I’m going to start this post at the end, then go back to the beginning, back to the end, and then back to the beginning of this day trip. I know, I know, just work with me here.

Tonight was the first night in a long time I had a chance to have a fire. Everywhere I’ve been for quite awhile there’s been open fire bans. I still have the very last of the wood I bought from Earl. Remember Earl?

This morning these words were in Jesus Calling for today.

Pause before responding to people or situations, giving My Spirit space to act through you.

Back to my stare down with the fire. Somehow these words seem to fit the day, but I was unable to identify exactly why that seemed so. Maybe it’s just because they fit so well with every day.

I thought a lot about Reservations as I know them. In my younger days I knew Native Americans from the Cass Lake and Red Lake Reservations. I thought about casinos and my own perceived good and bad about them. I feel conflicted. My conservative friends would role their eyes, but the part of me that craves social justice on all levels was rekindling guilt. Not just the guilt about the historical treatment of Native Americans, but even more aggravating, the guilt that I have these feelings just because it’s been right in front of me for a couple of days. The Scouts that worked for the army and tracked Geronimo, believing that things would be better when the war between the Apaches and the army ended, took the screwing of all time. Once Geronimo came in they were disarmed, detained, and shipped in the same trains that Geronimo and his people rode when banished to Oklahoma and Florida.

The army came to Ft. Apache to kill Indians but instead they came to the village of White River and found people waving white flags and welcoming them. It didn’t last.

Today, White River is a sleepy little reservation town. It’s claim to fame is it’s proximity to Ft. Apache. As I was rolling through town I spotted a mass of cars parked down one of the side streets. The curious wanderer stopped to see what all the fuss was about. Turns out it was a neighborhood yard sale turned political rally. It’s election time for Tribal Council positions. There was a young man standing on a picnic table with a small PA unit and a mike. Couldn’t follow all of his references but the gist of what he was saying seemed to be Pride without Action is meaningless. Hmm, sounds vaguely like the faith without works challenge.

To be sure, there are homesteads that probably fulfill all of the stereotypes people have of the way some of today’s Native Americans live. But there is evidence of the good that comes from casino money.

There are new, low-income homes that are administered by the White Mountain Apache Housing Authority. They have a modern medical facility and a new, fully equipped fire department. I’m convinced these things don’t happen on the rez without casino money.

I’m not sure I would recommend Ft. Apache as a side trip to the casual traveler. But to anyone who likes history it’s a good diversion. However Rin Tin Tin is not here nor is there any evidence that there was ever a stockade at Fr. Apache. The army just moved into the area en masse and started establishing the buildings that army posts of that era had.

The original quarters of General Crook was one of the few wood structures to survive a fire that swept the north side of the fort in the 1880s. The fire was not the result of an attack but rather a faulty chimney fire swept by high winds. Ironically, the Tribal Cultural Center undertook to restore the building in the 1990s.

The replacement buildings were almost all built with limestone blocks or limestone and stucco. The fort grounds are administered by the local tribe and the original Adjutant’s Office is today a working Post Office.

As the war with the Indians wound down and the army began to abandon the site, Teddy Roosevelt established a school for Indian Children. Many of the original children were Navajo, but eventually it became a mix of Navajo, Hopi, and Apache.

This boy’s dorm was built in the 1920s. A similar, but not identical, girls dorm is built at the opposite end of the parade grounds. As far away as possible from the boys. 🙂

There were two sites I searched for off the Fort Grounds, the cemetery and an old mill site. I found the cemetery with some difficulty. This cemetery was originally used for soldiers and their family members as well as scouts and their families. After the army abandoned the fort the remains of non Indians were moved to the National Cemetery in Sante Fe, NM. The grave sites of the Indians were undisturbed and some remarked.

This is a photo of what appeared to be the oldest marker in the cemetery. There were no discernable markings on either side. It is the only photo I took. I felt my presence there was disturbance enough of the grounds.  Many of the markers say simply Indian Child, Unknown, or Scout.  One simply said, Teacher.

The old mill site I never found. I remembered from a map of the grounds outside the museum that it was near a ceremonial site, so I didn’t want to wander into a place where my presence might be disrespectful.

This is the disheveled remains of the only identifiable location of the enlisted men’s quarters. Isn’t that just like the army; the officer’s row was rebuilt and preserved while the enlisted quarters slowly go back to mother earth.

The old guard house. This was a long post I know.  I struggled with this one, as evidenced that it was Saturday and I’m finally posting it on Tuesday.  A lot of what I wrote for a couple of days I never used.  But this is what survived.

Incidentally, I was the only white person I saw here all day.  You can’t tell from the photos but when I first got here there were about two hundred little Indian kids running around having an Easter Egg Hunt.  No one seemed to mind my presence.  The kids were a treat and the best place I can think of to end this post.