Toroweep is one of a kind – awe inspiring, rare places, where one can stare into the face of time, still un-touched and un-spoilt. Check this out for the amazing 3000 feet Vertical drop at the view point. Anyways, while visiting this place, we stayed at a small inn, enroute from Kanab to Toroweep. It was a small cozy place, with a typical country side set up. The rooms were based on tribe themes with wooden floors – it went really well with the outside surrounding of red rocks. As soon as we entered the room, the hanging on the wall caught my attention – a framed letter from Seattle Chief to then US President (1855). It was quiet touching and I feel it is even more applicable today and not just for the whites referred here. Present to you the same, below.
Graze lands Enroute to Toroweap
The Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land * How can you buy or sell the sky * The warmth of the land * The idea is strange to us * Yet we do not own the freshness of the air or the sparkle of the water * How can you buy them from us * Every part of this earth is sacred to my people **
We know that the white man does not understand our ways * One portion of the land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs * The earth is not his brother but his enemy and when he has conquered it he moves on * He leaves his fathers’ graves his children’s birthright is forgotten **
The is no quiet place in the white man’s cities * No place to hear the leaves of spring or the rustle of the insect wings * But perhaps because I am savage and do not understand, the clatter only seems to insult the ears * And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lovely cry of the or the arguments of the frog around the pond at the night **
The Whites too shall pass, perhaps sooner than the other tribes * Continue to contaminate your bed and you will one night suffocate in your own waste * When the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses all tamed, the secret corners of the forest, heavy with the scent of many men, and the view of ripe hills blotted by talking wires * Where is the Eagle * Gone * Where is the Buffalo * Gone * And what is to say goodbye to the swift and the hunt, the end of living and the beginning of survival **
Chief Seattle to President Franklin Pierce, 1855