By Laurel Decker

I was raised in rural Colorado and on the Navajo Nation reservation in Arizona, in what is known as The Four Corners region. On a map, this area appears as a cross where four right angles meet to join Colorado, Arizona, Utah, and New Mexico. This is the original home of several Native American groups, including the Navajo people, also known by their preferred name of Dine’ (dih-neh), meaning “The People.” I feel fortunate to have been immersed in such a unique culture, and I often reflect on the experiences that taught me some valuable life lessons.

One memory that sticks with me is when I attended a church service in the small reservation town of Teec Nos Pos (pronounced “teese nahs pahs”). You can find it on the map at the northeastern corner of Arizona. After the service, I went to the restroom and encountered an elderly Navajo woman, dressed in the traditional long skirt and colorful long sleeved button-down shirt. Her gray hair was pulled back neatly into a bun that was bound and wrapped by spun sheep’s wool. This bun is called a tsiiyeel (tsee-yel) and it is said to hold the thoughts and prayers of the person wearing it. The woman’s earlobes, fingers, wrists, and neck were decorated with turquoise and silver that is found abundantly in the region and is symbolic of good fortune as well as protection from evil.

I noticed that the woman was hunched over and walked with a cane. So, I was surprised when she slowly bent down to pick up a used paper towel that had not made it to the trash can. I thought she must have missed the basket, but then she continued picking up a few others, and clearly, they were not all hers. She picked up every loose piece of trash and then left quietly.

I know now that I should have helped her out instead of watching, but I think it took me a while to figure out what she was doing. In those moments, I felt the purpose of that gesture, and why it was important to her to keep the room clean. The building itself was new and quite ornate compared to most of the buildings in the area. It was fully modern, whereas many homes in the area were still without running water. I believe her appreciation for the building was one reason she quietly tidied up even though it was someone’s else’s mess. I was so impressed by her simple gesture that to this day, when I throw away a paper towel in a bathroom, I look around and pick up any stray paper towels that missed the basket.

When I was in seventh grade, my family lived in Round Rock, AZ. To get to school, my two younger sisters and I rode the school bus to and from Tsaile, AZ—about an hour each way. It was usually dark when we were picked up in the morning. Young as we were, and early as it was, we sometimes had a hard time getting to the door when we were supposed to be there waiting for the bus to arrive. A lot of mornings we didn’t make it, so fortunately we had an extra patient bus driver named Ed. He always sat waiting in his WWII Veteran hat, welcoming us onboard. One time he shared with us that he was among the few men employed as a Navajo code talker—soldiers who significantly helped American troops by transferring information covertly and effectively using their language to create codes too difficult for the enemy to crack.

Ed sometimes waited for the three of us longer than he probably should have. I think the reason he never drove off without us is that we were the first to get on the bus, and the next stop was pretty far away. He must have figured he drove all the way out to get us, he might as well wait. There was a certain point when we were taking extra-long to drag ourselves out the door, and he could see it was becoming a habit.

One morning, he stopped us at the entrance of the bus and shared that he sometimes feels really tired in the morning. Especially when he had to get up extra early to pick us up and get us to school on time. He said when he was in the military, he had to learn to be alert no matter what time of day it was. Then he explained that he had a trick that helped him when he was extra sleepy. He would splash cold water on his face. I remember thinking that I could never do that, but I do remember receiving his message loud and clear. The three of us needed to get to the bus on time.

What I appreciate most about that conversation was the kind and positive way Ed spoke to us. He didn’t make us feel like we were in trouble or that we had inconvenienced him—even though we surely had. It simply made us aware that he needed us to try harder, and to respect other people’s time and schedules.

Another memorable experience from when I was going to school in Tsaile, Arizona, was when a new friend, named Sheri, invited me to have a sleepover. After school on Friday, our bus driver dropped us off at the entrance of a long dirt road. As we walked, Sheri explained that we would be sleeping at her grandmother’s house, because the medicine man said their family’s trailer home was placed on a burial ground. They had to abandon the home while arrangements were made to move it.

As we approached Sheri’s grandmother’s home, I was really surprised to see that she lived in a traditional Navajo dwelling, called a hogan. I had never been inside a hogan before, and I was excited by the thought of spending the night in one. Even though hogans are found throughout the reservation, most people live in more modern buildings. A hogan layout is simple. It is one large room with a stove in the center. Living essentials, such as beds and tables are arranged against the eight walls that make up the octagonal footprint of the home. The one and only doorway of a hogan always faces east to greet the rising sun.

Sheri’s grandmother made her living by caring for a herd of sheep, which were corralled near the dwelling. She didn’t speak English, so as she was showing me around, she communicated mostly by nodding in the direction of what she wanted me to see. Now and then she would tell Sheri to translate something from Navajo for me to understand her more clearly.

When it was time for dinner, Sheri and I sat at the table with her grandma. On the table was a pot of mutton stew and a plate stacked with hot fried bread. There were no bowls or plates, and the only personal utensils we used were cups filled with herbal tea. We used torn pieces of fried bread to scoop stew out of one large pot. When it was bedtime, everyone slept on one bed that was against the wall. It felt cozy with the wood stove in the center of the home and knowing there was an adult with us made me feel extra safe.

I think of how wonderfully simple and intimate that evening was in comparison with the lifestyle I experienced growing up in a more typical American home. Even though we often ate at the dinner table together, we had a more complicated spread of food and utensils. And, especially as the kids grew older, there was usually a scattering off to separate parts of the large house after clearing the dinner table.

As I reflect on all of these moments—an elderly woman taking the time to improve her surroundings, a bus driver teaching and correcting children with kindness, and a friend and her grandmother humbly sharing their home and food with me—I think of the word “hozhoni” (hu-zhjo-ni). The word is loosely translated to mean “beauty.” But the English translation falls short of encompassing the word’s full meaning. To the Dine’, hozhoni implies a profound sense of harmony and balance that is more spiritual than physical. The Beauty Way prayer, which is sung in Dine’ ceremonies, invites us to surround ourselves with happiness, confidence, joy, and peace. These simple lessons taught me to do my best to walk in beauty in my actions, my surroundings, and most importantly inside myself.

Listen to the closing prayer in it’s original language at https://talking-feather.com/home/walk-in-beauty-prayer-from-navajo-blessing/