The new hogan had no indoor plumbing, and in hot, early September a bucket, used to rinse my hair, made the arroyo into an outdoor tub. The cool water refreshed and relaxed me in the dry summer heat. I lay back and closed my eyes, letting the sun dry my chest. Better than the arroyo bath was the cleansing Coolidge, Father, Grandfather, Uncle, and I performed a few days later—a cleansing of both body and spirit—the sweat bath. Grandma, Auntie, and the younger girls stayed at home. Back then, only males entered the sweat hut. A first sweat bath was a kind of coming-of-age ceremony for a young boy. I think I first went into the sweat hut when I was five. My dad taught me the prayers that must be said and told me where to sit. We prayed not only for ourselves, but for our tribe. Coolidge, the three men, and I hiked toward the quiet place where the hut stood. The location had been carefully selected. Disturbance there was unlikely. As we crested a small hill, I glimpsed the compact lodge, built into a wide, flat hole.
