Tied to the Post

Barry and I have often mentioned in our weekly mailings what a very interesting and enjoyable childhood we had growing up in Bluff. The other day we were discussing, maybe debating is a better term, how certain things occurred. As you may guess, we do not always remember certain occurrences exactly the same. For example, on a more recent note, when it comes to the Bernie Todacheeny credit card story, although Barry was embarrassingly accurate in almost every detail, he forgot to mention the real reason I agreed to buy wood for Bernie. That reason was that Bernie was hoeing weeds in Kayenta for $3.00 an hour, and selling snow cones to the tourists at Four Corners Monument for a 25 cent per cone commission. I decided that poor Bernie was never going to become the world class wood carver he aspires to be unless he broke out of that cycle. His girlfriends were also threatening to jump ship, so what was I to do?

Once I had removed that Bernie sliver from my craw, we got back to the debate over childhood memories. This particular debate centered around our long-time friends, Perry and Ray Johnson. Perry and Ray also grew up in Bluff and despite our many childhood scrapes, have remained friendly. During our youth, Rose, our mother, typically referred to us as "hellions," because we were always in trouble. Our offenses, however, were only of the misdemeanor variety. We ran around Bluff climbing the cliffs and roaming freely, generally without shirts or shoes. Since we never wore shoes, after a time our feet developed substantial callouses that were impervious to the gravel streets and the goathead stickers that were everywhere in town. We were also as dark as most of the Navajo children, partly because of our tans and partly because of our Portuguese heritage. We were frequently labeled Navajo, which pleased us greatly.

On the particular occasion in question, we were engaged in a running battle with Perry and Ray. Although they are older and had better throwing arms, the dirt clods were flying and we were holding our own. Since none of us had any future in the Major League, there were not many direct hits and no serious injuries. When Perry and Ray had had quite enough, they simply grabbed us, tied us to a fence post and walked away. A while later Rose wandered by and, after an obviously difficult internal struggle over the advisability of setting us free, released us back onto the streets. This discussion about Perry and Ray led us to conclude that we have once again been tied to a "post", this time voluntarily. We also decided that "Tied To The Post " was also a good name for our weekly mailer and so it has become.

The things that keep us tied to this location are many and varied; the people are great, the geology is starkly beautiful, the history is extremely interesting, and the business is, well, the business is good. But, the thing that stands out in my mind is the light. The sunlight on the cliffs does magical things to this little river valley, especially at this time of the year. After several years back in Bluff, I have decided that fall is my favorite season. In September and October the light is so pure that it make things absolutely shimmer. The leaves on the trees sparkle in the breeze and you can just feel the movement. Later in the year the trees lose their leaves and, when the sun goes down, the trees begin to look like those paintings we all did in primary school; the ones where you put a blob of ink on a page and then blow it with a straw to make the ink run. In October the trees have that beautiful barren look and, when the sun has just gone down, they are backlit by the residual light. It is truly a strangely beautiful sight; very Halloweenish. In the early mornings and evenings the cliffs glow as though someone has built a fire under them. The pink and red hues of the sandstone beam. I often think Bluff must now be as Santa Fe was in the early days.

During my early years at the trading post when my wife and daughter, Dacia, were out of town, I used to close the store in the evenings and sit on the porch to watch the sun set. Frequently people would wander by and stop to talk. On many occasions the conversation would halt after a while and I would notice the visitors looking around as though they were searching for something. They would then ask, "What is it?" At first the question baffled me, but after a while I decided that they were actually feeling what someone later described as the "magic" of Bluff. It's hard to put your finger on it, but I have finally decided that the magic is a combination of the very smart and creative people who live in and around Bluff, the beautiful scenery, the quiet, the dry climate, the clear starry nights and the light. At times it is also the history of the place, which is often almost tangible.

That is what keeps us tied to this post.

Copyright©2003 Twin Rocks Trading Post