Lessons Learned

Many years ago, when I was extremely naive about Navajo culture, among other things, I did something terrible. . . I twirled Navajo baskets. That's right, and, after years of trading post therapy, I am free to admit the indiscretion. I am ready to confess in the hope of cleansing my conscience and putting this matter behind me. I need to unchain my psyche and allow myself to progress. Now I know many of you are thinking, "What the heck does that have to do with anything?" Some may even ask, "Is he crazy, what's wrong with spinning baskets?". Then there are those of you who may be so surprised and saddened by my confession that you will choose to turn away. Many may be truly disturbed by what I have done. I assure you, however, that at the time, I was ignorant of the distress I was causing; distress to those who had woven the baskets; and distress to those who knew that there was so much emotion and meaning stitched into those inanimate objects. As hard as it may be to believe, I viewed these beautiful baskets as common, decorative "things." Some of my earliest memories are of my parents using Navajo baskets to decorate our home. For years, to me they were simply "baskets"! It wasn't until I accepted the mantle of "Indian Trader" that I learned the truth about Navajo baskets and their proper care.


1970's Navajo Ceremonial Basket

Here's the scenario. I am stationed in the trading post, sitting behind the counter, maintaining an important air. I have the cash; he who has the cash is king. Thus I am all-powerful. In walks an unsuspecting weaver who, with great ceremony, unveils and presents her latest accomplishment. Laying the basket on the counter for my viewing pleasure, the artist begins to explain the meaning behind the piece. My young mind is not focused on what she, or he, is trying to communicate. It is instead focused on trying to get the thing for the lowest possible price, and wondering if I could possibly get a date with that fiery Washburn girl I had just met. As I ponder these questions, I place my index finger upon the center coils of the basket and begin to spin it. I begin negotiations, unaware that the focus of the artist has shifted from what I am saying to the motion of her creation. Her head begins to move in the same circular fashion; she becomes dizzy with the movement, and her stress level rises significantly. Finally she can take the sacrilege no longer, she reaches out and grasps the basket with both hands, stopping its unnatural rotation. I simply continue with my objective of relieving her of the work and adding it to our inventory. I honestly didn't realize that I had been the cause of so much chaos.

As time went on, my "spinning" continued until it became an obsession. For me it was simply a habit, not an addiction. A certain girl from up the road was consuming a great deal of my time, interest and imagination. I needed something to help me focus on the task at hand. I am sure there was a bit of psychology involved, but even so I can't explain it.. I was becoming aware that the basket weavers reacted strangely to my habit. I began to test their reactions. When they would reach out and stop the basket, I would hesitate for a moment then begin spinning again. I noticed this would result in a higher level of agitation, which pleased me greatly. Not only is it in my nature to pester others, I figured that by spinning the baskets I would cause the weavers to lose focus, thus allowing a break in their concentration and a better value for my money. I am not sure how long this went on, but I am sure that the Navajo weaving community was losing patience with me. They must have been ready to bury me in the nearest ant hill. It all came to a head one day when I was dealing with a young weaver, spinning her basket, and causing great frustration. There just happened to be another Navajo woman in the store who was paying a great deal of attention to what was happening. The woman's name was Mary Grisham. I knew her well; she had a really bad attitude and was vocal about things that ticked her off; a true radical. As I wrapped up the basket purchase, Mary angrily approached me and said, "Just what do you think you're doing?"

Remember, now, that I was very young. At that point I had not learned to deal with angry, aggressive women. I stammered, "What do you mean?" Mary proceeded to inform me that a Navajo basket represents the world; by spinning it the way I did, I caused serious problems. Mary and the weaver stormed out of the trading post, loudly proclaiming my ignorance. I was flabbergasted; I had no idea. I began to ask questions, and found books that better explained the meaning behind the baskets. I found that the traditional basket was a sacred object, used by medicine men to practice healing ceremonies. The interpretation of the weaving is deep and meaningful; much reverence goes into its creation. This was to say nothing of the pictorial baskets that I had carelessly spun; they were depictions of Chant Ways, morality tales, and legendary heroes. My basket spinning had caused such a disturbance because it showed disrespect. In effect, it had caused a chaotic reaction in a spiritual sense. Not good, I assure you. I was then, and am still, embarrassed by my lack of compassion and understanding. It was a hard lesson, but one I have learned well. I have also gained a great deal of humility, and now work hard to recognize what the weavers are trying to say through their art.

I have gained a great deal more common sense. I also work hard to understand others, standard business principles, and am more focused on respect for other people. I married the girl who had distracted me from my calling. It took me seven long years to break her will and talk her into giving up her freedom, but it has been worth the effort. As for other lessons learned, my wife, Laurie, has taught me much indeed. I must say that I am wiser in the ways of women since hooking up with her. I still don't understand them, but I am wiser to their ways. My habit of purposefully aggravating others has often gotten me into trouble over the years. As a matter of fact I have been blessed with a beautiful daughter who has elevated some of my bad habits to new heights. I guess what they say is true, "What goes around comes around." I am now paying dearly for my indiscretions. Needless to say I no longer spin baskets, and I rarely antagonize others just for fun.

Copyright©2003 Twin Rocks Trading Post