In the morning, a sugar coating of snow had fallen, lightly covering the rocks. Ahead of us the canyon forked into two; from the riverbed a red rock spire rose a thousand feet into the air. Low clouds, or high fog, brushed its top. I held my breath. Looking up at a rock like that gave me the heady sensation of heights. He’d parked so this would be the first thing I saw: Spider Rock.
The canyon walls rose straight up on either side of us, ranging from sunset orange to deep rust, mottled with purple. The sandstone had been carved by ice ages and polished by desert eons of sandpaper winds. The place did not so much inspire religion as it seemed to be religion itself.
~ From “Animal Dreams,” a novel by Barbara Kingsolver
I’ve wanted to visit Canyon de Chelly since falling in love with the book “Animal Dreams” in the early 1990s. Barbara Kingsolver’s second novel was somehow almost perfect to me, with its themes of longing and belonging, activism and pragmatism, earth and spirit. I wanted to take up residence in that book. I still do.
I was a bit nervous as I approached the real-life Canyon de Chelly. Would the nonfiction version pale in comparison? Would I be disappointed?
I needn’t have worried. Canyon de Chelly, located in northeastern Arizona, was all that and so much more. I stopped first at the small visitor center, viewing exhibits that were nice, but a little dated, and a 30-minute video that was actually quite lovely. Then I got back in my car and took the South Rim Drive for a roughly two-hour glimpse into the canyon. What I saw left me wanting more.
There are only two ways to enter the canyon itself: in the company of an authorized Navajo guide ($15/hour with a three-hour minimum) or hiking to the White House Ruins (three miles round-trip, with a steep climb). I didn’t have time for either, but really wished I had made time. I’ve resolved to go back.
Canyon de Chelly has been occupied for some 5,000 years, first by ancestral Pueblo peoples (formerly called Anasazi, a term that has fallen out of favor since it means something akin to “enemy”) and most recently by Navajo, who migrated south hundreds of years ago from the Pacific Northwest. The canyon — actually several canyons, including Canyon del Muerto — is home to not only incredible natural beauty, but a rich cultural heritage that includes cliff dwellings, rock art and farming.
Out on the red rock edges of the canyon, the warm sun and brisk breezes stirring up my creative juices, I wanted to stay and play and make art and think deep thoughts for days. Alas, the next day, the last of my trip, would be a busy one and I needed to get as close as I could to the Grand Canyon before I lay my head on a pillow. I reluctantly said goodbye to Canyon de Chelly and Spider Rock and continued south, then west.
I decided, though, to take a quick, four-mile detour east to see what the Hubbell Trading Post was all about. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it was well worth my time. One of the oldest continually operating trading posts in the country, it displays historic memorabilia while selling everything from Navajo rugs to postcards and potato chips. I bought a thought-provoking book titled, “Keeping Promises: What Is Sovereignty And Other Questions About Indian Country.”
Back on the road heading west into the setting sun, I was accompanied, as I had been for several nights, by an unusual arrangement of the moon, Venus and Jupiter over my left shoulder. I regret never stopping the car to photograph them, but they will remain painted and glittering on the canvas of my memory, as it fades from orange to indigo to black.
