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Show tEfre Page A6 ffltmgg-(3Jttbepenbe- Thursday, March 18, 2004 nt Idle Thoughts from Mt. Waas Many Trails by Adrien F. Taylor "VO SPOOKY FEELINGS and has money for pretty much whatever she wants. Way to go, girl! Waiting for everyone to pay and gather up their purchases at the end of the auction, several of us visited with a family of Navajo weavers. The matriarch, a tiny woman who does not speak English, was there with two daughters and several granddaughters. Two of them had rugs in the auction. One daughter told us her mother used to weave the bird patterned designs, which several of us had bought, but doesnt do them these days. Why we didnt ask what shes doing now dont know, except that it was late. We pushed out of Crownpoint about 10:30, headed to Gallup for the night in the historic El Rancho HotelMotel, built in 1937, the e of all the movie stars of the day. and two roommates stayed in the Marx Brothers room. Rug show and tell followed before bed about 1 a.m. Next morning it was sumptuous breakfast in the hotel dining room, and a sweep through the gift shop before heading home. We wanted to investigate Coyote Canyon, and found that one must plan a lot of extra time for that, as its off the main road (NM-9- , and marked gravel on most maps, but actually a paved road in good condi- has been talking for several months about going to the Navajo rug auction at Crownpoint, New Mexico. Last Friday, we actually did it. Eight of us gathered at the Dog and Cat Clinic at noon and sorted ourselves into two cars for the trip. It was a beautiful early Spring day. Time and miles flew by and we arrived in the hamlet of Crownpoint a little after 5 p.m. The elementary school is where the auction is held and the parking lot was full. Inside weavers My little monthly lunch bunch were checking their rugs in while buyers were busily inspecting those already out on the tables, and signing up for bid numbers. The Navajo women, in their traditional dress and jewelry, are always a delight to behold. Rugs are numbered and on the label is also the name and home area of the weaver. While traders and others who have dealt extensively with rugs have a better eye to quality that others, it is not difficult to know when you are in the presence of a really fine piece of weaving. Sam Cunningham was the only one of our group who had been before, and we neophytes were eager to learn whatever pointers she could give us. She did so freely, especially when she didnt approve of a potential purchase. The lunchroom is the setting for the auction, with some mighty fine Navajo tacos for $4 a plate coming out of the kitchen. In the side hall, tiny vendor booths offer a great variety of Native American arts and crafts. Looking at the map, realized that Crownpoint is not very far from Acoma, Zuni, Laguna, Cochiti, Santa Domingo and other pueblos. There were two or three booths by Acoma artists, one featuring small to miniature pottery that should have investigated further, in hindsight. As people settled in for the auction at 7 p.m., the auctioneer asked for all first timers to raise their hands, and the majority of the audience fell into that category. My experience with live auctions, at least as a bidder, is pretty much limited to the Dalton Gang Horse Sale in Monticello. At the end of the evening, had two nice rugs sitting in my lap. Everyone in our group had at least one rug. And we all sat in awe as one of our members amassed 15 or more. She has just sold a home I home-away- -f rom-hom- I tion). There was a flea market going on in Shiprock on Friday, and we took a chance on it being a two-da- y affair. It was, so we stopped there for lunch and more shopping. I went looking for hand- I made tamales rather than the Navajo tacos that most stands were serving, and found some delicious ones. first discovered these tamales at All Tribes Indian Days in Bluff years ago. They are works of art as well as good to eat. We were all glad that the blowout we had outside Cortez hadnt happened the night before on the dark road to Gallup. AAA was summoned, but a college student who lives in Durango and attends Dixie College in St. George stopped first and changed the tire for us. All he would take in thanks was a box of Girl Scout cookies. Back in Moab about 6:30, we had a big group hug and whoop over a very enjoyable and trip. We may go back in the Fall. I I I suc-cessf- mind-blowin- The late Otho Murphy, friend, surveyor and historian, came into my office one day and whispered in my ear, some day Im going to tell you the real story about how Dead Horse Point got its name. would have written a little book about it, but was afraid you might have taken offense, since it involved some of your ancestors. Otho never did tell me that story. wish he had. And wouldnt have been offended. I know a bunch of them werent saints. Probably a second story is more plausible. On another overlook point, just a short distance northeast of the present State Park, stockmen lost a lot of horses in deep potholes in the sandstone. The large potholes filled with water during the winter. Livestock found them a great source of drinking water. But as the summer wore on, the water level dropped, and horses, reaching further and further for a drink, slipped and fell into the holes, where they died. The late Cecil Thomson, Moab cattleman and transportation executive, told me that local livestock men finally filled in those potholes with rock and brush to avoid losing more animals. That story is probably close to the truth. That doesnt mean that early Moab livestock men were all saints. Many early-dacattle and horse herds were built with a long rope. The late Glen Ruby came up with my favorite. They werent horses at all," Glen said. They were burros. But they couldnt name it Dead A Point. Make up your own story. Make it colorful. dont think anyone can dispute it, because dont think anyone really knows. I I I g horsemen, rustlers) drove the herd to Dead Horse Point, build a cedar fence across the peninsula neck to hold them, then rode on into Moab. When the posse arrived, they found the suspected miscreants sitting around Tet Taylor's saloon having a cool one. No sign of the horses. The problem was, the posse hung around a few days. It was a long ride back to Sanpete and the summer sun was hot. When the posse finally left town, and the Moab finally went back to retrieve their herd, they found them all dead from lack of water. A variation of that story says that the horses, all very thirsty, became so tantalized at the sight of the Colorado River below that they jumped over the edge and all died. horse-borrowe- I y rs I I Ic ISSN 1538-183- 8 (UPS) 6309-200Entered as Second class Matter at the Post Office at Moab, Utah under the Act of March 3, 1897. Second class postage paid at Moab, Utah 84532. Official City and County Newspaper. Published each Thursday at: 35 East Center Street, Moab, Grand County, Utah 84532 0) address: editormoabtimes.com ail Postmaster: Send changes of address to: The Member UUuLe2U P.O. Box 129, Moab, UT 84532 Times-lndepende- or 435-259-75- FAX 435-259-77- NATIONAL NEWSPAPER ASSOCIATION and PRESS ASSOCIATION Samuel J. and Adrien F. Taylor, Publishers Adrien F. Taylor, Editor Sadie Warner, Assistant Editor UTAH Tom Taylor Zane Taylor Nancy Beaufait Lisa Church Jeff Richards.... Marjorie Miller Lisa Taylor Jeannine Wait Circulation Manager, T- Maps Press, Production Manager Front Office Contributing Writer Contributing Writer Contributing Writer Contributing Writer Conributing Writer -l Michelle Wiley Dorothy Anderson Jed Taylor, Jose Santana Ron Drake Ron Georg Oliver Harris A.J. Long ' Our tents were scattered in a pretty stand of aspens. It grew dark. We sat by the campfire, visiting. The talk turned to Sasquatch but didnt linger on that subject for long. I simply said, Were not going to talk about that. Such talk made me nervous. It spooked me. Its been a long time since any such thing made me nervous. In a way its too bad, too. in spooky possibilities lent Being a an undeniable spice to life. I was hiking with my Keith, a couple of years ago. We entered a brushy, overgrown canyon and meandered along a burbling stream. Bear sign, scat and tracks, was everywhere. He collected three colors of bear hair from the brush: brown, black and blond. I thought I was sufficiently watchful. As is my nature, I kept my eyes open to shadows, shapes and movement, and my ears attuned to all of the canyon sounds. My young friend, though, was much more cautious than Every few yards he stopped and scanned carefully in every direction. He systematically dissected the timber and undergrowth of the canyon walls with his eyes. He looked intently at the brush in front and behind us. I asked him what he was looking for. He half-believ-er son-in-la- Bears. simply said, I admired his hypervigilance. I envied his faith. Ive looked so often and seen nothing that I seldom bother cranking up more than my usual awareness of what is around me. So far, its been enough. He may have been a little more observant than usual because his father had recently had an encounter with a bear while out hiking alone. A couple of lovely granddaughters came by much-too-bol- d High Country News Writers on the Range by Linda Hasselstrom Lets get this straight. The cows aren't mad. (in this chair for 47.5 years) People from out of town dont have to be around Moab very long before the inevitable question is asked: How did Dead Horse Point get its name? Ive been asked that question hundreds of times. My answers are varied, depending on who asks the question, and they have tended to change over the years. Dead Horse Point is a phenomenon of nature, and has such a colorful name, surely there has to be a connection. If there is, Ive never heard it. My favorite is the one that tells about a group from Moab who traveled to Sanpete County and stole a herd of fine horses. When they reached the Green River Desert, they spotted a posse following them. They hurriedly forded the Green River and headed south.The cowboys (cattlemen, young. our house last night. They were all atwitter about what ghosts might look like. Something had flown up over their car while they were driving in the night. Again, I enjoyed their liveliness, their credulity, the flush of their excitement. Unlike my father, I resisted the temptation to fuel the fires of their fear. My dad would have rolled his eyes in his caricature of terror that never failed to be contagious to me. I do not know at what age I ceased to be spooked by the dark of night, the storied monsters of the mountains, the supernatural haunts of my Native American friends, or the faceless denizens of my imagination. I know that it was much later than I had hoped. One of my Native American friends told me that he never drives in the vicinity of a certain reservation community at night. I asked him why. He simply said, Too many evil spirits. Ive been there a number of times at night and never detected any evil Presence. I even slept in my truck there for an hour in the dark of one evening when I was very tired. Maybe the evil spirits in that area do not like the soft radio sounds of old time music such as I played while I rested. (All right, I confess that I locked the doors on the truck.) There are people, though, who will swear to the presence of evil spirits, ghosts, a negative force or whatever you want to call it. I wonder about the role of faith in such things. Faith is said to be a prerequisite to many positive spiritual experiences. Maybe its the same for the dark force. It could be that I simply do not have sufficient faith in the evil stuff for it to bother me. I am still a believer in feelings, impressions and prescience, though. There are times when I change my plans simply because a feeling tells me to do or not to do something. Many times I never learn the reason for those strong feelings. Im glad it no longer bothers me to talk about such things by my small, mountain fire. It took me long enough to get to this point. Straight talk about Mad Cow from a mad rancher it . . Sam Remembers were three couples made up of Lee cousins and their spouses camped in the La Sal mountains. We liked to get together once a year if possible to laugh, to renew old friendships, to catch up on each others families. We were We ul The way by Sam Taylor by Ollie Harris I Contributing Writer But you should be, Mad cow disease (BSE) develops in animals or humans when they eat parts of infected animals. Bovine spongiform encephalopathy can occur when cattle are forced to become cannibals. Cows in their natural habitat may butt heads, but they don't eat each other. Their bodies and behavior evolved in cooperation with before humans. Cattle natures grasslands grazing on native vegetation don't get BSE. Grass-eatin- animals g evolved in conjunction with natural systems. Industrial an oxymoron! replaced an agriculture order only the critters and the grass understood. The resulting advance in food technology is our loss. Cattle are a sophisticated product of natural selection in our ancient grassland habitat. By preference, they are as wild as elk, and smart enough to eat vegetation precisely suited to conditions and their needs. Cattle raised in accordance with their natural heritage turn flesh and milk that have grass into vitamin-ric- h less fat and less cholesterol than chicken. Grassfed beef contains more Vitamin E (an antioxidant that boosts immunity, and may lower risk of coronary heart disease) and more (good for eyes) than grainfed beef. Grassfed meat is rich in the good fats shown to stave off cancer, depression, obesity, diabetes, arthritis, allergies, asthma, dementia, and high blood pressure. Recent studies show grassfed meat also has more conjugated linoleic acid (CLA), which may help prevent breast cancer. Most of the beneficial effects of grassfed meat disappear when animals are fattened with and bison, pigs, grain. Why? Because cows didn't evolve in sheep, and chickens cornfields. Even milk, butter and cheese from grassfed cows are more nutritious, and better beta-carote- for you. Yet most people eat grainfed meat from feedlots where efficient production has resulted in unnatural practices. Cattle imprisoned in in their own corporate feedlots, hock-dee- p no are better wastes, adapted to those conditions than humans. Overcrowded, they're treated with antibiotics to stave off disease, kept high on hormones that make them binge so they gain weight quickly. Hungry and bored, they eat what's put in front of them. Locked in pens, deer, elk and other wild animals do the same. Do you overeat at an all you can eat buffet? Our demand for fast, cheap food has supported multinational corporations that own cattle, farms to grow grain, feedlots, packing grocery stores. Our need plants and super-size- d for milk, eggs and poultry brought about factory farms. We, the consumers, inspired confinement facilities for dairy cows, poultry and pigs, and the invention of machinery to butcher the animals we eat. A machine may not remove every bit of spinal cord, and BSE may lurk in that waste. Recycled cows are not the only unpleasant items seized to your future steak in corporate feedlots. Other trash nourishment includes stale bubblegum in aluminum foil wrappers, leftover pizza, hamburger buns and potato chips. Newsprint and cardboard. Sanitized municipal garbage. Chicken feathers and free cow would manure. No choose to eat such junk, and a cows grass-base- d metabolism does not use it efficiently. Sure, a ban on feeding chicken litter to cows is in the works, but government regulation can take awhile. Meanwhile, ranchers aren't an industry: Monopolistic practices force many of us to sell healthy cattle to big companies to be sickened and sold as grainfed. So it's no use just cussing corporations or ranchers while having another bubblegum burger. If we want change, we have to alter our eating habits. How do you avoid eating a Chicken Manure Burger? Inform yourself; none of this information is new. You might start with Jo Robinson's web site, www.eatwild.com, which lists suppliers of food. Her book, Pasture Perfect, pasture-base- d provides information about other grass-raise- d self-respecti- food. Take a country drive. Wherever you live, somebody is trying to make a living raising livestock naturally. Look locally for cooperatives, health food stores, farmers' markets and pasture-base- d businesses. Check into small feedlots, often family-ownewhere cattle eat local com, soybeans and alfalfa a community-buildin- g enterprise. These folks eat their own animals' meat, and it ain't municipal waste. Visit ranchers and farmers; stop at local feeding operations. Smile and say you want to eat healthy local food and you'd like to buy it from folks who saw it born. Ask questions. Instead of getting mad, let's quit dining at the corporate trough. If we eat intelligently, we challenge monopolistic control of our food supply and we support local people who keep local economies alive. Linda Hasselstrom is a contributor to Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News (hcn.org). She ranches in Hermosa, South Dakota, and writes in Cheyenne, Wyoming. d, Mail Room Supervisor Backshop Castle Valley Columnist Columnist Columnist Distribution $26year in town $36year elsewhere Subscribe to The Times-lndepende- nt Call : tt 259-752- 5 for details |