Not Really Dangerous

There are many legends associated with the Twin Rocks, the massive stone towers that loom above the trading post. Over the years, many older Navajo people have told me stories about the rocks. The stories include tales of how the two spires represent each of the Hero Twins, Monster Slayer and Born for Water; that they are prayer sticks, transmitting appeals to the heavens; that they signal an extremely sacred location; and that at the time one or both of the monuments fall, Earth as we know it will cease to exist.

Since I live directly beneath the Twins, I am confident our Navajo friends are correct on at least one count; my world will end if the rocks tumble. When customers ask what I will do if I hear crashing boulders, I usually lift my left foot, place it on the counter and exhibit my sneaker. "Running shoes," I explain. Then I say, "Oh, well, it will be over quickly, don't you think?" Most of the inquisitors just nod in agreement, realizing I will certainly be smashed into very fine particles in the event of a downfall.

Although I do from time to time consider the implications of a stone calamity, for the most part I ignore them, and take comfort in the knowledge the formations have stood an extraordinarily long time and my tenure on this planet is comparatively short. I believe the odds of me escaping a fall are actually pretty good. That does not, however, stop me from gazing up from the base of the Twins and questioning whether I might one day experience the fall.

A few days ago, I decided the trading post porch needed a thorough cleaning, so I rounded up the electric blower . Although I generally have an aversion to blowers, out here Mother Nature perpetually pushes large deposits of sand onto my porch, so I have decided the only solution is to blow it back. She and I have engaged in this endless battle for years. As I pushed the red sand around with my blower, three semi tractor-trailer rigs pulled into the parking lot and backed up just south of the Twins.

After the drivers had properly positioned their vehicles and hopped down from the cabs, I overheard one say to the others, "Well, I hope those rocks don't fall while we're having lunch." At that point, I felt compelled to comment, so, as the drivers began to walk toward the cafe, I waived my hands and shouted, "Hey, you guys may want to move those trucks. These rocks do fall and I wouldn't want your rigs to get smashed; unless you have good insurance. I have, from time to time, had to put these rocks back up after they squashed a car or two. We have never had any smashed trucks, but you never know. Our guests don't enjoy calling AAA or the rental company to come get them. It's a long way from Denver, Albuquerque, Salt Lake City or Phoenix, so replacement vehicles don't arrive very quickly."

One of the drivers hesitated as though he were going to heed my advice and relocate his semi, but Barry stopped him in his tracks. "Don't worry about him, he's not really dangerous; crazy, but not dangerous," Barry reassured. The other drivers acted as though they knew all along that I was only joking, and could not really lift those rocks.

There are times when the blower goes a little astray and my hair begins looking like Einstein's, but insanity is a whole different matter. As the truck drivers continued on their way, I heard one say to the others, "Well, he looked pretty normal." One of the others replied, "Yes, but you just can't tell anymore, remember those postal workers. Maybe he just needs to be medicated."

Although Barry may have a point about me not being dangerous, he is definitely wrong about the crazy part. The older Navajo people assure me the Twins have extremely strong curative powers, and I have felt that energy on more than one occasion. Like the convert at the revival, I have been healed. Barry and the rest of the bunch at the trading post would certainly have driven me mad long ago had it not been for the power of the rocks.

Sincerely,

Steve