The Song of the Flute and the Drum In a small Navajo village nestled among the red rock mesas of Arizona, where the desert bloomed with sage and the stars sang at night, lived an old man named Tahoma and his grandson, Kael. Tahoma, with silver hair braided like a river’s flow, often sat by the fire outside their hogan, his eyes tracing the horizon. Kael, sixteen, with a restless spirit and earbuds blasting rock music, was rarely still, his fingers tapping rhythms on his knees. One cool evening,

I first met the native flute on the Navajo nation in Shonto, Arizona. I remember I was a fresh faced student teacher. They’re coming from Indiana University. I drove from Indiana to Arizona all in one trip and spent the night right outside of Canyon de Chelly. The next morning I woke up and there was a market there next to the canyon and a younger guy was selling these flutes. As I always loved music, I thought it would be a really good way to learn more about the culture I was going to live wit

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