In the early 1840s, an American
trader in New Mexico declared that “the Navajos, from a historical point
of view, are certainly the most important of all the northern tribes of
Mexico.”
Of the many
reasons he gave, one was the tribe’s production of “a species of blanket
known as the Serape Navajo, woven so tightly that it can shed rain.”
New Mexicans eagerly paid an exorbitant $50 to $60 for one of these
textiles, using it as a garment or bed covering.
After
the United States acquired the Southwest a few years later, other
Americans began to learn about the Navajos, initially because of their
hostile ways, which were widely reported in the national press.
Later, as more was learned about the
Navajos, scholars and writers became fascinated by the tribe’s rich
history and its resilient and adaptable culture. It is doubtful that any
other group of Natives in our country has been the subject of more
books.
At present, the Navajo
Nation sprawls across portions of New Mexico, Arizona and Utah; the
reservation is almost as large as the state of West Virginia. Within
that vast domain, Navajos preserve many of their traditional ways.
As
a teenager in 1954, I got a summer job as a chore boy at a Navajo
mission near Fort Defiance, Ariz., just across the New Mexico border. At
that date, the interior of the reservation was undeveloped.
Most Navajos then were farmers or
herders who lived in hogans. They traveled in covered wagons over
unpaved roads to isolated trading posts. And they spoke little or no
English.
For a kid “interested
in Indians,” my three months at Fort Defiance seemed like a gift from
heaven. I stayed in a dormitory with boarding Navajo boys my age, and
with them I made my first halting attempts to learn the Native language.
All
agree that mastering the Navajo tongue presents great challenges to
outsiders because it contains plenty of unfamiliar structures and
difficult sounds. The mission kept a paid interpreter on its staff who
routinely translated the religious services for the congregation.
Each summer, the missionary and
interpreter spent a week with a cluster of Navajo families living in an
isolated area near Black Mountain. I was asked that year to accompany
them as a helper.
The
encampment held about six hogans, and others were visible on the
adjacent plain. Every day, the people came in for Bible instruction and a
noon meal, which, like breakfast and supper, consisted of mutton stew,
fry bread and coffee prepared over an open fire.
Guests
had no special quarters because there weren’t any. Our bedding
consisted of sheepskins rolled out on the dirt floor of a hogan.
In the center of the large octagonal
room was a homemade heating stove. And against the wall, old Arbuckles
Coffee crates had been stacked to serve as shelving for food and pots.
Until World War II, Navajos used the celebrated Arbuckles’ Ariosa coffee almost exclusively. They called it Hosteen Cohay, which translates to “Mr. Coffee.”
The
product arrived at trading posts in heavy crates decorated in red with
the name Arbuckles Coffee above the trademark and a flying angel.
Traders handed out the crates to Indian customers, who put them to a variety of uses, including as caskets for infants.
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