Twin Lakes, NM
I believe it is important to take care of your community and not expect anything in return. Helping others out of kindness and looking out for future generations is something we should all focus on. Even when services are limited, communities can stay strong by supporting one another.
Fort Defiance, AZ
When I was growing up, Navajo was spoken everywhere in the home, outside, with family, with neighbors. It wasn’t something we had to think about. It was just part of our everyday life. Herding sheep was something every household did. We were outside, learning responsibility, learning from our elders. We attended traditional ceremonies, and those teachings stayed with us.
Naschitti, NM
My grandfather, born in 1896, passed into the spirit world in 1979 when I was twenty-seven. My grandmother died in 1955, at which time I was four years old. They had four children; one lost their life during World War II before 1940 and another passed away in 1930.
Teec Nos Pos, AZ
These younger people don’t always know how it used to be. Back then, winters were heavy. Snow would drift so deep you had to dig your way out. The hills were covered, nothing like what we see today.
Dilkon, AZ
There is no cell service where we live, which is in a place called Sunflower Butte, southeast of Dilkon. If we need medical help, we have to drive to the hospital, which is about 15 minutes to Dilkon. For more advanced care, we are referred to Winslow, which is about 30 minutes away. From the main road to our house, it is about a five-minute drive, but the road is very rough.
Tsé Daa’ Kaan, NM
Being shaken awake before sunrise, I can still hear my cheii’s voice calling out, “Get up! The sheep are on their way to the grazing fields.” I would jump up half asleep, grabbing a piece of hot ash bread with peanut butter and my gallon jug of water, running out into the dark morning with the sunrise not far behind.
Window Rock AZ
I see companies coming into Diné land, wanting to take what we have, pulling from the ground without thinking about the people who live here. They don’t see what we see. To them, it’s resources. To us, this is home. This is where we live, where our families are.
Sanostee NM
When I was younger, winters were different. Snow would start in October and last into May. I remember in my junior year of High School, 1980, everything was clear on May 5th, but the next morning we woke up to a foot of snow. There were no “snow days” back then. The bus still came down the dirt roads, and we walked half a mile to meet it, snow or sunshine.
Our parents would wake us up before sunrise, telling us to go run. We would run in the dark, calling out so the Holy People would hear us. That was part of staying strong and living a long life.
In the summer, our family went to the mountains to gather berries and plants. In the fall, we collected juniper, piñon, oak, and roots. We boiled them like tea that was our medicine. We didn’t depend on clinics the way we do now. We knew how to take care of ourselves.
Today, I see things differently not just from experience, but from the work I’ve done. I’ve been working with grazing and land management since the early 2000s, and one thing is clear: if we don’t take care of the land, it won’t take care of us.
I’ve seen what overgrazing can do. I’ve seen how water sources affect everything grass, livestock, and our way of life. But I’ve also seen change. When people work together and pay attention to what’s being shared policies, plans, and knowledge we can restore balance.
Everything is connected land, water, animals, and people.
What we knew back then wasn’t just tradition, it was a system of survival and wellness. That’s something we need to remember if we want to move forward.
— Alonzo Cohoe, Sanostee, May 2026