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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Rain

Raindrops in Pothole at Little Ruin Canyon

It has been raining for a few days now. Rain in the desert is a very different experience than I have had in other places. It does not seem to be the damper here that it can so often be elsewhere. It is more of a cause for excitement and renewal. On a very wet day last week I visited two other national park sites, and in each, I was encouraged in some very pleasant ways to enjoy and celebrate the rain.

I made a brief stop at Hubbell Trading Post National Historic Site in northeastern Arizona.

Hubbell Trading Post NHS Entrance

It is the oldest, continuously operating trading post in the Navajo Nation. John Lorenzo Hubbell opened his post in Ganado in 1876. It remains an active trading post today, operated by Western National Parks Association. It is a place for nearby residents of the Navajo Nation to get basic supplies and a marketplace to sell park visitors the blankets, rugs, jewelry, and other items created by Navajo artisans.

Hubbell Trading Post

When I entered the trading post building, I was met by a delightful young Navajo woman working for Western National Parks Association, the cooperating association that now runs the trading post.  As I opened the door to let myself in she asked me to hold the door so she could step outside and smell the wonderful rain. She told me that it was such a rare treat to have a rainy day as it is almost always sunny there. As she made her way outside the trading post building, I vicariously enjoyed the way she celebrated the fragrance of the rainy morning.

Above the Door to Hubbell Trading Post

From Hubbell Trading Post, I traveled south and west a bit to Petrified Forest National Park. It was an unplanned destination but when I realized it was only an hour away, I could not stop myself from visiting. Between Hubbell and Petrified Forest I passed through an area of higher elevation and drove through wet snow for a stretch of ten or fifteen miles. It was along that section of mountain roads that I first experienced the sensation of wet sagebrush. The heady aroma was inhaled by my car’s ventilation system and I was engulfed in pungent delight. By the time I arrived at Petrified Forest, I was back in the rain.

Petrified Forest National Park Entrance

I made my way to the entrance station where I was greeted by a ranger who checked my annual pass and then admonished me to not collect any petrified wood during my visit. I assured her I would not and as I was about to put the car back in gear and head along the road she paused and then stated how lucky I was to be there on a rainy day. She told me that the rain really accentuated the colors in the park. I was getting a sense that there was something to this special attitude about the rain. Both women treated the rain as something to celebrate, a notion that buoyed my spirits. I have often countered comments about “bad weather” by saying that weather is simply a fact, and that whether we see it as “bad” or “good” is a function of our attitude. I was so pleased that these two park employees had a really positive attitude about the rain.

Indeed, in Petrified Forest, the colors of the landscape were vivid and had a special shine. My first stops were in the Painted Desert section of the park.

Painted Desert at Petrified Forest NP

In addition to giving the landscape a freshly-scrubbed brilliance, the rain showed itself as the very force that carved this unique area of “badlands.” It was as if I could actually see the individual raindrops joining forces to form rivulets flowing off of and bisecting the soft rock formations.

"Badlands" at Petrified Forest NP

Indeed, the Painted Desert was anything but stark. In the vivid colors, though muted by the overcast sky, I could see that special quality the park ranger at the entrance had alluded to. I was seeing the desert in one of its many spectacular moods.

Painted Desert Rim Trail Wayside

And I had yet to see any petrified wood. I soon crossing the historic Route 66 corridor, marked by the frame of an old car and the abandoned line of power poles.

Route 66 Corridor at Petrified Forest NP

A short distance south of the old highway route I came into the Jasper Forest area of the park and began to see petrified wood pieces scattered on the ground. The wood-turned-to-stone shone with a glow unmatched by any lapidary.

Jasper Forest at Petrified Forest NP

Some petrified logs were even emerging from the eroding layers of earth in which they had been buried for unfathomable time, again revealing the power of the collective raindrops to both change and reveal the landscape

Logs Emerging from Badlands in Petrified Forest NP

Once in the Rainbow Forest section of the park, I was in a magical land of color and form unmatched in my experience.

Stump in Petrified Forest NP

There were entire logs that had been turned to stone some millions of years before me and the variegated colors of the agatized wood were polished and vivid in the rain.

Along the Long Logs Trail at Petrified Forest NP

Here at Hovenweep the rain is has turned the paths to mud in places and softened the dirt roads to the outlier sections of the park to a greasy, impassable slurry. My rainy day venture to the Cajon Group, along the “best” of the roads, one that is gravel rather than mud much of the way, saw the NPS truck sliding a bit on the freshly deposited and liquefied silt as if I were on a sheet of ice. The mud gets everywhere as well, even decorating the vehicle. I must say, my co-workers were proud of my work. Well, at least they noticed.

My Work

Rain in the high desert is an all encompassing, multi-sensory experience. The sounds and sensation of walking in mud made of fine red silt causes one to tread cautiously and to enjoy the slurping of feet as they are extricated, at least somewhat, from the earth’s sucking grasp. With each step, your feet get a bit heavier, as you become an active part of the soil transport process. The mud remains on boots and stains the cuffs of khaki pants as if being branded by experience. I won’t mention the permanent relationship it has with carpet fibers.

Footprints in Mud, Little Ruin Canyon

Then there are the scents.

Big Sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata)

Of all the scents resulting from desert rain, most powerful and evident is that from the sagebrush. The volatile oils in big sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata) are water-soluble. The upshot of this is a quick change in the air when it rains, or when it snows. The heady aroma of sage permeates the air, and at times, can make one feel light-headed. Whether walking on the mesa or in the canyons, the scent of sage is inescapable in the rain. Sagebrush is powerful stuff. We don’t know if the ancestral Puebloans at Hovenweep used it as food or medicine, though it has frequently shown up in studies of middens and fire pits. It is very likely that sagebrush was used for fuel. Navajo people have used sagebrush in numerous ways. Medicinally it has been used to treat corns, stomachaches, headaches, fever, and to ease childbirth. Sage tobacco has been uses by the Navajo in a wide variety of rituals. It has also been used to make dyes (wool can be colored yellow, green, and gold with the leaves and twigs), leaves have been used as a toilet paper, and the branches have been used to make fire drills. Scientists have identified antimicrobial qualities of the essential oils in big sagebrush. With its powerful aroma, sagebrush has always made its presence known. Perhaps that has led to its many uses.

In addition to the sage, the musky smell of cliffrose and the sweetness of the rabitbrush are accentuated by rain.

Cliffrose (Purshia mexicana)

Rabbitbrush (Ericameria nauseosa)

The rain also replenishes the land. In an area with an average of just less than 11 inches of precipitation annually, rain is a rare treat. It removes a pervasive layer of dust from the plants and rocks, giving a cleansing and polish to the landscape. And the rain resupplies the canyonhead seeps and springs while filling potholes on the canyon rims. Some potholes are very short-lived, others are more permanent, providing breeding areas for all manner of insects, amphibians, and other organisms.

Potholes Above Little Ruin Canyon

When looked at from so many persectives, rain in the desert is by no means a burden. It is essential to the survival of all desert organisms and, for me, rain calls attention to the true beauty of the land.

Rainbow at Sunset on the way to Blanding

Quiet

The experience that many have while visiting Hovenweep National Monument is one of quiet. The other morning I was doing my routine check in the campground and had a wonderful visit with two people who had stayed for a couple of nights. They described how they had enjoyed the silence that was broken only by the sound of the wings of the male mountain bluebird that regularly visited their campsite. Perhaps it is more apt to say that they had visited his place for a short stay. As the sole campers, their experience of quiet was accompanied with a sense of human solitude. 

Unidentified Bird on Ruin at Cajon

Respondents to a 1999/2000 visitor study conducted here by researchers from Northern Arizona University claimed that the most enjoyable parts of the trip to Hovenweep were seeing the ruins, interacting with the knowledgeable and friendly staff and experiencing the solitude and tranquility of the surroundings. In their responses to an open-ended question regarding their suggestions for park managers, visitors noted time and again that they found the quiet and out-of-the-way nature of Hovenweep to be a real asset. The quiet and solitude tends to give visitors a sense of extreme remoteness. Collectively, these qualities provide for a high-quality experience in which people feel as though they are able to make their own discoveries regarding the lives of the ancestral Puebloans who built the Hovenweep Towers about 800 years ago. 

Ruins at Cajon

The notion of quiet is important enough that the following guiding principle has been included in the recently completed Long-Range Interpretive Plan: “Strive to preserve the natural soundscape, the dark night sky, and the viewsheds -all integral parts of the Hovenweep experience - whenever an interpretive medium or type of installation is selected.” Similarly, one of the park’s national significance statements documented in the interpretive plan is:

             “The park’s perceived remoteness and uninterrupted horizons lend

a sense of discovery to visitors’ experiences. The shallow canyons,

spring alcoves and structural remains of Hovenweep enable visitors

to more easily envision the life of ancestral Pueblo communities and

their relationship to the natural environment.”

Spring in Alcove at Hackberry

I was sitting on a bench for quite some time today, beneath a juniper tree, overlooking Little Ruin Canyon. I expected to encounter the pair of visitors who had begun hiking the two-mile loop trail about an hour earlier. I somehow missed them but had a fine time nonetheless. It was a beautiful high desert winter day with an air temperature in the sunshine in the mid-50s. In the shade of the canyon’s north-facing slope, a bit of the snow that had fallen a full two weeks before lingered and as soon as you are out of the sun a significant chill sets in. The sky was clear and there was visibility of a good hundred or more miles. There was much to see but I was overwhelmed and calmed by the quiet. The only sounds I could hear were the occasional riffle of the wind, the raspy voice of a raven flying overhead,  and the frequent clicking calls of the many juncos feeding beneath the junipers, sage, and rabbitbrush. I could also hear the whisper of their wings from time to time.

Raven Flying Over Little Ruin Canyon

From my perch I had a view of Stronghold House and Unit Type House across from me on the canyon’s north rim.

Stronghold House

Unit Type House

To the west I could see the Twin Towers, Hovenweep House, and Hovenweep Castle as well as Tower Point.  Beneath Unit Type House and Stronghold Tower I could easily see the rubble piles, all that remains of the structures that were built on the talus slopes descending into the canyon.

Twin Towers

Hovenweep House, Square Tower, and Hovenweep Castle

Tower Point

I was really struck that the quiet at the heart of my experience, that same quiet that is so important to our visitors, belies the experience of the ancestral Puebloans who built these marvelous structures and lived here centuries ago. Population estimates vary widely, from approximately 100 to nearly 600 residents of Little Ruin Canyon. Nonetheless, had I been here 750 years ago, before the 23-year drought began in 1276 that eventually contributed to the people’s departure from this area, the canyon would not likely be a quiet place, nor one where solitude would be experienced.


Visiting Little Ruin Canyon in the days of ancestral Puebloan residence, one would observe an amazing bustle of activity. Winter might be somewhat quieter than other times of the year. Farming seasons would be much busier. Much of the activity would center around producing the crops that sustained the people. It is estimated that it took four to six acres of land per person to produce enough corn and other crops needed for survival. Men would be working the fields on the mesa top or on terraces in the canyon. They might be planting corn or squash, perhaps beans. They might be carrying water from the seeps at the canyon head or from reservoirs behind dams above the canyon head. Of course, they would be involved in harvest. Women would be engaged in the near constant chore of grinding corn and other seeds for storage and immediate consumption. Rather than quiet, one would likely hear the grinding sound of stone on stone as manos are dragged across corn set in the metates.

Metates at Cajon

There would also be a great deal of gathering activity. The ancestral Puebloans utilized many native wild plants to augment their harvest for food as well as for flavorings, dyes and paints. Some community residents would be gathering clay from the canyon bottoms while others might be making that clay into pots for cooking, storing grain, and other utilitarian, decorative, or ceremonial uses.  The sound and smell of the fires used to cook or to fire the ceramics would always be present. Similarly, we would be hearing the chopping of juniper with stone tools, wood that would be used for fuel or as a building material. Masons would be building new structures or repairing the existing ones. Another sound of stone on stone would come from those shaping sandstone pieces for the intricate structures, perhaps chipping hand and foot holds into the canyon wall, or grinding various rocks and minerals, such as iron, to make paints for decorating pottery, plaster for covering walls and floors, as well as for rock paintings.

Detail of Masonry at Horseshoe

Iron Concretion at Cajon

The sounds of footsteps, perhaps even the echo of small rocks or pebbles falling to the canyon floor might indicate a member of the community carrying pots of corn to granaries built into alcoves in the canyon walls. Another sound would be created by the sliding away of a stone door panel that was used to tightly seal the granary, protecting that the valuable food supply from destruction by rodents. 

Granaries near Tower Point

If visiting the Square Tower Community in the year 1260, we would, no doubt, hear the sounds of turkeys, an animal the people had domesticated, primarily to make warm clothing from the feathers. There would also be dogs. We might hear the sound of a ceremonial foot drum emanating from a kiva, sounding as it it were the heartbeat of the Earth itself. Archeological evidence suggests there are more than two dozen kiva depressions in Little Ruin Canyon. Add to that number the dozen towers and some 200 rooms in Little Ruin Canyon and it is clear what a busy place this was. It was a place filled with life, the challenges presented by the high desert, as well as the joys and successes of successful dryland farming. The sounds became still around the year 1300, but the echoes of the people remain.

Ladder Emerging from Reconstructed Kiva at Edge of the Cedars State Park

Alas, it is 2010 and Hovenweep is quiet. My imagination, however, is filled with new observations, experience, and knowledge. In my mind's eye, Hovenweep continues to be a vibrant, peopled landscape, filled with marvelous stories to tell.

The Bench Beneath the Juniper