You’d be a fool to sleep in if you were staying in Monument Valley, a.k.a. Tse’Bii’Ndzisgaii in Navajo. Like the Grand Canyon, Haleakalā, or Yellowstone, a large part of the magic begins at daybreak. Our guide was up bright and early, ready to take us to the best seats in the outdoor house for us to start a new day.

On March 16, 2008, we were present right here in this moment of now, to witness the rising of the sun once more. I have no ability that would allow me to guess just how many times I’ve watched the sunrise during my lifetime, but I am certain that the diversity of locations is extraordinary, and while they didn’t help me remain current with my bills or offer companionship, they have offered my sense of beauty something incredibly valuable.

I hope to return to this photo again and again, reminding myself of the red sand we slept on last night and how, in the early light of day, these ripples took on the appearance of the shadows on the sand under the ocean’s waves. Nobody knows how many opportunities in life they’ll be offered to see not just the big things but the little ones too that are as extraordinary as long as one remembers to look down at where their feet touch the earth.

Maybe it’s bad form to share the stories of an old lady visiting Mrs. Murphy (Jutta’s euphemism for the toilet), but this one was so special it just had to find its way here to my pages. While we sat around the dying fire last night, my mother-in-law heard the call of nature and heeded it. The outhouse that was nearby, off in the dark, but a good enough distance away to offer every bit of privacy for those who needed it. Well, that was relative, as when Jutta arrived to take up a seat, she first noticed the absence of a door, and in the next instant, she saw there was no roof. No matter, things were urgent. It only took her a second to appreciate the open nature of this “bathroom” as it helped dissipate the nearly overwhelming stench, but after another moment, all of her concerns disappeared.

Sitting on this mostly outdoor toilet, Jutta looked outward on this moonless night and saw that the stars offered enough light that she could still see the shapes of buttes and mesas of Monument Valley out in front of her. And then she looked up from her perch and was staring at the heart of the Milky Way. It occurred to her that this was the first time in her life that while sitting on the toilet doing something she’d done 10’s of thousands of times before, right here on this night on Navajo lands, she was seeing things in a way she’d never experienced before. What, then, is the ultimate value of getting out, even if it’s only for a couple of days?

Then, if all of the experiences of the day before weren’t enough, you awake before the first light of day, emerging from a hogan already facing the east, to greet the approaching sun and realize that you have woken in Monument Valley, fortunate enough to be one of the lucky outsiders granted this opportunity to be somewhere truly special.

There are things to be seen here that no one other than you will perceive. Who we are and what we bring to our experiences influences our perceptions and helps shape what path our ignorance will take when we encounter those things we don’t know or understand yet. In the pre-Columbian world of North America, those who could see a life forward carved from the patterns and seasons of the world around them were perfectly adept at finding a way into life that suited the time. Today, we chase into the financial and monetary reality that, at best, offers an artifice of make-believe importance for the sake of remaining busy. If we could bring our busy selves to a full stop, even if for a brief weekend, in order to connect with those things that have greater permanence and sing to something deep within our spirits instead of preaching to our conditioned consumerist personas, I believe we would all be better for it. It’s sad when you stop and consider how few are the fading reminders that we often fail to appreciate the simple and important moments in life. If only we could hear the ancestors whispering to us, stop and look at the beauty all around us, get out and walk in that beauty.

Back at the hogan, we were offered breakfast and remembered that we should have a visual memento that it was indeed us who stayed in this red earth treasure at one of the most wonderful places on our earth.

There’s an important metaphor here in the construction of the hogan: the strongest elements are standing straight up, resting firmly upon the red earth below. Atop of those are layers that are using that firm foundation to ultimately support a structure built out of the knowledge that shelters us from the outside world and allows those who dwell within to find not only refuge but a place of observance and ritual. This is the structure of society throughout history, but when that firm foundation crumbles and we stop relying on those supporting us, we have nothing left to protect our well-being and culture. All that’s left then is to go out and wander and struggle to survive.

John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Forrest Gump, Tom Cruise, John Ford, and many others have stood here at Monument Valley, and while their images or the impressions they created are potentially locked in popular culture forever, it is up to each of us to cherish and protect these lands by supporting the people who are the stewards of this cherished place. Sadly, not enough folks in the United States consider the reservations and their lands worthy of visiting, but a lifetime of experiences is lost to those who forget to include such places on their list of most important places to visit.

Maybe my enthusiasm got the best of me and turned my writing into a sales pitch, but the impact of even a brief 24 hours here has seared a deeper appreciation of it all into my mind’s eye.

But now we’ve got to go. First, though, a short pilgrimage to Harold Simpson’s great-grandfather Gray Whiskers, who’s honored with this butte bearing his name.

Yep, just like these horses, we are heading back to where we more typically put our heads to rest.

Oh, that’s a nice sight; I should stop the car and grab another photo.

From the car, I could see this red cliffside contrasting nicely with the blue sky, the yellow grasses of winter, and the snowy slope across the way. What I couldn’t see was just how windy it was; I had to insist Caroline and Jutta get out of the car.

It was that windy!

…and occasionally quite dusty.

At the rate we’re traveling, we’ll get back to Phoenix at about the same speed as if we were riding this horse back home.

However, it could be said that we’re still faster than these sheep that are apparently quite content just munching a mouthful of grass here and there. Hmmm, I wonder what they’d taste like?

My wishes might be answered. I’ve never passed a mutton stand I didn’t love, and this one was no different. I can’t say I ate the sheep I just saw, but what we did have pushed all my buttons regarding that thing called yummy.

Maximize capturing the images that tell more of the story thus extending the impact of our time at a place, one of my many mottos.

Dream big and expansively that’s another motto I’ve picked up somewhere along the road.

Red, arid earth to white snowy mountains amongst the trees adds to the contrast of extraordinary times.

Somewhere out under the sky is home for us, but what we are leaving behind was home for a moment, too.

Here we are at one of those strange junctures in time where events happened long ago. We’re talking early 2008 in this case, but this blog entry does not actually date that far back. You see, it’s January 2022 when I finally got to prepping photos or writing anything at all about this quick adventure. The backstory goes like this: when Jutta, my mother-in-law, was visiting us, I hardly had enough time between managing our vacations within a vacation, and on this particular visit, I kept Jutta busy with an incredible number of activities. Blogging duties fell by the wayside.

But there we were on a beautiful mid-March day. Jutta had already been with us for nearly a couple of months and she still had a month remaining before she’d return to Germany. As I write this post, I’d like to point out that over the past few weeks, as others have learned of our travel plans for 2022, I get the impression that people find it hard to believe a vacation can be experienced on a weekend as this particular quick getaway was certainly just that.

Leisurely leaving Phoenix, we drove north, detouring through Sedona (top pic) and Oak Creek Canyon (photo below that), and as you might understand from this photo, we are approaching Flagstaff.

We need to drive past Cameron, Arizona, and as we reach Highway 160, we’ll turn off towards Tuba City. Our destination is out past Kayenta. Along the way, we are offered incredible views of the Painted Desert.

Reaching Tonolea, I asked Jutta to get out of the car and go pose with the Elephant Feet.

Just eight more miles further up the road are the ruins of the Cow Springs Trading Post and former Standard Oil filling station. Nope, this is not our destination yet.

This looks more like the place we wanted to end up: in the shadow of the West Mitten Butte. Back in 1997, during Jutta’s first-ever visit to the United States, we brought her to Gouldings Lodge here at Monument Valley. Now, eleven years later, we’ve brought her back to Monument Valley for an altogether different experience.

That experience I’m referring to will open a window and take us out of this world and into a moment drawn out of the Navajo universe. You see, a decade ago, when we stayed in the area, we slept in a hotel, but tonight, things might not be considered by others to be quite that luxurious. I assure you this was 1,000 times better.

You are looking at our lodging for this Saturday night. We are deep in Monument Valley, where we’ll be sleeping in that hogan on your left. If you don’t know, a hogan is the traditional dwelling and ceremonial structure of the Navajo people.

We were not simply driving up to a hogan and settling in; we were driven out by a guide, one that brought friends. Our next stop in Monument Valley was a locals-only spot off-limits to those without a guide. In a beautiful little corner under towering sandstone, we left the jeep to explore by foot. These were just a few of the petroglyphs that were shared with us.

With the Sun’s Eye looking down on us in such a solemn setting, the sound of a flute started to gently fill the air, letting us become lost in time where the Diné (Navajo people) know this part of the world better than we can ever hope to. Sharing this sense of being somewhere special wasn’t lost on us.

All these years later, I can admit to an arrogance of ignorance where when we were brought to this lady’s hogan, I felt that it was too staged, artificial, and an attempt to grab money from a position of hoped-for sympathy. In retrospect, I fully understand that while there might be an element of staging, the money that comes into these lands from outsiders is incredibly important. I was a fool. This was Susie Yazzie, who passed away five years after our visit.

Flickr user Rusty Childress wrote: Susie’s given name is Adzani’bah, meaning woman warrior; a befitting name for this strong, resilient woman. The Matriarch of the Todicheenie Clan, Susie was blessed with five children, 24 grandchildren, 28 great-grandchildren, and 16 great-great-grandchildren. During the ’40s, ’50s, and ’60s, she worked in bit parts in some of John Ford’s films including My Darling Clementine and Cheyenne Autumn.

We continued to explore areas of Monument Valley none of us had ever visited before this Saturday in March 2008, and seeing these images again, I called Simpson’s Trailhandler today, who organized all of this for us, to enquire about a repeat visit where I’d hope we can spend two nights in a hogan and join them for one of their longer guided hikes.

After the petroglyphs, beautiful sights, music, and conversation along the way, we were brought back to the hogan, where a couple of ladies had set up dinner and sleeping bags for us. The meal was supposed to be a Navajo taco, which I felt might better appeal to blander palates, but we already knew that we loved mutton stew, so I’d requested it, and that’s exactly what we got. With our mutton and fry bread, we sat outside under the darkening sky and couldn’t have been any further away from where we were just 12 hours before as we left Phoenix.

Flames danced upon the surface of the old gnarled wood that had been collected for our campfire.

On the right is Harold Simpson, a man who calls Monument Valley home and is the organizer of this amazing life encounter that will leave memories with us to last an eternity. While he beat the drum and sang us powwow songs, his brother Richard led Caroline and Jutta to join him around the fire in dance, bringing the ladies into participation with an experience that will never be had in any of America’s big or small cities.

Dancing in the blazing firelight under the stars with Harold’s singing continued. I sat in awe, imagining that these sights and sounds were echoes offered by these men from their ancestors. I can only wonder how many others might clamber for such an experience when your bed is in the dirt and electricity is nowhere to be found.

But here we are, moving deeper into night and history. Before the fire extinguishes itself, our hosts take leave promising to return in the morning with breakfast. We are touched by the extraordinary nature of our visit.

And then the fire goes out, and it’s dark. Do not think this image I share is one of blackness. There are stars and a butte that might not at first appear on your screen, but I assure you that this is only a problem with your monitor; brighten it, and you too will see the view you gazed upon as more and more stars came into view. We were surely out of this world by this time.