Johnson Jon!!!

Turning on to the rutted dirt driveway, a billowing dust cloud rose in our wake. Any thought of slipping in unnoticed was out the door, as the noise of our cars, echoed among the small group of houses that lay just off the main road. We pulled up, side by side, George in the Delta Force, me in my D-50 pickup, to the house in the back, and waited as we were told to do. In five minutes or so, a rather tanned and husky man, wearing an Hawaiian shirt, and tropical ball cap, sky blue with white orchids, came through the door, and walked between where George and I had parked. Out here its different, you don’t go knocking on peoples door. In this culture, it is thought to be rude. He looked us over for a bit as we chatted, and soon invited us out of our cars. He seemed to be a humble man, a bit shy, his eyes, watching his feet kick dust as we talked. We began to tell him why we were on his land, what we were looking for, and he stopped us, telling us he knew. I guess Joanna had gotten to him first, the woman who a few hours before, we had been talking with, his Daughter. As he became more comfortable with us, his eyes came up off the dirt, and he smiled at us meekly. He said that we should go to his Hogan, a place where we could be relaxed, be out of the hot summer sun. He chose to ride with George the couple miles down the highway, to where his Hogan stood. We turned off the road, and pulled up to a makeshift gate where he got out. He stood for a minute or two, looking things over, then began to untwist the wire that held the gate closed. He waived us through, and told us to drive on back, about 100 yards, and to pull our cars behind, out of view of the highway. George and I waited by the Hogan, we were excited as to how this was going, waiting, as Johnson walked back to where we stood. Walking slowly, he seemed to be looking for any sign that anyone had been on his land. There was a hasp and lock on the door that he opened, and invited us in. Once inside, he asked us to sit with him on the dirt, by the fire pit in the center, above, an opening for the smoke to rise. He talked of his wife, how she liked modern living, having a wooden floor, beneath her feet. How making her happy, made his life easy. As he talked, he watched us closely, searching for any subtle sign from us, in judgment of his way of life. I would learn from him, years later, of how offended he would be by people, visitors on his reservation, looking down on him, and the way that he lived. He would tell me he understood that reaction, but never could accept it. He talked with George and I, of Mother Earth, of Father Sky. He talked of how it was hard for him to understand, how people could show such disrespect for the land. He explained it this way, saying that our Earth was our Mother, and that no decent man, would take trash, and throw it upon their own Mother That throwing trash onto our earth was just the same. He watched us closely, he cared that we became enlightened, he saw that we were open to his thoughts, he became our teacher. Out of the blue, he asked if we were ready, we had not talked at all of our desire to explore his homeland. For the last couple of hours he had been feeling us out, digging deep, learning of what was in our hearts. George and I didn’t know what he meant, was he telling us that it was time to leave him. As we walked through the Hogan door, he told us that he needed to use my truck, and if we would be able to help him out, to leave him with the keys. I was good with that, he said he would be careful, I never asked what he needed to do. He told us we needed to hurry, that the sun was low in the sky, and we would have to start down into the canyon quickly, for him to get back before nightfall. He told us we should gather our things, that we should start down. Pulling our gear and supplies out of our cars, he saw the jugs of water, and told us we could leave the water behind. At that point, we told him we had hoped to spend quite a few days out alone, and he said that we would be fine, to leave the water behind. He asked if we had a shovel, and when we told him no, he grabbed one he had leaning on the back wall. George and I talked later that night, of how confused we had been. We trusted him, telling us we would be fine. As we started down, he used the shovel as a walking stick, the decent was steep. On the way, he pointed out garnets in the rock, and watched us closely, as to how we reacted. We didn’t know yet, that all of this had been a test. Later we realized, this was not his first encounter, with white men, and we were being scored. Whether we turned right, or turned left, at the bottom, depended on how we acted as we were hiking down. He told us of his brother Slim, Slim Jon, for who the canyon was named. He had died in the War, a Code Talker who spoke the secret code of the Navajo. George nor I knew nothing of this part the Navajo played in World War II. It was about halfway down into the Canyon, that Johnson stopped dead in his tracks. There was a sign, a BLM sign, and he just stood staring it down. George and I stood silent, waiting, wondering what was running through his mind. He was looking more and more upset, and then, after a long long wait, he turned to us and asked, what am I doing wrong? Neither of us knew what he meant. Then he asked again, if we had noticed anything that he had done wrong? We were baffled. He seemed very offended by that sign that had been placed on his land. He said there must be something that he was doing wrong, otherwise that sign would not be there. He then told us that he wanted to rip it up from the ground, but that it was a trap. George and I still didn’t get it, then he explained. He told us that as a young Buck, he would of ripped it out, but he was a little older, a lot wiser, that he understood the traps the U.S. Government would set, that they knew this would be offensive to him. That if he did rip it out, he would face certain arrest. That he would be charged with destroying U.S. Government property!!!

Pictures of Slim Cannon

Entrance To Slim Canyon