Greetings from Canyon De Chelly National Monument

As my father and I hiked down the trail into the canyon, I recall feeling like a visitor to a very sacred place, almost as if I were an intruder into this land steeped with tradition, and unchanged by time. The sun brought out the deep red hues of the sheer sandstone cliffs, and for a brief moment I could see the ancient ones who inhabited this place for generations tending gardens, making stone tools, children playing. Smoke from a fire drifted lazily through the air, and sounds of laughter echoed from the distance. At the bottom I peered into the openings in the cliff dwellings and could imagine people watching as we approached, dark eyes filled with curiosity as they carefully watched us. Still in awe, on the trail back up we stepped aside as a flock of sheep were being driven into their summer grazing pasture by an elderly Navajo woman. She smiled and spoke to me and waved her hand across the expanse of the canyon floor. A park ranger was coming up behind and stopped to interpret. She was explaining that this was their home and I told her it was beautiful. She was proud, and her sun wrinkled face beamed as she spoke. Our conversation was brief, but I left there that day with a memory I will cherish forever. Years later I look back and wonder at the coincidental meeting between someone fascinated by the history, and a woman who was part of it.

Sincerely,
Robert M Gleitz