November 23, 2011 – Quahog

It’s time to start getting ready for tomorrow’s big dinner. It also is time for the media to inevitably recycle the same, speculative stories about the first Thanksgiving and what was served at that meal. I think we can all agree that a cylinder of cranberry sauce didn’t shoop out of the can onto the plate back in 1620. But after that, the menu starts becoming debatable. It’s likely that the meal included quahogs, the hardshell clams common to the shores of southern New England. The inside of the clamshells are the source of one of the most beautiful and intense shades of purple found in nature. It’s that purple that was so highly valued. Quahog shells were cut and crafted into wampum beads by the Wampanoag and other Native Americans who made a home in a place that those other folks at Thanksgiving told them was called New England.

October 17, 2011 – Chaco Canyon

A friend was posting his Chaco Canyon photos online recently. It was a reminder that I am due for another trip to the Holy Land (the place most people call New Mexico). Chaco Canyon is one of the most sacred sites in that part of the world. I first learned about the place from a documentary that still gets a lot of play on PBS. As soon as I saw the film, I wanted to go. Now I have been a few times. Simply put, it’s America’s Stonehenge — but that is a simple explanation. I’ve been to both places and Chaco Canyon is much more sophisticated. The astronomical observatory that was constructed at Chaco one thousand years ago is the most complex, pre-computer era observatory built — that we know of.

Chaco Canyon is a great technological accomplishment but it also a sacred space. For some visitors the experience is a straightforward set of Native American ruins. For other visitors, there is clearly more going on there. And you really have to want to go. It’s near Four Corners, far from most everything and includes the challenge of a long drive in on a dirt road. It’s that remoteness that makes the place accessible once you arrive. The crowds are sparse and you’re really allowed to explore. Each visit has been a new experience for me. And, when you’re tall like me and have to crawl through the narrow stone doorways, something might happen — you may even suddenly understand those reoccurring dreams you’ve been having for years.

October 3, 2011 – Travel Rules - Wupatki

If you like to travel, you might have your own a set of rules. The rules are yours and yours alone. It’s not about rules for everyone to follow but rather, you figure out what works best for you when you travel. One of my travel rules is always to look for places near popular destinations that often get overlooked. Some of my favorite places are often missed. Many people are looking to get somewhere else, somewhere more famous, etc.

One of those places is Wupatki National Monument. It’s just north of Flagstaff and most travelers drive right by on their way to the Grand Canyon. I am not complaining, I kind of like having the place to myself. I’ve photographed it, I’ve painted it, and I’ve visited the magic breathing hole. Yes, did I tell you about that? Over to the side of the pueblo ruins, there is a reconstructed Aztec-style ball court. Next to it is a small opening in the earth. When the temperature is warm, air comes rushing out of mysterious caverns somewhere below the earth. There is a sign explaining in National Park Service-speak that it is believed this site was held as sacred. Duh! The earth is breathing. Wupatki is one of the reasons I love road trips.

August 29, 2011 – Ishi

Not far from his homeland, in the shadow of Mt. Lassen, one hundred years ago today, a Yana man walked out of the mountains near Oroville, California. He was a Native American and the last of his people —The Yana. He actually did not have a name, he was alone and he never had a naming ceremony. The anthropologist Alfred Kroeber named him Ishi, which means man in the Yana language. Ishi was brought to San Francisco and lived for the remaining five years of life on the campus at of UCSF.

If the story is at all familiar to you, you probably learned about Ishi in an Intro to Anthropology course back in collage. Kroeber built his career on Ishi and sadly all that most of us know about Ishi has been distilled into a multiple-choice question on a midterm exam.

As a country, America still remains a long way from really coming to terms with its history. We still have not grasped much of what ensued in the years since 1492. Most of us have moved beyond the simplistic old Hollywood Cowboys and Indians mentality. Nowadays there is generally a better understanding of the diversity and richness of different Native American peoples. Occasionally we even get some more “realistic” depictions of Native Americans in popular culture. There has been a marked improvement of the way history has been presented. But there still is something missing.

America is afraid to use the “G” word. We shy away from using the word genocide when telling American history. It’s not an easy for any culture to comes to terms with the darker side of its history. Without an honest understanding of all the facets of the American story, and particularly some of the sadder and darker stories, it may be impossible to truly heal many of the wounds inflicted as America expanded.

One hundred years ago, when Ishi emerged from the wilderness, he was the last of his people. They did not die out. They were brutally murdered. The California Gold Rush was not just a search for riches. There was a systematic campaign of what we now call ethnic cleansing in the Sierra Nevada. Native Californians were the victims of the kind of genocide that many Americans would rather imagine happening in other places, but not in America and certainly not in the Golden State.

April 28, 2011 — Petroglyphs

When I travel I make a habit of seeking out art. In California and the desert Southwest some of the best art I find is not in any gallery or museum. There is an abundance of fine art to be found on rocks and cliffs. Much of the work is over 1,000 years old. Sometimes it’s a long hike back into a canyon or a drive down a dirt road. Sometimes the art is right there, very accessible near a road. A favorite spot is along the Fremont River in Capitol Reef National Park in Utah. There are times you find the art in a remote setting and yet one of the best spots is in sight of subdivisions on the edge of Albuquerque.

There are plenty more petroglyphs for me to see out there. They are in “museums” where you need plenty of sunscreen. The desert is not Chelsea. You will never encounter a hostile, malnourished, gallery gal in a little black dress. But you might see a rattlesnake. I think I prefer the rattlesnake.