Missing Tooth Rock

“You see those rocks way over there?” 

“No. Where?” 

“Way down there! There is a hill and then next to it there is a bunch of rocks in a row. 

There is a gap, you see it now?” 

“Oh yeah, I see it!”

“That is called ‘Tse bi wógiizhí—”missing tooth rock.” Because they look like teeth, 

And there is a missing rock.”

I remember when my Shimá (mom) told me where Tse bi wógiizhi was on that warm clear day with blue skies in northern Arizona when I was a child. It was here my Shimá roamed up and down the hills with her Nali’s (paternal grandmother) sheep. A place where the dirt roads did not appear on a map until GPS and/or satellites became more common in the 21st century. This place is located on the eastern edge of the Grand Canyon. A place where my Shimá was raised with her siblings. A place where my Saniís (maternal grandmothers) were born and raised. A place where my ancestors (I believe) spirits live with the holy people. My bond with my ancestors is on our ancestral land and the bridge that connects us is my Shimá. This place has plateaus, buttes, mesa, plants, animals, dirt roads, and mountains but my family calls them by their Diné (Navajo) names. Descriptive names like “where the mountains line up,” “pillow hill,” “greasewood plant,” or “red flower.” When I return my feet and soul back to my ancestral land with my Shima’, I am home with my relatives, especially with my Sanií and Uncle who are buried out in a place called Bodaway.

"And you see over here, (to the left) the south rim of the Grand Canyon? That long dark mountain? That is called Na t'oh dziil (smoke mountain). Because it looks like smoke from a cigar, that's why we call it smoke mountain." 

Since birth, I have always believed I have a special bond with my Shimá. When we visited my Sanií on the Diné rez in northern Arizona in a town called Tuba City, I accompanied my Shimá on the eight-hour road trip through Utah and Arizona. I always wanted to be with Shimá when I was a child, even into my young adulthood. One trip I remember when I was thirteen, I was in Arizona; my Shimá would sometimes ask, “Wanna go to Bodaway?” My heart would jump, and my eyes widened, “Yes! Yes! Let’s go to Bodaway!” I would always say with glee. We jumped into my Shima’s 94’ green Chevy Silverado, my Sanií’ sitting in the passenger seat, me in the middle, and my Shimá driving. It was a twenty-minute drive west from Tuba City, but that was just to get to the dirt road which led to Bodaway. An additional twenty-five-minute drive to get to our destination; bump, tires skidding, bump, dirt, and the sun is what the dirt roads are like. we would pass Tsii’al (Pillow hill), two aging houses sat on our right, one white and the other a deep forest green. I remember my Shima'sanií sitting next to me, the petite Diné elder wearing her brown velvet blouse, calico dress, and blue head scarf wrapped around her head. Since I was a young child she told me, those two homes are my Sanii Lutie’s hogan and the other my Sanií’s home. I stared a few minutes, but I stopped when my Sanií looked away and then up at the road ahead. The dirt roads in the summer are a pale beige, they look like beige pavements with no ridges, but the sound of crunch, crunch, crunch under the tires reminds me that we are still on the dirt road. Finally, we get to a place called Tsaa-Tah (Sage Brush) aka Bodaway. A great wide-open pasture, the Grand Canyon to the left, Tse bi wógiízhi straight ahead, and another plateau to the right. 

“That right there, (the plateau to the right) the two hills with a dip in the middle? You see?”

“That’s called Yanideh Nil (Where the mountains line up). Your Sanií Jeanette was born near it.” 

I felt special when Shimá told me this. I could see the pride in my Shimá’s eyes, she knew I was interested in my family’s history. 

Sanií Lutie and Jeanette are my Sanii’s sister in laws. My Cheií’s (grandfather’s) older sisters. Instead of using the “correct” family terms, my Shimá told me they’re my Saniís’ too.  We don’t exit the vehicle; the intention is to check on the cattle and sheep. I remember countless trips like this with my Shimá and Sanií; I remember thinking my whole family’s history is here in Tsaa-tah, hmmm… 

When we would make trips to Tsaa-tah, they were usually half a day. I sometimes asked my Shimá before our tire set foot on the dirt road, if I could stand up in the back of our truck.

“You’re gonna get sand all over your face?” 

“It's okay. Please….” 

My Shimá made a grim face, turned her head toward the dashboard, and parked the truck. I got out and jumped in the back of the pickup. 

As we got closer toward Tsaa-tah, I stood with pride gripping the roof of the truck’s cabin. I was a free spirited girl who couldn’t wait to get to Bodaway. As we approached, I could see the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, Yanideh Nil, cattle, watering holes, and freedom.  Green tsaa-tah everywhere. We drove to the edge of the canyon; the sun was high again in the summer sky with clouds. As we looked down with my Shimá, my sisters Bianica and Rudy, we could see where the Little Colorado and Colorado river merge, my family call it “the confluence.” We offer our prayers to where everything began: the insects, animals, plants, water, mountains, sun, moon, sky, and the Diné people. At twilight, we drove a little north from the canyon and saw a red flower. We pulled over and my Shimá gathered us and picked up the flower and plucked a petal off. 

“This, it’s called Da’nehe’ lihii (A red toy). You suck the end of this.” My Shimá gave me the second petal she plucked out and gave it to me to taste the stem.

“It tastes like cherries, it tastes good!” I said with joy.