When the truth is stranger than fiction...

Sometimes, I just tilt my head and wonder, outloud, how some people come to certain conclusions. 

Take this, for instance.

This is our actual address, and yes it's really in there, and has been for 19 years.

Now read the stuff on the yellow sticker.

live.huffingtonpost.com

Weird.

pixgood.com

Soooo, we're NOT here?

Or someone just didn't try. 

Or care to try.

Or care to try and learn the truth.

Or, since the community mailbox IS ACROSS THE STREET FROM MY HOUSE???

And no one tried...maybe...

We're....

shutterstock.com

...not there.

Dude, that's funny, and creepy.

And very sad.

Can you imagine knowing you are here, but no one sees you?

No one cares?

NO ONE thinks you matter?

And the ones who do see you? 

The few who can change whether or not anyone else knows about you???

Lock you up and try to bury the key?

pinterest.com

What do you mean "lock up?"

It happens.

All over the world.

All the time.

And it happened in Arizona and New Mexico, back when they were territories.

In 1864.

To her...

azcentral.com

...to him...

bloodhoundtripod.com

It was brutal.

Cruel.

Unforgettable.

But now? Mostly forgotten.

Unless you're Navajo, or Apache.

Or?

A historian.

Or a citizen of New Mexico, or Arizona.

Or you've been taught it in school.

Or a few other reasons...

Like, being a crazy white girl from Canada, and can't let it go.

Me and fellow trouble maker Ted Charles, retired teacher and life long Marine, Canyon de Chelly (d'shay)

November, 2013 

~~~

I'm going to be blogging more on the 'why' of my work, and the 'who'...

But if you want to have a face to start your point of reference as to my drive to tell the story of The Long Walk, look no further at my dear friend Ted Charles.

What does Ted have to do with The Long Walk and the prison camp known as Hweeldi?

Ask his grandfather, Tsi'tnaginnie, who was a prisoner there, at Bosque Redondo.

As a child.

~~~~

So, how do we counter that?

We already know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.

And what does the Lord require of you?

To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.

Micah 6:8

~~~

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Owned.

It's joint blog time! Last week, I asked my friend Kiersti Plog when she realized the story owned her?  So here is my part on our blog duet...




People often ask this very white girl from Canada WHY I write about Navajo history, specifically The Long Walk.

(That's Ted Charles and I, at Canyon de Chelly)

Good question.

The answer?

Well...

I can't NOT tell this story.

Imagine that people who never set foot in your province or state showed up, day after day, and built homes where people already had homes. Or they stole your daughters or wives and you never saw them again. They shot your husbands and sons for simply being male.
Your leadership sent envoys to make peace and for a few years it worked, but only if you did what they said. But then you got sick and tired of their bullying.

Then one day, a whole bunch of them arrived, we'll call that an army, and said "This is ours."

That's called an invasion.

That scenario has happened all through time, to almost every people group on this planet.


But one story in particular hit me like a tonne of bricks. 

In late 1863, the US Army began rounding up Navajo Indians, as well as 500 Mescalero Apaches, and marched them all across the Southwest, to a hell hole in New Mexico called Bosque Redondo. A total of 52 different marches brought 9500 Navajo Indians to this place the people named "Hweeldi", pronounced "wheel-tih". 

And by "rounding up" I mean inviting them to surrender after all their crops were destroyed, their livestock were shot, their homes burned, you get the picture.

Many say 'Hweeldi' is a variation of the Spanish word "fuerte" (fware-tay). 

For the Navajo, it basically means Hell on Earth. It is their Holocaust.

Hundreds died on the way there, and thousands more died once they got there.

But what was it that knocked me sideways? What made me suck in my breathe and stop breathing altogether?

In doing some internet research on New Mexico, I came upon an article and started reading it. I read the following phrase and that was it, I was done.

"...women in labor were shot because they slowed down the march."

I've been in labor 4 times. I know what agony is. I do not know what I would do if I was walking across a barren desert, in winter, while trying to hide the fact that I was about to give birth.

Navajo women were either pulled from their spot in the line and shot on the spot, or taken behind a rock or tree and shot.

Now, look at that photo of the landscape.

See any rocks big enough to hide an execution?

Now, imagine you're the husband of that woman, or one of her children. 

www.navajopeople.org

Where was God in all this? Many, many, MANY Native Americans have zero, or less, respect for people who call themselves Christians. 

And if you dare say something about how they were "savages" before white people found them and saved them I will personally discuss it with you. In person.

Ahem.

Go ahead and ask me why they loathe Christians, and I will flat out tell you that our history of violence and hatred toward people of colour is astonishing and utterly shameful. 

There was a mindset among 19th Century believers that we must "kill the Indian to save the man".

Ummm, where, exactly, is that in the Bible?




So, we come back to a line of people, walking away from losing everything, and toward the complete unknown.

They were not greeted by the Salvation Army with hot food and blankets.
Or by Samaritan's Purse with a shelter and fresh water.

The Pecos River water was undrinkable, they had to dig holes in the ground for shelter and there was little to no food. The men who ran the camp tried to secure supplies, but when they did, it was never enough.

From 1864 to 1868, people died of starvation, disease, and most likely despair. The prison camp was closed in 1868, and the survivors were escorted home.




My first book is the story one a man who escapes the carnage and given sanctuary by an Anglo family. The second is about his brother, who ends up in Hweeldi. The third will be about how they reconcile what happened to them both, about the unfairness of it all.



Maybe, just maybe, if I tell the story well enough, I can go back change things. I know I can't, but I have to try.



And now? Go read Kiersti's story...

http://www.kierstiplogblog.com/2014/06/when-story-begins-to-own-you-special.html

Who are Ted and Evie, Billy the Kid, what is a hogan and why I'm glad I can climb fences.

Back in 2012, two friends and I made it to the Bosque Redondo museum in beautiful Fort Sumner , New Mexico. It's quite pretty there, although hard to find,since the bigger draw in Fort Sumner is the Billy the Kid Museum and grave.

Yup, the supposed grave of a dead criminal. I know, right? 

"Honey, get the kids!! We need a picture of them posing next to a criminal's grave!"

 Anyway, we finally found the museum, waaaaay at the end of a road.

But I didn't get a chance to go out onto the land.

But, in November of 2013, I met...

Ted and Evie.

Or as they are formally known, Mr and Mrs 

Theodore and Evelyn Charles, of  Gallup , New Mexico. 

Well, not in Gallup, they live in a two story hogan, a rarity, on a hill outside of Gallup.  

Here they are, posing at Canyon de Chelly ( 'duh Shay) I seriously don't have a picture of the two of them without one of them either with their eyes shut, or someone having fun. 

Cough. Ted.

These two met in the early 1960's when she arrived at Rehoboth MIssion School in Gallup to work as a nurse. She was sweet and idealistic, and somewhat far from home. Ted had just gotten back from his time as a Marine and  was the boy's dorm supervisor/muscle/counsellor/chief trouble maker.

And if I do say so myself, I *think* our Ted was somewhat of a flirt.  

And here they are, 47 years later. 

And he still makes her blush.

So, HOW does a Canadian living on the East Coast meet and travel all over New Mexico and Arizona with a Navajo man and his wife?

Short story? I met Kiersti Plog(http://kierstiplog.com), (Facebook/blog 'met') then I found Mark Charles' blog on Kiersti's blog roll (www.wirelesshogan.blogspot.com) and then Mark introduced me to his dad, Ted.

And so it began.

I spoke with Ted on the phone, for almost 90 minutes, and long story short, he suggested I come to New Mexico.

Umm, here's the thing.

I haven't got the time or money to go to New Mexico. My schedule is packed solid.

So I prayed about it...

And God opened the doors!

Backtracking...I drove from Colorado Springs with Amy Drown, and we arrived in Belen, had dinner and Andrew and Barbara and the next morning, Ted and Evie drove A LONG WAY to rendezvous with me in the (not) swank Super 8 in Belen.

Then we drove a long way to Fort Sumner. Like, a LONG way. 

We got there, it was a gorgeous day, birds were singing, we were having a great time getting to know each other, the gates were locked and the sign said "no trespassers"

Umm.

WHAT?

So, we ended up next door at the state fair grounds.

And the gates were chained there, too.

Thankfully, the sign said "no littering".

See those two?

Yeah.

We didn't litter.

Neither did Evie.

We discussed our options, and decided to climb the fence. Evie wasn't too thrilled about it, since it really was trespassing. But, technically, there was no sign to say "2 white girls and a Navajo man cannot climb this fence and wander over to museum property and climb that fence and wander around unsupervised".

And I did not come ALL THIS WAY to be deterred by a sign.

Soooooo....

 Here's the Pecos. 

The pretty but poisonous Pecos. 

Meandering through the prison camp, the only water source for miles.

It was a beautiful day.

We even found a squash vine. We wondered if that vine was part of a garden, 150 years ago.

Given that is was close to the riverbank and under a huge cottonwood tree, it may very well be a heritage plant.

Or, who knows?

See how flat the terrain is? Imagine thousands upon thousands of people there, living in squalid, inhumane conditions. It was SO BAD, that the government signed a treaty and let the remaining prisoners go.

The Navajo measure their history before Bosque Redondo, or as the Navajo call it, Hweeldi , which began in 1864 and after, 1868.

Some say the word Hweeldi is a derivative of the Spanish word fuerte.

What it was? 

It was a living nightmare for 9500 Navajo.

And one of them was a little boy named Tsi'naginnie. (sit-nah-jin-ee).

One day, little Tsi'naginnie would grow up and have his own children, and one day, his grandson would come into the world.

His name? 

Theodore Charles.

Somewhere, across that field, all kinds of families existed and endured.

 Including Ted's family.

The very interesting part of the "no trespassing"thing is that if the museum was open, we'd have never gotten so close to the river. Or in my case, onto a sand and gravel bar in the river. 

And where does the second book in my series start?

In the river.

That night, after a long drive home, and a lot of discussion, we arrived at their home. But, this was my home for a few lovely days. 

This is 'the little hogan', down the hill from their two story hogan.

What a peaceful, lovely place to think, and wonder, and be thankful for blessings I never saw coming.

Ask any one of the hundreds of people who've known and appreciated Ted and Evie's hospitality, about the little hogan, and they'll smile and sigh. 

Because Ted and Evie know exactly how to walk in beauty.

Thank you, Evie and Ted, for the treasure of your time and wisdom..

Colorado and New Mexico, November ROAD TRIP!!!

So, on November 15th, I flew to Denver. On a plane.

And frankly, November 15th was a day that shall live in infamy...I yelled, YELLED, at an unhelpful, unsympathetic, snarky, sneering airport staff person who did SQUAT to help, ohhhh, 200 people. 

I am not proud of my behaviour, but when a person simply shrugs her shoulders at the needs of 200 passengers, almost all of whom had less than 30 minutes to catch their flights, does nothing to quell their nerves and rolls her eyes at people who are really in trouble??

I will yell. 

And I know for a fact, I have not actually yelled in 4 years.

And all I said was "Excuse me?!"

Loud enough to freeze the crowd.

But I digress...

I landed in Denver, and then my dear friend Jeanne picked me up. We made our way back to Colorado Springs, and OH MY!! Look at the sky!! Hello Pike's Peak!

I spent a fabulous weekend at Casa del Jeanne and got to spend time with writer friends (Jill, Jeanne and Beth) and, and Normal Person Shari, who said "Okay, say something about writing, I need to eat." Which was a hilarious way to get her to stop talking so she could enjoy her breakfast.

Then on Monday the 18th, it was Time.

Time to pile into Amy's car and head south!!

Hola! New Mexico!!

There's Amy. She has a seriously awesome music collection!! Italian bagpipe music? Ooookay...

 Oh, MAN, it was rockin'!!

Guess where we are? Go ahead, guess!

And the coolest thing? Amy knew the way to Santa Fe. Unlike Dionne Warwick.

That's me, writing postcards in Santa Fe. Where, umm, we do NOT go to Olive Garden. No, we find a local Mom and Pop Mexican place and stuff ourselves. 

*Burp*.

Monday evening, we got to Belen, which is south of Albuquerque. We stayed at the Super 8. It had plumbing and wifi. Insert grin here.

I was getting out of the car to go check in when there They were!! Andrew and Barbara!! Yeehah!!!

Amy and I ditched our stuff and I left her in peace while Andrew and Barbara and I invaded Pete's, and misbehaved until they started subletly hinted that the sidewalks were about to roll up and it was time to lock the place for the night.

Tuesday morning, Ted and Evie Charles arrived to take me for the week. It was HARD to say goodbye to Amy,  very hard, but Bosque Redondo awaited us.

We drove for a few hours and then arrived at the Navajo Memorial at Fort Sumner, New Mexico.

Isn't it pretty there?

Look at the sparkling Pecos River.

And the pretty trees?

Oh, and the grandson of one of the prisoners. 

Prisoners?

  

Oh yes, Redheads, prisoners.

Bosque Redondo, or Hweeldi, as the Navajo people call it, was a prison camp. A terrible, horrible place where an estimated 2500 Navajo people died between 1864 and 1868.

And the age of Ted's grandfather when he was in prison for being a Navajo?

6 or 7 years old.

He was a CHILD.

Next up?

Who are Ted and Evie Charles, and how did we get IN to an old prison camp?

Why should I care? Huh? WHY?

This is a poem written by Ben Grove. His mom, Bonnie Grove, posted this on her Facebook page a few days ago.  The poem is about a Native boy in a residential school. The poem hit me like a tonne of bricks and spurred me to talk a little more about why I write what I do. And yes, I was given permission by the author himself to post this.

At Kuper Island
by Ben Grove

At Kuper Island now for six years.
Jerry's mean and the food is gross.
I miss my family
Will has gone home sick,
Thomas is happy here.

The beds are so different even after six years.

Stumpy is here and we plan a getaway.
We get food from Thomas and push off in a canoe.
We paddle across the lake and declare ourselves free.
Walk by day, and sleep in the forest.
We want freedom, and we'll get it.

We finally make it home and we hear stories.
Stumpy's grandpa died
I don't know where he'll go.

I finally get the comforts of home.
I get to see how Will is doing
and
feel free.

But, in the end, I go back to Kuper.



Oh my word. Doesn't that just kick you in the gut?

  

So, WHY?


Every writer is asked "Why this subject?" 

Some day they liked the subject matter, some were inspired and some say "It found me".

Now before you get all "Ohhhh, ya flake! How New Age-y is that?"


So why do I write about Navajo people? I don't know, when I finally decided to write , I knew I wanted a Native American thread in my work. But when I was researching, I found an article that upset me and burned a hole in my heart.
I guess you could say "it found me."


In 1864, the US Army "accepted the surrender" of the Navajo Nation, a pastoral society who lived quietly until the Spanish and Anglo settlers came along.
Oh yeah, the surrender. That was right after the Army burned their orchards, killed their livestock, poisoned their water...you get the idea, right?


The Army forced 9500 Navajo to walk from their homes in Northern Arizona to south eastern New Mexico to a place called 'Bosque Redondo'. Spanish for 'round grove of trees'. For some, it was a 450 mile march at gunpoint. Which started in January. The dead of winter. On foot. Most arrived near death, the clothes on their backs long blown away by the harsh winter wind, to no place to shelter them from the elements. 



They went from their homes, which are called hogans, to a flat, sandy ground that had no shelter. They had to dig holes in the ground and live in them. The Pecos River was alkali and could barely support human life. Crops failed year after year. At least 2000 people died. That's 20% of the population.


These are photographs taken of the people at what is commonly called The Bosque.

Here is what the commanding officer, General Carleton wrote:


“The exodus of this whole people from the land of their fathers is not only an interesting but a touching sight. They have fought us gallantly for years on years; they have defended their mountains and their stupendous canyons with a heroism which any people might be proud to emulate; but when, at length, they found it was their destiny, too, as it had been that of their brethren, tribe after tribe, away back toward the rising of the sun, to give way to the insatiable progress of our race, they threw down their arms, and, as brave men entitled to our admiration and respect, have come to us with confidence in our magnanimity, and feeling that we are too powerful and too just a people to repay that confidence with meanness or neglect—feeling that having sacrificed to us their beautiful country, their homes, the associations of their lives, the scenes rendered classic in their traditions, we will not dole out to them a miser’s pittance in return for what they know to be and what we know to be a princely realm.”


(Okay, stop for a minute...you see me there on the right with that tiny lady? That's my dear friend Helen Yazzie. Now imagine men on horseback pointing a rifle at HER and forcing her to march. Only, one of her legs is crippled. She would most likely have slowed the march. Guess what they did to anyone who slowed them down?)  


Doesn't that sound noble?Yeah. 
Read what an inspector from Washington wrote:

“The sooner it is abandoned and the Indians removed, the better. I have heard it suggested that there was speculation at the bottom of it. . . .Do you expect an Indian to be satisfied and contented deprived of the common comforts of life, without which a white man would not be contented anywhere? Would any sensible man select a spot for a reservation for 8,000 Indians where the water is scarcely bearable, where the soil is poor and cold, and where the muskite [mesquite] roots 12 miles distant are the only wood for the Indians to use?. . . If they remain on this reservation they must always be held there by force, and not from choice. O! let them go back, or take them to where they can have good cool water to drink, wood plenty to keep them from freezing to death, and where the soil will produce something for them to eat. . ..”

In 1868 , they were escorted home. Wagons, horses, food, water and supplies went with them. Sheep were promised to every man, woman and child. 

I met quite a few people whose ancestors survived the Bosque, or 'Hweedli' as they call it. They ONLY spoke to me because I was with Native American friends who vouched for me.


So much pain and suffering to such a gentle people.What had they done? Lived on some fertile, beautiful land. 

Which was usually how the trouble started.

So. WHY?
Because someone needs to take this story and frame it in the light of God's love. 

Kiersti Plog's Blog Hop!!

 A while back on the fabulous Books and Such blog www.booksandsuch.biz, I met a nice, well behaved lady named Kiersti Plog. You can find her blog at www.kierstiplog.com. Well, the thing is, Kiersti's writing also features the Navajo. Go check 'Pioneer Diaries' and read up on Kiersti's adventures.
Kiersti invited me to join a blog hop and share about my writing. I was tickled pink to be invited and excited to share about my work. So, here are Kiersti's questions, and my long winded answers about my first novel, 'The Secret Keepers'.

 What is the working title of your book?

The working title is ‘The Secret Keepers’, but the alternate title is ‘An Night in the Darkness’ because there’s already a CBA novel out called ‘The Secret Keeper’.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

The Pecos River in Fort Sumner, New Mexico, the sight of Bosque Redondo.

I was doing some research on New Mexico and came across an article about The Long Walk of the Navajo. I was astounded that this event actually happened, especially to a tribe of sheep herders and farmers. The US Army, led by Kit Carson, waged war on people who basically lived on land that the white settlers wanted. Roughly 9500 Navajo were forced to surrender in 1864 and were marched across the desert to a place called ‘Bosque Redondo’ in New Mexico. Some people walked 450 miles, thousands died between 1864 and June 1868 when the people were taken home. Also, the constraints faced by women who had to hide abuse and carry on because there were little or no resources for them if they left abusive marriages.

What genre does your book fall under?

Historical romance.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

I’d have Julianne Moore play Sarah Monroe, and Jay Tavare play Natanii/Ta-gaid Hutchinson.

Ms Moore has a long career playing tough, intelligent woman and could definitely carry Sarah Monroe's secrets onto the screen.

Mr Tavare played Prairie Fire in 'Into the West' and would do a great job as a man who has suffered massive heartache, but is obediently waiting on God's will.   

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

In 19th century Arizona Territory, an exiled Navajo widower and the battered wife of a Boston millionaire must forge a path away from their broken lives and toward each other, or lose their last chance and love and healing.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Oh, I hope I can find an agent willing to take on the story!

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Ummmm, I’d say six months, but the revisions have been another 6 months. Now I’m looking at a re-write, so…150 years?

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

Along with the titles that you suggested in your blog, Courting Morrow Little by Laura Frantz and Under a Desert Sky by DiAnn Mills, I’d add Walks Alone by Sandi Rog. But as for comparison, there don’t seem to be many ‘battered wealthy white woman falls for Native American widower who was raised by British pioneers in remote Northern Arizona’ books out there.

Who or What inspired you to write this book?

One of those ‘what ‘if’ moments- I guess the story just kind of popped into my brain. What if some of the clans who refused to surrender, and there were quite a few who escaped the Army, and found safety far from home, only to be met by a worse fate? What if a young Navajo man had nothing and no one, but was given sanctuary by a Christian family who refused to be constrained by his color or the fact that he was the enemy.

Also, spending time at the location of the prison camp near Fort Sumner, New Mexico literally made my heart break. Seeing the place, standing where General Sherman and the Navajo leaders signed the treaty in 1868 was an astounding honor. Looking out over the land surrounding Bosque Redondo, or Hweeldi, as the Navajo call it, was overwhelming.

This past summer I met a man who led a survivor of Bosque Redondo to the Lord. It was like touching history when we held hands and prayed.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

Our heroine, Sarah, has been badly treated by her husband and then while in an asylum, therefore has NO trust in men. Tag promised his late wife that he will stay alive and wait for “the broken one”, someone who would need him. When he meets Sarah, who is the sister-in-law of his adopted brother, Tag knows right away that Sarah is ‘the broken one’. They both have to deal with long dormant feelings that neither of them has a clue how to process. Which is always fun to read!

Thanks Kiersti for the spot on the blog hop!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next on TFTR???

Some SUPER cool new stuff and maybe even a VLOG!