I leave the reservation, then catch two planes north; as the hour grows later, the night brightens

Here I am, having just exited the Fort Apache Indian Reservation, home to the White Mountain Apache Tribe, looking back at my wife and children's homeland in my rearview mirror. There is a horrid hole in my heart. I do not want to go. I want to linger longer, slower. But I can't. I have to go, right now.

Margie will stay for another five days. The kids are coming home at staggered times.

Here I am, driving through the tunnel just north of Superior, enroute to PHX Sky Harbor Airport. Before I get there, I will stop in Mesa for a short visit at the home of Dustinn Craig, oldest son of Vincent. Vincent's wife, Mariddie, will be there, too.

Eyes will moisten, but it will be a warm visit. Before I leave, I will ask the quickest way to the airport, and if there are any gas stations in-between, as I need to fill the tank of the rental car before I return it.

Mariddie will send her youngest son, Shiloh, to the gas station with me, with instructions to use her credit card to buy that final tank of gas for me. I did not expect this, but I cannot turn this gift down. She is an Apache woman and the wife of my great friend. I am grateful.

Shiloh and I have an interesting conversation. Maybe I will come back this fall sometime.

Now I wait at Gate 11 for my first jet, the one that will take me to Portland. This is not it.

This is it. I am inside it now, flying toward Portland.

And this is my second jet, not long after leaving Portland a bit after 9:00 PM. It is pointed almost due north. You can see that, to the north, there is still light in the sky, whereas to the south, it is darkening.

This is about an hour-and-half later, somewhere along the British Columbia coast. You can see that, despite the hour being later, the night is brightening.

And here I am, approaching Anchorage, just before 11:30 PM. While the sun is still up from the perspective of the airplane, down on the ground, it has set - but it has not grown dark, nor will it completely do so.

Here I am, touching down at Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage, 11:30 PM.

Now it is 3:12 AM. I am home in Wasilla. I have taken care of a couple of tasks that needed to be done. I have removed the timed food-release pellets from my fish tanks and have fed my fish their regular food. 

My little green terror has disappeared. He must have been eaten.

I will miss him.

I was most worried about my parrot fish, who I have had for 9 years now and who is most intelligent, friendly and trusting. I feared he would not do well on the time release, but he seems to be fine.

I will go to bed now for four hours, then get up, go pick up some poor, distressed, bewildered, kitty cats, bring them home, take care of a couple of other tasks, then head back to Anchorage, catch another flight to Fairbanks and from there, another one to Anaktuvuk Pass.

Caleb will be home by then and he can take care of the cats.

I am really tired. I feel like I could sleep for a week.

Maybe next week.

Ow! A spider just bit me, right above my left elbow.

Poor thing. I killed it. I didn't mean to, but when I felt it bite, I reflexively slapped it. I thought it was a mosquito. But it wasn't. It was a spider.

I usually catch the spiders that come into my office, take them outside and let them go.

I would have done so with this one - if only it hadn't bitten me.

Glimpses from the past three days: Cibecue Creek, cookouts, punching bag, US Border Patrol Agent, Sunrise Dance, Charlie in Apache country

Following this morning's session of the Sunrise Dance, I returned to LeeAnn's house with what I thought was a good plan. I would lie down for half-an-hour in the hope that I might nap, then I would get up, refresh myself and, over the next four hours or so, I would put together a magnificent post on the six-hour hike that I took with my children, my daughter-in-law and my oldest grandson up Cibecue Creek from the Salt River.

I did take the nap, but when I got up I was struck by two realizations: one - it is Memorial Day weekend. People are out, having fun, beginning their summer. My readership would be way down. In fact, I checked the numbers and it is way down - down so far that if it were not Memorial Day weekend, I would conclude this whole blog experiment of mine has been a failure and I might as well shut it down.

Despite this holiday setback, the overall trend is upward, so I will forge on.

Two - I could not do justice to the hike and still accomplish everything else that I must accomplish before I head to PHX Sky Harbor Airport Sunday. Yesterday in the Basha's parking lot, our rental car was struck by a run-away shopping cart and was badly dinged and dented. So I must contact our insurance company and find out what I have to do to deal with this when I return the car tomorrow. In addition, the contract that I had expected to receive before I left on this trip and was counting on the initial payment to provide me with some spending money down here finally arrived by email and now I must review it, digitally sign it and email it back.

On that note, I must add that the only thing that has saved me at all on this trip, other than the generosity of my family and friends here in Arizona, is the support that I have received from readers who have contributed to this blog. Without that support, I would not have had money to buy a tank of gas, or even that Apache-style green chili burrito that I devoured yesterday.

Thank you.

And there are many other things that I must do before I leave.

So I decided just to sum up the past three days or so and then follow up with more in-depth stories after I get settled back into Wasilla. This won't happen until late next week, because, once my plane touches down in Anchorage, I barely have time to return home, give comfort to the cats and take a shower before I get on another jet that will take me to Fairbanks, where I will transfer to a small plane that will fly me to the Brooks Range village of Anaktuvuk Pass.

As part of that summation, I dropped into my Cibecue Creek take at random and pulled out this photo of Kalib, Jacob and Lavina hiking in the Apache homeland.

This hike took us to a very magical destination, so, I still have every intent to give it a full post once I settle back down.

In summation, over the past three days, we have all gotten together for two cookouts. This from last night, at the home of Janet and Emerson Craig - Janet being Margie's sister and Emerson the brother of my dear and late friend, Vincent Craig.

This is my nephew and Vincent's nephew, Cole Craig, beating his punching bag in excellent rhythm as the food cooks on the coals. I had hoped to introduce readers to all of my nephews and nieces, but the time here has passed so rapidly and has been so intensely occupied that I don't think I will be able to - even after I get home. I guess that just means we must come back sooner than we might have expected, so I can continue this journey.

The same applies for all of Margie's living brothers and sisters. This is Red Nose. He received the t-shirt as a gift from his son, Sugar Ray, who lives in Phoenix and has many Mexican friends. So Sugar Ray picks up things like this to send as gifts to his dad.

Red Nose came up to Melanie wearing this at last night's cook-out. "I'm from the US Border Patrol and I would like to see your papers," he told her.

At both cook-outs, we sat around the fire into the late hours, which, unlike in Wasilla, get dark down here. Many stories were told, some about frightening subjects such as Skin-walkers and the Bigfoot-like creatures that many, including, perhaps, myself, claim to have spotted in the White Mountains.

Emerson also told some good stories about Vincent. I have interviewed and photographed a number of people in preparation to make the tribute that I have planned for Vincent, including all of his living brothers and sisters, his children and grandchildren. I had hoped to have it posted in it's entirety before I left Arizona, but this did not prove practical.

I will do it when I can sit down and give it the time Vincent deserves.

This is from this morning's portion of the Sunrise Dance. It is not the dance that we had originally planned to attend as a family. Janet and Emerson were to be the sponsors of that event, but had to cancel, not only because of Vincent's death, but because immediately after, the doctors found that a cancer in the mother of Vincent and Emerson is aggressive. 

This morning, Emerson, Janet and family left to Albuquerque, to be with her in the hospital.

Then we learned about this dance, and that the young woman is a member of our extended family and the Godmother is a young woman who we would sometimes babysit when we lived down here. So we decided to take in at least part of this Sunrise Dance.

You can see my own children, Rex, Melanie and Lisa running behind their Aunt LeeAnn in a part of the Sunrise Dance where everybody runs. Yes, that's Charlie running with them. He came down, too.

You will also notice how different the country here is than down in Salt River and Cibecue Creek canyons. The river-bank elevation down there is about 2500 feet, whereas up here where the dance is being held, it is over 7000 feet above sea level.

Here is Melanie, getting a rare chance to live her Apache heritage. She is blessing Kiana Fawn Carrol who, on this day takes the role of Changing Woman, as she herself changes from a girl into a woman. Even as she blesses Kiana, she is blessed by Kiana, just for being there.

Lisa is there, too - that is her hand immediately beyond Melanie.

The dance will continue into this night and again tomorrow morning. I fear I must leave for Phoenix tomorrow before it concludes.

When I can sit down and do it justice, I will dedicate a post to this dance.

And here is Charlie with Red Nose and Melanie. He has just started a pickup truck of LeeAnn's that had not run in months.

Everyone in the family down here loves Charlie. 

As different as he is, he fits right in.

Charlie credits Red Nose with giving him the tip that helped him solve the problem.

And here is Kalib, Jobe, Lavina and Jacob, leaving here just a couple of hours ago. They are on their way to other parts of the Southwest to visit members of Lavina's family.

"Drive careful," I told Jake before they left. "Remember, you are carrying precious cargo. It does not matter how fast you get there, what matters is that you get there."

Now, God, You know that despite my plea, Jacob is not going to listen to his dad, so, even though I often wonder about You, about who You really are and why You would create such a beautiful, lovely, magnificent, dangerous, brutal, indifferent earth, I leave them to your care.

Please watch over them and bring them safely to their destination.

I eat a tasty Apache-style green burrito, then happen upon two strong Apache women

I have a HUGE amount of material to blog. Hundreds of photos. Thousands of words to write. But I've got to go to bed, so we can get up early and head to the dance. And I am exhausted.

So out of the huge amount of material I have, I chose what I figured would be the easiest and quickest to get up and post. I will come back to the rest later.

As to the easiest and quickest, whenever Lisa comes home to the reservation, she must get her Friday lunch at Tailgate. That is a gathering that takes place in the parking lot at Basha's where vendors come to sell Apache frybread and beans, Apache burritos, Apache tortillas, Apache tamales, Apache hamburgers and Apache Rice Krispy treats.

So we went and I ordered an Apache Green Burrito with all the trimmings and it was so good that, even though I was full, I went back to the tent where I had bought it to buy another but they were sold out.

Margie has a cousin who works at a fitness center a short distance away, so we walked over there to visit her.

I found this kid just outside the door, hefting these barbells.

He assured me that, when the conditions are right, he can put them over his head.

Shortly thereafter, this lady, Charla Dazen, came by. With the help of the guy standing behind her, she strapped these weights to her back and took off running.

I should add that it was pretty hot. I don't know how hot, but quite a bit hotter than it was in Wasilla.

After she pulled the weights around for a bit, she flipped this big tire, said to weigh about 250 pounds, over three times.

After she finished with the tire, she picked up 70 pounds worth of weights then sprinted away with them. Then she sprinted back, still carrying them.

Then she went and grabbed a barbell. Do you think she was strong enough to put it over her head?

She certainly was giving it a good effort.

Yeah! She did it! Three times in fact. It took her a minute and 11 seconds to put herself through the whole course.

As it turned out, last summer Charla won the Strong Woman contest at the White Mountain Apache Tribal Fair, where she dead-lifted 315 pounds over her head and bested her opponents in a strength-testing, five-part, obstacle course.

And this is my cousin-in-law, Janis Joplin, hefting strong baby Jobe inside the weight room. Yes, Janis Joplin lives - although we call her Buffy. The first time I met Buffy, she was a tiny girl in the back of a pick-up truck and she was buried in crawling, squirming, squeaking puppies.

The last time that I saw her was right after Jacob and Lavina's wedding a little over four years ago. We did not know it then, but she was about to undergo a hard fight against breast cancer.

She is doing good now.

Buffy is a strong woman.

Lots happening, time for only a token post

Many things are happening around me right now and I have no time to post. Yet, just as life does, this blog must move on. Yes, you see correctly. This is Margie and Jobe, standing next to Margie's mom, Rose Roosevelt. Since I put up my last post, the entire family from Alaska has rolled in and many people have gotten together.

And this is Jobe, with his younger cousin, Hokshila. And if Hokshila sounds like a Lakota and not an Apache name to you, you are correct. Hokshila is Apache, Lakota, Tlingit and more.

Anyway, more later. I've got to go now.

The funeral of Vincent Craig, Part 4: A helicopter passes overhead, procession moves down the hill, military honors, Mormon honors, Apache honors

After the funeral service, the flag-draped coffin that held the body of my friend, Vincent Craig, was wheeled outside the doors of the big Mormon chapel and church house in Lakeside. Those gathered around paused, stood very silent and listened. Soon, the distant beating of whirling helicopter rotors could be heard, growing steadily louder as the chopper that they propelled through the air steadily approached.

Then the helicopter appeared, first as a tiny dot rising above the distant trees. Then it hovered directly overhead, beating the air loudly. All eyes looked up. This chopper had come from Overseas Aircraft Support, a company that rebuilds military helicopters. Vincent had showed up there a few years back, told them he had been a helicopter mechanic in the Marine Corps, had asked for a job and had got it. He had helped to rebuild this very helicopter, which, I was told by his coworker and pallbearer Richard Johnson, will soon be in service in Afghanistan.

After the helicopter disappeared, Vincent's wife, Mariddie, was surrounded by those who sought to comfort her. Before the service began, a small group of relatives and close friends had gathered in the Relief Society room, where Mariddie delivered the family prayer. She expressed her gratitude for the strength and love of her children, grandchildren, family and friends.

As I discovered when we buried my own parents, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints does not allow photography inside their chapels. I wish that I could have at least taken a picture of the congregation that had gathered in this building to say goodbye to Vincent.

This place was chosen for his funeral services because it is not just any ordinary chapel, but rather a Mormon Stake Center. While the chapel itself is large, behind it is a full-sized basketball gymnasium. A sliding partition separates the gym from the chapel. Twice each year, members of all the wards and branches within the LDS Pinetop-Lakeside Stake, a large area which includes the reservation as well as Pinetop-Lakeside and other non-Indian border areas, gather here for Stake Conference. The partition is then drawn and the chapel and the gymnasium become one huge meeting hall. Just like in Utah, white settlement in Arizona Apache country was pioneered by Mormons and their numbers remain strong. It takes a huge churchhouse to accommodate the people of all the wards when they meet. Even so, Dustinn recalled going to Stake Conference with his parents as he grew. Never once did he see this building filled to capacity the way it was for his father.

For his father, the chapel and the gym were packed to capacity.

As the many mourners had entered, Organist Ann Flake played "Oh My Father," a Mormon funeral standard that was also sung by the congregation as the opening hymn, led by music director and close family friend, Phoebe Nez. Jacob Zuniga offered the opening prayer.

Of the excellent speeches that were delivered in this building on this day, I was moved most by the memories and love expressed by Vincent's three sons, Dustinn, Nephi and Shiloh and by his older brother, Harrison. I will not try to recount any of their words here, but I might include some of what they said in the tribute that I will begin to put together after I post this entry. 

Vincent's close friend, Ronnie Peaches, told how the Apache people had adopted this famous Navajo as one of their own. The closing remarks, a summary of Mormon belief in the resurrection, was delivered by President Shumway of the Pinetop-Lakeside Stake.

One day, very near to the end of his life when his physical strength was fading but not gone, Vincent Craig asked for his guitar and then, from his hospital bed, spontaneously composed a goodbye song to his family. Dustinn recorded this final performance and that recording was played here, on this day, inside this chapel.

His voice was weak, but the beauty and love that came from it was strong. The congregation listened. Many wept.

Vincent's sister, Vivian Craig Begay, offered the benediction. Then, as the organist played, "God Be With You 'til we meet again," a representative of Owens Livingston Mortuaries wheeled the casket through a walkway too narrow to accommodate we pall bearers. We, and all the congregation of mourners, followed him into the sun.

Those of us who were pall bearers then wheeled the casket to the hearse. After we rolled it inside, members of the honor guard saluted as Vincent's brother, Harrison Craig, held the Marine colors.

I had to wait a long time before I could pull out of my parking space and enter the line of mourners for the 25 mile processional down the White Mountains to the Whiteriver cemetery. As a pall bearer, this worried me a bit because I did not want to arrive late at the graveside - although I was quite certain they would not start without me.

After I finally worked my way into a line that seemed to have no end in either direction, I saw this bumper sticker directly in front of me and I laughed.

No, not for the mistaken reason that readers unfamiliar with life in this part of the country can be forgiven for thinking. "Shi" is the Navajo word for "my." In one of his songs about the rituals of modern day Navajo romance, Vincent shouts out, "oh, shi heart!"

Hence the bumper sticker, made and marketed by the little company created by Vincent and Dustinn.

As the procession worked its way through Pinetop-Lakeside, some who could not be in it found a way to express their sentiment.

The highway that descends the White Mountains down to Whiteriver is a winding one. Sometimes, when the curves and slants were just right, I would catch a glimpse of the procession behind me in my rearview mirror. I could not see the end of it.

And off to the side, many vehicles traveling in the opposite direction pulled over to show their respect.

As we neared Whiteriver, I finally got a long view of the procession ahead. Even so, the hearse was beyond the reach of my eyesight.

I parked and followed this young family up into the Cemetery. Through Margie, I have many relatives buried here, including my father-in-law, Randy Roosevelt. His was the first funeral that I ever attended on the land of the White Mountain Apache.

A few of those gathered.

I don't know what the temperature was, but it was hot. Not searing, the way Arizona can be, but hot. Even so, a breeze ebbed and surged. It lifted the tie of Harrison Craig.

The pall bearers, minus myself. Vincent planned his funeral himself, with help from his wife. No one knew that I would be attending then and I was not on the list of pall bearers. The night before I was needed, Mariddie told me that one of those selected was not going to be able to make it and asked if I would take his place.

I must have gotten a dismayed look on my face, because she quickly added, "or would you rather take pictures?" 

"Yes," I answered. "I would prefer to take pictures." Then I thought about it a little more. How could I better honor my friend than to set my cameras aside long enough to carry him to his grave?

The day before, at the visitation, I had shot a couple of frames from the vantage point of a pall bearer. On this day, as we carried Vincent to his grave, my eyes saw many powerful images in front of them. I let them pass. I carried my friend with my full measure of solemnity and respect.

The family of Vincent Craig.

An Marine honor contingent fired their salute in three parts.

Vincent's fellow veterans saluted as Taps was played.

Two Marines fold Vincent's flag.

In a display of what struck me as pure and sincere humility, a Marine kneeled before Mariddie and presented Vincent's flag to her. Afterward, he stood up, saluted her and then marched respectfully out of the scene - as did the gunners and bugler. 

Ernie Crocker played two Mormon hymns on his harmonica, then finished with a love song dedicated from Vincent to Mariddie: "You Are My Sunshine."

Harrison asked all those not in military uniform who wore hats to remove them, then, as a family member and Mormon Priesthood holder, offered a special prayer of dedication.

Those who wore flowers pinned them to the Navajo blanket that had replaced the flag and would now go into the grave with Vincent.

All four of Vincent's grandsons: Kraig, Chance, Tristan and Ari. All three of Vincent's sons: Shiloh, Nephi and Dustinn.

At Mariddie's request, the funeral director noted that he was about to open the casket one last time and asked that no pictures be taken until it was closed up again. Then, in the Apache way, Mariddie and family placed items of food and drink in the casket, including a canteen filled with water and corn chips.

Then the coffin was closed again, sealed into the vault and lowered into the earth. In the Apache way, Mariddie and Nephi then brought an armload of Vincent's clothing to the grave and dropped them in with him. 

 

Family members and pall bearers then brought more of Vincent's clothing and personal items and, in the Apache way, left them with him. Now the grave was ready to be covered.

Please take note of the emblem on the top article of clothing. That is the logo for a skateboard competition that Vincent MC'd in Whiteriver in 2000 - just as he MC'd all the Whiteriver competitions. I have not forgotten that day in the late 1970's when Vincent organized and mc'd the first skateboard event ever held on this reservation.

I photographed it all. Somewhere, unseen now for over 30 years, the negatives lie in one of my filing cabinets - along with so many other invisible images.

Take note, too, of all the white shirts and black ties, worn at Vincent's request. A few days ago, I mentioned how, these days, I just basically will not wear white shirts and ties.

Yet on this day, in the midst of this Apache funeral for my Navajo friend, when I looked out and saw all these Mormon-evocative white shirts, black ties, and black slacks, I felt extremely proud to be dressed this way myself. 

As we all will be, my friend Vincent has now returned to the earth.

A moment of certainty and awe.

Mormon leader Ernie Crocker then prayed in Apache and dedicated the grave.

The ash that had been gathered from the cooking fires was then brought to the foot of the grave. First, the men scooped up handfuls, then circled the grave in the Apache way, sprinking ash along the edges as they did. Above is Ari, Nephi, and Emerson.

After the men, the women followed. The last one to circle was Vincent's sister, Elvira.