May 9, 2010 – Navajo Wisdom – Gallup, NM

During the great depression, in an effort to stimulate the economy and put people to work, President Franklin D. Roosevelt created the Civilian Conservation Corp.

In the dirty ‘30s the CCC built trails, roads, lodges and buildings on public land throughout the U.S. Most of these iconic structures survive today, often in or near State campgrounds, as stone marvels and scenic winding parkways.

In the current economic crisis America has taken a different tack: print money, dig hole, throw in money, fill hole. And also engage in a couple of wars designed to shove democracy down the throat of some Middle Eastern heathens.

I like old Franklin D.’s approach. The legacy is more appealing.

Ft. Stockton, Texas is not likely to win a “communities in bloom” award. I mentioned last go-round that the dry dusty wind there could induce genocidal tendencies in an otherwise unassuming, honest citizen.

No place could be less endurable. Except perhaps Gallup, in the northwest corner of New Mexico, where we were forced to layover. The I-40 was closed due to ferocious winds. We cowered in the van for two days listening to gusts that howled upward of 65 mph. The van sure was a rockin’. “They” took a poll: Gallup is the least habitable City in America.

The town does have one redeeming feature: Genaro’s Restaurant where, for a grand total of $24 (with tip), we had the best Mexican meal of our (short, thus far) lives. We shared two incredible dishes: beef enchiladas a pesole and stuffed sopapilla.

I recommend that before arming yourself to the teeth, barricading yourself in the Gallup County clock tower and unleashing a disgruntled maelstrom onto the unsuspecting citizens of that wind-beleaguered town, that you stop by Genaro’s and order the house special sopapilla as a last meal. And don’t forget to ask for it smothered.

Route 66 winds through New Mexico on its 2249-mile journey from Chicago, through the American heartland, to its west coast termination in Los Angeles. We have now jogged Route 66 — not the whole thing mind you — but a significant portion: four miles (well actually only two miles up one way and two back the other. But it was in Gallup and it was rather breezy that day).

When the wind calmed to a small-craft-warning level we moved across the border into the northeast corner of Arizona and toured the remarkable Canyon de Chelly (pronounced “Shay”) which is located on the 26,000 square mile Navajo Nation. Entry to the canyon is permitted only when accompanied by a Navajo guide.

We enjoyed a remarkable three-hour hike winding precariously down through the sheer 800-foot red canyon face to the flat green cultivated landscape below, accompanied by our calm and informative Navajo host, Perry Chinle (whose surname echoes the rock formation that covers much of the Colorado Plateau).

The Navajo people and their Anasazi, Hopi and Pueblo ancestors have resided in the Four Corners area for thousands of years and have developed a deep connection to mother earth.

Their time here has engendered respect, humility and an understanding of “life’s big questions” like: why does your nose run in cold weather? And will Brad ever give up this fling with Angelina and get back together with Jenn? The Navajo know. But they are not telling. Perry was conspicuously silent on these important subjects.

We left Canyon de Chelly on Earth Day. The Navajo people in their colorful dress were out en masse cleaning litter from the ditches of their Nation. Not to demean our fine first-nations people north of the 49th but I think they could learn a lesson here.

Last time I drove through Morley, Alberta, one fine winter evening, the wind-strewn garbage on a barbed-wire fence had ignited and fed down-wind to a home that was burning quickly to the ground. The lights from every car in town were, in Field of Dreams formation, slowly shining their way up the road to an upwind viewpoint, illuminating the fiery spectacle. Burn it and they will come?

Gerry & Florence