The Yazzi family of Sandsprings have been picking up the pieces and putting their lives back together following the loss of their father this year. When we arrived just before Thanksgiving some of the brothers and nephews were hunkered around a laptop watching a movie. It was dark outside, they had one lantern burning, and three pieces of firewood. It was good to see that they had taken most everything out of the house and were cleaning, painting, and fixing up the place. We returned a couple days later with firewood, roofing material, and some sheet rock to help with the improvements. As we were watching the younger men work with some wild horses they had captured, Woody, the number three son, pointed out that the big cottonwood tree in front of the house had blown over, cracked off at about three feet high. He said he was hoping it would put out another shoot and live on. That statement inspired this song which came to me on the long lonely ride home. I call it "The Traveling Song of an Old Singer".
The Traveling Song of an Old Singer
another skinny old man took his walk to the west and no one here can say
where he went when he went away
and the wind moves like a river of air across the lonely land
where does it go when it’s blown away?
like the painting of sand that was made by his hand and in three days swept away
where did it go when it was sent away?
they say that flesh and bone is a temporary home for the spirit of a man
where does it go when it flies away?
big wheel is turning
the last echoes of the songs of the old singer
black fire keeps burning
he shook his rattle now he’s traveling on
his eyes squinted into the sun and the wind for most of ninety years
and he leaned like a desert tree
a grandson of the ones who were marched by the guns and survived to return again
they survived and returned again
to a place near the wash and a spring on the hill where the peach trees used to be
there he raised up his family
and when the government lines for uranium mines pushed most people off the land
he was rooted where he took his stand
big wheel is turning
the last echoes of the songs of the old singer
black fire keeps burning
he planted his seeds now he’s traveling on
way out there still near the spring on the hill the morning sun shines through
a door with an open view
you can hear his voice in the sound of the language coming from within
his sons and daughters and his grandchildren
like a fresh new shoot on an old tree root they survive and return again
they survive and return again
and the struggle goes on as i sing this song and the struggle’s gone on so long
they survive and return again
big wheel is turning
the last echoes of the songs of the old singer
black fire keeps burning
he said his prayers now he’s traveling on
old trees are falling
they’ve scattered the seeds for the life of the new trees
the old ones are leaving
they’ve done their dance now they’re traveling on
they’ve done their dance now they’re traveling on
they’ve done their dance now they’re traveling on
they’ve done their dance now they’re traveling on
The 2008 Thanksgiving Give Back trip in support of indigenous people in the Big Mountain region of the Dineh (Navajo) Nation was an adventure of love and light.
During our stay the land it is always finding new ways to reveal its beauty. This year one way was a powerful thunder storm that blew into Dove Spring the night before Thanksgiving. The lightning flashes were so bright the camp looked as if it was being hit by an arc welder and the thunder grew louder and louder, like an avalanche as the storm moved right over our camp. I watched from the warmth and comfort of the bus as the canyon lit up and the earth shook. In the morning through out the camp we talked about the charge the storm left on the land. In some ways like the charge the land was leaving on all of us.