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THE ZEPHYR/ APRIL-MAY .2008 Del was nervous about leaving me out there all by myself. “It’s a long way to help, and if you get in trouble up there, you're on your own.” The next morning, day four, I fire up the machine and lurch along the Smoky Road to fix the last pond. I am happy because it seems that I have finally whipped this infernal hunk of iron into some semblance of mechanical integrity. It's already hot as I begin to scrape the half-dried muck from the bottom of the pond and deposit it onto the dam that forms the impoundment. I can’t fill the breach head-on because the ten-ton behemoth will be mired in the grey muck that lies just below an in- = 4 | S fn, hi, Ln, Mi, Mi, Ma, Mn, Me, hh, Mr. : kK ( RS H O \ ) | A 4 : (¢ which is barely wide enough to carry the loader, and dump my cargo of sand into the breach from above. If I look down to my left, the earthen rampart falls off steeply for about fifteen feet. The dike curves so tightly, I have to be extremely careful not to steer myself right off of it. The thought of tumbling sideways down such a slope, encased ina grinding, roaring hunk of yellow-painted steel, is not somethingI look forward to. When I do go over the edge, it doesn’t happen as I imagine it would, suddenly and violently. I have just dumped soil in the breach, and now I drive back and forth across the top of the dike to compact the newly placed earth. As I back up, my rear wheel catches in a soft spot and wiggles its way off the edge of the dike. The weight of the machine carries me, too suddenly, and yet at the same time quite slowly, off balance. I find that the machine, despite a fully opened throttle, is sliding down the outside of the dike, and tipping, inexorably, past its upright center of gravity. I scramble towards the high side of the machine. The door on that side has been jammed shut by some long-forgotten mishap. I claw through the detritus that litters the inside of the cab, throwing pillows and greasy rags and odd tools out of my way. My exit is a hole that was once a window filled with glass, but now is just what I want it to be, a gaping rust framed void through which I can thrust my body, and thus escape being crushed to death. I exit the machine and cling to the outer superstructure, where I pause for the split second necessary to contract my muscles for a desperate leap. Just then, the machine is By some quirk of free-association, my narrow escape - VE m A unique selection of traditional Hopi arts, crafts and cultural items including over 150 Katsina dolls done in the traditionalstyle, as well as baskets, ceremonial textiles, jewelry, potteryand more. We also have complete visitor information (including connections for knowledgeable and articulate guides) to make your visit to Hopi a memorable and enjoyable one. — Kaiparowits was called Tuh’Duvaw : (je TVW VVVVVVVVVV* nocent looking surface of dried sand. So, I drive out along the top of the earthen dam, from embarrassment, if not death, brings tomy mind the original inhabitants of this remote land. The band of Parates that roarced the 3 My, Li, a, 4 So come visit Tsakurshovi, the shop with the unpronouncable name. We're located 1 1/2 miles east of the Hopi Cultural Center at MP P38 381 on Highway 264 in t i i the heart of the Hopi i Rez. < TSAKURSHOVI (The home of the "Don't Worry-Be Hopi" T-shirt) q PO box 234, Second Mesa, AZ 86043 ‘ 1-928-734-2478 vvvvvvvvvvvvv caught and held by a scraggly pinon. For the moment, the machine’s somersault has been arrested. The motor roars, and the hydraulics whine in a soft, encouraging way. Part of my terror during these last few seconds has been wondering what to tell Del. I am discomfited that I have put myself in this predicament. The cost to recover this machine will be more than it is worth. Still perched on the outside of the machine, I reach in and tentatively manipulate the hydraulic valve that controls the big bucket on the front of the machine. The immediate result is that I tip the machine farther off balance, and the little pinon begins to crack and groan piteously. I slam the valve in the opposite direction, and I can feel the machine settle again, closer to its center of gravity. Iam covered with a hot fear-sweat, but I know I am on to something. From my position, (I’m not about to crawl back inside!) I initiate a judicious combination of bucket manipulation and back and forth movements of the wheels. The machine stabilizes. With a hefty dose of luck and what skill I can muster, I think I can drive this machine out of the arroyo! By some quirk of free-association, my narrow escape from embarrassment, if not d death, brings to my mind the original inhabitants of this remote land. The band of Pai- ow fi j Ca utes that roamed the Kaiparowits was called Tuh’Duvaw, which means “Barren Vallley People”. They were so named because the long bench that stretches from the present town of Escalante along the base of Fifty Mile Mountain was a notoriously harsh environment, even for the Paiutes. Traditionally, the Tuh’Duvaw roamed from the Waterpocket Fold down to Glen Canyon, then over to the Paunsagunt Plateau and across to the top of www.hi d ne d F R m wu d E d “s¢ a2 music... E 5 g h @ lainsfilms.or g continued on next page... Trespass is the story of one woman’s struggle to gain footing in inhospitable territory. 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