Cowboys and Indians

For the past two years, I have had my eye on a new bicycle. My old Centurion had become a dinosaur, and I was embarrassed to take it out in public. In spite of my ancient equipment, the Blanding cyclists have been generous enough to invite me out for their weekly rides. I, however, was comfortable that my big stomach, fat . . . head and archaic bicycle would make it difficult to keep up with the pack, and might even subject me to a certain amount of ridicule. Consequently, I continued to decline their invitations and make up excuses why I could not attend their Thursday evening outings.

My big break came when Jana decided she needed another horse. Being the "horse trader" I am, I convinced her I should get a new bike in the bargain. It made perfect sense to me, she got something to ride; I got something to ride. Although the upfront cost of the bike was more than the horse, bicycles do not require daily feeding, I argued. So, using creative math, I convinced her the overall investment was approximately the same. Jana agreed, and I set off for the bike shop.

This new acquisition is not just any old bicycle mind you, it has more features than my first car and probably goes faster; the gas mileage is pretty good too. Having acquired the necessary equipment, it was time to hit the road, so over the past two weeks I have attended the Thursday night rides, which, to my surprise, have not generated any caustic comments about my weight or lack of speed.

In addition to the group rides, I have ridden from Bluff to Blanding a few times. These rides have reminded me why I love cycling, and why I am so fond of this redrock desert. From the seat of my bike, I can see many aspects of this country I miss while zipping along in the car. The pace of the bicycle gives me time to notice, contemplate and enjoy each intimate detail; the deep canyons, the rock outcroppings and even the lavender cheat grass that is extremely beautiful until it gets stuck in your socks.

One thing that has recently captured my attention is an old cattle pen located just south of White Mesa Hill. To me, the enclosure stands as a reminder of what San Juan County used to be and the changes it is currently experiencing. The corral has probably not been used for decades, and has fallen into disrepair. During its time, however, it was likely an integral part of the local cattle industry.

The Mormon pioneers arrived in Bluff during the late 1800's, and after many years of struggling to harness the river's nourishing moisture, with only limited success, discovered grazing cattle and sheep on the vast open spaces of northern Arizona, southern Utah and western Colorado paid significant dividends. Today, the San Juan County cattle industry has been buffeted by drought, mad cow disease, higher grazing permit prices, changing lifestyles and a variety of other concerns. As a result, many of the younger generation cowhands have had to leave the area in search of better opportunities. The cattle families have felt the pinch.

It is not only the cowboys who have suffered, however; change has affected the Native American community as well. Many of the Navajo basket weaving families we work with are experiencing similar difficulties. Currently there are about 35 basket weavers between the ages of 30 and 70. The number in the next generation drops to about five, causing Barry and me worry that the current revolution in Navajo basketry will be gone before our children mature.

The weavers have been telling us for years that it is becoming harder and harder to find the sumac necessary to weave their baskets. Much of the land where they used to harvest materials is now developed, and homeowners do not want the artists coming onto their property. Public land is also more regulated and more difficult to access.

The real issue, however, seems to be that the Navajo children are not interested in learning traditional crafts such as basket and rug weaving. These talents take years to develop, and the compensation is generally not much better than working at the local convenience store. Additionally, many of the older artists learned their skills by sitting at their grandmothe's side, patiently watching her create masterpiece after masterpiece. The children of today are too busy to spend that much time with their elders; the Cartoon Network and MTV have captured their attention and consumed their lives.

In many ways, today's Navajo children are better educated and more prepared to enter the world. That is unquestionably what is needed. It is, however, difficult to see the traditional lifestyles fade into obscurity. I still thrill at the pungent aroma of a freshly woven Navajo basket, the spectacle of a cattle drive and the singing of bicycle tires on pavement. I have always been fascinated by the traditional ways and their natural elegance.

	Three Generations of Basket Weavers
Mary Black	Peggy Black	Sonya Black

Sincerely,
Steve