What time is it? I’m sorry, what? It’s mid-April already?! I’m just gonna go ahead and rip April off my calendar… I can’t believe I’ve slept a third of the year away already. And what have I done with the year so far?
Well I’m SO glad you asked. Very nice of you.
It actually has been pretty good. I wouldn’t call it a walk in the park.. not even a drive through the park. Maybe a park in the park? A swing in the park? A
Anyway. I wanted to talk to you today about a little trip I recently took (yes, I go places. I do!! You don’t know!) I had the pleasure (when I go places it isn’t always business. No really!) of taking a little trip up north a couple of weeks ago with a couple of friends (one of them was Rowdy.. pics to follow on his Facebook I’m sure). You should know that in this part of the country, going up north means Prescott or Payson or possibly even Flagstaff, where the temps are a little more not as hot. Not north as in Dakota.. :)
This particular trip was to Prescott via Jerome. And the story (I promise there will be a story… don’t I always tell one? No? Sometimes? Occasionally?) is about a stop we made just before Jerome. We stopped at
gotta go google something.. brb
Tuzigoot National Monument, which is a historical ruin (aka pile of rocks) supposedly occupied by the Sinagua people in the 1100s-1400s. The most interesting thing about the ruin is that the name Tuzigoot is Apache for “crooked water’. Now I’m no historical genius (but I have stayed at some very old Holiday Inn Expresses), but I’m pretty sure the Sinagua people didn’t give their little pile of rocks an Apache name. Just sayin.
As we walked around the site, looking at all the partially constructed walls (also aka piles of rocks) and reading all the little signs about what each room might have been and how the people there might have lived, I noticed a few things that, in true goodol’dee.com style, I would like to list for you now.
But first, have you noticed that I have hardly gotten sidetracked at all in this post? Yay me! wait….
- It was a long haul to the river. And on top of a big hill. I’m guessing these people spent a lot of time hauling water. But maybe they had Sparkletts deliver, what do I know?
- Penguins are AWESOME at snowball fights.
- The signs there all had a lot of possibly, might have, and could have in them. Nobody knows what really happened!.
Lemme splain. On the roof there was a sign that said it might have been used for drying corn or watching for incoming traders or attacks by touristy penguins from Phoenix, but for all the historians know it could have been a helicopter pad. The signs would say this room could have been used as a kitchen or a meeting room, but for all they know it could have been a room for weekend getaways, complete with fireplace. Hey, my stories are just as good as the historians’. Says me.
I started thinking about how the people who printed those signs just kinda went with their best guess. The people who rebuilt those piles of rocks just went with what their experience and their instinct told them. So they put up those walls and put out those signs with the best of intentions, and the people who come across them now just take it for granted that that’s how things are. Maybe those walls weren’t in those places… maybe that field at the bottom of the hill wasn’t used for husking corn. This isn’t a post about bluffing ((then what IS it about?)), and as usual, I have no idea what it’s really about. So I’ll just keep writing and you keep reading and we’ll figure it all out together, mkay?
The signs posted there say the Sinagua left possibly because of drought or they were attacked by another tribe/village/pack of senior citizens. I say maybe someone different came along who could offer them new stories and travel and adventure… and they decided that sounded like a pretty good way to live. Or maybe they just decided they weren’t happy there, didn’t like living there anymore, and it was time for them to make a change in their life. To move on.
I think we can do worse than to live a little like the Sinagua… I’m not saying we need a special place to banish people who are ‘broken’, but there are a few things we can do to make our stay here better. We too can get on that roof, that high place (aka our own pile of rocks) and watch for better things. We can tell our own stories, live our own adventures, and put out our own signs for the things we want, the way we think things should be in our lives. Let’s tear down those walls that are in the wrong place and stopping us from doing those things, and put some up where they belong. And when the time is right to move on, let’s move on. We don’t need someone else’s stories. Someone else’s reasons. Someone else’s signs. We just need the ones that are right for us.
And let’s have more snowball fights. (Rowdy, no!)
It must be a pretty good job, being a historian, making up stories. Historian, blogger… same diff.