“It’s howling,” I remark.
“Whew, Whew, Whew,” the wind whistles.
Heather and Dad join us outside to see what is going on? The force of the wind continues to grow. It sounds like a train rolling down the tracks.
As I stand at the back of the house, a distant cloud of dust and sand is coming straight at me from the desert. A wall as tall and wide as the eye can see. Sand and tumbleweeds zip by us at lightning speed. Suddenly, fierce blowing currents of air and sand hit me square in the face pushing me back. I cover my face and turn away. I‘m almost knocked to the ground. The giant dust cloud is so thick I can hardly see. The storm is raging now, sending sand flying sideways as the wind screeches in an unnatural way.
Neewa lies down and gets into a tight ball with her tail covering her face. She seems to know exactly what to do. It’s as if she’s already been in a storm like this before.
Diane, Jackie, and I kneel down next to Neewa. I cover us with my jacket and we huddle close to the house for protection.
Sand bounces off of my jacket making pinging sounds, and strikes everything around us. My exposed skin is getting a peppering, actually stinging me.
I peek out from under my jacket, looking in the direction of Heather and Dad. They are covered by one of Heather’s handwoven ceremonial blankets.
The wind-driven earth engulfs them as Heather steps out from under cover of the blanket. She puts her arms straight out as if to embrace the squall. Eyes closed, she looks up into the sky and smiles.
What is Heather doing? Why is she looking into the sand storm? If I didn’t know better, I’d think she is communicating with some power beyond the ordinary, a spiritual, supernatural force.
I look away and take cover under my jacket with Diane and Jackie while Neewa remains at our feet. Neewa is still curled up in a ball as sand continues to pile up on her back and around her head, everywhere. I have never experienced this before. We don’t have storms like this back home.
Thankfully the howling winds are beginning to subside. The blowing sand is settling as the eerie screeching sounds dissipate. As quickly as it came, the storm exits in silence continuing on its path across the desert.
I take my jacket off of our heads as sand falls to the ground in sheets like the syrup on the side of a stack of pancakes. I look at Neewa, now covered in a layer of sand from head to tail. She gets up and shakes it off. The sand cascades to the ground around her like a waterfall.
As the storm departs, the bright sunlight returns from west to east. The back of the sandstorm continues east leaving us behind. I look out over the desert, nothing but western blue sky dressing the heavens. Silhouettes of distant mountains frame the desert, while wispy white clouds loiter above.
Newly created waves of rippling sand cover the desert like furrowed water above the shallow sand at the ocean’s edge. The sand dunes sparkle like diamonds reflecting tiny rays of light. I stare into its depths, as if gazing into the bottom of the deep blue sea.
We walk out onto the desert, its surface more like fresh fallen snow. The sun begins to set into an orange and yellow blanket on the horizon. Before getting very far, we are ankle deep in fine granules deposited by the storm. My sneakers fill and become weights on my feet. The rolling dunes summon me forward. I’m being pulled out into the desert, not forcefully, but compelled to continue nonetheless.
“Come on, Neewa, let’s go,” I command.
I spot something as we gallop over the sand. It is out of place, an object lying on top of the undisturbed desert skin. It’s about the size of my fist, rounded, perhaps three inches wide. A cylinder-shaped piece of whatever it is? Lying next to a half-buried stick. I reach down and pick them both up, concealing the one, and waving the stick around like a wand.
I throw the stick for Neewa, who runs down the dune laboring in its depths, kicking sand into the air.
Sneaking a peek at the heavy hidden object, I see parallel markings on the light beige rock. Its texture is like the bark of a tree. And it looks a lot like a section of a small log, cut straight on either end. The shape of a jellyroll, about five inches long. The sunlight reflects off the shiny dark core resembling black quartz.
I know what this is; I’ve seen it before. It’s petrified wood!
It must have been lying just under the sand, exposed by the powerful dust storm winds. I’m not supposed to remove it, and it’s against the law to keep it, especially if it was on an Indian Reserve.
But I won’t consider that for one moment. I stick it back in my jacket pocket, like a hungry crook would steal a package of bologna at a grocery store.
Neewa returns and we have a tug-of-war with the stick she has returned. She eventually gives in, wanting to play fetch more than tug-of-war. I throw the stick further this time and she runs to fetch it.