Native in New Mexico

We be in Bernalillo, New Mexico today, starting a job for a little city
park that has never had a map. It is a really nice little park,
dedicated to Coronado, has nice trails and a little museum; we want to
do a good job for them.

We spent a couple of nights in Bluff, Utah, at the Cadillac Ranch RV
Park. Bluff is one of our favorite places; we spent a week or so here
in 2005, exploring the indian ruins of San Juan County. The Cadillac
Ranch consists of about 30 hook ups, all in a row, facing a murky pond
full of cross bred quackers. The cottonwoods are turning; the display
of Disney-yellow leaves stands out against the bright blue sky

I did my laundry yesterday at the Cottonwood Wash n’ Dry. They have 40
washers (22 of them out of order) and 12 dryers. Sunday is wash day for
the indian ladies (the only day they can get the truck). The place is
very clean, swept constantly by the lady who staffs the place; she also
does the laundry for the three motels in town. Bluff has one market and
gas station, an elementary school, one restaurant and gift shop, a
river guide and three art studios, all closed. Summer time brings out a
few more commercial endeavors. The town’s proximity to the San Juan
River and cliff dwellings make it a popular base camp.

Laundry took a long time, as the ladies and I lined up for the dryers.
I was struck by what we had in common and what we didn’t. Watching a
serene old granny fold clothes for a large family I thought about my
great grandmother, known only to us now as “the Chinook woman,” seated
on the floor, wrapped in a blanket smoking her pipe. She had come all
the way from Castle Rock, Washington to Monroe, Oregon, to see her son
and grandson. Was she comfortable in the hotel owned by her son’s white
wife?

In spite of the Chinook woman’s influence, my father and his family,
enrolled in the Cowlitz tribe, have never looked very indian. Actually,
the Cowlitz people don’t look very indian if you consider we look like
muffins compared to the hawk-nosed Navajo on the side of the truck.
I’m feeling pretty white in the Cottonwood Wash n’ Dry. There isn’t
much talking today. We all watch Kaila, a sturdy, intent 3 year old,
march around and around, elbows pumping, terrorizing the other
children. Her mother, a pretty woman, close to 300 lbs. and wearing hip
huggers over a purple thong, yells at her over and over, “Kaila! Stop
it! Don’t you hit him or I’ll whip you!!”

There are a lot of born-again indians coming to the Cowlitz Tribal
meetings now that we have federal recognition and are building a
casino. I wonder how many of them would be born again to these Chaco
Canyon natives. What would my life be if the Cowlitz had been granted a
reservation, instead of fighting to reclaim recognition and
compensation, for 146 years.

There is a large table in the Wash n’ Dry, filled to overflowing with
clothes and shoes, mostly children’s, all clean and in good repair. In
all the laundry rooms I’ve used across the country, this is the only
place I’ve seen a stash of good used clothing that doesn’t disappear.
These people of Bluff take what they can use and contribute what they
can’t. I find it a very civilized statement of community. I wonder if
it’s an indian thing, like politeness. At the twice yearly Cowlitz
meetings, anyone can speak, and say all he or she wants to say. The
Kinzwas are still speaking, trying to get the town of Kelso to give
them back their land. The meetings are interminable. I found a red
pullover that would look good on Becca but I didn’t take it. I had
nothing to contribute.

The snows of Utah are a memory; we have blue skies and sunshine here in
Bernalillo. We watch the news of the California fires and once again,
count our blessings.

Love,