Letters | Mountain prayer

Mountain prayer

Editor,

I would like to submit my opinion on Mr. Donovan Quintero’s article, “Diné teachers connect Tsoodził quake to traditional teachings” (Sept. 3, 2026).

I believe you will always have earthquakes, fires, droughts, thunder, lightning and eclipses. As far as our language is concerned, it’s not the fault of our Navajo people that our language is going through changes.

And as far as our sacred mountain to the south, Tsoodził (Tongue Mountain), I believe early hataałii medicine people really meant for the mountain to be called Tsodizin Dził (The Mountain Where People Pray). It is where medicine plants are collected for healing and where our Diné people can enjoy the silence of nature.

Deacon Daniel Nez Martin
Window Rock, Ariz.

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Ranching forward

Editor,

I am a third generation Arizona cattle rancher. My family has raised cattle in Navajo County for over 80 years.

Cattle ranching isn’t a job. It’s a way of life. Nobody does this work to get rich. We’re constantly at the mercy of factors we can’t control: weather, the price of beef, pests, equipment breakdowns, livestock losses due to illness or predators, and more.

Where we operate, 640 acres of land will support six to eight head of cows. We might get six or so calves to sell in a decent year. If we’re lucky, my family can eke out a small living. If we’re not, things get tight.

None of these challenges are unique to us. It’s no wonder the U.S. cattle herd is the smallest it has been in 75 years.

Farming and ranching have always been difficult. One advantage I’ve got that my father and grandfather did not is the ability to use a portion of our land to make extra money from renewable energy. Our family receives payments from a company that has installed solar panels on a section of our property, while we continue to graze cattle on a mix of acreage we own and lease.

I know not everyone supports the decision we and other ranchers have made. Some people oppose renewable energy for political reasons, or they don’t like looking at solar panels or wind turbines on the horizon. Trust me, I wish the land looked the same way it did 100 years ago, but it doesn’t. There are more cars on the road, buildings in town, and cell phone towers along the skyline. That’s reality.

My family has had to make decisions to survive. And the bottom line is, it’s our land. People here in the country used to respect the idea of private property, but I’ve been surprised how many rural Arizonans now think they should get a say in how we lawfully use our land. Or want county or state government to intervene and tell us what we can or can’t do. It’s a bad idea to start putting our sacred private property rights to a public vote or risking them to the whim of politicians.

Installing solar panels on a portion of our property helps us make ends meet and keep the rest of our cattle ranch in operation. We didn’t have to subdivide and build homes, like has happened to so much of what used to be productive farms and ranches across Arizona.

Since 1982, nearly 80 million acres of U.S. cropland, rangeland and pasture has gone out of production.

Everyone talks about the disappearing family farm in our country. Well, I would argue that renewable energy is one way to keep a lot of that acreage right where it belongs: in family hands. That’s what it did for us.

Randy Baird
Joseph City, Ariz.

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Shared miles

Editor and to my Navajo people,

When I started the Buu250, I knew 250 miles across the Navajo Nation would challenge me physically. What I did not fully expect was how deeply the journey would affect me personally.

Mile after mile, community after community, the Navajo people showed up.

Some people ran with me. Some walked with us. Some waited along the road just to wave, honk, or yell words of encouragement. Children came out to see us. Elders offered prayers and encouragement. Families brought water and food. People opened their communities and welcomed us as relatives.

There were moments when I was tired, sore and wondering how I was going to make it through the next stretch. Then I would see a child running toward us, an elder waiting to shake my hand, or a family standing alongside the road cheering us on.

Suddenly, that next mile did not seem so difficult.

That is why I wanted to share so much of the Buu250 through videos, photographs and social media posts. I wanted our people to see the journey as I was experiencing it – not only the running, but the people and places that made those 250 miles meaningful.

If you followed those posts, you saw some of the beautiful, funny, exhausting, and emotional moments along the way. You saw the early mornings and long roads. You saw our young people join us. You saw families and communities welcome us. You saw people laugh with us, encourage us, and sometimes simply stand beside the road to let us know we were not alone.

Those videos tell a story that is much bigger than one person running 250 miles. They tell the story of our people. I also had the opportunity to listen. People talked to me about their communities, their families, their concerns and their hopes for the Navajo Nation. Those conversations reminded me why it is so important for our leaders to get outside of Window Rock and spend time with the people we serve.

You understand a community differently when you travel its roads. You understand distance differently when you experience those miles yourself. And you understand the strength of our people differently when you see them waiting for you along a long stretch of highway simply because they want to offer encouragement.

Buu250 was also about bringing resources closer to our people. At stops along the journey, our resource fairs created opportunities for families to connect with programs, services, and information. I am grateful to every department, program, employee, volunteer, and partner who helped make that possible.

I especially thank our chapters and community leaders, law enforcement officers, first responders, organizers, staff and the many volunteers who helped keep everyone safe and kept this journey moving day after day.

But my greatest thank you is to the Navajo people. Ahxéhee’ for every mile you shared with me.

Thank you to the children who ran beside us; to our elders who encouraged us and prayed for us, to the families who waited along the road, and to everyone who attended a resource fair, brought us water, volunteered, shared a video or photograph, left an encouraging comment or simply waved as we passed.

You may have thought it was a small gesture. To me, it wasn’t. There were 250 miles on the route, but there were thousands of individual moments along the way that I will carry with me long after this run. Buu250 reminded me that despite the great distances between our communities, we are still connected. We are all relatives and we must show up for each another.

I began this journey intending to run across the Navajo Nation. Instead, the Navajo Nation and our people carried me across those 250 miles. For that, I will always be grateful. Ahxéhee’ ntsaago.

Dr. Buu Nygren
President
Navajo Nation

 

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