Crownpoint

On Google Maps, as I later discovered, Crownpoint, New Mexico, looks almost like my hometown. It has a school, a four-way stop, clusters of small houses, and symmetrical roads within the city limits. There is a large grocery store, Basha's, and from Google Maps' overhead view you can make out tiny pickup trucks and SUVs winding through the streets.

Coming from the south, you're first greeted by both a billboard warning against diabetes and the Welcome to Crownpoint sign in English and Navajo (Tʼiistsʼóóz Ńdeeshgizh). At this time, the pavement of the highway transforms into gravel, then dirt. A water tower stands guard atop a mesa, its crest topped by both the American and Diné flags. A further foray into town takes you past the communes of houses for government employees who teach the Indian kids, neat little rows of trailers and stucco. Mangy dogs rove the streets in packs, not quite dispelling any previous rumors that "rez dogs" are all rabid, wild-eyed mongrels with a taste for human flesh.

Deeper into town, you reach the four-way stop. Two corners are deserted; one is host to a gathering a rugmakers selling their wares; the fourth corner is the site of Mr. Cluck's Chicken, a establishment that once sold fried chicken but is now the dwelling place for at least one pack of rez dogs. Passing the four-way stop, you head up a winding path toward the LDS church, easily the most well-maintained building in town. To the east of the church is the pair of trailers in which reside the two pairs of missionaries working in Crownpoint — a young pair of elders and a senior couple.

"Here we are," I said as our Chevy Colorado pulled up to our trailer.

"Here we are," said Elder Findlay.