On The Bright Angel Trail Is The Indian Garden,
Where, For Many Years, The Havasupais Used To Cultivate Their Corn, Beans,
Onions And Melons.
Along the Shinumo, on the north side, Mr. Bass has a
garden where all these things grow; where peaches, plums, grapes, and
apricots have thriven abundantly, and where now he is planting figs,
lemons, oranges and grape-fruit.
The Havasupais, in the depths of their
Canyon, grow the finest, largest and most tender corn in the world,
peaches and figs galore, and all the ordinary vegetables. Boucher also has
fruit and vegetables on the level near the river, on his trail. At Lee's
Ferry also, Elder Emet has his gardens and orchards, as well as fine
alfalfa fields. Nothing is more delightful than to come, after a hot
journey down the trail, to these unexpected oases in the heart of the
canyons.
Soil on the River and in the Canyon. The soil of the "above," too,
largely differs from the soil of the "below." On the plateaus above, there
are millions of acres, most of which careful examination shows to be
covered with disintegrated rock and comparatively little vegetable soil,
except below the surface. The winds and rains have carried away the softer
and lighter soil, and allowed the heavier and harder rocks to remain. This
process goes on all the time. In the depths of the Canyon, however, except
on the steeper slopes, the soil remains.
The Silence on the Rim. A remarkable contrast between the rim and the
Canyon is sometimes found in the absolute silence above, and the roar of
the river below. It often occurs that not a sound of any kind can be heard
on the rim but one's breathing and the beating of his own heart. One
morning I lay for an hour before I arose, and during the whole of that
time, though I listened again and again, not the slightest sound reached my
ears save the two named.
Song of the River. Now descend to the river and, day or night, early or
late, June or December, hot or cold, wet or dry, fair or stormy, the roar
and rush, fret and fume of the water is never out of one's ears. Even when
asleep it seems to "seep" in through the benumbed senses, and tell of its
never-ending flow. After a few weeks of it, one comes away and finds he
cannot sleep. He misses it and finds himself unable to sleep away from the
accustomed noise.
The Wind. In nothing is the difference of "above" and "below" more
marked than in the wind. Last night on the rim the wind blew almost a gale.
The pines sang loudly, and one could hear their roar for miles. A dozen
times I awoke and listened to their weird music. If you go outdoors, the
wind plays with your hair, and tosses garments to and fro with frolicsome
glee, or even, at times, with apparent angry fury. There are times when the
wind comes toward you, on the rim, with a rapidity and force that are
startling. Every one has had the experience of hearing a military band
approaching from a distance.
As it comes nearer, the sound grows louder and louder, and if it approaches
with great rapidity, as for instance, in an automobile or a speeding
electric car, the music assails the ear with an increasing force that is a
surprise. It is just so with the noises of the wind at the rim of the
Canyon.
Now leave the rim and walk down the trail a couple of rods. All is quiet
and still. The change is startling m its suddenness. The wind may be
blowing far above you, and if you listen, you will hear its effect in the
trees, but here, where you stand, you are protected and sheltered.
Diversity of Color. Perhaps the greatest difference between the rim and the
interior of the Canyon is found in the diversity in color and feature
between them. While there is a fascination to the long, wide stretches of
plateau on the rim, and the forest has its attractive points, there are not
many prominent features (looking away from the Canyon) that would occupy
the attention of travellers. There is little striking in color, in scenery,
in rocky contour. Plains, trees, sky, clouds, sunset, - and nearly all is
said. But immediately one stands on the rim and looks below, all is
changed. Here is feature after feature that compels not only attention but
reverent homage. Color such as is seen nowhere else in the world on such a
grand scale; massive walls that have no counterpart; rock forms that dazzle
and bewilder; and an unfoldment of the stone book of creation that is alike
a joy and a pain, a delight and a sorrow, a something seen at a glance, and
that requires a lifetime to comprehend.
CHAPTER XV. The Hopi House
The Harvey Collection at El Tovar. In the Hopi House, opposite the El Tovar
entrance, is installed one of the most interesting Indian collections of
the world, - a collection that would grace the National Museum of Great
Britain, France or Germany. The more intelligent the visitor to the Grand
Canyon, the more he will find he can learn in this wonderful storehouse
provided for his instruction and recreation.
The Hopi House. The building itself is a perfect model of a block in the
village of Oraibi, one of the seven Hopi pueblos. It is three stories high,
and contains many rooms. The original is supposed to accommodate forty-five
families. It is built of the chips of sandstone and other rock in
accordance with Hopi custom, rudely and irregularly laid in mortar. It is
of the terraced style of architecture, each story receding from the one
below it, so that the "second story front" finds a ready courtyard on the
roof of the "first story front," and the "third story front" on that of
the "second story front."
Houses that were Forts.
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