Writings of Jeffrey Lazos Ferns

  A place made by people Coming back from Provincetown, we had time between flights before heading home to Phoenix, so we made a short trip to Cambridge and began walking through Harvard’s campus. It was my first time there, and the experience stayed with me, not just because of its beauty or age, but because history seemed present everywhere I looked. Harvard was founded in 1636, making it the oldest institution of higher education in the United States. Walking through the gates and among the old buildings, I could feel the weight of nearly four centuries: generations of students, educators, researchers, artists, staff, organizers, and workers who have shaped its legacy. But the buildings themselves are not the institution. The brick, stone, libraries, laboratories, classrooms, archives, and courtyards matter. They hold memory. They make room for learning, research, argument, imagination, and discovery. But what gives an institution life is its people—their questions, labo...

  Thirteen Miles Through the Province Lands A beautiful bike trail in Province Lands follows a path from town into dunes, woods, ponds, and a landscape that seems to hold several centuries at once. We began our ride in Provincetown, where summer still moved in its bright, familiar current, and headed toward the Province Lands. Before long, Commercial Street and its restaurants, galleries, and crowds gave way to a landscape shaped by wind, salt, and deep time: pitch pine woods, scrub oak, kettle ponds, cranberry lowlands, and dunes that seem to move even when you are standing still. Constructed in 1967, the Province Lands Bike Trail was the first bike trail ever built by the National Park Service. Its main route loops around Beech Forest, with spurs leading to Race Point Beach, Herring Cove Beach, and the Beech Forest nature trail. It is not a lazy or level beach path.   There are steep hills, sharp turns, and occasional washed-out stretches of pavement, depending on the ...

  From New York to Possibilities I am thrilled to share that Lauryn and Paris, along with a local Indigenous designer, Tyree Honani, have been accepted into Indigenous Fashion Week in New York City this September. Tyree is Hopi/Navajo, Lauryn is Hopi/Navajo, and Paris is Hopi, Sac & Fox, Shawnee & Creole from Hotevilla, Hopi Lands, now in Chandler, Arizona. For these young people to step into New York Fashion Week as a designer and models—bringing their beauty, confidence, cultural grounding, and community with them—is an extraordinary moment. It is also a reminder that when we create meaningful platforms for Indigenous voices, relationships and opportunities can grow in ways we may not immediately see. Indigenous New York Fashion Week (INYFW) is emerging as an important new component of the New York Fashion Week landscape, bringing Indigenous designers, artists, models, and cultural leaders into one of the industry’s most visible international forums. Officially listed ...

  Full Circle: Telling Stories, Honoring Land, Creating Beauty   This morning, I stood in Scottsdale City Hall before the Scottsdale Tourism Commission, Tourism Department staff, civic leaders, and community members to request funding for the 2026 Arizona Indigenous Culinary Experience at Frank Lloyd Wright’s Taliesin West.   This will be my 10th year producing the event in Scottsdale and my 15th year producing it in Arizona. Entering a funding presentation in an uncertain economy naturally brings questions: Is the event relevant? Will its value be understood? Will people see the year-round work behind a single gathering?   But as I prepared the presentation, gathered data, and reflected on the event’s national and international reach, the uncertainty gave way to clarity. Tourism, hotel stays, hospitality, small-business support, and the creative economy all matter. But the most important value is the platform this event creates.   The Arizona In...

  Sunday, Seasoned With Stories A friend sent a letter about salt, and suddenly the day opened into a rabbit hole. Salt is one of those humble things that waits quietly in the cupboard until someone reminds you that it has traveled farther than most people ever will. It comes from ancient seas, mountain veins, desert flats, volcanic earth, and long-held family traditions. It has crossed borders in pockets, barrels, caravans, kitchens, and gifts between friends. For years, I have collected it without quite calling it a collection. A dear friend in San Francisco sends salts my way now and then, small offerings from a friendship that understands how an ingredient can carry memory. Today, after reading his letter, I brought them all out. Black salt. Pink salts. Blue salt. Red salt. Salts infused with herbs and spices from all over the world. They sat together in little dishes like a gathering of landscapes. One carried the dark mineral taste of earth and fire. Another looke...

  I began volunteering in Arizona when I was 18 years old, although I don’t think I understood then that it would become one of the enduring threads of my life. At that age, mental health was a serious issue in my neighborhood and, at times, within my family. I had questions I didn’t know how to answer, and I had a strong desire to understand the things that frightened me. When I fear something, I throw myself at it and try to understand it. My mind is like that. So, I volunteered on a suicide hotline here in Phoenix. I learned how powerful it can be to simply listen to another person, to stay present when someone is in pain, to offer a calm voice, and to remind them that they are not entirely alone. I was young, but the experience changed me. It showed me that service does not always mean having the right answer. Sometimes it means being willing to sit with someone in a difficult moment. Soon afterward, I became curious about death and dying. At 19, I volunteered for sever...