Enchantment and Illumination in Our National Parks

Sunset from Chapin Mesa, Mesa Verde National Park

On December 9, 2010, I had the wonderful opportunity to visit Mesa Verde National Park on the night of their annual Luminaria Holiday Open House. It was a wonderful evening in which I was able see a remarkable sunset, tour the Chapin Mesa Archeological Museum, enjoy a bowl of white chili that I still think about, listen to local musicians including a wonderful Navajo flute player, and tour Spruce Tree House by candle light. Even though there were hundreds of visitors in the park that evening, I felt comfortably alone, able to take in the sights and the site on my own terms. 

Luminaria on the Trail to Spruce Tree House

Viewing the candle lit Spruce Tree House from the canyon rim I was able to transport myself back about 750 years and imagine what it might have been like returning “home” on a winter’s night after a hunting or gathering expedition.

 

Spruce Tree House

The walk into the canyon, past the seep spring that surely supplied the people there, and to the cliff dwellings had the same feel as approaching my own house at night, illuminated by a simple light bulb or two, welcoming me in, assuring me of the comfort waiting there. It was a very special and enchanting night, choreographed very well by the park staff and volunteers.

The notion of hearth and home is strong and, I believe, has likely remained consistent through the centuries. 

Close-Up of Spruce Tree House

The night of luminaria at Mesa Verde reminded me of a similarly enchanting and illuminating experience I had at another national park about a decade before.

While working in the Washington Office of the National Park Service, Warren and I and two friends traveled to Antietam National Battlefield for the park's annual Memorial Illumination. Not knowing fully what to expect but anticipating a night-time, candle-lit drive through the protected countryside, we arrived at the park for what proved to be an enchanting and powerful experience. We had read that there would be a candle in honor of each casualty of the battle at Antietam, and having previously visited the park understood that we would be at the site of the deadliest day in American history. It was on that rolling Maryland landscape on September 17, 1862 that some 23,000 people were killed, wounded, or missing after twelve hours of fighting.

We approached the park entrance a bit after dark on a very cold December night and were greeted by a park volunteer directing us to the road we were to drive on. He asked us to turn off the car’s headlights so as not to overwhelm the experience of others. Our candlelight journey began in a pastoral fashion and seemed sanguine enough. The park road was bordered with glowing luminaria, one on each side of the country lane, every ten yards or so. The display continued in this fashion for half of a mile, perhaps, as we drove toward the top of one of the area’s beautiful rolling hills. As we crested the rise, we were not prepared for the scene before us. The field we were about to drive through was literally covered with candles for as far as we could see. It was an overwhelming sight.

We had visited Antietam before and had learned the story of the battle from the park film, narrated by James Earl Jones, and from viewing exhibits and attending interpretive talks. All of those experiences had been interesting, educational, and moving in their own rights. We knew that Antietam was the culmination of the Maryland Campaign of 1862 by the Army of Northern Virginia, the Confederates, their first foray into the North during the American Civil War. We also knew that the battle at Antietam was the catalyst President Abraham Lincoln needed to finally acknowledge and confirm that the war was more than a regional uprising but was a conflict with the idea and institution of slavery at the very core. A mere ten days after the battle at Antietam, Lincoln issued the preliminary version of the famed Emancipation Proclamation, forever freeing slaves in the Confederate States. Our previous experiences and knowledge were driven into our hearts by the scene before us.

Lincoln at Antietam (Library of Congress)

On that December night, each of the thousands of candles represented a life and a person in struggle. For us, they illustrated the magnitude of carnage and tragedy experienced that day and throughout the days leading to and including the American Civil War. The candles also shone for the additional thousands of Americans in captivity who were soon to be free. On one hand, the luminaria evoked pain and that final recognition of the horrors and realities of war. On the other, they evoked hope. Each light stood in for a person fighting for a cause they believed in or were taught to believe in. They honored those who fell there. The candles also stood in as painful reminders that the struggle for freedom is long and circuitous. I was reminded that the struggle continues. To me, this seems particularly important as we approach the sesquicentennial observance of the American Civil War in challenging political times. We each need to hold close that magical and overwhelming light as we continue to struggle against the selfishness and small-mindedness that allows our society to practice discrimination and oppression in any form. The enchantment can serve to fuel the light within.

I have shared in other enchanting experiences while visiting national park sites such as those I had at Eisenhower National Historic Site in Gettysburg Pennsylvania. During my Washington, DC days I spent a lot of time in Gettysburg, not due to any significant interest in military history or strategy, rather a compelling interest in the process of commemoration and the creation and evolution of iconic landscapes. I found myself particularly interested in the stories told at Gettysburg and the differences between the public presentations by the National Park Service and private presentations such as battle reenactments, and programs offered  at the American Civil War Wax Museum and the Gettysburg Tour Center. Whenever time exploring the battlefield and the tragedy of war became overwhelming or the sights I was seeing a bit too bizarre (one of my favorites was seeing Confederate and Union soldiers dining together at an outdoor cafe), I would head to Eisenhower. The Eisenhower Farm, the only home ever owned by President Dwight Eisenhower and Mrs. Mamie Eisenhower, was a lovely respite from the carnage of war, the fascination many have with it, and the pain that seems embedded in that contested land. It is a home they bought in 1950 and after significant renovations began to use the house and adjoining farm as their weekend retreat during the Eisenhower presidency. It became their full-time home when Eisenhower left office in 1961.

Eisenhower Lawn Chairs (NPS Museum Management Program)

I have enjoyed the Eisenhower site on numerous visits. On my first visit there, I was able to become a Junior Secret Service Agent (the park's version of the Junior Ranger Program). I had also enjoyed park rangers presenting captivating living history programs, including Secret Service Agents, members of the press lurking on the grounds hoping to see the President and First Lady or the many world leaders they entertained. I even got to meet the First Lady herself on one visit. I was fascinated to hear her thoughts on fashion, home decorating, politics, and even the Paint By Number craze that swept the nation with the President's tacit blessing and encouragement. Each visit made me excited about the next one and the unique and fun experiences awaiting me.

With that excitement, Warren and I made the trip to Gettysburg to visit the Eisenhower site during the Christmas celebration in which the house was to be decked out as it was in the 1950s and early 1960s, with the family holiday decorations. We rode the tour bus from the Gettysburg Visitor Center and were greeted at the Eisenhower Farm by a park ranger who gave us a brief orientation to the site and then told us that we had a very special treat in store for us that day. He announced that our tour guide in the house would be Mrs. Eisenhower's personal physician. Having enjoyed other captivating living history presentations at the park, we were drawn right in and very excited. We were ready for another compelling performance by a park ranger portraying the physician. Our group was directed to the front door of the farmhouse and when the door opened, we were welcomed in by an elderly man with an official name tag with the acronym "M.D." appended to his name. As it turned out, he REALLY WAS Mrs. Eisenhower's doctor. Dr. William North Sterrett had been the Eisenhower's local physician and upon his retirement he became a park volunteer, guiding tours of the historic site on Fridays. It was our great luck that we visited the Eisenhower home on one of Dr. Sterrett's days.

While we were guided through the lover level of the Eisenhower house, we listened intently to Dr. Sterrett's description of the house, the objects in the formal rooms, many of which were gifts from international dignitaries. It was when we went upstairs to the living quarters that we were fully in the Doctor's spell. Among the recollections he shared about the President and First Lady he described the day in September of 1979 when he came into the house and found Mrs. Eisenhower in her bed, having suffered a serious stroke. He described how the President's side of the bed was covered with books, placed there by the First Lady to ward off loneliness. He relayed the anguish he felt in sending her to Walter Reed Army Hospital in the Washington, DC area, the same place the President had died ten years earlier. Mamie Eisenhower would not return to the Gettysburg home, passing away at Walter Reed just more than a month later. Being so fortunate to participate in Dr. Sterrett's very special tour, we were certain that the Eisenhower National Historic Site was enchanted, indeed. We got to see the wonderful 1950s holiday decorations AND the family doctor.



Eisenhower Bedroom (Retro Renovation)

 As if that holiday visit was not enough, on another park ranger-guided tour of the Eisenhower home, again while looking at the Eisenhower bedroom, a diminutive older woman in the group stepped forward to the rope keeping us from entering the room and announced to the ranger that she had been on Mrs. Eisenhower's household staff. Rather than feeling interrupted, the ranger immediately asked a few questions of the woman, encouraging her to share recollections she was comfortable passing on the the entire group. She was describing the way Mrs. Eisenhower was quite particular about some things in the bedroom and her adjoining bathroom. So, the ranger invited the former domestic worker into the room to view the the First Lady's bathroom which was mostly out of view of the tour route. While the two of them were beyond our sight lines, we all privately marveled at our good fortune to experience such a special reminiscence. When the ranger and the woman returned to the group, the ranger shared some of the memories she had recalled of her time working in the Eisenhower home and for Mrs. Eisenhower. By allowing the elderly woman to have her special time in the home she knew intimately and to then guide the rest of us, the ranger made her day, and ours.

Mrs. Eisenhower's Bathroom (Retro Renovation)

AND THEN, a man on the tour shared that he had been a Secret Service Agent stationed for a time at the Eisenhower farm. She shared some recollections of his work there, and of his interaction with the Eisenhower grandchildren. Enchanted? Again, yes!

So, where am I going? I have been thinking a lot lately about the very special experiences I have had in national parks and what effect that can have on the work I do, essentially facilitating experiences for park visitors. By no stroke of imagination do I equate my work with the wonderful park experiences I have described here. I do, however, want to hold my recollections of such enchanting and illuminating times close to remind me of the possibilities park experiences may present.

Here at Hovenweep National Monument, we have a wonderful commitment to providing a positive, somewhat understated visitor experience while being very clear about protecting the cultural and natural resources. We know that visitors to Hovenweep value the remote character of the park and the sense of discovery they can have in this special place. The recent Long-Range Interpretive Plan for the park identifies the following as the first of several guiding principles: "Do not over interpret the site and its resources. Allow the visitor to experience and discover certain aspects of the monument themselves." Our approach is to not overwhelm the visitor with any overwrought interpretive finesse.

I spend roughly half of each day on the trails at the Square Tower unit of the park and the outliers, when they are accessible. The goal of the roving duty is twofold: to make sure the park resources are not compromised in any way (which most frequently has me erasing footprints from people who strayed from the marked trails), and to make myself available to the visitors and to offer them any information, answers, or interpretive guidance they need. We typically recommend that folks hike the Little Ruin Canyon Trail a specific direction, which has them descending the north side and ascending the south of the canyon at the beginning of their two mile hike when they are fresh and energetic rather than saving that more strenuous part of the walk for later. The remainder of the trail circles the canyon rim. I, then, typically travel in the opposite direction, thus affording opportunities for contacting the visitors.

During the last couple of weeks, while roving the Little Ruin Canyon, I have had several opportunities to lead small groups of visitors into an area that they can not go unless accompanied by a park ranger or volunteer as their guide. Beneath Tower Point, where the two side canyons come together to form the main stem of Little Ruin Canyon, there is a very intriguing collection of petroglyphs and some other rock art. The trail into the canyon and to the petroglyphs had previously been part of the self-guided experience but visitor safety and protection of park resources caused that section of trail to be closed without a guide. The trail traverses a very uneven surface, at times requiring one to scramble around, over, and between boulders and the edge of the canyon. Along one section, a small ancestral Pueblo structure is found beneath a rock overhang. In the past, visitors found that to be a very nice place to stop for a picnic. The structure was damaged by heavy use and food scraps left behind attracted packrats whose collecting of food and burrowing has caused additional damage to the site. In the summer, daily walks to view the petroglyphs are scheduled. During the winter, walks are not scheduled but done only as needed or conditions allow.



Petroglyph "Trail Closed" Sign



On the day that I guided my first petroglyph hike, I was roving the area and two pairs of visitors arrived near the the trailhead at the same time. We spoke briefly, allowing me to answer some questions from the visitors. As the questions ceased, I realized I had a special opportunity and asked if they would like to take a bit of an adventure to a place not open on a general basis. All four seemed both intrigued and willing. I described the type of terrain we would be covering and made sure that they were all prepared for some ups and downs and an uneven surface. As we descended below the canyon rim and along the narrow trail, everyone was quiet. I think there was some initial reserve and uncertainty. That somewhat awkward silence was broken when one of the women discovered a granary high on the opposite canyon wall. Her excitement infused the others with intrigue and a heightened awareness to what they might find along this special hike. I was elated by her discovery and the way that guided our collective experience. We immediately became a group of five co-leaders on our little expedition. This made my job easy, though I had to exercise a healthy level of restraint, allowing the discoveries to belong to the group, not me.



Granary On Canyon Wall



The discovery of the granary inspired a number of questions from the small group. The ensuing discussion allowed us to speculate on the lives of the ancestral Puebloans and the challenges they faced on a daily and seasonal basis. Simply getting corn and other grains to the granary for storage was a significant task, not to mention the agricultural knowledge and understanding of this dryland environment that was necessary to feed the community. As we continued along the canyon wall, one of the men who identified himself as an entomologist found some galls on rabbitbrush created by a small fly and antlion pits in the sand beneath an overhanging wall. He brought these insect-made structures to the attention of the group and shared his knowledge with the rest of us.



Antlion Pits



A bit farther along the trail I paused, stooped down to look at a low overhang and asked the members of the group to see if they could find anything. My four guests looked intently but did not seem to notice anything unusual or special until one of the women shrieked with joy. On the ceiling of the small overhang was the painted outline of a single hand.

Handprint

The handprint is the only pictograph along the special trail. The visitors were fascinated by it, holding their hands up near the wall to compare size. They wondered if it was made by a lone child, or by an adult. This provided us an opportunity to discuss what archeological evidence indicates about the small stature of the ancestral Pueblo people. They also wondered about the significance of a handprint. Might it say, "I was here?" Or, "This is my place." We discussed the potential method of painting this handprint with paint surrounding the hand rather than paint being applied to the palm of the hand itself.

As we neared the end of the trail I instructed my four charges to round the next bend that would put them immediately below Tower Point, ant the intersection of the two side canyons coming together to form one. I let the visitors lead around the final point. As they did, they were first in place to notice the panel of petroglyphs on the southeast facing wall. There was the initial exclamation associated with the collective discovery followed by a quiet contemplation of the rock art before them. After a moment I asked the group what they saw on the wall. One visitor noticed a bird, then another. I asked if they could see a third bird. Upon closer inspection, that final bird revealed itself. My group was really taken by the bird atop the T-shaped doorway symbol. I explained that we believe the birds to be macaws and that they were birds from Mexico, their feathers possibly used in ceremonial ways.

Macaw and T-Shaped Doorway Petroglyph

We also were able to look at and imagine the significance of the open spiral pattern etched into the rock, seemingly leading to the bird and doorway design. I asked the visitors what they thought the meaning of that design might be. Knowing that the ancestral Puebloans at Hovenweep and throughout the were very in tune with the seasonal changes and that they had a number of calendrical devices, visitors wondered if the spiral might be a sun symbol, one that, perhaps, had a function in identifying a solstice or equinox. I shared a description of the summer solstice panel of petroglyphs at the Holly site in the park and how the symbols there are closed concentric circles. Equipped with that information, the visitors thought that the open spiral may have some other meaning.

Open Spiral Petroglyph

It is my understanding that the open spiral design is considered a symbol of migration. This is certainly consistent with the oral tradition in contemporary Pueblo, Hopi, and Zuni communities regarding their ancestors' travels in search of the place they were in balance with the environment around them. Perhaps the petroglyph here described the journey leading to the Square Tower community, ending at the T-shaped doorway. 

While looking at and contemplating the petroglyphs, we were also able to shift our gaze above us and have a unique view and perspective on the round structure at Tower Point.

Tower Point

As we retraced our steps back to the Petroglyph Trailhead, there was a pleasant chatter amongst the group. The visitors led. I did my best to answer questions and offer insight where it was requested, and only there. Trying to retain that sense of individual discovery, I was conscious that the walk not become the typical "brag and drag" hike, not "my" show. When we were at the trailhead and safely back on the canyon rim, on the Little Ruin Canyon Trail, I thanked my guests for joining me, pointed each party in the direction they had been headed when we encountered each other almost an hour earlier, and after their final questions and comments, wished them a wonderful afternoon with continued discoveries. Each pair departed with thanks and a deeper connection to the place and the people who had inhabited the area several centuries before.

I had a clear sensation on that day and when I have since led additional petroglyph hikes that the visitors felt very special, that they had been allowed to go "behind the scenes." I returned to the Visitor Center each time with a new bounce in my step, filled with joy in our collective experience. If I was able, in any way, to help the visitors to experience Hovenweep with an ounce of enchantment, then I have been successful. The greatest challenge is to hold back and let the experience unfold around you. It requires that you let go of some expectations and of some control. These are not necessarily everyday skills for interpreters who are used to being the center of attention. Nonetheless, the path of discovery can take us there.

I realize I have experienced enchantment and illumination in our National Parks since I was a child and posed with Lakota elder Ben Black Elk at Mount Rushmore National Memorial the summer I was ten. As an environmental educator and interpreter in parks and other protected areas I have been a strong advocate of reflective practice. Thinking about the ways I have come to know park stories and the special times I have had can be a very effective guide in my work. Holding my wonderful experiences close as I imagine and help to facilitate experiences for others I can only hope that I posses the wisdom to let the resources speak for themselves like they did that night at at Mesa Verde, refrain from using words to make a point like the luminaria did in such a superior and meaningful way at Antietam, find  the perfect partners in people like Dr. Sterrett, and stand back like the ranger at Eisenhower and let the magic happen around me. With those skills in place, enchantment and illumination can be experienced and shared.

Your Author and Ben Black Elk, 1967

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