Free Gardens in the Dunes by Leslie Marmon Silko

others wanted to pay such a high price to farm along the river, that was their choice.
    Grandma Fleet said they did have a few cousins who lived on the reservation at Parker. The girls never met them because the authorities punished the reservation Indians for any contact they had with the renegades.
    â€œIf anything happens to me, you girls stay here. You belong here. Your mama knows she will find you here. Otherwise, how will she ever find you? If you need something, go ask our friend Mrs. Van Wagnen. Watch out or the authorities will catch you two and ship you off to school.”
    The location of the old gardens and the spring was known to the authorities, but they still were safest there, because the journey from the river to the old gardens was difficult for the horses. Miles of deep sand that exhausted the horses were followed by fields of sharp black lava so hard that the horses’ shoes wore thin and broke. After they left the river, the horses were without water for two days. Now, as far as anyone knew, the old gardens were abandoned; even if someone did come, the cliff swallows would signal their approach by circling nervously around their nests. All sounds in the canyons were amplified by the sandstone formations. The flash of the sun off metal, the clinking sounds of bits, spurs, carbines, lids of canteens, and the coughs and sneezes of the men and the horses gave plenty of warning.
    The sun broke through the clouds in the west and warmed them even as the last raindrops fell. How sweet the air smelled after the rain! Indigo was hungry. She raced Sister Salt down the winding trail, down between the sand dunes to the dugout house. They were at the house only long enough to get dried fruit and a bit of jerky. Grandma Fleet said once farmers finished the planting they might eat a bit of meat. Sister Salt pointed at the empty muslin sack folded neatly at the bottom of the storage jar; Indigo nodded. Next time Grandma sent them for more dried meat they would have to confess the greedy feast they enjoyed while she was gone.
    Now that the seeds were planted, they slept in the dunes above the gardensto protect the seeds from rodents. In the heat of the day, when the birds and rodents were less active, they returned to the cool dark dugout house to rest until sundown. Once the seedlings were up, they pulled weeds in the coolness of the moonlight.
    On the highest dune, near the spring, Grandma Fleet dug herself a little pit house in the fine sand right below the mound where she planted the apricot seeds. At first Indigo and Sister Salt paid little attention because their grandmother liked to dig down into the sand to find the coolness; but then Grandma Fleet arranged willow branches in a latticework to hold more willow branches to form a roof over the dugout. Now Grandma Fleet no longer bothered to walk all the way back down the trail to sleep at the house; the girls passed the heat of the day alone in the old dugout house. Grandma insisted her burrow below the apricot seedlings was just as cool as the old house, and it saved her energy; the walk up the trail between the dunes was too difficult for her now.
    â€œThese baby apricot trees need me close by,” Grandma Fleet teased. “Look at them! Aren’t they lovely?” The dark green seedlings were knee high by the time the baby squash and baby beans were ready to eat.
    Grandma stayed with the gardens, while they went to gather the prickly pear fruit, and later, the mesquite beans. Grandma showed them how to boil the prickly pear fruit into a thick, sweet paste which she dried in the sun. The mesquite beans had to be dried then roasted and stored carefully; otherwise, the little bugs would eat them. After the girls had finished their chores, they played games, made contests to see who could hit the target with a rock or stick from the greatest distance. They made targets out of precarious stacks of flat stones or with piles of kindling wood. They both