THE PORCH AT EL TOVAR LODGE

View from the Porch at El Tovar Lodge

By the second day of our trip to the Grand Canyon, I turned to Joliene and asked, “What have you noticed about the people who live and work here in the Canyon?”  

Her response was, “You noticed it too, didn’t you?”  

What we noticed was how rough everyone looked, like their life had not been easy.  Every face had a character about it, a spirit of toughness…both in men and women.  I found myself trying to guess how they lived when not here in the Park.  

Life cannot be easy because the Canyon and the desert that surrounds it is not easy.  There is a harshness to the surroundings that I have never experienced before.  I found myself wondering about those who first stepped foot on these lands.  

The area surrounding the dessert is full of pine trees and cactus.  Wildlife in the area was once bountiful according to a Native American I spoke with, who allowed me to pepper her with questions.  Grasses grew waste high at one time, but for the last 100 years the area became more barren with the droughts that have become common thru today.  

On the way out of the Canyon we had stopped at an outlook over the rim that belonged to the Native Americans.  I struck up a conversation with the young man behind his table of goods.  I was fascinated with his slow, thoughtful and deliberate way of speech when he spoke of the reservation we were standing on.  His pride at being a Native American and the fact that they survive in such harsh surroundings was prominent but not boastful.  He shared the history of his land and as he spoke i wondered how many times had he gently shared this story so that the rest of us would understand what had happened to his people when the white man came through.  

There was a well earned pride of toughness in the two Native American’s that I spoke to.  

Looking at the Porch at El Tovar Lodge

There was a sweetness among the guests I met on the porch of the El Tovar Lodge.  From an older gentlemen in his 80’s—83 to be exact—whose age seemed prominent in his life these days without his love  by his side.  I heard about his retired life to Sun City (Phoenix) with his beautiful late wife and how his children would join them every year at Christmas here at the Lodge.  He was planning one more trip with the kids at Christmas this coming year, but he told me this would be his last.  His heart, body, and spirit no longer could carry him to this place filled with so many memories of his beloved.  

Then I met a couple from San Antonio, Texas.  A lawyer and his wife, also taking a sentimental journey to the Lodge and Canyon.  The last time they were here was a year before they were married and that was 26 years ago.  They seemed to be reconnecting and deciding that life is too special to just work and not stop to play.  I wanted to tell them how right they are.  That life can turn as fast a switch for a light and I was happy that they had recognized this before it was to late.

I met a women who worked for the Lodge for 5 years.  This was her day off and she was on the porch with me taking pictures of the storm rolling through the Canyon.  Hers was a tale of love lost at a young age, and she came to the Lodge to work.  She had no place else to go and no one to go with.  She was from Indiana originally.  It was apparent her heart was here in the Canyon.  The passion that filled her conversation as she spoke about the Canyon and how unforgiving it can be, yet tender and mesmerizing too, was apparent.  She has seen death from carelessness here at the Canyon.  There is no forgiveness for mistakes on the rims edge.

Other conversations on the porch of the El Tovar shared with me were equally as interesting and thought provoking.  All of us in our own way searching for that connection, that belonging, that desire to be at home in our hearts and spirits.  The porch was a very meditative experience for me.  As a conversation would end I found myself mulling over my experience and what I learned, and it is this;  I may be emotionally alone, but one cannot ever be alone unless we put ourselves out in the wilderness into total isolation.  I need only to open my mouth and say hello.  I did it on the porch at El Tovar.  I kept saying hello to everyone that crossed my path and sat beside me.  I learned from those who spoke to me.  I invited conversation into my moment and I felt connected, even if it was just for the few minutes we spent together.  Then I let go.  And I was me.  Just me.  No one ran away from me.  I didn’t have to do anything to earn their friendship or kindness.  I just sat there, gave it away, and let it fly.  And it was good.

I also gave thought to how life is a risk.  If we don’t take them we will never know where we may land or what opportunities can be opened to us.  Risk does not come without failure, but failure is only an opportunity to learn and then move on.  

Most important I know that life is worth living every day.  Age is only a marker on the body, but the mind can carry you anywhere.  When Pat died, the vulnerability of my youth came flying forward and was my guide in getting through these days.  Without him by my side, I thought I lost that confidence in accepting who I am and what I am and how the world would see me.  I became that young vulnerable women again who was afraid to be me.

But the conversations on the porch at El Tovar, and the people who touched my life, taught me that I am okay, just the way I am.  And that too is good.