Many years ago, I was with two clients on the South Rim.  At one of the more popular viewpoints, there was a corpulent guide announcing his knowledge with great valor and voice to his van group of 8 tourists.  I’m sure the passing river runners, 4600’ below, could hear his speech above the roar of Hance Rapid.  After his monologue, my client Tom walked over to him, and they spoke quietly for a minute.  Tom, a retired Pediatrician, is intelligent and entertaining.  I asked Tom about their conversation.

Tom had asked the guide if he’d ever been to the bottom of Grand Canyon.  The guide replied that he had done a river trip a few years ago.  He asked if the guide had ever hiked Grand Canyon.  The guide replied, No.  Tom wanted to know the man’s personal and physical experience with Grand Canyon after a Teddy Roosevelt-type speech.  He also did not want to embarrass the guide by asking these questions in front of the entire van mob.  The guide answered quietly, but honestly.  On our way back to Sedona, Tom mentioned choosing me as their guide was because of my physical relationship with the Canyon.

This experience helped me to understand the value of my life, not to those whom I serve, but to myself.  I came to understand the value of the knowledge I have gained from being there.  Wherever “there” is, was, or will be.  I am content in my relationship with geography.  In fact, I am in love with geography.  Canyons, mountains, creeks, rivers, valleys, mesas, and plateaus have been my classroom and playground.  My favorite saying is “Nowhere is now here”.  I’ve been nowhere countless times.  What fun it is!

I recently re-read the book “Wolfkiller”, an early 20^th-century interview with a Navajo man who lived in Monument Valley.  I was immediately taken back to those nowhere locations.  When Wolfkiller speaks of the canyons in which he took refuge to avoid the soldiers, I know those canyons.  When he speaks of the ancient ones from Tsegi, Keet Seel, and Betatakin who came to join the Navajos, I know those canyons.  And, of course, the incredibly beautiful Canyon de Chelly and Canyon del Muerto.  I know those canyons.

I’ve also learned that sacred sites are very much a function of the human love of geography.  It’s not only the specific site that is sacred, but it’s the surrounding area, where food and plants are gathered, livestock is grazed, game is hunted, and refuge is taken.  Experiencing these peripheral areas allows a more complete knowledge of lives lived nowhere.