Father’s Day and the Summer Solstice 2026

A papercutting/painting by Ada Rigby hangs above my desk. Ada was a renowned paper artist, and in this piece, she cut Elk Ridge out of blue paper and snipped pines, firs, deciduous trees, and bushes out of black paper, gluing them in front of the Ridge.
Then, she painted an orange sun setting directly behind Bears Ears with watercolor rings of yellow and orange radiating outward to fill the entire upper half of the page. It’s an elegant and powerful depiction of spring and fall equinoxes in San Juan County.
However, I wasn’t thinking about her artwork that Saturday early in June when we headed toward the Tower Ruin. A retired plumber from Blanding, a practicing dentist from up north, and a newly retired dentist now living in Mesa but who had spent some of his boyhood in Blanding, sat cheek by jowl in the backseat of our Toyota SUV.
Ted drove, and I relaxed on the passenger side, holding Kenidee and listening to the men chat about their memories, their families, and the geography of San Juan County.
The retired dentist is more energetic than all of us put together. He’d worked all over the world, often donating his time, knowledge, and skills to under-served populations. Since he was a long-time friend, we knew he would enliven any adventure.
Ted pulled into the Tower trailhead at the head of Butler Wash. With magnificent Comb Ridge to our west, we climbed out and grabbed our water bottles. Rock cairns marked the way down to the tower. The trail was steep but not too difficult.
Our exuberant friend kept things lively with his questions and insights. He loved wildflowers and stopped to photograph spiderwort plants, sego lilies, and prickly pear flowers. Ted and Kenidee surged ahead while the rest of us took our time navigating the trail.
Once we made it down to the alcove, the most impressive ruin was the well-preserved, two-story tower. Although no one knows for certain why the Ancestral Puebloans built the tall structures, archaeologists think they served a number of purposes, including lookout platforms, observatories, defensive shelters, homes, and, on the lower level, storage bins.
Sometimes towers are also linked ceremonially to kivas. This square tower has a door facing east, accessible from the alcove, and a window facing outward toward the canyon. On the second story, it features a side-facing window and several outward-facing peepholes. Smaller adobe structures and a kiva perch nearby on the ledge.
Rock art decorated the walls along the back of the alcove. One depicts an alien-looking being with a two-horn headdress, wide shoulders, arms hanging down, and legs spread more than shoulder-width apart.
He looks like a warrior, protecting the site. Not surprisingly, we also spotted large concentric circles. Circles and spirals may have communicated different meanings to the Ancestral Puebloans, including solstices and equinoxes markers, providing cosmic timetables for planting, harvesting, and ceremonies.
According to archaeologists, they could trace the people’s emergence and migrations, both physically as they search for a place to call home and spiritually as they journey through mortality. They might also depict flowing water, springs, whirlwinds, weather, seasons, or portals between physical and spiritual dimensions.
That June day, as we explored the alcove, the sun seemed especially intense. I peered up at the tower from the outside and then stuck my head inside, wondering if the Puebloan Sun-priests used this tower as an observatory to track Father Sun.
Because modern Puebloans still view the sun as a holy, living entity, the creator of life, we surmise their ancient relatives did so as well. They synchronize their prayers and ceremonies to support its journey across the sky. In turn, it helps crops and all life to flourish. In fact, after a baby is born, elders present him or her to the rising sun, connecting the child to the creator.
As I stared up at the light shining through the tower’s peepholes, it shimmered with a blue intensity, but all I could do was guess about the ancient structure’s original purpose and the meaning of the rock art.
After we finished our exploration of the site and hiked back to the vehicle, we drove south along old Highway 95 with Ted pointing out landmarks. He parked near the old dugway, and we walked down it for a view of Comb Wash and Comb Ridge, the vast expanse bringing an unusual silence to the talkative group.
Later, at the request of our energetic friend, we drove up on the mountain to look at the water tunnel from both sides, amazed by the engineering, dedication, and sheer hard labor that brought life giving water to Blanding, but that’s a story for another time.
This last Sunday we celebrated the Summer Solstice, which, of course, marks the longest day of the year and symbolizes the power of physical light and inner illumination, but it also holds within it the seeds of shorter days and cooler weather, the complementary and dynamic ying and yang of nature.
We also celebrated Father’s Day, and my mind went back not only to my own father and grandfathers, but also to Ted and his three friends. As I spent time with them, I was struck by their intelligence, humor, and love for their wives, children, and grandchildren, each one handling the challenges of relationships in his own unique way, yet each one giving, like Sun, the love and light needed for growth.