I haven’t told one of these in a long time.

My Friend Ned

This story is too short. Again returning to my years as a seasonal on the Duchesne District of the Ashley in Utah. I'd like to talk about my friend, Ned. His father was Ute and his mother was Navajo. You may not know that the Utes and Navajos were/are ancestral enemies. Ned was a full-blood, but existed in a no-man's land, embraced by neither tribe.

He came to work as a summer seasonal after I had been a seasonal for one or two years. He was 18 years old and I was probably 5 or 6 years older. While all seasonals were hired with some specific job in mind, during the spring and the fall, we all worked together on various District projects: e.g. tree planting, thinning, fence building, barrier log replacement, etc. I think Ned and I got to know each other on a thinning project, removing subalpine fir where it crowded more economically valuable trees.

We became friends. Ned told me about the line he walked between his mother's Navajos and his father's Utes. He was a warrior. If he had lived in another era, The People would have sung songs about him. He was in fights whether he was in Utah or Arizona. One day, in talking about his many fights with kids and young adults in his age group, he took off his shirt. There were knife scars on his front, back and arms. There was a bullet wound just below his liver on his right side.

We were talking at the bunkhouse in Duchesne one day. I don't think there was any special occasion, but I presented him with a Puma bowie knife as a token of friendship. It wasn't new, I had it for a few years, but it was a good knife and it meant something to me. I held it flat in both hands and moved my hands forward to him. Ned stared down at the knife for a moment, accepted it, removed the blade from its sheath, rolled it over to look at both sides of the blade, then said: "Wait right here!"

Ned went flying out the back door of the bunkhouse and was gone for just a couple of minutes. I, dutifully, remained standing in the same spot where I presented the knife.

I heard the back door flung open and Ned came trotting up to me with something behind his back. He looked me in the eye and brought an eagle feather out from behind his back and held it in front of me. "This is our flag," he said as he presented it to me.

At the end of the season I returned to Arizona for the winter months and the guest ranch where I had been working as wrangler. I don't remember who told me, or how I found out--I had no personal telephone, but I heard Ned had died. They said he hung himself in the Fort Duchesne jail. Fort Duchesne is the headquarters for the Uintah and Ouray Reservation.

I never believed it. My opinion was that Ned wasn't the kind of person who would kill himself. Recently, I found a crude ring that he had given me. It was simply a large nut. He had taken a grinder and removed all the corners, save two, where he hammered his last name into the face of the nut. I have a coffee can with various mementos from over the years and the ring was in there. That's what brought me to write this recollection. I hope you're at peace, my friend.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: TMats,

I believe when we leave this live, we move on to another chapter. You will see your friend again.

I got nothing to say except that I read it and I'm posting out of respect.

Thank you for sharing.

Burn some sage, bang a drum, sip some beer, and talk to him at the end of the day,

You may very well find out that he is listening to you and your energy, just as you listen to his now.

Ned sounded like a really special guy. He’s somebody I would have like to have met. Thank you for sharing that story.

Thanks for sharing that, TMats. It sounds like he was a good man who life dealt a hard hand, but he held his own. I'm sure he valued your friendship.

Ned walked a different path than most people. You accepted him for the person he was and it sounds like that acceptance may have been unusual in his life. It also speaks volumes about you, in a very good way. Friends like Ned are a rare occurrence.

I thought much about your story. If you are so inclined, I would like to read more.

Mike, there really isn’t anything more, to speak of, we only worked together that one season, and then he was gone. About all I can add is the firm belief that he was somehow murdered in the Fort Duchesne jail.

I’ll add, you can’t believe how strong the “ancestral enemies”...I’ll use the word ‘hate’ is among tribes. I was on a forest fire once and in fire camp were crews from two tribes with a long history. IIRC, it was Crows and Cheyennes. When we came back from the fireline, it was a full time job keeping those two crews apart. I’m glad I was just a firefighter.

I read every one of these that you post.

It's good to have memories of old friends. Your story reminded me of one of mine.

About 20 years ago a young man from the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde came in to work with us (US EPA) on a "detail" as we were working with tribes to develop tribal environmental air pollution programs. We became good friends and when it was time for him to go, I laid out 3-4 knives and told him to pick one. He chose what I knew to be best one (a vintage old Marbles knife). He's now a successful outdoor photographer and conservationist, and lives in East Glacier Park Montana.

Thanks for Sharing.

I truly believe Ned is walking amongst the great warriors in the Heavens with God’s Blessings.