Plane, Train, and Automobile, Ep. 27

Episode 27: Celebrating Arizona

Julie takes us back to the Salt River flood of 1980, then Lisa up to a trading post run by a fourth-generation Navajo trader.

Mug: Hubbel Trading Post

From “Calling Arizona Home”

by Lisa Schnebly Heidinger and Fred DuVal

       One of the most engaging things about Burnham is that when he describes marrying Virginia, he becomes hushed and reverent.

       “A traditional Navajo wedding ceremony is the most meaningful thing that can happen to a man. It was very spiritual.”

       Marriage is arranged between the wife’s family and the husband’s uncle.  Burnham’s boss stood in and worked out the dowry,.

       “In my case that was a cow, a Concho belt, and a new car I paid for her.”

       Then Burnham’s friends and relatives were supposed to come to the bride’s home for several days.

       “All my Navajo friends, a lot of the older medicine men and the bootlegger were hanging out and playing cards before the wedding.  Half got drunk and passed out, and didn’t make it.”

       But the half that did shared in what Burnham calls “a very functional ceremony.

       “Everything serves a purpose. The entourage comes to the woman’s home because all the man’s obligations go to her family.  They gain a worker.”

       “Everyone had to eat, everyone had to participate; it was a way of blessing the union.”

       Burnham wasn’t regarded as an outsider, but his new in-laws were aware his clan had different tastes.

       “They had a huge feast, and tried to have everything white people would want: yeast rolls, Waldorf salad, roast turkey, ham, beef,” he says.  ‘Then for the Navajo side was mutton stew, sheep intestines cleaned and filled to make blood sausage, and fry bread.  All the Navajos showed up and went for the Waldorf salad, and all the whites were over on the other side eating mutton stew and fry bread.”

Copyright 20025 Fred DuVal, Used with permission

Body of Water

by Julie Morrison

Perhaps I’ve sought rivers most

when I feel like a puddle—

stepped on by life,

wondering how long I’ll last

in this diminishing state—

longing for some sense of flow,

the relief of being floated,

carried, weightless—

for what else am I but water

whorling as I rush and spill,

feeling for depths or unexplored expanse

seeking some new level—

though I am not so together as a lake—

I like pools, but have no wish to pond—

stillness means settling

and the water within me teems,

coursing—picking some things up

as I travel, leaving more behind—

worlds within every one of my drops

quickened by release into room

to race, roll, poke about,

pull some in, put others off,

gravity and me in a splash dance

as we play.

Copyright 2025 Julie Morrison, All rights reserved