Nature + Music from Utah to Oklahoma
A journey through native lands, finding harmony with a native musician
It has been nearly three weeks and thousands of miles ago that I left Brooklyn. I have seen all kinds of terrain, tried all kinds of foods, seen live music where and when I can, and met people along the way who smile and share stories about their life. They reside in different places, different part of this big beautiful country, but under the same sky, their breath and heart beats creating the same sort of rhythms as mine.
With my son in tow, nature is a top priority, his way to harmony climbing around and atop mountains, taking in the sun and sky, noting the way the clouds cluster.
From Kanab, Utah, outside Zion, we drove through Utah into Arizona on our way to Santa Fe. We’d thought to head into the Utah National Parks we haven’t been to—Capitol Reef and Canyonlands—except our route from there to our destination of Chicago would have taken us through Colorado, which was under a winter storm warning. We switched gears—Sante Fe lured, and then Tulsa.
As we drove the 500-mile stretch out of Utah, and into Page, Arizona, we were surrounded by stunning mountain views, mesas that made the heart hurt. I veered off down a road to take a closer look at a rock that rose majestically out of a lake. The Lone Rock at Glen Canyon did not disappoint. We drove off road to get as close as possible to the water, where people had pulled their trailers close to camp. The wind whipped at us, but the sun burned hot. Tears sprung to my eyes, the spot was so stunning.



Our next stop was breakfast, at Miss B’s Bistro. A little structure in the shadow of the power plant, Miss B’s began to fill up right as it opened at 8 am. I saw why when I dug into my Breakfast Burro, smothered in green chile sauce (only in AZ do we call them Burros…)
We made friends with a local man, a 40-year Page resident, who was surprised we’d made it out of the Lone Rock beach area without needing assistance. “Pulled a lot of folks outta there,” he said, and showed us on his phone a picture of a fish a friend had caught in the waters there, a big one. He invited us the next time we were around to see the incredible hidden spots in the area where he and his friends gather and camp. His friend joined him, and the two gentlemen gave us a window into the local scene.




Onward we traveled, reveling for hours in the beauty of the land around the Glen Canyon Dam and Monument Valley with the Navajo Mountain rising majestically in the distance as we drove through the vast Navajo Nation.






The reservation encompasses a massive 27,000 square miles across Arizona, New Mexico and Utah, with an enrolled tribal member population of nearly 400,000. Sadly, within this incredible land, 35.8% of households have incomes below the federal poverty level (in comparison to a national average of 12.7% of people.) Besides a Casino and some dollar stores, little development was evident, and housing structures were crude, land littered with broken-down cars. When we stopped to get gas, a young man, talking angrily to himself, asked us for money and I gathered my quarters together (my only cash) and offered them pitifully, tearing up as I got into my car.
I grew up around the poverty and rich culture of Native Americans, of which they were robbed. I read a book last year, The Healing of Natalie Curtis, about a wealthy New York pianist who came to Arizona at the turn of the century to heal from her depression only to find that the incredible healing music and melodies of the native peoples were forbidden to be sung and played. The tribes were outlawed by the U.S. government to practice the rites and rituals by which they lived peaceably. Miss Curtis went back to New York to meet with a family friend—then president Theodore Roosevelt—to gain permission to allow the Indians to play their music and tell her their stories so that she might record them. I bought the 528-page book she put together about the lore, music, narratives, and drawings by the Indians themselves, featuring 149 songs in full notation. I wonder if any of these songs are sung, how much of these practices help and heal today? Billboards for abuse and alcoholism and gambling on reservations I’ve driven through in Wisconsin suggest that the practices have been given up in favor of other ones.


We moved on to Santa Fe, a place I’d visited years before and been amazed by how much more integrated Native American culture and people were than where I grew up in Tucson. We came into the city in a fog, snow coming down lightly, which made us laugh as we’d changed routes to avoid such weather. But the clouds covering the mountains were cool, and road conditions were just fine, though we didn’t stop off at hot springs or for a hike as we’d hoped.
We had little time in Santa Fe except to eat dinner, so we made it count, scouting out Maria’s New Mexican Kitchen to get a bit of local flavor—namely Green Chile Stew and sopaipillas (similar to the Indian Fry bread of my youth). In the morning, after some delicious local Pinon coffee drive slowly along Canyon Road with its beautiful adobe galleries and sculpture gardens. It was Monday and most music venues weren’t open, and even though our little motel often features live music, it was board game night:(


We headed off into Texas toward Oklahoma, putting Palo Duro Canyon into Google Maps for a stop-off. Though we’d never heard of it, this Texas canyon is the second largest in the U.S. after Grand Canyon…I’m always amazed by the incredible sites that are not widely known beyond the region. After lunch at Tyler’s Barbecue in nearby Amarillo, dining amidst men in cowboy hats and boots on our chopped brisket with beans and coleslaw, we entered the loop road for Palo Duro. After a bit, we got out to take a short hike and climb atop a hill for a better view at the vast canyon.



Sadly, as we drove on toward Tulsa, we missed out on the chance to see live music in Amarillo. There was a guitarist who looked cool playing at the Buffalo Wild Wings in nearby Coulter, and the Amarillo Live Music group on Facebook featured a lot of events for its 3.9K members. But I was buoyed by the plan we had to hit The Colony Inn, a staple of the Tulsa music community since 1958. On the road, we listened to Kalyn Fay, the singer/songwriter who was on the bill for the evening. A Native American musician and interdisciplinary artist, Fay explores their Cherokee background through use of language and working with intertribal musicians. An article speaks to how they “advocate for relationship-building in Indigenous communities through collaboration.”
Walking into The Colony, maybe in part because I have a favorite Woodstock venue of the same name, I felt right at home. The place was warm and cozy, low-key even while full with folks of all ages, people who smiled and welcomed us. My heart surged as Fay took the stage and the audience paid them rapt attention. They sang “Tulsa,” which we’d heard in the car, a beautiful song, obviously apt for the setting, and it seemed like a perfect moment.
Speaking to a young couple, Jeremiah and Aubrey, both from Tulsa, it turned out Jeremiah is a musician with a local band called “Tripsitters” and Aubrey is a local massage therapist, there to see Rachel, a hairdresser and singer who took the stage with Fay. Aubrey talked enthusiastically about the thriving art, music and food scene in Tulsa, and Fay, when she came offstage, spoke glowingly of the supportive music community at Colony, where she’d first played an open mic in 2013 and now has a gig every Tuesday.
Aah, community. From weeks on the road, I am more sure than ever how best it is realized through music, buoyed in spirit by taking in the beauty of the surrounding nature and sustained by delicious local foods. Appreciation of this country and the people in it has been my mission, finding harmony everywhere. It is possible, surely, that is what I’ve found.
A few more stops and then back to New York:) Plan ahead to come to my April 5th Sacred Bloom Sound Bath at YogaSole! Experience some of the instruments I’ve picked up on my travels…Register at www.yogasole.com!
Peace & Harmony,
Steph