot suds. That will be good for the
silver and the turquoise."
Juanita resolved not to mention the incident of
the hair-combing again. Lu was moody, preoccupied with looking for a job. It
wasn't anything important, only puzzling, and it wasn't worth a
misunderstanding if she never found out. There was so much she didn't know, it
would take forever to explain in detail everything she asked.
from
Chapter 5: Wild Duck Dinner
Wounded Head greeted them with warm words, but
his face remained impassive--cold. His son
extended his hand for a limp handclasp. Juanita
and Luciano were given a comfortable place to sit at the back of the hoghan,
but Juanita wasn't comfortable. She was conscious of her hair being disheveled
from the race up the canyon; she tried to smooth it, putting one hand to her
head unobtrusively. She wished that she had worn a skirt instead of Levis.
Somehow she could feel Wounded Head's disapproval without seeing his face.
Luciano was talking to the two men. No, he
hadn't as yet gone to work in Albuquerque.
Wounded Head placed his fingertips together with
elaborate care. Was it true that in that Western
place, where Luciano had been, there was great
opportunity for ambitious young Navajo men?
Luciano misunderstood. Was his son planning to
go there?
A thin ghost-like smile passed over Wounded
Head's face and was gone. He shook his head.
The stew was ladled into bowls and passed to
them. Juanita cooled one of the pieces of meat on her spoon. That didn't look
like mutton. She bit into it. Beef! Wounded Head and his family did eat well.
Her husband had placed his hat on the bedroll behind him, and now his dark head
was bent over the bowl of stew attentively. He looked up long enough to direct
a sidelong glance at her when their host got up, took a can of peaches from the
cupboard, and opened it with his knife.
The meal finished, they sat back looking into
the fire, the men talking leisurely of unimportant things. Wounded Head's wife
asked a few questions of Juanita, through Luciano: did she like it here . . .
did she miss her own people?
It was a foolish thing, her imagination was
overactive, Juanita told herself, but she wanted to get away. The fire was
bright, warming; Wounded Head's wife was pleasant; Wounded Head himself seemed
almost friendly as he drew Lu into conversation; but it was a strong feeling
that Juanita had--as strong as a cold wind--as dark as a dark shadow. She was
relieved when Luciano finally arose to go. He thanked them for the good meal
and then the blanket over the doorway dropped behind them. She was first in the
saddle and started toward the edge of the mesa.
"Not that way," Luciano called.
"There's no trail--only rocks."
Juanita turned and followed Luciano as he picked
his way down the other side of the mesa. Halfway down the narrow trail, Luciano
took off his hat. Holding it at arm's length from him, he shook it carefully.
Puffs of yellow dust scattered on the wind.
WATCH FOR MORE SECTIONS….
A fascinating glimpse of Navajo life
during the depression through the eyes of one woman. The Winds Erase Your
Footprints is available from the School of Self-reliance, Box 41834, Eagle
Rock, CA 90041, for $22, or check the Store
at www.ChristopherNyerges.com
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