On the Shortness of Life

You would have thought I had already learned my lesson. 

Eight years ago I did that which no parent should ever have to do. I buried a child. 

Brittany passed away at the age of fourteen after a brief bout with illness. It left us all in shock. One day she was there, the next she wasn't. For months after her passing I could still hear her voice as if she were in my presence. I expected to see her in the bedroom or sitting on the couch. But I didn't. 

When we knelt for family prayers or sat at the dinner table, there was an obvious void. It felt as if our family had been slashed in half. It was like a bad dream that you hope to wake up from, hoping that the day in the hospital and the funeral were just cruel jokes. But that bad dream continued, and our world of denial became a world of reality. 

Brittany.

I remember my relations with my wife and kids in the time immediately following her death. I hugged them more. I wanted to be with them. Any contention or small squabbles or attention paid to their shortcomings seemed to vanish. In short, I showed them more unconditional love. 

It also made me ponder much on the fragility of life. Brittany didn't deserve to die. No one does. But she did. 

My Grandpa Shumway was killed at the age of 40. My Uncle Jim was only 39 when he passed. And one of my best friends from high school, Nathan Winder, was killed in Iraq at the young age of 32. 

So no, life's not fair, and all of us will die at one time or another. It may be in 70 years, or it may be tomorrow. But it is up to us to take advantage of this life and not squander it. We should reevaluate our lives and decide what is most important. That is the lesson I learned from Brittany's death. 

But life went on and like many of life's lessons, it became lost and forgotten in the jumble of our mortal existence. 

A high mountain lake in Colorado.

About a year later I had a close family member attempt suicide. It was a terrifying experience. Had he not been found at that exact time, he too would have died. It was one of those experiences that traumatized all of us. Even though he would have a long road ahead, we were grateful he was alive. 

But once again it sent my mind back to the day that Brittany died. I remembered those feelings of unconditional love, and then I felt ashamed that I had let them slip from my fingers in less than a year. I wanted to do better. 

That is part of the battle we have while on Earth. We go up and down and struggle to always improve, but there are so many distractions, so many false-roads that we travel that it is difficult—and nearly impossible—to always stay on the strait and narrow. 

Summit of Wilson Peak, 14,023 feet above sea level.

Now it's happening again. But this time it's me. 

This past year has been a difficult one. In addition to all the chaos and inconvenience placed upon us by the Covid-19 pandemic, I have experienced a lot of pain and sickness myself. 

In October I was diagnosed with Polycythemia Vera, a rare blood cancer that affects the way my body creates red blood cells. In short, it creates too many and that causes problems with other areas of my body. The disease is progressive and there is no cure. But with proper treatment I can live a “near normal” life according to my oncologist. 

That last fact is reassuring, but my pain still hasn't resolved. I am also at higher risk of blood clots and strokes. Someone in my category has an expected life span of 25 more years. But I am only 47. I was hoping to make it to 100. And with my continuing discomfort in my stomach, there are more procedures and surgeries to be done and we can't completely rule out the possibility of a second cancer. 

My whole life ahead is uncertain. I don't know how long I'll live, nor the quality of life I will enjoy. It has forced me to sit down and reevaluate those same lessons that I learned after Brittany passed. I must decide and live my life based on what is most important. 

Seneca.

In the year 49 A.D., the Roman philosopher, Seneca, wrote an essay entitled On the Shortness of Life. He argues that life gives us ample time, it's just that we waste much of it in vain pursuits, or just idling it away. Consistent with his stoic philosophy, he recommends we be disciplined in how we use our time. 

His views are summarized in this excerpt from the opening paragraph: “It is not that we have a brief length of time to live, but that we squander a great deal of that time. Life is sufficiently long, and has been granted with enough generosity for us to accomplish the greatest things, provided that in its entirety it is well invested; but when it is dissipated in extravagance and carelessness, when it is spent on no good purpose, then, compelled at last by the final necessity, we realize it has passed away without our noticing its passing.” 

He continues by elaborating: “All that remains of our existence is not actually life, but merely time. We are besieged by vices that encircle us, preventing us from rising up or lifting our eyes to contemplate the truth, and keeping us down once they have overwhelmed us, our attention fixed upon lust.” 

I considered this. What are the “vices that encircle us” and “lust” that our attention is fixed upon? The first thing that came to mind was media and how much time we waste watching television or scrolling the internet on our phones. 

Much of our attention seems to be fixed on how to make more money so we can buy more and more things of this world. These are things that we see our neighbors and friends have. What happened to the world just a few generations past when we had much less and our lives were more simple and happy? 

Seneca denounces a lifestyle that has too much leisure or pleasure. He mentions people who “have spent their lives engaged in chess-playing or exercise with ball or the practice of roasting their bodies in the sun.” He goes on to condemn “useless literature,” stating that “no benefit will accrue from such knowledge.” 

A common theme in modern society is how busy we are. Seneca hits on this: “It is generally agreed that no activity can be properly undertaken by a man who is busy with many things.” And then he wisely adds: “Nothing concerns the busy man less than the business of living.” 

Marathon in the Tushar Mountains.

He also advises on living in the present. “Live here and now!” But he also stresses the need for balance in regard to the past and future: “Should a period of time have passed, he embraces it in his memory; if it is present, he makes use of it; if it is to come, he anticipates it. By combining all times into one he makes his life a long one. But those who forget the past, ignore the present, and fear for the future have a life that is very brief and filled with anxiety.” 

Reading the wisdom of Seneca, as well as that of other sages, has given me a boost in dealing with my new prognosis. I have also learned a lot in observing great examples of people who surround me. One bit of advise I have learned is to stay positive and only worry about those things that are within my control. 

London in 2008.

In regard to the shortness of our lives and the uncertainty of my own point on the continuum of life, I have narrowed my priorities into three categories: 

One. Seize the moment. There are so many good things to do and see on this planet that I can't waste time or miss opportunities to do things I have always wanted to do. I have huge lists of countries I want to visit, mountain peaks I want to climb, hikes I want to take, books I want to read, people I want to interview, food I want to eat, pictures I want to take, history I want to learn. The more I focus on not wasting my time and seizing the moment, the more of these activities I will check off my list. 

Here's an example. I've got a brother-in-law with whom at one time we had a plan to go to a remote canyon and explore some archeological sites that had been hidden from the public until recently. Unfortunately, he and my wife's sister got a divorce and life led us in paths where we lost most of our contact. But I've always enjoyed his friendship and just last week we made contact and decided that this summer we are doing our excursion—after about 8 years! 

Somewhere close to home.

Two. Family. Nothing on this Earth is more important than family. My wife and kids mean everything to me. But do I act as if they do? Do I listen to them, hug them, kiss them, and make time for them? I mentioned above some of the things I'd like to do. But nothing in that category is more important than my family. What does a person have who travels the world and has climbed all the highest peaks, yet loses their family? Nothing. 

I still can improve in this area. I'm trying. Last summer my wife decided to get a large new patio in our backyard. What a great opportunity to make dinner on the grill, roast smore's over the fire and play card games around a table, creating family memories that will last a lifetime. Seizing the moment includes taking advantage of opportunities with your family. 

For me, the temple is one of the best places on Earth to come closer to God.

Three. My relationship with God and preparation for death. I am a religious man. I believe we are sent to the Earth for a purpose. I believe our actions during this lifetime will have eternal consequences. Instead of fumbling through life, being tossed to and fro by the fads and popular ideas of the world, we should be focused on a deeper pursuit. As one scripture puts it, “This life is the time for men to prepare to meet God.” 

Jesus, while he lived on the Earth, practiced unconditional love, charity, service, humility, patience, forgiveness, virtue. He invited all to “come follow me.” Shouldn't we be striving to be like Him? 

If I believe in God, then I should live it. 

Also, if I believe in a life that is eternal, then I should not fear death. Death is just a step, a portal through which we all must pass. As one man said just days before dying, “Now it's time to put our faith in eternity.” 

If I can exercise faith that death is not the end, but another step in our eternal existence, then my actions on Earth will have deeper meaning. I will be less likely to waste my mortal existence and will strengthen my bonds with those people that are most important. 

Quoting Seneca: “Withdraw, then, to these more peaceful, safer, greater things! . . . in order to discover what substance, what will, what manner of existence, what shape God has, what fate is waiting for your soul; where nature gives us rest once we have been released for our bodies. 

“Now, while the blood is warm, we must step out vigorously on the path to better things. Many things worth knowing wait for you in this manner of life—the love and exercise of the virtues, the ability to forget the passions, the knowledge of living and of dying, a state of deep repose.” ♠

 

Bottom of the Grand Canyon.

 

Eating in the Yucatán

Cochinita Pibil wrapped in a traditional banana leaf.

The purpose of this post is not to claim that I am an expert, nor that I have delved deep into the cuisine of the Yucatán. Neither is true. It is a short list of dishes that I discovered during my week-long visit to the famed Mexican peninsula. 

I had no idea what I'd find here. We have friends who have visited here three times and said they ate fish tacos for every meal. As much as I love the fish tacos in Mexico, I didn't want that. I wanted to dig deep, if I could, and find out what the locals ate away from the tourist-infested areas. 

I learned that there are several dishes that have a long heritage on the peninsula. But also, with the influx of workers coming from other areas in Mexico, there are also foods that have their origins elsewhere. 

During our stay in Tulum, I loved all the street vendors selling tacos, tamales, elotes, and even hamburgers from their carts. I would buy a barbeque taco from one vendor, a tripe taco from another, and an espaldalilla from a third. I was in taco heaven! 

What follows is my list of food that I ate in the Yucatán. It is not exhaustive, and one requirement to make the list is that I had to get some sort of picture (which often didn't happen during our night ventures). 

Chilaquiles.

Chilaquiles. This was my first breakfast in Tulum. From my short experience it seemed as if several morning dishes consisted of a variation of huevos rancheros, with primary ingredients of tortillas, refried beans, eggs and salsa. That being said, chilaquiles was a very aesthetically-looking and tasty dish. My version consisted of two fried eggs, sliced red onions, and a green salsa on top of quartered tortillas, with refried beans on the side. 

Sopa de lima.

Sopa de Lima. Lime soup is a traditional dish from the Yucatán. It reminded me of their version of chicken noodle soup, without the noodles. In spite of the name, it does not have a strong flavor of lime.

Elotes.

Elotes. Apparently this corn-on-the-cob delicacy is served all over Mexico and even in Phoenix, Arizona where my daughter lives. The ones we ate, however, I think are considered elotes locos, or crazy corn. Every evening we passed a lady selling elotes from her cart a block away from our hotel. She lathered them up with Mexican cream, mayo, cheese and other seasonings. I asked her the name of it and she said it didn't have one. It was just a family recipe. 

Pork cooked "al pastor" on a spit grill.

Tacos al Pastor. I've eaten these at home, but never the “authentic” kind like you'll find in Mexico—made on a spit grill. The pork, seasoned with spices from the Middle East and America, is then shaved off the spit and served on a corn tortilla with cilantro and onions. The seasoned meat is based on Shawarma, a Lebanese dish brought by immigrants into Mexico during the first half of the last century. That was a fascinating connection I had never known before. The spit-grilled meat is like that which we used to see at Donner Kebab shops in Europe. 

Huarache con nopales.

Huarache con nopales. I had never heard of huaraches until I saw them for sale from a cart on a dark side-street. I ordered one with “nopales” or slices of fried cactus leaves. It tasted good, but reminded me of a cross between a taco and a pizza---refried beans instead of pizza sauce and lettuce instead of cheese. It was served in an oblong shape and eaten with hands. This dish comes from Mexico City.

Gringas.

Gringas. These are basically quesadillas with meat thrown in. I normally wouldn't mention them, but I found the origin comical. It is named after two young American women in 1969 who insisted that their restaurant they ate at in Mexico City make their tacos with flour tortillas instead of corn. After accommodating the young ladies, others follow suit and asked for tortillas “like those of the gringas.” The term gringo, or gringa (feminine) is used in Spanish to denote a foreigner. It's connotation tends to be pejorative. 

Torta Milanesa.

Torta Milanesa. The Milanesa I was familiar with was an Argentine food that came via Italian immigrants. It was a very thin slice of tasty meat. Our slice of Milanesa may have been thin at one time, but by the time it came to us it was chopped into tiny pieces and diluted with lots of lettuce, tomatoes and mayo. Then it was thrown inside a thick bun. It wasn't bad, but a bit of a disappointment. 

Poc chuc.

Poc chuc. This is a traditional Mayan dish that involves grilling a citrus-marinated pork fillet over burning charcoal. The marinate is combined with achiote peppers, which is used to cover a salty taste, which traditionally was used to preserve the meat. We ate this on the upper level of a lonely restaurant in Coba. It was served with rice, refried black beans, slices of avocado, and a very hot habanero sauce. 

Huevos Motuleños.

Huevos Motuleños. This breakfast dish originated on the Yucatán Peninsula in the town of Motul, just 187 miles west of Cancún. Like many of the other Mexican breakfast dishes we encountered, it was served on crispy corn tortillas with a spread of refried beans and sunny-side up eggs. It was also garnished with ham, peas and slices of red onion. Fried plantains were served on the side. 

Cochinita Pibil.

Cochinita pibil. Of all the dishes listed above, this is the one that I ate twice. The first is featured as my cover photo and was served in the traditional banana leaf. As this is a true dish of the Yucatán, I knew before I came that I would be seeking it out. I wasn't sure what to expect, but had envisioned in my mind something similar to a suckling pig (cochinillo asado) that I had eaten 20 years earlier in Segovia, Spain. 

When it came I quickly learned that the two looked nothing alike. (The suckling pig was served with the ears and snout still attached.) I don't even know if what I was served in Mexico was two weeks old or two years, but it tasted good. 

The second time I ordered it was during my last full day in Tulum. It was at a restaurant called Cocina Yucateca, which had been closed during our entire stay, but had now reopened. I noticed that there were only six items on the menu, which I felt was a good thing. It appeared to be a family-run business. On the menu it was simply listed as “cochinita.” 

Unlike the first time, it came without the banana leaf. The slow-cooked pork swam in an orange broth of juices and other flavors. On the side was a serving of white rice and red-pickled onions. I forked a scoop of the tender meat onto a corn tortilla, then topped it with a pickled onion. I was in heaven! The sweetness, the smokiness, the tenderness—all combined into one savory bite! 

This was a great way to end our trip. ♠

Tulum

By the time we got settled into our hotel, the streets of Tulum were coming alive. 

We walked down Avenida Satélite through billows of fragrant smoke coming from vendors setting up their carts. For my first sample I bought one taco de barbacoa for 13 pesos. I squeezed a lime wedge and poured a line of habanero salsa. The small taco had a robust smoky flavor and was the perfect beginning to a night of sampling. 

Further down the street a lady served a homemade corn-on-the-cob. She smothered it in Mexican cream, mayo, cheese and other seasonings. It was a messy eat, but delicious. I had two people stop me and ask where I'd bought it. 

Street food in Tulum.

Tulum was a welcome change from the tourist-trap of Cancún. Yes, the beach in Tulum is increasing in tourism all the time, but the pueblo, located ten minutes inland, still retains an authentic Mexican flavor. 

I couldn't believe the chaos and noise when we walked around town. Police drove with their lights on. We constantly heard sirens in the distance. Music blared from the streets. 

We watched girls dance in traditional Mayan regalia, twirling sticks of fire as they spun around. While they danced, four boys kept a fast beat on the drums. 

Tulum reminded us a lot of Thailand. Worn down, kind of dirty, but full of life. Lovers, bicyclists and stray dogs all shared the sidewalk. 

Fire-dancing on the streets of Tulum.

We casually strolled the street, occasionally popping into shops. Most of these shops sold typical Yucatan souvenirs, including leather goods, Mayan effigies and ceramics. 

There were so many sirens and people on the road that I had to ask a shopkeeper what was going on. He said that tomorrow (the 12th of December) was the Day of the Virgin. During the preceding days people make pilgrimages from one town to the next to honor the Virgin. 

All evening we saw different processions of families slowly moving along the main road, some in cars with lights and sirens, and others walking in front or behind. Some cars had a statue of the Virgin Mary on top, while others were covered in balloons. These individual, but noisy processions unfolded all over town and well into the night. 

As we came to the town square we found it decorated with a tall Christmas tree and nativity. This was the only sign of Christmas during our entire visit. 

Along the adjacent street were more street vendors. Once again, I couldn't resist. I had to buy another taco, this time tripe. We also tried a marquesita, a typical Yucatan dessert made of a crispy crepe and filled with cheese or sweets. 

What a wonderful evening for our first day in Tulum! I didn't know what to expect, but it far surpassed anything I had conceived in my mind. 

Cancha Maya, a city park in Tulum.

We expected the same thing during our second evening. Instead, we got the normal Tulum. 

Don't get me wrong. It was still alive and vibrant, but no more processions, no constant blaring of sirens, not as much noise. The celebrations from the Day of the Virgin had come and gone. 

Police still drove up and down the streets with their lights on (that must be a thing here). Street vendors still sold their food, but there weren't as many as the night before. 

The streets still filled with people, a steady blend of pure-bred Mexicans with Mayan faces, and frequent tourists, most of them young and hippie-like. 

Block after block was lined with souvenir shops selling all sorts of Mayan handicrafts such as masks, calendars, bags, purses and such. One shopkeeper showed me the obsidian knives that were replicas of those the Mayans used to kill their sacrificial victims before tossing their corpses into a cenote. 

Tulum was a pleasant surprise. 

Road decorations.

Tulum the town (or pueblo) shouldn't get confused with Tulum the archeological site, or Tulum the beach (or hotel zone). All are within ten minutes of each other and create a triangle when pinned on a map. I chose to stay in Tulum the pueblo because it would be cheaper and I also felt it would be a more authentic Mexican experience. 

Until a few decades ago, Tulum was a sleepy village just two hours south of Cancún. The nearby beaches and their proximity to impressive Mayan ruins have since put it on the map. The village has transformed into a bustling little town, bringing in Mexicans and expats alike. 

I was excited for our trip to the Cancún area, especially to see the world-renowned beaches—but I also wanted to experience a truer Mexico and I bet on Tulum to provide me that. 

Mural on side-street.

We had seen Tulum come alive at night, but what was it like during the day? Thus far we had spent all our days outside of the town on various excursions. It was now time to find out. 

I began a walking tour on a small side-street across from our hotel and strolled west, eventually marking a large circuit of the town. I avoided the main street where we had visited many times at night. At one point I got lost, but eventually regained my bearings. 

Mural across from Cancha Maya.

Most of the streets were pretty empty, with an occasional passerby. Bags of trash sat outside the doorways. Graffiti adorned cement walls. Through iron gates I could see living spaces, littered with personal belongings and sometimes with billows of smoke from a backyard barbeque. 

From time to time I would pass a tiny store on the bottom level of a building. Some people converted the front of their homes into miniature restaurants, selling tacos or tortas. 

Cemetery of Tulum.

On the opposite side of Tulum from our hotel is the city cemetery. I usually try to visit different cemeteries to get a feel of how they bury their dead around the world. I was shocked at what I saw. 

The graveyard of Tulum was a chaotic array of tombs, crosses, cinder blocks and trash. Many of the graves looked like tiny houses, being rectangular in shape with sloping roofs. Most of the death dates were recent, although none of the tombs looked new, making me wonder if they were reused. 

A walkway went through part of the cemetery, but to get to most of the graves I had to squeeze through. There seems to be no pattern to the layout. Just a patchwork of tombs crammed together. 

But what caught my attention was the amount of trash scattered about. It was as if no one was maintaining the final resting spot of their loved ones. I know that most of the municipal cemeteries in the United States are very clean and well-maintained. This was different. 

Typical shack on outskirts of Tulum.

Dog wandering on rooftop.

The further away from the city center, the more humble the living quarters. Many could merely be described as shacks. Tiny homes built with whatever materials were at hand. Roofs were sometimes thatched, or covered in corrugated sheet metal, held down with tires. Roads became dirt and dogs roamed freely everywhere, including sometimes on rooftops. 

The people here had a distinct look to them. They didn't look like the type of Mexicans just south of Yuma. They were darker-skinned with more of a native look to them. I'm sure that Mayan blood runs thick. 

Eventually I found my way back to the main road where street vendors prepared their carts for an evening of cooking. I crossed Avenida Satélite to our hotel and found my wife safe and well. 

Another Tulum street.

One of my favorite activities every evening was to go out on our third-story balcony and watch the surroundings below. It was a nice place to relax. I had a view of the rooftops and could see into the courtyards. Across the street was a family selling tortillas from their home. Cars parked on the little side-street, but we could hear traffic from around the corner on the main road. Occasional honking. 

At 11 pm the gentle breeze was still warm. Fans blew from nearby air conditioners. Two girls and a boy rode past on their bikes. A dog barked. It seemed a perfect night. ♠

 

The view from our balcony.

 

Riviera Maya

El Templo del Viento.

There are two things I love to see when we travel: the ocean and ancient ruins. The Riviera Maya in Mexico has them both. 

El Templo del Viento, or Temple of the Wind, is an iconic Mayan fortress that is part of a larger archeological complex in Tulum. It is perched on a clifftop above the turquoise-blue Caribbean Sea. After years of dreaming, it was finally our turn visit this surreal destination. 

The route to this pre-Columbian walled city can only be obtained by walking. After running a gauntlet of aggressive solicitors trying to sell us to use “their” parking lot, we eased into a stall and paid 100 pesos. 

The paved pedestrian path was lined with a handful of hawkers, but mostly beautiful palm trees. We chose to walk, but some rented bicycles and whizzed past us. 

A colony of coatis.

Near the entrance of the site we found a colony of coatis loitering about, rummaging for any food they could find. This is an animal I had never seen before. It seems to be a cross between a raccoon and a monkey, with a long black-ringed tail that points straight to the sky. I'm sure they were well-fed from all the tourists that gawk at them day after day. 

The ruins at Tulum are from the Mayan culture. It was one of the last cities built before the entrance of the Europeans, and it is surmised that it was inhabited for at least 70 years after the Spanish began occupying Mexico. 

Temple of the Frescoes.

An iguana hanging out on the ruins.

We entered the gate of the walled city and the first thing to catch our attention were all the iguanas. They were everywhere! They crawled on the ruins of the ancient buildings and in the grass that grew around them. Their gray-scaled skin camouflaged well with the crumbling walls. The giant lizards tended to steal the show from the 1,000-year old structures. 

Although the ancient city of Tulum isn't considered a major town by Mayan standards, it was still very impressive. The walled-village included several palaces, houses, towers, temples and platforms. One such building is the famed castle, a pyramid-like structure in typical Mayan fashion. 

The characteristic that sets Tulum apart, however, is its proximity to the sea. 

El Castillo, overlooking the Caribbean Sea.

We finally made it to the edge of the cliff where the light-blue sea shimmered below. A sandy beach sat inside a small cove and thin white waves rolled in. Above the cove, atop a precipice of gray rocks, sat the Temple of the Wind, enjoying a majestic view and inhaling the scent of the sea that blew across its sacred walls. 

I must mention here that one must not confuse Tulum, the archeological site, with Tulum the modern city, which is a ten-minute drive inland. I will blog about the city of Tulum later. 

Iguanas everywhere!

The Riviera Maya is a 70-mile stretch along the eastern coast of Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula, beginning at Puerto Morelos and extending all the way south to Punta Allen. I will admit that our experience of the Riviera Maya was limited to the area around Tulum. 

Just south of the archeological site was Santa Fe Beach, which was the first place we dipped our toes in the sea. For December, the water wasn't too bad, but not as warm as the Andaman Sea in Thailand. I spent time wading in the water and diving into the waves while Jenelle sat on the sand and soaked up the sun.

Las Palmas Beach.

Supposedly, the entire coast in this area is open to the public. The problem is access. If you're thinking of popular beaches in California that come with a parking lot for 200 cars . . . forget it. Here, parking comes alongside a narrow road wherever you can find it. And if you park with your tire touching the pavement, you might get a ticket—at least that's what we were told by the Mexicans on the street conducting traffic. Once we squeezed into a narrow spot, they said they would “keep an eye on our car” . . . for 100 pesos! 

Our next evening we went a little further south to Las Palmas Beach. We made it just before dusk and had fun watching people. We quickly learned that we were the oldest and whitest people on the entire beach! Jenelle wandered to a small cove away from the crowds and found two large conch shells. 

Entrance to Santa Fe Beach.

Our goal was to make it to the beach at least once a day, and that we did. Our next visit brought us back to Playa de Santa Fe where we paid $45 each for a snorkeling tour. We put on life jackets, boarded a fishing boat and rode out to a reef that was a couple thousand feet off shore. Then we spent the next hour swimming with turtles, stingrays and schools of small fish. That was about right for me since that last time I went snorkeling I got sea-sick and had to sit out the last hour. 

One question I had before I came to Mexico was if the Caribbean Sea was always so blue? The answer (during our short week) was mostly yes. Especially if the sun was shining brightly. As it became close to sunset, the turquoise-blue transformed into a dark blue, with hints of green. 

Just another day's work.

We returned to the beach on our final night in Mexico, but this time to a different location further south called Playa Mirador. We found a thin strip of sand with a domed rock outcropping on the south side.

By the time we got there the sun was already low, but the air still very warm. A gentle breeze blew from the sea, sending a salty aroma overhead. 

The mood was very relaxing. A group of foreigners sat lazily on the sand and talked while one softly strummed a guitar. Others climbed the rock dome and then sat and watched the waves come in. Herons perched on a nearby rock. 

Two young brown-skinned brothers played in the shallow water, pushing each other and teasing. A mother washed her bare-naked toddler in the waves while the little girl cried and screamed. It brought a smile to my face. 

The sea was no longer turquoise-blue. It was too late in the day. Now it was a deep sapphire. 

Jenelle and I found a spot on the soft sand to lay down our towels. I was so tired that it felt good to rest on the towel and listen to waves come in and snippets of Spanish conversation. The breeze felt good.

Sunset over the Riviera Maya.

As the sun inched closer to the horizon behind us and the sparse clouds in the sky began to change color, the evening air continued to be comfortably warm. I opened my eyes and watched terns play on the water. 

Now that their deity had disappeared, many sun-worshipers picked up their towels and packed up, now walking to their cars. Not us. We were enjoying the evening too much to pack up just yet.

Jenelle and I sat on towels, watching the people and waves while making short conversation to each other. This would be our last time on the beach for a while. You see, we are desert-dwellers and an escapade like this doesn't come often. And . . . it just happened to be our 25th wedding anniversary, which only comes once! ♥

 

Crossroads of Tuba City

During the winter of 1776, the fatigued and famished Dominguez-Escalante Expedition passed nearby the present site of Tuba City, Arizona. Of course, the Navajo hadn't settled there yet. This was Hopi territory. 

On November 14, they recorded the following: “[We] arrived at a small farm and camp of the Cosinas [Hopi], all of it pretty and well arranged—the farmland is irrigated by means of the four springs mentioned and by two other copious ones which rise next to it; here this year the Cosinas planted maize, squash, watermelon, and muskmelon. By the time we arrived they had gathered their harvest and, judging from the refuse or scraps of everything we found, it had been an abundant one, and especially that of beans. For if we had made camp here, we could have gleaned half a bushel of it. The farmland is surrounded by peach trees. Besides the several huts made of boughs, there was a very well constructed little house of stone and mud. In it were the baskets, jars, and other utensils of these Indians.” 

At the time the Hopi used this area during the summer to grow crops, using water from several nearby springs. After the harvest they returned to their villages on the mesa, which included the village of Oraibi. 

This is one of the earliest surviving accounts of Hopi civilization by European explorers. No doubt that these Native peoples came in contact with the Spanish prior to this, including Coronado in 1540 and Spanish missionaries in 1629. But other records are difficult to come by. 

Tuba City, Arizona.

The first time I came to Tuba City I had no idea of the rich history that existed here. I came as part of a Junior High wrestling team. We spent the night at Tuba City Boarding School, sleeping in dorms and eating breakfast in the cafeteria. Most of the teams at the tournament were from the surrounding reservations, schools like Shonto, Chinle, and Rocky Ridge. We were the only white guys. We wrestled all day long and didn't leave the school until after dark. 

Thirty years later I decided to revisit the area with two of my kids. I learned that there was much more to Tuba City than I had known. 

Highway 160 is the dividing line that separates the Navajo Reservation on the north from an enclave of the Hopi Reservation on the south. On the Hopi side we drove through Moenkopi, a continuation of the same settlement visited by Father Escalante over two hundred years ago. I was blown away by the adobe houses, dirt roads, roaming dogs, and terraced fields that made me feel as if I had traveled back in time. 

On the other side of the highway was the Tuba City side. Of course, we had to drive by the boarding school. But what caught my attention were all the abandoned houses that seemed out of place with your typical reservation project homes. They almost looked like pioneer homes. Considering that Tuba City was settled by Mormon pioneers, I wondered if these abandoned homes were built by them. 

That last visit piqued my curiosity even more. 

Sign at the Tuba City Boarding School.

The first contact between Hopis and members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or Mormons, came in 1858 when Apostle Jacob Hamblin led a group of missionaries to the village of Oraibi, with the purpose to learn their language and culture. During that visit an unidentified Hopi told of a prophecy that prophets would come to the Hopis from the west and bring them back to the blessings they had lost. They believed the Mormons were the fulfillment of that prophecy. 

During the winter of 1859, two Mormon missionaries stayed to live with the Hopis. One of them was Thales Haskell, a rugged young man who had a gift of learning languages. He also kept a diary during his visit. 

On December 16 he provides the first account of Teuve, the Hopi man after whom Tuba City would be named. “Tewbi,” as he called him, heroically chased down a Navajo who had stolen a piece of cloth from a squaw. He quickly mounted a horse and “soon overtook the thief, and twisted the cloth from his hands.” Haskell describes Tewbi as “a tall and noble looking Oriba.” 

Nearly three months later Haskell again mentions his Hopi compadre: “My friend Tuby traded a robe and Buckskin for a pony with one of them and made me a present of it. I prevailed on him to accept my gun, rather against his will however. He said when he made his friend a present he did not wish anything in return.” 

Three days later on March 5, 1860, he records an important entry: “Traveled 18 miles and arrived at the Movincapy. This is a small stream where the Oribes raise cotton and they recommended it to us as a good place to build a mill and for the Mormons to make a small settlement.” 

Thales Haskell.

Moenkopi is located about 35 miles northwest of Oraibi Village. It is roughly the same location where Father Escalante had passed by 84 years earlier. This “gift,” which would be the seedling of a future Mormon settlement, would also create additional conflict between the two peoples. Apparently not all the Hopis were in agreement that the Mormons should settle there. Also, there is almost always conflict when sharing a limited supply of water. 

Settlement did not happen immediately. It wasn't until over a decade later that a few Mormon settlers began trickling in. Once again, Teuve invited the Mormons to live next to them at Moenkopi. According to local tradition, this was to help protect against raids from the Navajo and Paiute. 

The first colonizers arrived in 1873. While some chose to leave because of the arid conditions, a few hearty souls stayed and began planting orchards and building stone homes. Some lived near Moenkopi while others chose to plant their farms at Moenave, about six miles to the west. 

Typical home in Tuba City, Arizona.

In 1875 the Mormons began to settle at Musher Springs, just west of Moenkopi. It served as a way station for those traveling from Salt Lake to Arizona. In 1878, Apostle Erastus Snow announced that Musher Springs would become an official Mormon Colony. A town was laid out and named “Tuba City” after their friend, Teuve. 

Several families came to live and build their home in this harsh area. One of those families was that of Alfred B. Randall and his wife, Susan Temperance Allen. According to records they had two adobe homes, both covered with pine and earth for a roof. They had a ditch dug for irrigation, grew six acres of alfalfa, and had 112 apple trees, 16 plum trees, 1 pear tree, 2 cherry trees, 1 apricot tree, and 16 peach trees. 

Alfred and Temperance were married in 1891 and spent twelve years in Tuba City, where they gave birth to three girls and two boys. All three girls died and were buried at Tuba City. 

Alfred and Temperance Randall.

During this time there was also considerable Navajo expansion. Conflict between Navajos and Mormons erupted from time to time, which included the killing of Lot Smith, who was gunned down by the Navajo Headman, Atsidí in 1892. 

In 1902 the U.S. Government decided to expand the Navajo Reservation to include the town of Tuba City. By 1903, the government bought out the Mormon settlers and Tuba City was abandoned. 

Navajo Mother and Child at Tuba City Trading Post, 1928. (Marjorie Stiles Collection)

In 2019 I returned to Tuba City again, this time knowing a little more of the history. One fascinating place I wanted to visit was the old Mormon cemetery at Moenkopi. I wasn't sure if I would be able to find it, or if I would even be allowed to go there. In addition, I didn't know if I was allowed to take photos since technically you're not supposed to take any pictures on the Hopi Reservation. 

Like I stated earlier, Moenkopi is located on the south side of highway 160 and is an enclave of the Hopi Reservation. For twenty minutes we drove around the upper village, past the earth-colored brick houses, looking for a small fenced area. We had no luck. Determined to find it I knocked on someone's door. No answer. I asked a guy on the street and he directed me to a nearby trailer. The first trailer I tried had no answer, but there were two dogs and a cat outside. The dog was friendly and let me pet him. I then found the next trailer and a nice lady was outside who showed me how to get in. The cemetery was right behind her trailer and access was through her back yard. I asked if I could take pictures and she said it would be no problem. 

The cemetery has very few original headstones. Most of the graves are unmarked and a handful have modern headstones. A tall monument made of black stone gives a short history. On the north side are a few modern burials that appear to be Natives. 

One of the headstones in the cemetery belongs to two-year old Della Randall, infant daughter of Alfred and Temperance. The young girl was buried here five years before her family was forced to leave, at which time they relocated nearly 100 miles southeast in St. Joseph, Arizona. 

Grave of Della Randall at Old Mormon Cemetery, Moenkopi.

After visiting the cemetery we drove through the lower half of Moenkopi Village. I will say that it is a fascinating place that will give you the impression you have traveled back in time a few centuries. But like the photography, I believe it is not allowed to write physical descriptions of the area, so I will not elaborate any more on our drive through the village. 

By this time we were getting hungry so we drove back to the Diné side of the highway to Tuba City and arrived at the Hogan Family Restaurant. This was a recommendation from a Navajo neighbor of mine. We already knew what we wanted to eat when we walked in: Navajo burgers! 

If you've never experienced a Navajo burger, you should try one. They are the same as a normal hamburger, except much bigger. And they use fry bread instead of buns. I will admit that when we got our order I was a little disappointed because the beef patties were a little charred. But it was still very tasty and well worth the visit. 

Navajo burger at Hogan Family Restaurant.

Next to the restaurant is the Tuba Trading Post, a historic building built in 1891. Part of the building is octagonal in shape, being built with limestone rocks from Moenkopi Wash. Outside is a traditional Navajo hogan. The trading post is on the National Register of Historic Places. 

Inside they sell all sorts of Pendleton blankets, Navajo jewelry and other hand-crafted items. Most of the items were out of my price-range, but I still admired the beauty of them. I did, however, buy a few issues of a monthly publication called “The Leading Way.” It is described as “The wisdom of the Navajo People.” I've bought several issues in the past and can only find it on the Rez. It is very informative on a variety of cultural subjects from the perspective of the Navajo people. 

Historic Trading Post at Tuba City, with hogan at left.

Inside Tuba City Trading Post.

We moved on and drove the streets of Tuba City. I was completely amazed at how many abandoned homes there were. Other than the section with the businesses, it looked like a ghost town. Many of the windows were boarded up and a couple of the homes had been burned. I've seen this a lot on the reservation and have often wondered what was the exact cause of it. I usually conclude that it has to do with the socialistic nature of the reservation, where many of these homes are owned by the tribe, without true ownership, giving no incentive to take care of the property. 

Some of the abandoned homes were very old, almost looking like pioneer houses, but I didn't quite think they were 130 years old. They were large brick structures that I felt were unlikely to have belonged to the Navajoes. I went back to the restaurant and asked for their insight and they said the homes belonged to teachers and doctors during the 1950's. 

We didn't have as much time as I had hoped for, but we drove around as much as we could and surveyed the town. I took note of an insurance company in a trailer, and also a radio station in a trailer. We also passed by the old boarding school where I wrestled and it appeared to be closed up. 

Old "pioneer-looking" homes in Tuba City.

Our final stop was the cemetery. I had never been to a Navajo cemetery. It lied on the outskirts of town on a sandy road off the pavement. There was no organization to the graves except for a few fenced family plots. Burials were spread far through the brush, with Mother Nature having her way with most of the grounds. Fences and headstones had blown down, weeds grew everywhere, and dozens of varmint holes had been dug in the sand. 

I was impressed with the high number American flags. It was the most I had ever seen in a single cemetery of that size except on Memorial Day. You could tell that family members of veterans were proud. Sadly, some flags flew in tatters while others sat on the ground. 

Most of the mounds were piled several feet high. Some were covered in a type of flag-stone. Most were decorated with trinkets belonging to the deceased. Some of the headstones were homemade, perhaps just a painting on a rock. 

Cemetery at Tuba City.

Across the road was the old cemetery. I looked at it, but didn't dare walk through. It looked like it was rarely visited. No paths and a lot of sage brush. I wondered if any of the graves were visited by family members, or if they had long since been forgotten. I know that with many of the Native tribes there is a taboo about being near the dead. I am sure that their customs and ours are very different. 

We left Tuba City much too soon that day. I still had many questions left unanswered. But I am learning. I certainly have a bigger picture of this area that Navajo, Hopi and Mormon have all called home. ♠

This is the "old" cemetery at Tuba City.

 

Sources 

Escalante, Silvestre Velez, and Ted J. Warner. “The Dominguez-Escalante Journal.” University of Utah Press, 1995. 

Haskell, Thales. “Journal of Thales H. Haskell.” Utah Historical Quarterly, Vol. 12, Nos. 1-2 (January-April, 1944) : 68-102. 

Reilly, P.T. “A Brief History of the Tuba City Area.” Northern Arizona University, Chinle Library.

Smallcanyon, Corey, "Contested Space: Mormons, Navajos, and Hopis in the Colonization of Tuba City" (2010). All Theses and Dissertations. 2557.