Navajo Pitch Pot Artist Etta Rock
These utilitarian vessels are time consuming to create; just gathering the sap prevents many a would-be artist from pursuing this craft. The pine pitch is gathered from the trees by picking the droplets one by one. After the pitch is gathered, it is necessary to heat and screen the debris from the batch. This is done in a double boiler, and must be done at least three separate times. It is a hot, sticky job, with the ever present risk of being burned by the boiling liquid. There is much skill involved in producing a pitch pot. Weaving a symmetrical foundation, applying the pitch and producing a smooth even finish sounds easy enough. It is not, we know of only two other people who make pitch pots, and their production is small.
If by chance Steve or I is cornered by Etta we do our best to withstand her charms and explain to her that we have an abundance of her work. This, of course, does not deter this charmer of souls. Offering her calloused hand and smiling sincerely from somewhere deep within, Etta begins to break down your will. You do your best to hold firm, but it is a losing battle. At some point in the process you find yourself asking Etta not to sell you the piece. Imagine that - a turnabout has occurred. Speaking hardly a word of English, except "please," and communicating her bewitching magic through facial expression and body language, Etta reels you in. It is a sad time for someone who has convinced himself that he can, gently, and with kindness, turn away the most persistent salesperson. This just does not work with Etta, she is definitely an enigma.
I first met Etta sometime in the late 1970s. I was running the forerunner of Twin Rocks Trading Post, which was called Bluff City Trading Post. It was a small hole-in-the-wall that catered to the Navajo people more than the tourists. It was at this upstart business that I met many of the local "colorful characters". Etta is one individual that I place in this category. Needless to say I lost my heart to this quiet, easy going grandmother. She referred to me as “Duke's boy". Before I knew
it, half of my inventory was made up of Etta's pitch pots. Duke's boy was about to be disowned by Duke. At one point Etta brought me the largest pitch pot I have ever seen. It was three feet tall and easily as wide. It was the middle of a very hot Bluff summer; sweltering to say the least. Etta and her husband Jackson backed up to the front of the old store with a large something wrapped in wet blankets, tied securely in the back of their truck. I began to fidget and wring my hands because my father had threatened me with disastrous consequences if I ever bought another of Etta’s “!@#$%&* water jars. There was no way out; I was cornered. I was going to have to stand up to Etta or pay the price.
Etta Rock in front of Twin Rocks Trading Post
Just then my dear old dad wheeled into the yard. Salvation! I was not too proud to sacrifice my father to Etta’s persuasions, to save myself. Both Etta and my father walked into the store at the same time. I raised my hands, palms facing Etta and said, “No more Etta please.” I was thinking that my father was going to go ballistic if I bought more of her pitch pots. Etta turned to Duke and smiled. . . She turned on the charm, and before you could say, “There she goes again,” my tough guy dad had been reeled in. It was over quickly. Etta pulled away with a wad of cash, and we became the owners of the largest known pitch pot in the history of the art. I simply looked at my father with mock surprise and said, “What just happened?” Duke just snorted, realizing he had just met a master saleswoman. He walked back outside, climbed into his truck and drove away. From that time forward, whenever I wanted to needle my dear old Dad for one reason or another, I would bring up the monster pitch pot affair. It works beautifully.
Duke Simpson with Etta Rock's Pitch Pot
I have often seen Etta’s pitch pots in local service stations, convenience stores and lumberyards. The woman certainly gets around. I recently received a phone call from an irate farmer’s wife. She asked if I knew a Navajo woman named Etta Rock. She had traded the woman’s husband a number of what she called pitch pots, for hay, and the woman wanted to know their value. It seems her husband could not say no to the woman and was going to let his wife deal with her the next time Etta showed up. I assured the woman that Etta’s pitch pots were indeed valuable, and that I thought it would be a good idea for her to meet Etta.
The next time I met the farmer, I asked him about his trading pitch pots for hay, and whether his wife had met Etta. He shook his head and said that his wife had indeed met her and that they now owned an additional water jar. He also said that he was glad that he had a long, open driveway to his farm house. It gave him, and his wife, a slight advantage. They could slip out the back door and disappear into the barn when the Rocks came to visit.
As I look around the store to have Natalie photograph pitch pots for this story, I realize that we are low on Etta’s work; we have only eight pitch pots in the Trading Post. I am a bit hesitant to send a message that we need a visit from Etta; this is unprecedented. If we open that door we may have to invite Etta into a trading post partnership, or take out a loan to support the increased inventory. Where is that woman when we need her? Oh well, I am sure she will show up soon. If she doesn't, I know where to find some surplus pots.
Copyright©2002 Twin Rocks Trading Post
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