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[read ebook] KAIBETO MEMORIES: a trader s daughter remembers

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KAIBETO MEMORIES: a trader s

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the Navajo Reservation at Kaibeto

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Description

KAIBETO MEMORIES: a trader's daughter remembers growing up on the

Navajo Reservation at Kaibeto Trading Post in remote northern Arizona,

1936-1960. By Elizabeth Anne Jones Dewveall.With her parents our author

witnessed first-hand a special chapter in U.S.-Native history as they

traded with a rural population of Native Americans. Theirs was an

isolated operation that was open dawn to dusk nearly every day. Their

trading post provided canned meats and fruits, tobacco, ammunition, and

cloth for dress-making-- and received in exchange sheep hides, wool,

artfully-woven rugs, and silver-and-turquoise jewelry. Transactions were

in pawn, credit, or cash. There was no other store. The Natives adapted

their culture as the traders adapted theirs. Elizabeth Anne makes

points, often incidentally, that understanding and cooperation are the

ways to meet mutual needs, with a byproduct being acceptance of

differences that begets mutual respect.For instance, trader parents

Ralph and Juia Jones interacted compatibly with their patrons and

occasional employees in ways that induced a Native couple to name their

children Ralph and Julia: "Little Ralph" and "Little Julia".And again,

Elizabeth Anne tells of "watermelon day" when a truckload of the sweet

and juicy fruit arrived from the nearby Hopi Reservation, and all

present sliced and slurped together: "We may have been a group divided

by language and culture, but on watermelon day we were supremely united

by taste buds and flavor. "The Kaibeto Memories were remembered long

after their occurrence, for during recent COVID downtime Elizabeth Anne

recorded her experiences for family and friends. After urging that her

stories were an important aspect of U.S., Native, and Southwest history

and anthropology, she allowed them to be published for others.Now

abandoned, the Kaibeto Trading Post was situated near a life-giving

spring in a region where roads were more like paths in the sand and over

rocky ridges, snow-covered in winter and subject to flash floods any

time. Here is where author Elizabeth Anne spent her childhood, with more

Native Americans as playmates than those of her own race and where she

learned to be a young trader. She chronicles incidents with

rattlesnakes, favorite dogs, fishing in a now-forgotten desert lake,

exploring nearby canyons alone, visits from relatives to her "digs"--

always in the context of an only child in close contact with involved

parents--and then away to distant schools, and finally her own marriage

and operation of the post as her own family comes to be.To Elizabeth

Anne, some of her stories must be told. Here is another:"We had a picnic

where some huge cottonwood trees provided luxuriant shade. I was at the

stage of pregnancy where I didn't care if I had a boy or a girl, I just

wanted "it" out... I was seated on the ground, leaning against a tree

trunk and thinking I was not going to be able to get up until my husband

showed up to help. I dozed off and then heard footsteps. When I opened

my eyes, it was not Bob who stood there but a little Hopi man named Mark

Quarshero. In his right hand he held a beautifully painted gourd rattle

which he began shaking over my bulging middle. It didn't take long for

him to tell me there was a little girl in there. He gave me the rattle

for her protection, then walked away as if he had done the most normal

thing in the world. SueAnne still has the rattle. I still have the sweet

memory."

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