Where had all the people gone? Intertribal aggression, disease or an environmental Armageddon? I was amazed at the cliff structures and sad that they were no longer occupied. Climbing around the pueblo dwellings, I was immersed in the mystery of past inhabitants…maybe history was coming alive. Ghosts seemed to dance in the shadows.

We could terrify our mom by going to close to the edges…no guard rails here. Mom was not too keen on this adventure. She hated heights. Odd for a person married to a man who had climbed mountains.

During high school in New York City, I was invited to spend two weeks with my classmate, a Hopi, at his home in Hotevilla, Arizona. There I had the opportunity to see a pueblo culture that was very much alive and well. I planted sacred corn. And I attended a dance complete with Clown Kachinas. I was startled by their provocative humor in the midst of sacred dance ceremonies…but once I heard others laughing, I joined in. I needed to understand just how to appreciate the sacred and the profane.

I bought my very own cowboy boots. I rode and got bucked off an Indian horse…and got back on again. My host parent thought I was not the same after landing on my head…but actually I had come to the realization that I was no Roy Rogers.