River House Ruins, just east of Twin Rocks
A recent visit from my wife's twin sister, Lisa; her husband, Wade; and their son, Keegan, forced me out of the trading post and into the red rocks. Steve agreed to man the store while Laurie, Lisa and my mother-in-law focused their attention on a wedding quilt. This gave the rest of us an opportunity to slip away and get dirty. Wade had brought his four wheelers with him, and I rented another, which gave us ample horsepower to get to many points of interest in a short time frame.
So four young people and two young of heart climbed on the four wheel machines and headed to River House Ruins, which are located on the San Juan River. You can guess who wound up on the back rack. Picture my 12 year old daughter, Alyssa, astride a bright red, rip roaring Honda, traveling up a drift of sand or over a cobblestone river bed at a high rate of speed, and you will know how anxious I was as I sat mounted just over the back wheels, holding tightly onto my iron perch. Needless to say, it was a thrilling ride.
Our starting point was Comb Wash. With Alyssa's unbridled driving bravado towing everyone along, it didn't take long to reach our destination; River House Ruin, which is an amazingly well preserved Anasazi cliff dwelling. The ruin is accessible to both river runners and four wheel drive vehicles, so it is visited often. Most people respect it's fragility, and tread lightly when visiting the site.
Simpson children at River House Ruins, near Twin Rocks
The kids were entranced when we sat near the ruins and discussed the hardships these ancients must have endured. They lived face to face with the elements on a daily basis, with no warm, safe, heated or air conditioned retreat. Peering into the dwelling exposed us to the harsh reality of surviving in this intolerant climate. Sleeping on the hard sandstone in a cramped, dirty and, most likely, vermin infested hovel, and attempting to gather enough nourishment to survive another day must have been extremely difficult.
It was a bit unsettling to view pottery shards imprinted with the fingerprints of people from more than seven hundred years ago. We viewed the gnawed cobs of dwarf corn, and wondered how it could have sated the hunger of the ancient children. It must have been a rare and desirous treat to eat the sweet, fresh corn; one our children cannot begin to fathom. We imagined the restless spirits of these long lost individuals blowing around us and through the rock houses on the cool breeze.
We discussed the literary intentions of the ancient ones when we viewed their rock art. The others all had different interpretations, and were each sure he or she understood the message the creator of these illustrations was trying to convey. I contended that it is virtually impossible to get into the mind of a human being that lived so long ago. The lives we live and the experiences we encounter are far too different to even relate to each other. I reminded the kids that it is believed that much of the myths and legends of the local Native people are rooted in the Anasazi culture; maybe it is possible to begin to understand the intended message after all.
We found it hard to leave River House and the feelings it provoked, but we had ground to cover; our fast paced lifestyle demanded it of us. We backtracked to the old Barton trading post and the base of San Juan Hill. Both spots have familial implications for Wade and the children. Once again we discussed the past and the trials the pioneer ancestors had faced.
Standing inside the broken down walls of the old trading post, imagining doing business with the Indian people of so long ago, put me in a nostalgic mood. The establishment was built on a remote cap of red rock, on the edge of an untamed river that could wash their improvements away at any moment. Only remnants remain of this long lost era. We stood at the base of the hill and looked up in amazement at the old Mormon Trail. We imagined what it must have been like facing this gargantuan undertaking, after being beaten down physically and mentally for months.
River House Ruins, just east of Twin Rocks Trading Post
When I closed my eyes and let my mind wander back to that historical event, I could almost see the undertaking unfold. Bawling oxen teams unwilling to attempt the ascent. Whips cracking in the dry desert air, strong backs bent to the task, bloodied limbs of both man and beast as they strained and stumbled at the overwhelming climb towards the end of their journey. It was a moment in time that we can only imagine, and wonder if we could match the strength, endurance and sheer willpower of those pioneers.
As all those questions swirled in my head, I began to wonder whether I would even survive Alyssa's return assault on a old double track road. Luckily Alyssa decided to ride with Spenser and let my baby girl, McKale,. ride with me. It was a much more casual ride back, with McKale's arms wrapped around my waist and me at the throttle. As we made our way back to the truck, I considered how the prehistoric and historic residents of this land survived the hardships and trials of their time. I am sure love of family and a sense of community had a great deal to do with their success.
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