CP2 - Tyra

I remember being a little girl and messing around with my moms weaving loom. I would use my little fingers to put the yarn into its place, using the wrong colors and making it too loose. My mom would yell at me in Navajo and telling me to use my own loom, a much smaller and cheaper one me and my sister shared. Before my grandmother started forgetting everything because of her dementia and when I was fluent in Navajo, she would tell my mom the stories of her mother and grandmother during Hweeldi (The Long Walk). She told my mom how they wove rugs for the white men to get more food for their family. She taught my mom how to make the yarn from the wool of our sheep and she taught her how to weave. I watched my mom weave until my grandmother started forgetting and when she started working from 8-7. I remember leaving for Stanford and going to our storage to put the last of my stuff away. I saw the loom that my mom used to have in our living room, covered in dust, with a rug half complete still attached. I remember saying good bye to our sheep and thinking about how their wool is never used to make yarn anymore, we just sell it for extra money. This picture is of me during winter break at the De Young Museum. These rugs were from Hweeldi, no artists to credit. I thinking about how these rugs don't belong here. I remember feeling complete knowing they still exist but also feeling lost because just like these rugs, I don't belong here. Lost because I'll never know what it is like to weave and I probably will never be able to hear stories from my grandmother about our family. Lost because finding my home is a lot harder than a plane ride back.