The Hat Basket Affair

It was mid-morning. The day outside was bright, yet still had a bit of the briskness of early spring. There must have been a couple of dozen shades of green visible through the open doors of the trading post. The cottonwood trees were budding, cheat grass was sprouting, the sage and rabbit brush were beginning to add new leaves to their dusty foliage and the Russian Olive trees showed in bright contrast against the red rock cliffs along the river. Steve had propped the Kokopelli doors open earlier that morning to let in as much of the vista and fresh air as possible. We were invigorated by the beauty of the day and nature's developing display. There were a number of people in the store who seemed equally impressed by the man made art inside and the natural art outside. Everyone was in a good mood, and there was a lot of laughing and joking. Good feelings permeated the store.


The Ceremonial Hat Basket - part of the Twin Rocks Trading Post Collection.

A young woman entered the trading post, trailing a uninspired looking guy behind her. Her eye caught the basket display behind the counter near where I was standing. She strode right over with an inquisitive air and began asking questions. She was fascinated by the baskets and showed an affinity for them, and a deep respect for the culture and symbolic motifs embodied by the weavings. Her friend stood back with an unconcerned look on his face and fidgeted in an restless, uneasy way. It wasn't long before there were a number of baskets on the counter that were being discussed.

We were in deep discussion concerning the sacred nature of the myths and legends the baskets portrayed. All of a sudden the young woman's partner stepped up to the counter, grabbed a basket, inverted it and plopped it on his head. In a loud voice, he declared, "All I need is some string, and I'll have a great Coolie hat!" At that moment, time seemed to stand still. Everyone in the trading post paused and stared at the young man, amazed at what he had done. My mind flashed back 25 years to a meeting between a very young weaver and an inexperienced trading post operator. What that skinny little basket weaver had so eloquently conveyed to me 25 years before may have begun to dawn on this uninspired young man. I didn't have time to explain to the young man, because he sensed that he had made a grievous error. He gently set the basket back on the counter, and quickly exited the building. I mentioned to the young woman that the Navajo people believe that placing a basket on one's head confounds the mind. The young woman, shocked by her companion's statement, and possibly realizing that her friend's mind had already become confused, apologized for him and followed him out with a determined look about her. I felt sorry for him in more ways than one. His future seemed about to change.


The Ceremonial Hat Basket - part of the Twin Rocks Trading Post Collection.

It was not long after I decided to stay in the business my parents had started many years before that I first met Evelyn Rock, the young weaver who taught me basket handling etiquet. I remember that meeting well, because I was amazed that such a frail looking teenage girl had the strength to weave such tight, hard baskets. She was indeed thin, but she had plenty of muscle, and an attitude to match. I very much enjoyed buying ceremonial baskets from Evelyn. She was not afraid to stand up and fight for a good price. Her zeal and way of expressing emotion was enjoyable. Not only was she feisty, she was also willing to share what she knew about the meaning behind her work. Evelyn had a habit of educating others in a way they would not forget. One particular lesson has stayed with me through many years of trying to develop a better understanding of the Navajo people and their art.

It was a grand spring day, much like the one I have just described. The setting was our Blue Mountain Trading Post in Blanding, Utah, the year was probably 1976. In walked Evelyn with an unusually lumpy looking, cloth wrapped parcel in her hands. She walked right up to me, set the package on the counter and said, "I have something unusual for you, but if you buy it you can't sell it, you have to keep it from now on." I poked at the bundle with a smile and asked if it was alive, Evelyn didn't appreciate my attempt at humor. She sighed, unwrapped the package and placed a ceremonially designed weaving in my hands with the unusual shape of a bowler hat; similar to what one might see on the head of a cocky Irishman, resting at a jaunty angle above an over-large mustache and protruding cigar. I was impressed, and rolled the hat basket around in my hands, marvelling at its unique nature. As I slowly moved it towards my head Evelyn quickly stopped me and said, "You might not want to do that!" I looked questioningly at her and she began to explain the ceremonial nature of the basket, that the act of weaving is sacred and that the basket materials are a gift of the deities. Those same deities may take offense at the suspected mistreatment and lack of respect for something so meaningful and essential to Navajo culture. "What might they do?" I asked as I gently set the weaving back on the counter. "Well! The old people say that by placing a basket on your head there is a chance of causing great distress in both the mental and/or physical state." Yikes!!!


The Ceremonial Hat Basket - part of the Twin Rocks Trading Post Collection.

As I contemplated the now dangerous item, I squinted curiously at Evelyn and asked why she would weave such a thing, and more importantly why she had presented it to me. She smiled sweetly and explained with a mischievous air, that I appeared to be the curious sort and that she thought I would appreciate such an unusual item. I believe her comment went something like this; "What is life without a little temptation, and if you don't believe in that type of hocus pocus it probably wouldn't affect you anyway." I gave her my most snotty look, grumbled a bit and bought the basket. Evelyn gave me a devious look, stuffed the cash in her jeans, turned and left the building. I sat there for some time pondering the hat basket and its significance. Shrugging off my state of wonder and confusion, I re-wrapped the weaving, placed it in a box upon which I wrote "Danger Will Robinson," a reference to my favorite T.V. program. At least Evelyn had warned me before I put the darn thing on my head.

Looking back through time and reevaluating Evelyn's "gift," I realize that it was just that. A gift, of sorts, that was intended to provide one heck of an object lesson. The message this young weaver was trying to convey was, step up and educate yourself to the meaning of what and who you are dealing with; show the proper respect and courtesy, or pay the consequences. Evelyn provided an instrument to help me gain a better understanding of her world. Either that or an avenue to send me off to an alternate reality where I couldn't possibly do any harm. As for the young man who committed that critical mistake, I am not sure what will became of him. From where I stood, I could tell he was beginning to show signs of an adverse reaction, which included a distressed demeanor, dazed look in his eyes, and muttering. Poor Guy! Oh well, better him than me!

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