It’s still all about writing. On Monday I drove my little black jeep through mounds of sand with Winnie Henry. We picked the leaves from a black walnut tree,the same one her mother used to pick from for dye, snake weed and rabbit bush.
Back at her old stone Hogan we stoked up the ancient propane stove and set the water to boil while we picke the leaves off the branches and sat outside sharing stories. Two old grannies outside the Hogan in the canyon. Drop the wool in, stir it around. It is very exciting to see what color it will be. Winne has created a monster. I walk on the mesa an eye every plant as a potential dye for wool for my next rug.Sharing stories and dying wool. The wool will end up in a rug. I hope the stories end up in a book or many books. Maybe not what we did and how we did it but the place, the sense and the feel of it all, the details. I am learning the place and the people. It is all research, all life. This is the place where Spider woman gave weaving to the Navajo and I am connected, honored to have this opportunity.
