The visions of my father, Isaac Curley Sr., come and go with each passing month and season. My father was born on March 25, 1922 and raised on the Navajo reservation. His home was a hogan, the family subsisted upon livestock, no modern conveniences and news was gathered only by word of mouth. Like the trading posts, that simple way of life is now almost a bygone era. Yet, the memories of “Daddy” remain as vivid as if it were only yesterday. Daddy left us much too soon as a result of dreadful diabetes.

Daddy worked in the copper mines of southern Arizona for more than twenty years. I recall riding many times in his turquoise-colored Dodge pickup from the early 1960’s that he bought brand new. One summer my brothers and I helped him construct a camper shell out of lumber, plywood, screws and nails. We even managed to find turquoise colored paint to make it look uniform--at least we thought so. I can still see him sweating as he was using a hand saw to round the cross members for the roof, so when it was finished the rain would naturally run off.