The White Goose

One Sunday I was a little late getting out for my morning jog. Jana and I had been discussing the kids, relationships, goals and a myriad of other things, so it was 9:00 a.m. before I was out on the road. The morning was bright and crisp, and I once again had the feeling of being in a great outdoor cathedral. For some reason, Sunday morning runs make me feel very spiritual, and very close to the land. I have heard several people described as, or describe themselves as, spiritual but not religious. I guess that's how I'd like to be viewed. Whether that accurately describes me I really don't know, but I like to think it does. In any case, being outside on Sunday mornings always makes me feel close to the creator, whomever that may be. In this part of the country she is often referred to as Mother Earth.


The Jones Farm just east of Twin Rocks Trading Post

This particular morning, Mother Earth was sparkling, and this little valley with its red rock walls jutting sharply upwards and pristine skies overhead looked like a crystal chapel. As I ran toward the hay farm, I could hear the Canada geese honking, and noticed that they were in the center of the field, which is about a quarter mile from where I start. As I got closer to the flock I noticed a white spot among them. It was an all white goose. I wasn't close enough to tell whether it was an albino, a snow goose or a domestic goose that had infiltrated the ranks. In any case, the white bird was fully integrated into the pack. The other geese, all bearing traditional color and markings did not seem the least bit concerned that there was something different about their white member.

The white goose made me think of a story idea we have been discussing with our friend Win. The idea is related to the death of Homer Warren, the local folk carver. After Homer's death, Win mentioned that he and Meredith had greatly appreciated the story describing our relationship with Homer. Win said that he had sent a copy of the story to a friend, as an illustration of how the Anglo and Navajo people relate to one another in this small border town. Win feels very strongly that the relationship is unique to this reservation border town, in that there is no real animosity between the two tribes. Having lived in a few border towns, Win has often seen how Red-White relations often turn blue in a very unpatriotic and inhumane fashion. His feeling is that, in Bluff, people value each other based upon individual characteristics, not on the color of one's skin.

Win and I discussed this relationship issue a little later, and Win began working on a story to help illustrate the point. Win is a successful professional writer, with several well received books under his belt, so his story is still developing. Since Barry and I have no illusions about our reputations as writers, we can get the story out a little faster. It's a little like meat ball surgery on our part, compared to brain surgery by Win. Last summer I was working at the restaurant late one night when two older couples came in together. One of the ladies looked at me and said, "Oh, you look like one of those movie stars." I was hoping for Mel Gibson, Tom Selleck or somebody like that. Instead, she said, "Oh yes, I know, Alan Alda." So, with that is mind, maybe we are a little more like M.A.S.H. than Braveheart; not quite ready for the big screen.

In any case, Win's perspective is that, for the most part, the people of Bluff do not care about the color of a person's skin. In essence, Win sees the people here as color, but not character blind. I have to agree. We feel there is no reason to worry about color, because the people we see at the trading post are so interesting that color is the least relevant factor.

Win and I have had some very nice discussions during the evolution of his story, and I have learned a lot about relationships in Bluff. Since Barry and I grew up among the Navajo, I guess we have never really given much thought to the antagonism that seems rife in other border towns. Win has mentioned that he has lived in several towns situated close to Indian reservations, and that Bluff is truly unique in his eyes. My perspective is that generally the residents of Bluff find the Navajo culture very intriguing and enjoy the diversity, while the Navajo people don't seem to mind the eccentricities of the white residents. That is not to say that everything is milk and honey here in this small town, just that skin color is not very important.

Win and I agree that people in Bluff do not simply overlook character flaws because of this color blindness. In fact, people may be a little more demanding as a result of it. For example, Win mentioned that he would freely open his refrigerator to allow allow almost anyone a cold beer on one of those hot summer days we endure in this desert oasis. There are certainly a few people he will never offer a beer to, however, because they don't hold their alcohol well. Win also said that there were certain people he will always open his wallet for to help with a short term loan. Again, there are others who will not get any consideration because they are not responsible. Color is not a consideration. The other side of the coin is that the residents of Bluff become extremely angry when they are accused of bigotry.

On another occasion, I was again working late at the restaurant last summer when a Navajo man came in and ordered a salad. By the time it arrived, he had changed his mind. Instead of salad, he now wanted ribs. Since the waitress did not know what to do with the surplus salad, she came to get me. I informed the gentleman that I would indeed get him ribs, but that he needed to pay for the salad as well. He proceeded to inform me that he believed he would have been treated differently if our skin had been the same color.

I am sure my face became bright red as I pulled up a chair to explain how much I disliked his accusation. He explained how he was an award winning businessman in Kayenta, Arizona, was a very important member of several Navajo Nation boards, had been involved in the negotiation of several large transactions on the Reservation and that he knew first hand how Navajos were treated in border towns. I explained to him how we had been in business in Reservation border towns for as long as I can remember, that I had not just fallen off the pumpkin wagon and that I had seen his brand of reverse bigotry before. I went on to inform him that this place was different, and that he was free to talk with any of the people on the premises to decide for himself.

At the end of the conversation, I got up and walked over to talk with Crystal, our cashier. Crystal, a young Navajo woman, could see that I was more than a little steamed, and asked what had happened. I told her that the man had called me a bigot, and she became very upset. When he got to the register to pay his bill, Crystal let him know how angry his comments made her. I was very proud, since she is generally very shy, and happy that she confirmed my feelings. I could hear the man muttering to himself as he walked towards the door.

I think Win will agree that the white goose and his companions have nothing on the people of Bluff.

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