Tales of a Trader’s Dog - Part 1

My name is Buffy the Wonder Dog, but my friends call me Buffy. I am a seven year old Golden Retriever, and this is my tale.


Buffy the Wonder Dog

Some time ago I was introduced to a fine little book entitled Tales of a Trader’s Wife, which was published in 1965 by Mary Jeanette Kennedy. Mrs. Kennedy is the grandmother of Georgiana Kennedy Simpson, wife of Steven P. Simpson. Steve and Georgiana, along with their children, Kira and Grange, are my owners. Georgiana comes from a long line of Indian traders; Steve, not so long.

Having been exposed to Mary Jeanette’s memoir when I was just a whelp, I have recently become inspired to document my own experience, which, if successful, will be serialized in the well known and widely circulated literary column Tied to the Post. This weekly bit of fantasy, which some unkind individuals have from time to time referred to as yellow journalism, is written by my owner and his brother, Barry Simpson. Barry and Steve are the proprietors of Twin Rocks Trading Post.

Twin Rocks is a lonely outpost located in Bluff, Utah, just two miles north of the San Juan River. This watercourse, which forms the northern border of the Navajo Indian Reservation, is host to a number of extremely small communities in which residents attempt to scratch a living out of a desolate desert environment. My early experiences provided no indication I would eventually spend my days at a trading post in the wilds of southern Utah, but here I am.

I was born in Clines Corner, New Mexico during the winter of 2004, the offspring of purebred parents. My sire’s family, while of good stock, had fallen on hard times, and after my birth it was discovered that my mother’s bloodline was afflicted with hip dysplasia. So, while the trunk of my family tree is solid hard wood, my particular branch is not sterling.

Born the forth of eight, my parents assured me I was the pick of the litter, and that I, like Rocky Balboa, could be a contender. Early on I was encouraged to set my sights on the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. Alas, with the discovery of dysplasia in my genetic code, and my somewhat crooked teeth, that dream was never to be realized. Instead, my breeder elected to convey me to an older couple living in Albuquerque’s North Valley.

My new owners, John and Georgiana Kennedy, had deep roots in the Indian trading business, but at 91 and 84 years of age respectively, they were in the twilight of their careers. John’s father, George Kennedy and Mary Jeanette had established a trading post at Salina Springs, Arizona in 1913.

John was the owner of Gallup Indian Trading Company, located in Gallup, New Mexico, for many years. Decades before I was adopted into the family, the business had been passed down to John’s sons and subsequently closed. He, however, continued to trade, and at 91 was still active in the business.

When John’s old blue Chevy van, which likely had 250,000 reservation miles on its chassis, was stolen, I was brought in to guard the Kennedy compound against further thievery. Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, however, quickly realized they had overestimated the extent of my security training, and discussions were convened that would ultimately land me a new position at Twin Rocks Trading Post.

To be continued.

With warm regards,
Steve, Barry and The Team

Great New Items! This week's selection of Native American art!

Our TnT's purchased new treasures! Check out Traders in Training!

Enjoy artwork from our many collector friends in Living with the Art!

Sticky Sweet!

In the heart of the Santo Domingo Pueblo, in north central New Mexico, acclaimed lapidary artist Ray Lovato and his family sit together in their small kitchen to work, eat and socialize. Often Ray gathers his tools and supplies and bellys-up to the table to string the beautiful, hand-ground turquoise beads he has just made. Ray has a gregarious, easy-going way, so his grandchildren are incredibly fond of him. Conversation is lively as Ray sits there contently, smiling and tossing in creative quips intended to keep the dialogue lively. As his grandchildren eat toast and jam, the discussions often grow more and more animated. With Ray's gleeful prodding, the situation frequently spirals into a chaotic melee. Such is the way Ray rolls; his family is his most valuable asset, and a sounding board for his latest jokes. Ray's beads are considered some of the best in the Native American art world, and as a result he enjoys a lucrative business which supports the growing brood.


Santo Domingo New Lander Calcasiderite Bead Necklace - Ray Lovato (#33)

Our friend Bob recently called about a Ray Lovato Blue Gem turquoise necklace he purchased from Twin Rocks. He was concerned that some of the beads appeared to be fused together. To be honest, I could not conceive how such a thing might happen, but then I recalled Ray's last visit, when the Kokopelli doors blew open to expose an explosion of Native children and a smiling, laughing Ray Lovato. The kids were dancing about as if fueled by pure cane sugar, and their hands and faces were colored red and blue with sticky substances. I knew for certain the glass counters would need a thorough scouring after this boundless bunch finished their tour. Ray dropped off the beads we were anticipating, along with two loaves of Santo Domingo bread, a bag of blue corn cookies, flattened wedges of a pie-like offering and several off-color jokes. He then pocketed his cash, rounded up his herd and left for southern skies.

As I spoke with Bob, addressing his concerns about his "natural" necklace, I recalled Ray's recent visit and evaluated what I knew of Ray's work space. A light came on, and I began to suspect the reasons why several of those Blue Gem beads were stuck together. In Ray's world the opportunities for sweet and sticky goodies abound. I explained my suspicions to Bob, advising him to soak the beads in cold water before sending them back to me for inspection. Bob laughed at the thought, but agreed to give the plan a try.

Several days went by and I had not heard back from Bob, so I e-mailed him, asking how the recommended solution had worked out. Bob replied that he had not soaked the beads, but had instead forced his fingernail between them and separated their sticky surfaces. Bob also mentioned that he had found two more beads attached in a similar manner. He had apparently been tempted to sample the tacky stuff to confirm our suspicions, but, believing the evidence was clear, he decided against it. Fortunately Bob has a good sense of humor and found the experience added a more human aspect to Ray's art. I now inspect Ray's beads a tad more closely. Along with the bread and cookies Ray so generously gifts us, I am on the look out for something extra sweet in his jewelry.

When I shared this sticky story with my parents, they laughed merrily and reminded me how they had raised their young family during the late 1950's and early 60's. The outpost of Bluff City left our parents far from any modern convenience, so mom and dad would load up on "supplies" whenever they went to town. Large quantities of Blue Bird flower, Crisco shortening, salt, sugar, dry yeast and butter were essential to stock the pantry. Dad reminded me that there was usually an entire beef in the freezer, much of it hamburger. From those stores mom would deliver 10 to 13 loaves of bread per week, and there was generally a large pot of chili beans on the stove to compliment the baked goods. When those hot, fresh loaves emerged from the oven, anyone familiar with mom's baking skills would show up for supper. Susan, Craig, Steve, Cindy and I would have to have been tied to a post, or trapped under a large rock, not to make an appearance.

Mom claims her five children, dad and other family and friends would go through 4 or 5 loaves of bread, a pound of sweet butter, a quart of jam, a couple gallons of milk and an entire pot of beans in one sitting. Talk about a hungry hoard! At that time, dad owned and operated a small filling station on the main highway, at the base of Cow Canyon. Each evening he would return from work and lay out his daily barter on the kitchen table for all of us to see. I cannot remember a time when there were not rugs, baskets or jewelry on or within close proximity to our table. Mom and dad assured me that beans, bread crumbs, butter and preserves often found their way into those trade goods too. What is a little sweet and sticky among friends anyway?

With warm regards,
Barry, Steve and The Team

Great New Items! This week's selection of Native American art!

Our TnT's purchased new treasures! Check out Traders in Training!

Enjoy artwork from our many collector friends in Living with the Art!

Just Use It

As a young man of the 1970s, I well remember the custom vans of that era. Likely an outgrowth of the 1960s VW microbus craze, these elaborately painted, wildly windowed and chrome wheeled vehicles captured my attention, and my desire. It was likely Sammy Johns’ song entitled Chevy Van, however, that sealed my fate; one day I would have one of my own.


1936 Chevy

Well, the 1970s came and went, as did the country’s taste for those beautiful, boxy automobiles, but my hunger for the custom cruisers never abated. And so, when 2005 rolled around and my cousin from Grand Junction came to visit Twin Rocks Trading Post I was still thinking of the ‘70s. Since Tye is a builder of antique autos, our conversation naturally gravitated towards old cars. “I have always wanted a classic van,” I told him. He shook his head knowingly, sympathetically. He obviously knew more than he was letting on.

A few weeks later, a copy of Hemmings Motor News arrived in the mail, courtesy of my cousin. Splashed across the front was a photograph of three 1936 sedan deliverys; a Dodge, a Ford and a Chevy. Although they were not at all what I originally had in mind, I picked up the telephone and informed Tye that was exactly what I wanted. “Good,” he said, “I know where there is a Chevy just like the one on the cover.” I found myself committed before I knew what was happening, so a month later Jana, Kira, Grange and I went to Grand Junction to view the prospect.

Having had his eye on the car for a long while, Tye assured me he knew exactly what to do with it. So, I took a leap of faith, bought the van and set Tye to work. Six years later the car is in the final stages of its reincarnation.

Now that it is getting close to completion, I have begun fretting about what to do with this vehicular work of art when it is finally delivered. Consequently, I called Tye to express my concerns. “I can’t drive it,” I said, thinking about how I would feel if it became scratched or dented. Taking a cue from the folks at Nike, Tye said, “Just use it. It’s a car, it’s meant to be driven.”

“Humm,” I thought, having never considered that it really is just an automobile, and recognizing that, when it comes to Navajo rugs, that is the advice we give people who visit the trading post.

Barry and I often chuckle at the visitors who come into the store and walk around the rugs we have scattered about the floor. We see them tiptoe past, cautiously circumnavigate and even jump over these handmade beauties. Echoing my comment to Tye, they say, “We are afraid to walk on them.” “Nuts,” we say, assuring them the rugs are made to be used, and that in all likelihood they will outlive us all. We note that we believe the weavings give the trading post a lot of character and that we love having them on the floor.

At the old Jens Nielson House and Mill, which is located just around the corner from Twin Rocks and is also where the Simpson family lived during my whelpage, I vividly remember Duke and Rose having Navajo rugs three deep on the floors. Back then nobody gave a second thought to walking on them. Those weavings seemed strong as iron, and made for an extremely colorful and comfortable home. So, when that old van finally arrives in Bluff, I will get myself a Sammy Johns tape, throw a Navajo rug in the back and “Just use it!”

With warm regards,
Steve, Barry and The Team

Great New Items! This week's selection of Native American art!

Our TnT's purchased new treasures! Check out Traders in Training!

Enjoy artwork from our many collector friends in Living with the Art!

Creature Companions

Tuesday was turning out to be a day of creature features. First of all, I opened the cafe at sunup and was greeted by a flock of Rufous Hummingbirds with very territorial attitudes. Our hummingbird population must be the most photographed in the county. Tourists just love to sit on the porch, watch the sunrise, eat breakfast and snap images of those bickering birds. The hummers brawl with and badger each other over drafts of Jenelia's slow-brewed sugar water. A few hours later, we opened the doors to the trading post and in flew one of the many Great Crested Flycatcher's that had been devouring winged bugs that were still attached to the outside walls after a night of illuminated attraction. It took awhile to catch and release the feathered phenom back into its augmented environment. The flycatchers are replaced by our cleanup crew of Collard, Spiny and Plateau Striped lizards, just to name a few, that emerge when the temperatures rise in the late morning, early afternoon.


Navajo Big Horned Sheep Carving - Marvin Jim & Grace Begay (#344)

At noon, I was still schlepping tables at the cafe. I went outside to sweep crumbs from under the patio tables when a family of six walked up and asked if they could bring their dog onto the porch. They wanted to get her out of the hot car and have a lite lunch for themselves. I told them we do allow dogs on the porch, so long as they are non-boisterous, do not beg and/or bother other people. Most importantly, I do not, will not, cannot tolerate incontinence in species! Looking around for the aforementioned pupster, I saw the woman pop a pooch out of her handbag, attach a leach and set it down. The miniature Mexican Chihuahua was primped in a sundress of all things. The Lilliputian Chiquita hunkered under a chair as if embarrassed by her attire and began licking crumbs I had missed. I felt badly for the little beastie, but I was certain we were going to get along just fine.

Seeing that poor pooch dressed to impress humans caused me to recall how Navajo lore speaks of how all animals once walked upright. At that time, they stood with humans and aided in the creation of the world. Traditional stories such as these speak of respectful conversation between all living beings, of equality, honor and friendship. The community stood strong and united; interaction was highly personal, harmonious and balanced. Animals played prominent roles in these myths. For example, raptors, both great and small, were strong and dominate aerialists. These magnificent birds of prey were often portrayed as intermediaries between the real and spirit worlds. When it was essential that a prayerful message be delivered to the upper realm, a raptor was petitioned to deliver the dispatch. At that time, dogs were considered highly intelligent and had the gift of tongues. Canines were exceptionally close allies with humans, and were known for their unselfish acts of protection and due diligence.

Each and every animal held a position of importance within the cultural community. Their assistance helped make the world an enjoyable place to live. Life was prosperous and pleasurable. Unfortunately, in an imperfect world relationships are often destroyed by less than subtle indecencies. Greed, jealousy, lapse of compassion and understanding; the mistakes and missteps so common to man that occur and reoccur with regularity crept in. These sins of man forced the separation of the animals and humans. Our creature companions discarded their garb and now, basically, choose to ignore and/or not to communicate with human kind. During the separation each went their separate way and ignorance destroyed harmonious and beneficial relationships. The stories of old remind the Navajo people of their past mistakes and attempt to teach them how to avoid revisiting such inappropriate and destructive behavior.

Later that day I was working the trading post when a young man and his parents pushed in through the Kokopelli doors. The parents were fifty-something and dressed like tourists outta be. They wore airy shirts, khaki shorts and sandals. The young man's attire was something else altogether. As the youth entered the building he caused a ripple in the tide. Everyone in the store stopped, stared for a moment, recalled proper protocol then regained their step. The youth was in the neighborhood of 17 years of age, he was tall, relatively good looking and by the way he greeted me I deemed him well mannered. The reason he caused everyone to stop and stare had everything to do with the way he was dressed. Riding upon his head of shoulder length brown hair was one of those heavy, crushable, brown leather, adventurer-style hats which was encircled by a porcupine quill band. His dark eyes shone bright from under that temperate topper, as if he were living life's perfect dream.

The upper torso of the young buck was encased in, first, a black silk shirt, then a mid-thigh black leather, Ralph-Cactus coat sporting fringe at the breast, back and under the arms. The heavy coat was adorned with brightly colored, 3" wide bands of imported bead-work over the chest, shoulders and across the back. It also had circular medallions at the cuffs. Black Levis' and a pair of dull, pitch black boots completed the ensemble. As the youth circled the store he repeatedly raised his arms and extended them fully. This action allowed the foot long, leather fringe streamers under the sleeves to hang freely. For all intents and purpose the kid looked like a giant California Condor floating about the store. The event was rather entertaining.

Smiling to myself, I thought back on Navajo legend. I contemplated discussing issues of personal space with hummingbirds, learning the finer points of aerodynamic acrobatics from a Flycatcher or climbing the walls with lackadaisical lizards. I laughed out loud when I conceived of having coffee and crumpets with a chic Chihuahua or a conversation with a California Condor about how young people express themselves these days. Life would certainly be more interesting if animals walked and talked with us once more. But, just as sure as sin, someone would mouth-off, open old wounds and cause a collapse of companionship once more. Aren't we humans something to behold?

With warm regards,
Barry, Steve and The Team

Great New Items! This week's selection of Native American art!

Our TnT's purchased new treasures! Check out Traders in Training!

Enjoy artwork from our many collector friends in Living with the Art!