Sinagua Rising

by R. G. Andersen-Wyckoff

  The next morning, as Travis had requested, they stopped at the Ace Hardware on the way out of town. Travis and Tate entered the store. It appeared that no one had been there since their last visit. If there wasn’t food, water, guns, or ammunition to be taken there was no reason to visit the establishment—and those items were long gone. But Travis knew exactly what he wanted. Within minutes he emerged carrying two, long-handled swimming pool skimmers and three top-of-the-line fish landing nets. Tate followed close behind with a shopping basket loaded with sacks of fish food. They off-loaded the bootie into the back of the pickup and then went back inside. When they emerged again they were both carrying baskets with smaller boxes of fish food. “Heck,” said Travis, “they had perfectly good supplies of fish food that people used for their aquariums and Koi ponds. Don’t see why we can’t use it to help feed our fish. And, the use for the fish nets is pretty obvious,” he added.

  “What about the skimmers?” asked Bishop, smiling. “Are you planning on cleaning some swimming pools?”

  “A swimming pool would be nice,” Travis responded with a chuckle. “I figured we could cut the skimming nets off the ends and tape the other fish nets to the long poles, so we can reach farther out into the ponds.”

  “That makes sense,” said Bishop, “and that also tells me why we brought a roll of duct tape and a hacksaw along.”

  The trip to the trout farm in Oak Creek Canyon took longer than normal due to the number of vehicles littering the roadway. As they passed Tlaquepaque, the upscale shopping development before entering Sedona proper, they noticed that it was untouched by fire but a shambles otherwise. It was obvious looters had had a field day cleaning out the various arts and crafts shops and restaurants; probably early in the CME crisis. Why they had also destroyed the walls, sculptures and other accouterments of the once glamorous complex was beyond their comprehension. Then at the “Y”, where highway 179, from the Village, met 89a, the highway through Sedona from the west that continued up Oak Creek Canyon, toward Flagstaff, the Hyatt Resort—or what was left of it, sat up on a hill in the crook of the “Y.” It was nothing but burned rubble now, burned either from the initial CME or a later fire. In fact, there was nothing left standing on the hill.

  As they entered uptown Sedona, the famous shopping street that, along with the red rocks, drew over 400,000 visitors each year, they found the west side burned, as well, but the east side was more hit and miss. As a former member of the Greater Sedona Chamber of Commerce, Bishop could not help but grieve at the destruction, not only of the businesses but the lives that were tied to them.

  A few minutes later, in an area of the forest that had seemingly escaped any significant fire, they pulled off into a gravel parking lot on the east side of the road. Beyond the parking lot lay two large ponds with Oak Creek running by. Because it was spring runoff time, the creek was at full flow and looked more like a river than a creek. A beautiful log cabin sat in the woods south of the pond. Everything looked neat and well taken care of. There was no debris anywhere.

  They walked down to the edge of the nearest pond, about one-quarter acre in size. A PVC intake line ran from the creek to the first lake by gravity flow and then through an outlet from the first pond to the second pond, which was at a lower elevation than the first and a bit smaller, and then back to the creek. This not only introduced fresh water but oxygen to the ponds. Both ponds had bubblers for aeration, as well, but without electricity they weren’t working. As the men approached the edge of the pond it began to roil as uncountable numbers of trout crowded the edge.

  “Y’all here to do some fishin’?” a raspy voice asked from behind the men.

  They had not heard anyone approach and were startled. As they turned around they were greeted by a grizzled old man, 90 if he was a day. He was only about 5’7” tall and probably 125 pounds soaking wet. He wore rubber waders, bib overalls, a plaid shirt, and a straw hat. He was well-tanned, what could be seen of his skin. His gray whiskers stuck out like bristles and his unruly gray hair hung from under his hat, nearly to his shoulders. His eyes were a rheumy gray—but he had a big smile on his face.

  “Well,” responded Travis, “you might say that. Are you open for business?” he asked, suspecting that the old man’s mental acuity might be impaired.

  “We’re always open,” the old man replied. “Haven’t seen any fishermen in a while,” he mused, “for some reason. Do you have poles or do you need to rent them? My name’s Ezra Hurley,” he said, extending his hand, “and this here is me and my son’s place.”

  “Is Michael Hurley your son?” Bishop asked.

  “Sure nuf,” replied the old man, “you know him?”

  “I met him once at a Chamber of Commerce meeting. But it’s been some time ago,” Bishop responded. “Is he here?”

  “No,” replied the old man. “He left some time ago to get supplies but hasn’t come back, yet.”

  “When was that?” asked Bishop. “How long ago did he leave?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure,” responded the old man. “It was before the ‘lectricity went off though. I expect him any time, though.”

  Bishop and Travis both knew that the old man, Ezra Hurley, had no grasp of time and that, if his son hadn’t come back by now, he wasn’t going to.

  “So, you’re running this place all by yourself now?” asked Travis.

  “Well, me and the Missus,” he replied, “but she’s been feeling poorly lately and been to bed mostly. But I clean up the place ev’ry day, as always, and feed the fish and skim the debris and floaters (referring to dead fish) from the ponds.”

  “Everything looks really nice,” replied Travis.

  “Hi,” said the old man, “my name’s Ezra Hurley. You here to do some fishin’?”

  They weren’t sure how to respond, so Travis reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Even though he really had no need for a wallet these days, it was force of habit to keep it with him. He flipped it open, revealing his gold USDA Inspectors badge.

  “I’m Travis Brenner,” he responded to the old man, “and I’m with the USDA. I’m really glad to meet you, Ezra.”

  “Don’t know what no USDA is,” the old man responded, “but if you want to go fishin’ just go ahead. I got way too many trout in there and don’t have enough food to keep feedin’um for much longer—until Michael gets back.”

  “Well,” said Travis, “the USDA checks on fish farms to make sure the fish are healthy, so contaminated fish don’t get caught and eaten, making people sick.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing,” responded the old man as he turned and started walking back toward the house. “You just go ahead and check to your heart’s delight and you take as many fish as you like. Don’t like to have so many floaters. I gots to get my missus some soup.”

  “Thank you,” said Bishop. “Do you have enough food and water?” he asked.”

  “Sure nuf’,” responded the old man. “We got a big pantry and we got fish. We got water in the old Oak Creek. We got a big pot-bellied stove for heat and cooking, and plenty of wood to fire it up. My eyes are too bad for reading much anymore, so when it gets dark I jist go to bed. And, Michael will be bringing more supplies when he gets back. So we’re fine. Me and the missus don’t have that many years left anyway, so we don’t have much need we can’t meet right here. Y’all have a good day now, ya hear, and help yourself to the fish.” With that the old man walked on to his porch and into the house.

  “Well,” said Bishop, “I feel sorry for Ezra. It’s apparent he’s losing his sight and has already lost much of his mental acuity. But there’s not much we can do for him and, if his missus is as old and frail as he is, their days are numbered. Best to leave them here in a place they love.”

  “I agree,” said Travis, “so let’s get some fish.”

  They got the landing nets from the truck. Travis figured they really wouldn’t need the long poles because the fish were right up by the edge of the lake waiting to be caught; pro
bably because they were used to the old man standing by the pond’s edge and feeding them, he thought. The fish looked very healthy despite not having operating bubblers.

  They took turns netting the fish and putting them into the five-gallon buckets they had brought, in which they had put some pond water, and then carrying the buckets to the trailer, where they put the fish in the 55-gallen barrels. Both lakes were obviously overstocked and they felt no guilt in netting the fish until their arms were too sore to carry the buckets anymore. And, the barrels were full. Travis put some fish food into each barrel and secured the lids on them, leaving the intakes on the top open to allow air in.

  On the way back to Duwa, they made a little diversion at Bishop’s request—they stopped at a shop just past Tlaquepaque that dealt in expensive rugs. Surprisingly, the plate glass windows and door were unbroken. In fact, the interior of the shop was untouched, like the owner had just locked up and gone home before the CME, never to return. At Bishop’s direction, they filled the center isle of the trailer with rolls of plush, expensive, rugs, better than any of the inhabitants of Duwa would have normally purchased. Then they headed back to Duwa with as much deliberate speed as they dared, radioing when they were nearing the Village. Back at Duwa they reversed the process of netting the fish and putting them into the buckets, after first unloading the beautiful rugs for the women to delightedly place in their tents. This time they had the garden carts to wheel the buckets of fish to the base of the stairs and from the top of the stairs to greenhouse, where Travis supervised placing them carefully into the three large fish tanks. Don’t want to hurt them in any way, thought Travis, they’re way too valuable. Once the barrels were emptied of fish, Jack helped out by hosing out the barrels and putting them back where they came from to gather rain water the next time it occurred.

  The entire exercise had taken them the greater part of the day and they were exhausted. Bishop and Travis decided a nap was in order but the two young men were still too excited and spent the balance of the afternoon regaling the others with the story of their fishing trip. Bishop and Travis awoke just in time for dinner, awakened by the smell of venison stew wafting through their tents.

  ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘

  In the days that followed, Travis, Jason, and Tate began moving some of the seedling plants that were beginning to leaf from the seedling beds into the new greenhouse growing beds so the aquaponics system could begin working its magic. Travis figured it would take six to eight weeks before the first harvest could occur, somewhere around the first part of July.

  They also moved soil, mixed with some of the fertilizer they had taken from the golf course cart barn, to fill the two small kivas and then replanted the mandarin orange and apple tree in them. To Carly’s delight, Travis planted the space around the apple tree with flowers from his old greenhouse, and then he planted watermelon and cantaloupe seeds around the orange tree. The lemon trees were most susceptible to cold temperatures, so they were planted near the interior south wall of the greenhouse where they would receive plenty of sunlight but be sheltered from the cold.

  Jack, Tate, and Jason, when he wasn’t on his security rounds, worked daily in both greenhouses. They tended the seed beds and growing beds in the new greenhouse, fed the fish, and removed the fish excretions collected in the small settling tanks. They were amazed at the amount of fertilizer these seemingly happy trout produced, which was then used in other planting areas. The old greenhouse continued to be used for growing flowers, starter plants for fruit trees, and the climbing berries and beans that were still producing. Eventually, all of this would be accomplished in the large greenhouse, but for now it was convenient to continue using the old one, as well.

  Matt and Mattie joined the three of them in preparing Duwa Valley for planting, as well. Matt ran the till over the previously planted winter wheat, some of which had grown well, some had been eaten by the deer, and some had been washed over the cliff at the end of the valley, and was now taking root in Woods Canyon. Both Matt and Travis thought this would be a good idea to strengthen and fertilize the soil for planting corn, squash, and beans, much like the Sinagua had done, but Duwa had water. And, the wheat would help to reseed itself for next year. When the planting was completed, Travis made sure everyone knew that once the vegetables were ready to be harvested, whether in the field or in the greenhouse, he would be leaving some plants to go to seed in order to keep a ready supply of seeds on hand. The packaged seeds he had would someday run out and the new seeds would be mandatory for their survival.

  They moved the beehive into the new greenhouse but situated it in a way that the bees had ready access in both directions: the inside of the greenhouse and the outdoors. They were going to have to be “busy little bees,” Travis had quipped.

  He also built two fly traps by cutting one of the rain barrels in half and placing the open end on the ground. He cut openings in the closed ends and in each opening he placed a large funnel, on permanent loan from Michael. Underneath each barrel he placed some of the vegetable waste from their first harvest, along with some remnants of deer fat and venison. In the future they would add any fruit or vegetable wastes available. He explained that flies would be drawn to the garbage and would enter the barrels through the funnels. Once inside they would not be able to get back out. They would lay their eggs in the garbage and the eggs would grow into larvae, at which time Travis and his crew would harvest the larvae to feed to the fish. The composting barrels were placed behind the new greenhouse, so the flies wouldn’t be drawn into the living areas.

  ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘

  The work of cleaning out the rubble from all the pueblo rooms was nearing completion when Tara, who had been leading a group of women and children doing the work in one of the rooms, called for her husband to join them. When Tanner arrived, she showed him what had prompted her call. The room was cleared right down to the hard clay floor and, in the middle of the floor, was a bone sticking out of the clay. Looking at the bone, Tanner determined it was a small human arm bone. He carefully extracted the bone with a trowel, dug a small trench beside where it had been found, and reburied it. He explained to Tara and the others that, when a small child or baby died, it was very common for the Sinagua to bury the child beneath the floor of their house, thereby keeping the soul of the child close by. “It was only common decency to rebury the bone,” he said, “with the remainder of the skeleton,” which he assumed was also under the clay flooring.

  With the rooms now all cleared, they began stabilizing and rebuilding all the lower room walls using the red sandstone rocks that had been salvaged and using cement to mortar them in place. They also dug holes in the corners of each room in which to place telephone poles to support the roof or upper floor beams.

  Colby and Bud supervised the work so everything would be sturdy enough to hold the joists that would span the rooms. The Sinagua “condominium complex” began to take shape, but it would take until next winter to finish all the work. And, Bud and Colby had another major project to consider—the meeting hall/kitchen and restroom building.

  ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘

  It may be a cliché but, with spring, romance was in the air. It was apparent to all the adults that the relationships between Philip and Jessie and Jason and Kathleen had blossomed into full-blown love affairs. While the two couples took advantage of the moonlight and stars to spend quiet time with their significant other, the adults took the opportunity to talk about the situation. The first thing they agreed on was that though the love affairs were normal, the circumstances were not.

  They discussed Philip and Jessie first, because they had the fewest obstacles. Both individuals were of legal age, even if there was no official agency to enforce it. They had known each other for almost a year now and the spark had ignited almost from the first time they met. The adults around the table were not so old they weren’t still romantics at heart. Philip had discussed his feelings for Jessie with Jack. Jack had listened intently and knew this was no school
-kid fling. And, Jessie had discussed it with her mother, who gave her blessing almost immediately. She, too, had fallen in love, though a different sort of love, with Philip when she was first introduced to him by Jessie. They all agreed that when Philip and Jessie felt the time was right—they had the community’s blessing.

  The affair between Jason and Kathleen was, admittedly, different. Though they had known each other as long as Philip and Jessie, they were a couple of years younger—and Kathleen had a child. Storm had been growing more each day and had been cared for by not only Kathleen, but Elle and Melanie. But, almost more importantly, Jason had been a constant in baby Storm’s life every minute that his other responsibilities didn’t take him away from Kathleen and the baby’s side. Bishop spoke highly of Jason’s personal growth since the CME and indicated he had no reservations when it came to Jason’s intentions. Cole and Maria echoed Bishop’s comments and added that they couldn’t believe the change that had come over Jason since the CME, adding that they felt Bishop’s influence had a lot to do with it. Michael and Elle knew how Kathleen felt about Jason, liked him, and felt that having someone like Jason in Kathleen’s life had helped to ground both of them, and they were a ready-made family if ever they saw one.

  So, the decisions were made: there would be weddings in Duwa when the two couples determined they were ready. They all suggested that Bishop perform some sort of marriage ceremony, even though he wasn’t a minister, because he was their leader. And, again, there was no agency to tell them what was legal or not—they collectively made that decision.