Bluff, Utah from above.
The woman on the other end of the line wasted no time letting me know she was angry because she was getting a first class runaround. She jumped right on me, saying, in an aggravated tone of voice, that her ring needed repair and I should take care of the unhappy situation, "post haste". "Okay", I said, "everything we sell is 100% satisfaction guaranteed. Simply send me the ring and we will repair it, right away." There was silent hesitation at the other end of the line, then a sigh of resignation. I said, "You did buy the ring from us, didn't you?" The woman said, "Sadly no, I bought it directly from the artist."
A few minutes later the entire story was related to me. It seems a couple years ago this now unhappy collector bought a very expensive coral ring from Hasteen Begay on the Portal in Santa Fe. Recently the coral had dislodged and escaped somewhere into the wild grasslands of northern Vermont. The woman had wisely charged the transaction on her credit card, so she called VISA to solicit their powerful aid in resolving her dilemma. VISA, with their supercomputer and know-it-all data base of information, gave her our 800 number and said, "Go forth and seek satisfaction". So, I found myself attempting to arbitrate a situation that had absolutely no relationship to our business, and on our dime.
How the credit card company connected this poor woman's complaint with us will surely be one of those forever unsolved, troublesome mysteries. Now that I knew the woman's problem, I began searching for a solution. Finding one, I rolled out the Rolodex and extracted Hasteen's phone number and address then gave him up! The poor woman was no better served, but at least she had a bead on someone other than me. She thanked me for my somewhat selfless help. I told her it was not a problem and that if she had further troubles to call our complaint department at 1-800-Steve's your man.
Next I got a call from one of the turquoise miners we work with. I won't mention his name for fear of retribution, but this guy is, as dear old dad often says, "rough as a cob!" For years I took this saying for granted, not really understanding its actual significance. One day I couldn't take the lack of knowledge any longer and risked asking my father exactly what it meant and where the saying originated. He explained that the term sprang to life in the days of outdoor facilities. Paper products were a rare and valued commodity, not often afforded and certainly never wasted. Every little thing was used and used again if an additional, beneficial purpose could be found. It seems a feast of roasted corn was not only a treat for the palate, but afterwards the dried cob provided a cleansing tool for the derriere. The fruit of the corn served a higher purpose, providing sustenance and the cob was brought back into service to serve a lower purpose; cleaning up. Thus the saying, "rough as a cob!" I had to ask.
As I spoke with my turquoise supplying associate, I felt I was being formally abused, much like the sensation the cob might have provided one's backside. After having my personal safety and my life threatened several times, we came to somewhat agreeable terms on the purchase of his highly desirable blue and green gems. Just before he hung up, Mr. Turquoise laughed and told me that just because he threatened to break my knees and stuff me in a mine shaft didn't mean we weren't friends; it was simply his way of showing affection. I love that guy!
So it went the rest of the day, until it came to a point where I was feeling chaffed and raw about the coarseness of the situation. I felt as if I needed to get out of the shop and reconnect with the natural world. I hoped Mother Earth would treat me with more respect. I found my coat and grabbed the digital camera; I had lately been noticing the beauty of the cap-rock on the cliff tops above town. As I drive home each evening, the play of evening light and shadow on the roiled and domed surfaces had captured my imagination and was now drawing me in. Leaving work an hour early would give me enough time to witness a sunset "on the rocks!"
I told Steve where I was going and that if a Mrs. Norton from New England called to act like they were old friends. I was out the door before he could ask any questions, jumped into the Toyota and headed north. I drove up Cow Canyon, took a hard right on the belt loop and another onto the first dirt road that ran parallel to the canyon. Five minutes from the front door of the trading post put me within a short walk of my goal.
Stepping out of the car forced me to contend with a brisk and bitter breeze, my ears felt the nip of low temperatures and my eyes immediately teared up. It seemed nature was not going to allow me a reprieve from a less than perfect day. I had only a light coat and no hat, but I was determined to get to the slick rock and see the sunset no matter what. Trudging across the desert caused my toes to numb, but I made it to where the desert met the rock. Looking up through misty eyes, I recognized the bold, bubbly formation setting before me. I reached down and felt the sand paper texture of the rock and was immediately calmed.
I scrambled up the slick rock slope looking for a southwesterly exposed stadium seat to witness the end of day. Having grown up in this area, I knew that somewhere in this twisted cauliflower formation there would be a small, out-of-the-way alcove protected from the cold wind and warmed by the evening sunlight. I topped the crest of stone and moved down the other side, soon finding just such a location. It was actually quite cozy and the sun was resting right on the horizon, waiting for me to settle in and enjoy the show.
I have to say that I have witnessed much more grand and spectacular sunsets, but never one so calming. The sound of complete silence surrounded me as did the coarse yet nurturing stone. It seemed my self-perceived troubles dissipated into the rock as the sun descended behind the horizon. It felt good to join with nature and ignore the complications of the real world. As all traces of the sun and my bad humor withdrew, and twilight came forth, I raised up and breathed deeply the cleansing air. Turning towards the west, I was greeted by a nearly full rising moon. I said a prayer of thanks for being able to live in such a strikingly beautiful and unique area and to so quickly and easily commune with nature.
The Sunset from Bluff, Utah.
Walking back across the short strip of under-vegetated sand, icy white moonlight and enveloping purple twilight put me at complete ease. I thought of my family waiting at home and felt warm and comfortable in spite of the nip in the air and frostbite on my ears. I was hoping my wife and children would forgive me for being late for dinner, but was certain I would be easier to get along with when I arrived. I also thought I might have to send Steve out here tomorrow night to enjoy a similar experience. When he finds out I have sacrificed him in the effort to save my own sanity he may be a tad aggravated in his own right. In the meantime, where was an outhouse when you needed one?
(Click here to see additional images of Bluff, Utah's beauty!)
With warm regards,
Barry, Steve and the Team.
Copyright 2006 Twin Rocks Trading Post
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