Cibecue Creek, part 4: We frolic at the magical falls; Jacob does a back-flop, Rex gets dizzy; we hike out in a race against darkness

As an old man watching from an audience of stone faces observes with a wry smile, Caleb takes a big leap and plummets into the pool below Cibecue Falls.

How could a place where spirit faces peer out from ancient stone be anything but magical?

You can be certain that when Jacob - who was actually the first to jump and jumped the most - hit the water on this plunge, he felt it. It stung; it felt for a moment like he had fallen into concrete. Later, when I asked him what in the world ever got into him to try it this way, he told me he thought that he could complete the rotation before he hit the water.

Remember, my children grew up in Alaska and never had much of an opportunity to hone their water-sport skills.

It looks to me like that old man who peers out from the rocks chuckled a bit as Jacob plunged past.

Even so, Jacob swam away feeling good about the experience.

I think he could have kept at it for hours - if we had hours available to keep at it. We didn't. The sun had long since left the canyon and we knew it would be getting dark soon.

It looked like a decent enough jump for Rex...

...but when he first tried to emerge from the water, he found that he had become dizzy, unable to stand. It took awhile, but finally Rex recovered enough to rise. He took no more jumps after that. Water had gotten into his ears and would stay there for a day or two.

Charlie hit okay.

As all this was going on, Kalib engaged in a game of "throw the rock." His mother stuck close by to guide and watch over him.

Lisa didn't jump, but she did swim a bit.

Melanie spent some time floating in the shallow end of the pool, where the jumpers would not come down on top of her.

As for me, I spent too much time trying to photograph it all with my pocket camera. Finally, I decided to go up and jump, but because of my shoulder, I began to climb very slow and deliberate, and then realized that it was going to take me so long that I had better abandon it, if we were to get out of the canyon before dark.

Anyone can believe that I just chickened out, should they choose, but anyone who knows my history in this life would know that is not true.

Still, I can't stop anyone from believing whatever they are going to believe.

Even before the jumping finished, everyone posed for a picture... well, not quite everyone...

Now it's everyone.

Before we began the hike out, we refueled on mangos, a giant sandwich, oatmeal bars, assorted berry candy and other delicacies.

Now we knew we had to hurry, if we were to get Kalib out by dark. Kalib himself gamely plunged forward.

Sometimes, he needed a little help - but remember, he is only two-and-a-half years old. I think he was doing pretty well.

Once he fell and completely submerged. Cibecue Creek took the hat that he had borrowed from Jobe and swept it right off his head. Still, he got up and forged on.

Not withstanding the big hurry that we were in, we had to stop when Kalib needed another diaper change. A dark rock was releasing the heat that it had gathered from the sun back into the cooling air, so, while Lavina changed the diaper, my fellow hikers laid down upon that rock to absorb some of that solar warmth themselves.

After his diaper had been changed, Kalib found a big stone and played, "strong man."

Now we had to hurry as fast as was safe to go. The sun had officially set - even above the canyon walls. Arizona is not like Alaska, where daylight lingers long even after the sun goes down. In Arizona, after the sun goes down, dark comes fast.

When we reached the small dirt and gravel parking where Cibecue Creek empties into the Salt River, the light was just about gone.

Before we could drive away, Lavina had to change Kalib's diaper one more time. She had only the light of the inside car lamps to work with. After spending six hours with his feet either submerged in water or held in soaked shoes, Kalib's feet were wrinkled to the extreme.

He was also extremely drowsy. At the moment his mom finished changing his diaper and strapped him into his car seat, Kalib fell asleep.

As we drove through the night along the dirt and gravel road that follows the Salt River toward the highway, the moon rose over the canyon walls.

Kalib slept all the way back to LeeAnn's house - a drive of about an hour-and-a-half. He did not wake up when Jacob unstrapped him and carried him inside. He did not wake up when his grandma took him from his dad so that she could hold him on her lap and love him.

He did not wake when his mother got him ready for bed. He did not wake when she put him to bed. He slept until the following morning.

It was a well-earned sleep.

I think he did pretty damned good.

Remember - he is only two-and-half.

Cibecue Creek, part 3 of 4, possibly 5: We happen upon a frog, experience a bit of adventure, then hike into a place of magic

I will begin with the frog, which we happened upon shortly after we started to hike. As you can see, it was a tiny frog, but it brought to mind a bigger frog that I encountered very near to this place over 30 years ago. On March 10, I wrote a bit about my friend Vincent Craig, who was fighting the cancer that on May 15 took him.*

One of the experiences that I recounted was a nighttime rescue that he led that took place in a canyon cut out by one of the creeks that flows out of the White Mountain Apache reservation into the Salt River.

Perhaps it was this very creek, Cibecue. I cannot remember for certain, as we did the hike in and out and scaled the cliffs from which two waterfalls fell in the darkness of night. I have no visual memories of the terrain through which we hiked.

This creek does lead to a couple of falls, however, and it is a creek that is sometimes visited by non-tribal members, such as the blond woman who fell on the cliff and broke her leg.

There is another creek further upstream that also does. So it could have been either one. Somewhere, I have it written down and stored away, but that document would be hard to find and I haven't the time to look for it.

Near the beginning of that rescue hike on that night three decades ago, I was stumbling about on the rocks as we worked our way upstream when suddenly I felt something cool and clammy plop down upon my left wrist. "Snake!" was my immediate thought - "rattler" in particular. I let out a little shriek, but kept enough composure not to jerk my hand away until I knew what was on it and what it was doing.

I transferred the beam of my flashlight from the rocks below my feet to my wrist and there saw the startled eyes of a big frog, looking back at me.

Lisa holds the frog out for Kalib to see. Kalib cautiously touches it.

From the moment we came upon the creek and I looked at the walls rising into mountains on all sides of us, this line from Vincent's song, Someone Drew a Line, came into my head: "Between The Four Sacred Mountains we lived in harmony..."

These were not The Four Sacred Mountains that Vincent wrote about, yet, in their way, I believe all the mountains to be sacred and so it seemed appropriate. This song would stay in my head throughout the hike - for every minute of it, every second. Not for a moment would it leave me.

Sometimes Kalib hiked on his own power. Sometimes, he would be carried - either by his dad or his uncles, Caleb, Rex and Charlie.

Due to my shoulder, I could not carry him.

Mostly, we hiked through water. Before we started to hike, the heat had felt oppressive and I had wondered how we were going to do it. The water mitigated that heat. It turned out to be no problem at all.

Jacob trips and goes down while carrying Kalib.

Jacob gives Kalib an assist up a boulder, to his waiting mother.

There, atop the boulder, she changes his diaper, then helps him into a new one. Let no one doubt - she will pack the dirty diaper all the way up and all the way out. Other than temporary footprints, we would leave no sign of ourselves behind.

Kalib splashes water.

Jacob and Lisa hiking up Cibecue Creek.

Lisa comes to a big rock. She debates whether to go over it or around it.

She chooses to go over it. I walk around and get this picture of her as she tops it.

Although everyone had spread apart, we somehow all came together at this point. Something in the sky then caught everyone's attention.

It is a magnificent bird - a turkey vulture. At this moment, I kind of wished that I drug along my big cameras and my 100 to 400 zoom, but it was really nice to hike with a just a little tiny camera that I could slip in and out of my t-shirt pocket.

As everyone was gathered in one spot, we decided this would be a good moment to make a good group portrait - sans me. Kalib had grown hungry and so dug into his nose to see if might find something good to eat there.

He did. And he ate it.

Rex carries Kalib as we continue on.

Jacob and Lavina, hiking through the water.

Lavina and Jacob, stepping out of the water.

Melanie pauses by a big rock.

Kalib rests upon a rock.

Jacob and Rex survery the terrain ahead.

Jacob climbs over a rock and comes upon this drift log, wedged into a crevasse. "It looks just like a big b..." he exclaimed. I will leave the "b..." to your imaginations.

I will probably get in trouble with some of the female members of the family for even having said just this much.

Jacob climbs out onto the log and waves at Kalib, who is still working his way in this direction.

Uncle Caleb assists nephew Kalib as he works his way over a series of big rocks alongside water that was too deep to walk through.

Kalib tops the rock. Caleb offers him a "high-five."

Melanie finds a very pretty rock, which she shows to everybody. 

She by-passes a deep pool via a well-scuplted boulder. By now, we can hear the distant roar of a water fall. It sounds kind of like a jet.

As we move upstream, past cutouts in the rock, the roar of the falls grows louder.

And here it is, the lower of the two Cibecue Falls. It feels as though we have hiked into a place of magic.

Tomorrow: We frolic in the place of magic.

*Today, June 6, would have been Vincent Craig's 60th birthday. Today, his mother Nancy Mariano passed away, also from cancer. 

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.

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.

The funeral of Vincent Craig, Part 3: Visitation at Fort Apache - mourners weep, but they also laugh

I begin my coverage of the day of Vincent's visitation in the backyard of the home where he and Mariddie raised their three sons and where their grandchildren still come to play. People had gathered here to lend comfort to each other and to the family as they waited for the hearse to bring the body of Vincent down from the mortuary in Lakeside for the viewing at Fort Apache.

Among those present was baby Naaneeya, held in the arms of her Aunt Torri Benaly DuQuesnay. In the English language, Naaneeya would be a second niece to Vincent. By Navajo reckoning, she is a granddaughter.

As they waited, women cooked break and other items over the coals of an open fire. The coals would not be discarded, but in the Apache way would be gathered and put to use the following day just before the funeral would come to its end.

After the hearse arrived, those present lined up along the driveway as the driver backed in, military representatives to the one side, pall-bearers and other civilians to the other. Other veterans, including a special honor guard of former Marines, many who had fought in Vietnam, had already gathered at the Fort Apache LDS chapel to prepare to greet Vincent there.

I rode to the chapel in the vehicle of Vincent's brother, Emerson Craig and two other pall bearers, Norman Pete and Ryan Pete, who sat in the back seat. As he drove slowly along the procession route, Emerson told us of a series of dreams that he had after his father, Bob Craig, Navajo Code Talker who fought at Iwo Jima, died.

In the earlier dreams, his father could not talk, but only gesture. In the later dreams, he let his son know that everything was good with him, he was in a good place and had bears to watch over. Among them was a special bear that he would pat on the head. He believed this to be the same bear whose life he had saved during the days of his youth.

The tear that came down his cheek was for at least two people, his father and his brother.

As the hearse drew near to the driveway to the Fort Apache chapel, an honor guard marched in front, Apache cowboys behind and to the side. A long procession of pickup trucks and cars followed.

As the hearse backed toward the chapel doors, the cowboys formed a line and removed their hats.

Vincent's second oldest son, Nephi, stood with his hand on the chest of his six-year old son, Ari, as Vincent was carried into the chapel.

We carried Vincent past his cartoons.

There were military honors, a prayer and then silence followed. Then, softly came the sound of Navajo flute, followed by harmonica and fingers plucking an acoustic guitar in a minor key. Then came the voice of Vincent Craig, singing these words, "My grandfather used to take me to the mountains in my youth and there he would tell me the stories of long ago. Between the four sacred mountains we lived in harmony but now you tell me that we've got to go, because someone drew a line..."

It was his song, Someone Drew A Line, about the forced removal of the Navajo people from their homeland to the Basque Redondo, where so many died before they were allowed to return.

As all others stepped backed to wait, Vincent's family, including wife Mariddie in the dark-patterned camp dress, his sons and a grandson, gathered beside the casket to look upon this man who had given them life and had then filled their lives with something extraordinary and special.

From that point until the closing prayer, the room would be filled with the sound of Vincent's voice, singing to his own accompaniment on guitar, flute, harmonica, mandolin, keyboard - whatever this artist of multiple talent had felt necessary to convey his message.

Comfort was brought to his wife, Mariddie, who he always called by her middle name, Ann.

Comfort was also gladly accepted by Dustinn, the eldest son of Vincent and Mariddie, and by Mariddie's sister, Charlotte.

An old friend of the family shares some good memories of Vincent with Mariddie.

In her pain, Mariddie also extended comfort - here to her son, Nephi.

Mariddie's cousin, Gretchen Ethelbah sheds some tears as she turns away from the casket. Grief was not limited to family members. As I hope I have made clear in earlier posts, those who loved Vincent for the great gifts that he had brought to them through his music, songwriting, poetry and cartoons number in the legions.

Vincent Craig was one of the most beloved individuals in all of Indian Country.

Despite the solemnity of the event, those who had shed tears for Vincent when they stood beside his open casket smiled as they filed past his cartoons.

And sometimes, they laughed out loud. Of all the pictures I have taken since I left Alaska, if I could somehow show but one to Vincent Craig, this would be it. And I know what he would do. He would laugh - loud and hard.

I grew up hearing that a comic should never laugh at his own jokes. This did not apply to Vincent. He laughed. He always laughed.

Mariddie and her sons Nephi, Shiloh and Dustinn. They continue to share the love they had with husband and father with each other.

During the lunch, Phoebe Nez, a good friend of the family, served acorn stew.

As I was eating my acorn stew, a little head suddenly popped up between me and the table. It was this girl, whose name I do not know, but she stayed close to me throughout lunch, sometimes darting laughingly off, but only to quickly return in surprise fashion. 

Members of the Bylas Marine Veterans Honor Guard from the San Carlos Apache Reservation took their turns standing guard at the head of the casket.

Emerson wraps his arms around his weeping niece, Haily Mae Perry.

One Marine Veteran who could not be present in the flesh to pay his honor and respect was the late Bob Craig, Vincent's father. Yet, if you look closely at the Pendleton blanket draped over the edge of Vincent's coffin, or, better yet, click on this image to see a large version, you will see the words, Codetalker. 

This was a special issue Pendleton blanket, done just for the Navajo Codetalkers. Before his coffin would be closed for burial, this blanket, created for his father, would be wrapped around Vincent, so that it encased him and all that he wore.

In this way, Vincent Craig would go to the grave wrapped in the love of his father.

A Boy Scout who came to pay his respects. As I earlier noted, back in our days together, Vincent organized a boy scout troop and I accompanied them camping and hiking.

I took this image about five-and-a-half hours into the viewing. The room had been packed at the beginning and would be packed at the end. The only time the crowd gathered inside thinned out much at all was during the late afternoon meal.

Nephi and Ari.

In the late evening, just before we returned the body of Vincent to the hearse.