Ride the San Juan

by Janet Keeler Wilcox

1st place winner, BYU Charles Redd Writing competition 2013

 

Lead me down your snaky trails
of twisting paths and flinty glaze
to ocher canyons etched in fire
by sunlight's lofty rays.

Ride me o'er your slate blue riffs

As canyon shadows fall,
Where night birds dance above the lake
And lonely eagles call.

Toss me high on rugged waves

Douse me 'til I'm blue,
Bounce me through the rocky course where voyagers are few.

Swirl me past your eddies

Etched by frothy hue.
Take me to your glens and coves
that Anasazi knew.

Wind me 'round your sandstone fjords

Of sandwiched mauves and grey,
Circle me with stony walls
That time has worn away.

Spray me down your waterfalls

Sooth me in your pools.
Shower me o'er your coral ridge
Where sandstone calmness rules.

Hide me in your tombs of jade 

Where elusive peace lies still,
And mirrored reflections tranquilize the agitated will.

 
Guide me to the journey's end

To canyons sprayed with gold
Where calm respite is heaven sent
And river tales are told.

Dedication and Desire

Bluff Fort, October 24, 2009
By Janet Wilcox

     

 Standing on the shoulders of those who came before

A new San Juan Hill has been summitted.

 With Herculean effort

    families  have united to share

       legacies and lore,

          truths and treasures

             heritage and heroics.

Like parachutes of dandelion fluff

  scattered by the winds of change,

    Bluff’s legacy spread afar for 120 years,

         nurtured in descendant’s hearts,

           Until a dream began to grow.

Outdistancing the clouds of doubt

    And storms of failure

       Leaders called forth with hope and vision

            And new pioneers rallied to recreate the past.

  

    A modern gathering of clans and cabins converged,

       reminding us how undaunted courage

          and stick-it-atoo-ity can accomplish the impossible.

  

New generations

   Recognizing the value of history

     Have  reclaimed the mission of San Juan,

      Rebuild the fort

          and shown us with loving reminders

                   its new purpose under heaven.

   May we ever remember

        the trail, tears, and travails

             leading to this sacred ground in Bluff.

          

Reflections On Journal Keeping

by Janet Wilcox,
Written in 1980, 100 years after Hole-in-the-Rock


Whose are these names, the book recounts,
Who first journeyed through the "hole?"
I never knew so many came,
Why 250's on the roll!

A few familiar names I read like Nielson, Lyman, Redd.
Of Bayles, Perkins, Butt, and Jones, at least there's something said.
How come I've never heard the rest? Their names are new to me.
Where is their story written down for their posterity?

Were they as brave and valient as others read about?
Did their families work and toil along that famous route?
Who are these unfamiliar souls, their story 'ner told 'round?
Why they're the ones "too busy" they never wrote it down.　

Hole-in-the-Rock Haikus

Published in Heritage and Horizon
in San Juan
by Heritage Arts Festival April 26, 1975

    Hole-in-the-Rock travelers
Twisting, steep switchbacks reveal
         Slow, rolling wagons.

   by Virginia Blake
        =========

     Our Prophet calls us
From family, home, and friends
      Chosen ones to teach.

   by Kay Bayles
-------------------------------------

Children's poetry from 1980 San Juan Centennial Sampler

(Couplets, Haikus, Cinquains)

The Founding of San Juan County
By Lynette Black (6th-8th grade category)

S  is the place where we will start
     to learn about the San Juan parts
A  is for the great accomplishment
     that our forefathers severely spent
N  is for the number of sacrifices borne
    once, twice, and many times more.
J  is the joy they spent in waiting
    on catching up, and never debating.
U  is the unaccountable times they shared
    which they loved and really cared,
A  is for their attitude rugged and strong,
     for that is what kept them rolling along.
N  is for Nature who showed them her worst
     but they made it through all in spite of her curse.
C  is for the children who didn't much play
     but they trudged along and were happy and gay.
O  is for the oxen who pulled heavy loads
     down the long, rough, and weary roads.
U  is for the ups and downs which they had,
     sometimes they were glad, and other times sad.
N  is for the necessary thing that they used
     to make life for them easy and for us, too.
T  is the thakfulness we should have for our country,
    and for the hardships our forefathers had settling this country.
Y  is for the few years we've got left to spend
    to make good use of life, before times come to an end.

* * *

The Hole-in-the Rockers 

by Nathan Wilcox  2nd grade

Pioneers,

Hardworking, brave

Covered wagon travelers

finding a new home

Trail blazers.

Hole-in-the Rock
by Jonas Manheimer, 2nd grade

Hole-in-the Rock
Slick, Rocky
Bumpy, hard, dustry
San Juan River
Cliff

* * *
Hole
by Krissa L. Shumway 2nd grade

Hole
White, brown
worked, built, camped
They took the wagon a part
Rocks

* * *
Pioneers
by Sheila Oshley

Pioneers
Blue, Black,
Work, walked, dug
They made a hole,
People

* * *
Clay Hill
By Kevin Palmer 2nd grade

Clay Hill
bumpy, rocky
slick, dusty, steep
Pioneers walked many miles
Cliff
* * *

Hole in the Rock
by Jerria Redd

Hole
Happy, pretty,
Worked, sang, danced
They walked really far to Bluff.
Travelers

* * *
The Pioneers of San Juan County
by Chad McDaniels, 4th grade

Journey
Scary, difficult
Blasted, worked, prayed;
It was a hard journey for the
Pioneers of San Juan County.

Travel
Oxen, horses, covered wagons,
Hard, bumpy, dusty and dirty;
It was hard travel
For Pioneers of San Juan

Trip
Hungry, long,
Cold, tired, hardships;
It was a hard journey
For the pioneers.

* * *

The Passing of an Age

Tribute to Albert R. Lyman 

First settler of Blanding, written on his death Nov. 1973

        by Janet Wilcox

Our link with other days and times

    has left us now...

Stalwart yet singular he stood,

Like the rough hewn monoliths 

    of San Juan

A sentinel for all.

Patriarch, Father, Sage, Saint.

“The Old Settler”

Clung tenaciously to life

in disciplined steadfastness,

Until chill November winds

In kindly consequence,

Blew steadily

 And the last leaf let loose its hold

    And fell,

         The passing of an age.

Comb Ridge Struggle

by Janet Wilcox

Stumbling through
the throny brush
and sandstone slopes,
I reach the brink
of rocky doubt.

Far below my goals
of hope and home
lie hidden by hazy mists
and forgotten promises.

Like a bright banner
the road waves bold and true,
a ribbon of hope marching
on to distant goals.

Satanic switchbacks
and cunning crevices
entice me to the edge.
I tilt and twist,
almost tumbling
onto the shattered rocks below.

Poised precariously
I descend.
Tentative, yet sure,
I seek a trail,
a guide,
a handhold on
the Rock of my Salvation.

DESERT DELIVERANCE

By Janet Wilcox

Written 1980,
San Juan County Centennial

On December 29, 1878, James and Mary Davis were called on a mission by the Mormon church to build settlements in Arizona/ Utah. This came as a surprise because of the poor health of Sister Davis, who was seldom well. Though saddened by the prospects of leaving their comfortable home, they determined to magnify their calling. At some point prior to their departure on April 13, 1879, Mary was given a blessing by Bishop C. J. Arthur promising her that if she would do her part, her health would be restored and she would never lose another child. On August 2, 1879 Ethel Olive Davis, first child of the San Juan Mission, was born. (Scriptural text is from Psalms) More about this family

APRIL 1879

The vanguard caravan inches slowly southward.
Guided by men grown somber by sifting sands and desert travel
seeking a route to the San Juan.
Though accepting the call, I question now, my faith, my strength, my courage
But I must drive the team.

"Hear my prayer, 0 Lord,
And give ear unto my cry;

Hold not thy peace at my tears:

For I am weak and faulter.

O spare me, that I may recover strength,
Before I go hence.. "

Remember Lord my blessing.
Four children behind me in the wagon box
Fearless. trusting, so young and while they sing.
I weep for my other four--
¬The ones now buried and left behind.


Can bear to leave.
or to lose another?
Remember, Lord. my blessing, For life within me stirs again.
My heart weighs heavy with this burden.
No home nor friends await this birth
in the isolated canyons of the San Juan.

"Turn Thou unto me,

For I am desolate and afflicted.

The troubles of my heart are enlarged:

O, bring Thou, me out of my distress."

Onward through cactus and cedar knolls
The dusty wagons creak. Spring's warmth renews
the promise of future harvest.
Fading desert flowers color the endless rise and fall of desert horizons.
Hope wells anew.

"The Lord is my strength and my shield:

My heart trusted in him, and I am helped:

Therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth:

And with song will I praise him."

Out of the riverts gorge, Up over the "backbone",
Horses and wagons strain.
Expectant children climb the crest of the hill,
only to see dusty horizons,
sifting sands
caked lands of alkali water and thirst.
Dry camp again.

Long stretches between
bitter springs and rest.
Coated tongues and dry hard tack.
Animals and men trudge dusty miles.

No water and more miles to go.

"My strength is dried up like a potsherd,

And my tongue cleaveth unto my jaws,

And thou hast brought me into The dust of death.

My heart is smitten and withereth like grass.

O Lord where is thy pavillion."

Dying cattle mark the desert trail
Choking teams plod past
Solitary Navajo shepherds guarding stagnant pools.
Then finally, halfway.
"Moan Copy" I am so tired:
of thirsty miles,
   jolting wagons,
       jaded teams,
           and dust.

I must rest and here there is water.

MAY 1879

Dry mesas and ghostly sandhills
glisten in the summer sun,
desolate landmarks for volunteer scouts.
Steadily northeastward
the Bilagaana etch their sandy trail
Safe passage assured
by precious gifts of water:
Holes dug by desperate, determined men
bereft of Moses' staff:
  Red Lake
      Lost Springs
          Alkali Gulch
               Marsh pass

     Always the search for Water


JUNE 1879

Weeks of waiting stretch Into final months of anxiety.
Where will this child of exile be born?
As pilgrims must we wander more,
seeking among the rising towers
a holy shrine to sanctify our
firm allegience?

"Make haste Lord to deliver me.

Make haste to help me, a Lord.

How shall I be delivered?

Where shall be my refuge?"

Burnt and weathered by hot blaze of summer
The scouts return promising safe passage.
"Come children, only a few days more
     and we'll be home. . ."
No house, no bricks, no logs,
              but home.

"Ye that fear the Lord, trust in the Lord;

He is their help and their shield.

The Lord has been mindful of us;

He will bless us, both great and small."

July 1879

Latter-day nomads staggle onward,
waterhole to waterhole,
along the homeward stretch,
Withered horses plod,
  Hooves dig deeper
   for water
    to quench parched throats,
Fourteen more days through
parched Arizona deserets,
Indian threats, anxiety and thirst
But finally, the river, and Montezuma's haven.

"O, give thanks unto the Lord,

We wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way;

We found no city to dwell in.

Hungry and thirsty, our souls fainted.

We cried unto the Lord in our trouble and

He delivered us out of our distresses

Into a land of our salvation."

AUGUST 2, 1879

Nobel child of the deseret
Resting peacefully in my arms
How patiently you waited through my travail,
  tears,
    testing,
       'til we reached home.

Home, a half-completed cabin on the San Juan
But more than Montezuma is your inheritance my child,
For I too, have been delivered,
And we shall be preserved.