Echoes of Ancient Travelers

The tour bus approached a hand-painted sign that read “Dinosaur Tracks Ahead.” A Navajo woman met us at the end of a dusty road. The vast area beyond was mostly level: no commercial signs or neon lights. No gift shops. We were on Navajo land--the outskirts of Tuba City, Arizona.

As we walked, our guide pointed to large clumps of fossilized dinosaur dung lining part of the walkway across the sandstone. We knelt to examine several fossilized dinosaur eggs partially protruding from the hardened ground. Our guide identified three‑toed carnivorous dinosaur footprints -- theropod footprints (most often attributed to Dilophosaurus, one of the early Jurassic predators known to have lived in this region).

The area was not fenced. I asked, “Who preserves and protects this area? Who manages it?” Our guide answered, "Mother Earth,” and pointed to a set of theropod tracks explaining that those tracks were not visible when she was a girl. As if on cue, a gust of wind moved across the open space. She continued, “The wind and rain will reshape the landscape over time. Some tracks will disappear and some new tracks will appear. But my people will never interfere with the land. The land will reveal what it chooses, when it chooses.”

She also said that American archeologists in search of fossilized bones were turned away. “Someday, many years from now, the bones may be visible -- in Mother Earth’s time, not man’s time.”

She smiled and pointed to a sequence of prints suggesting the dinosaur’s movement. She jokingly stretched her arms and leapt forward, imitating the dinosaur’s jump and its probable sliding in a muddy floodplain millions of years ago.  Then she pointed to imprints of another creature’s tail and wing.

The land is not scenery but a living relative. Navajo teachings emphasize harmony with Mother Earth, Father Sky, and all beings.

As I walked toward the tour bus, I knew I would leave with more than photographs. Something in the stillness of that open land—and a trust that Mother Earth reveals what she chooses—had settled into me. I felt lighter, quieter, more aware of the responsibility we all share to walk gently on the ground that holds our stories.