Espie's Jish

Navajo Folk Art

Recently I received an e-mail from the Utah Division of Wildlife Resources containing big game applications for Spenser and me. Hunting deer in our family has, over many years, become a treasured tradition. This yearly pilgrimage into the wilds of Southeastern Utah has provided me many memorable hours of quality time with my father, brothers, son and in-laws. Since Spenser was old enough to walk, he has been my constant deer hunting companion.

In hopes of sharing our adventures with them, I have often tried to talk my daughters into joining us; their response, . . . "Not even!" They, like their mother, will have nothing to do with such a barbaric undertaking. No worries about connecting with my girls though, I have learned to love volleyball; the sport of choice for Alyssa and McKale. They are both very good at the art of bumping, setting and spiking. I dare say they are much better at volleyball than Spenser and I are at bringing home the venison. No matter though, for us it is more about spending time together and sharing the love.

But I digress. Receiving the applications for the deer hunt spawned memories of a culturally educational experience I had with Espie Jones, an old Navajo medicine man. It was at the Blue Mountain Trading Post in Blanding that I first met Espie. By his own account, Espie was an herbologist, a practitioner of the ancient art of healing with the aid of plants. At that particular time, Espie was probably 65 years old; with a full head of salt and pepper hair. He was a small, wrinkled man; maybe 150 pounds after a long prosperous winter. His right leg was much shorter than his left, which caused him to walk with a pronounced limp.

Espie was most commonly seen in a plaid cowboy shirt with pearlesque button snaps; well worn Levi's that were two sizes too wide at the hips and long in the leg; and waffled sole, blond, short topped work boots. Whenever he saw me, Espie would smile broadly, exaggerating his weathered face and say, "Yah'at'eeh Hasteen Daghaa," which translated into, "Hello Mr. Mustache". Espie's greeting jokingly referred to my position as a youthful store proprietor and the carefully trimmed growth on my upper lip.

Espie was not a wealthy man; far from it. He had a large family which depended heavily on him for financial support. Espie took it all in stride; he maintained a ready smile and progressive attitude, believing his family was his greatest asset. If I remember correctly, the reason he came into Blue Mountain Trading Post was to borrow money on his turquoise chunk necklace. After several years of satisfactorily pawning his jewelry with us, Espie decided to use the trading post as a repository for his most prized possession-his jish.

Simply put, a jish is a deer hide pouch containing personal items of ceremonial significance. When Espie first brought in his jish, he patiently explained that the pouch contained sacred items he used in healing ceremonies. He removed each carefully protected item, individually explaining its importance in the ritual, and replaced them without letting me touch anything. When he was finished, he told me I was never to remove anything from the bag and that I was to protect it with my life. I knew by his actions and facial expression that Espie was entrusting me to safely and honorably store his jish in our safe; to do otherwise would be profane. After I placed the jish under lock and key, Espie decided to explain to me the significance of the deer hide pouch. He stated, in broken English, that when he settled on becoming a medicine man he was instructed to ceremonially track down and dispatch a deer. Once that job was complete, he was to make a bag from the hide.

Espie said this was no small feat for a young crippled man. He had to search out a buck deer, track it, run it to earth and smother it with corn pollen and prayer; all without the aid of a weapon. Espie told me that deer rarely leave their home range, so the deed is difficult but possible. This trait provides an opportunity for a tenacious, enduring human being to chase the animal and dispatch it. The trick is to never let the animal eat or rest, to force it to keep running until it surrenders itself to ceremonial circumstance. The animal then has to be flawlessly skinned from the tip of its nose to the end of its tail and down the legs; leaving the hooves attached.



From that point on, I had a lot more respect for Espie, his jish bag and deer hunting in general. I have never attempted to hunt this way; never had the time or inclination to do so, Espie told me that if everything went in your favor, it could take as long as a week to run down a deer; it took him six days and nights. After hearing that story, whenever I have been out in the hills hunting with my son, I think of Espie. In my mind's eye, I have seen the image of a youthful Espie Jones limping stolidly through twisted stands of juniper trees and rocky canyons, trailing a magnificent buck, both stumbling from exhaustion, both determined to outlast the other.

With warm regards,
Barry, Steve and the Team.

Copyright 2007 Twin Rocks Trading Post