Rain Makers

During this road trip, we have been in the business of making people happy. If you’ve watched the news lately, you know that over half the country is currently experiencing drought conditions. Those of you in St. Louis know this well.

It seems, everywhere we’ve been, it’s rained. We started out in Texas—it rained. It rained in New Mexico (our first time through). It rained in California, Arizona, Utah, and New Mexico the second time we entered the state. This is great for the ground but not so much for vacationers and photographers. The good news is…it’s not rained for an entire day, so we usually get some time with the sun shining.

We had great sunlight in the morning for Antelope Canyon. This slot canyon was made by rushing water working its way through soft sandstone. There’s really no way to describe it. You’ll just have to see the pictures.

Monument Valley was another story. Monument Valley is a place of legends. It’s the back drop of many movies starting with Stagecoach, completed in 1939, directed by John Ford. In fact, there is a point named after him. As we approached the valley, ominous clouds loomed. In the distance you could see the rain falling from the clouds. Just as soon as we got in the visitors center, it let lose. We hadn’t eaten, so we decided to catch a bite and try to wait it out. The pop-up storms were coming and going quickly. By the time we got started on lunch, the sun was peeking through the clouds. Tim ran back to the car and grabbed his camera. He snapped a few photos while the sun was shining. We got back in the car and stared down the seventeen-mile rugged, red, dirt road. At our first stop we earned our new name.

In several places along the road, Navajos set up shop with open-air stands full of handmade crafts. Some vendors just stood quietly as tourists examined their wares while others offered friendly chatter or a show of salesmanship. As we made small talk with the first couple and looked to horizon at another incoming storm, I commented that the rain had been following us. He spoke a Navajo word, and at our puzzlement repeated, “Rainmakers.”

The second conversation with another Navajo woman went something like this.

“Hello, how are you?” she chirped.

“I’m well, how are you?” I answered.

“Ooooh, you speak English!”

“Yes, yes I do.”

She sense my confusion and answered my puzzled look by explaining that she had been struggling with German, French, and Italian as she communicated with her customers. We had heard just about every language but English on this leg of our trip.

We ended the day by stopping in Farmington, New Mexico.