If you listen closely, you may hear the muted sound of the Sinagua language, adrift on the wind like a whisper, echoing through the passageways of time. Close your eyes and listen for the voices calling back and forth, the scrapping of a mano against corn in a metate, the laughter of children playing, the slapping of mud to chink between the rocks of a new wall, and the subtle sound of rock chipping against chert as someone fashions an arrowhead from a shiny chunk of flint. When you think hard enough, and imagine the sights and sounds of life in a pueblo, slowly open your eyes and look around. If you’re able to view the entire Verde Valley in a full 360 degree turn, then you will be in Arizona, standing atop the ruins of Tuzigoot National Monument.
A great deal of muscle-work went into cutting and hauling the local limestone to the top of this pinnacle. One can only imagine the sweat and toil the Sinagua put into building this structure, especially when the mud they used as chink, came from a long walk to Beaver Creek and back, in summertime temperatures of triple digits.
No one knows the secret to the departure of the Sinagua from the Verde Valley. Perhaps they ventured beyond their known world, met with other tribes and over time, assimilated into different communities.