Hello again. Today is August 4^th. I have been here two months now. I am alone in the cabin. The only time I talk into the tape recorder is when I am alone. I would never do it when Grandmother was around. One time I took her picture with my Instamatic camera. Since then, she puts her hands over her face when she sees me with the camera or she turns and walks in another direction. Lee Tome doesn’t seem to mind at all when I ask if I can take his picture. He’s used to being in public and having his picture taken.

We were up in the Lukachukai Mountains today. All of the relatives got together and had a big picnic before they went off to gather wood and load it onto their trucks. We filled all six pickup trucks with the wood that we gathered. The wood has to last through the winter

Before we left home this morning, we butchered a goat to take with us to feed all the relatives. I helped prepare the goat meat. I washed the intestines after squeezing out the green contents onto the ground. Following Grandmother’s instructions, I cut strips of fat from the meat and then wrapped the fat strips around the intestines before boiling them. We removed an especially thick piece of fat around the stomach and wrapped it around the liver for cooking.

I rinsed out the inside of the stomach and filled it with ground corn, sliced potatoes, onions, chopped kidney and the goat’s blood. Then Grandmother showed me how to sew the stomach shut with some string. We boiled the stuffed stomach in a big pot for a long time. Grandmother said that if the contents of the stomach are not thoroughly cooked, they can make you sick.

Grandmother taught me how to make a type of bread called “naaneskadi.” The bread looks like tortillas. We prepare the dough like we do with fry bread, but instead of using grease in a frying pan, we cook the bread on a griddle. I made up a batch that got smiles of approval from all the women.

Lee Tome put the big iron grill on the fire outside, beyond the shade house, and grilled the ribs and liver. Grandmother chopped up some of the meat and put it into a huge pot and made it into a delicious stew.

All the relatives worked together to create a real feast for the picnic today. We even had a salad with iceberg lettuce and jars of purple Kool Aid that came from the trading post. When we got to the mountains, we placed our Pendleton blankets on the grass under big shade trees in the refreshingly cool and pine-scented air. As we ate our food, the relatives talked about their day-to-day lives, including the price people were getting for their rugs, the disease going around that was making the prairie dog colonies die off—a valued source of food—and, of course, witchcraft.

I had to leave everyone and drive home early to take the sheep out to graze. Lee and Virginia Tome are afraid to leave the camp alone because they think someone might come by and steal some sheep or one of the horses in the corral. Just now I carefully stacked the wood I gathered in the mountains into a big pile beyond the shade house.

I have to end here. It’s starting to get dark. Virginia and Lee Tome will be coming back from the mountains any minute. I’ll talk more tomorrow when I’m out with Jimmy.

I’m back. Jimmy is munching on some plants. We are surrounded by a white sea of sheep and goats. The sky is an electrifying blue color.

Grandmother is teaching me about the Navajo plants that she uses for dyeing the wool. We go on long walks to look for the plants that we will need for weaving. She teaches me about the different colors the plants produce. When we get back home, she cooks each plant in a pot of water. She adds a little bit of her own urine to the pot to keep the colors from fading over time.

Late last spring, Marshall took me to the Red Rock community sheep shearing event in a very large corral where many men and women came to help each other shear the sheep. A huge amount of wool came off each of the Churro sheep. They looked naked after the sheep shearing was over.

Marshall encouraged me to try shearing one of the sheep. I didn’t know how difficult it was to get every last bit of wool off the sheep without injuring the animal with the handmade shears. I accidentally cut my sheep’s ear and caused it to bleed. I felt really sorry I hurt the animal. No one paid much attention and went on with their work.

By the time I finished shearing my one sheep, everyone had already finished shearing all of their sheep and were making preparations to have a big community feast together. My right hand ached and the muscles in my forearm went into a spasm. I left the event with great admiration for the people’s sheep-shearing skills.

Grandmother and I carded the wool and then spun it. With our right hand we rolled the drop spindle back and forth against our thighs while our left hands held the wool that we spun into yarn. Grandmother washed the bundles of yarn in the water at the windmill. Now the yarn is ready to be dyed, or just left as it is and woven with its natural colors. Grandmother used to do a lot of weaving. I saw her rugs. They are beautiful. Now she says she is getting old and doesn’t have time to weave as much as she did when she was younger.

Morris built me a loom that’s attached to one of the poles outside so that I could finish the Navajo rug that I had started in Chinle. I have woven quite a few Navajo rugs so far. It is a form of relaxation for me. Since coming to Red Rock I am involved in the entire process of weaving a rug—from herding and shearing the sheep, carding the wool, spinning it with the old-fashioned drop spindle, harvesting and boiling the plants and dyeing the yarn, and finally weaving the rug. When I see a well-made Navajo rug, I feel a deep admiration for all the work involved.

I am working on a new rug now. It’s long and narrow with an intricate Navajo pattern. I love to weave, even though my legs go numb from sitting cross-legged for more than an hour. Weaving takes a lot of time and work. I spun all my own wool. The spinning took me as much time as the weaving itself.

Weaving is an opportunity to rest without being criticized. If I just lie down and do nothing while resting, Grandmother doesn’t like it and starts telling anyone who will listen “t’oo seti,” meaning, “she’s just sitting around.”

Grandmother just finished weaving a rug herself. It’s a saddle blanket for her horse. It is not an especially fancy rug, but it’s still a fine piece of work, made mostly of old scraps of yarn that she wanted to use up. It’s amazing to think that Grandmother still does such a good job weaving at her age.

At this moment I am sitting inside the cabin on one of the beds, taking advantage of the time alone. Under Grandmother’s bed is a box containing all sorts of little items she keeps hidden away, like the miniature leather pouches of corn pollen that she uses for prayers. I wish I could look inside that box to see her secret things. I don’t dare, though, because she’d probably know what I had done and get after me.

Above my bed is a rifle. Lee Tome told me I had to carry a gun when I herded sheep so that I could kill any coyotes I saw. I carried around the rifle for a few days, and then I put it back on the rack above my bed.

Now I am on my horse, Jimmy, riding in back of the herd. The wind is blowing hard. It is 5 in the morning. The sheep are fat now and I am proud of it. The sheep have a “Q” on their rump, Lee Tome’s brand. We have separated the rams and Billy goats from the rest of the herd and put what looks like an apron around their middle, tied with a piece of string. The rubber apron hangs down, covering the animals’ penises so that they won’t impregnate any of the female goats and sheep. Breeding is controlled so that it occurs only in the spring when the weather is warmer.

The rams and Billy goats that have been specially selected for breeding have huge balls that hang down between their hind legs, making it difficult for them to run because they swing back and forth. The females are in heat right now. The males that have not been castrated are on top of the females even though they have on their apron condoms.

Two rams are fighting just now as I am speaking. One ram taunts the other ram by kicking him. Then they square off and charge, butting their heads together, making a loud noise. Lee Tome said the rams and Billy goats fight a lot during mating season.

We’ve arrived at the windmill now. I just turned on the water and am waiting for the sheep to come and drink.

About two days ago I took Grandmother over to the community branding near the trading post at Red Rock. All the people in the area get together and help brand the colts and the calves and any cattle that haven’t been branded yet. It’s a fun and exciting time. The people gossip and catch up on the news. The women cook. A tribal official came to give the vaccinations to the cattle so they can qualify to be sold off the reservation at regular meat markets.

The cowboys heat the branding irons in the fire until they are red hot. Then they press the hot irons against the flesh of the animal until it burns. The cowboys must not leave the branding iron on too long or the skin will become infected. When a big animal needs to be branded, the cowboys rope the head first, then the feet. They stretch the animal until it falls down. Then they pin it down while another cowboy brands the animal.

One time I was herding sheep with Lee Tome’s stud, riding bareback. I wanted to give him some exercise. He had been cooped up in the corral for several days. We were going over a hill. Just as we got to the other side, I saw Weemie’s stud. He came charging toward my horse. I was petrified. My horse started stamping the ground, taking on a fighting stance with every muscle tense underneath my legs. Then he reared into the air. I had a hard time keeping from sliding off his rump. I held on tightly to his mane and somehow managed to stay on and turn him around. I got out of there as fast as I could. The stud was chasing us. I yelled at him, trying to sound ferocious and finally managed to scare him off.

Lately, I’ve been having long talks with Jimmy about life, what it means, and our purpose for being here. I think I’m getting closer to the purpose of my life, but I still don’t know exactly what it is. Jimmy has no opinion and just listens patiently.

Yesterday I received the biggest compliment ever from Virginia Tome and her relative, Sadie. After I cooked a big meal totally in the Navajo style with fried potatoes, fried chicken, fried bread, using a lot of grease, they commented that I was almost ready for a man now.

Sometimes I think they forget that I am white. Sometimes I forget that myself.