Not so very long ago, just south of the San Juan River, in the Navajo Nation, there came into being a badger. After a time the youngster was put out of the family den and began looking to settle a territory of his own. He bid his parents a sad but fond "ha'goo'nee" and trotted off in a westerly direction. After several days of travel across mesa and around monuments, the badger came upon a large expanse of metal objects. The accumulation included oil-encrusted and dirt-impregnated car parts of every description, heavy duty bed springs, bent and twisted patio furniture, appliances of most makes and models and office furniture in every state of disrepair. The collection seemed vast to the badger. What he saw as junk was spread across an expanse of aridly depressed and pebble-populated flat land. Smack dab in the middle of all the rusty implements and pitted iron rested a well kept hogan; a large lodge pole framework for a summer shade; a small and immaculately maintained, freshly painted stick-built home; and a 20' x 30' galvanized Quonset hut packed to the gunwales with tools. The badger was intrigued with the place, and fascinated by the cluttered-uncluttered contrast, so he decided to move in, post haste.
The badger located the stripped-down framework of a 1969 Mustang fastback, went inside to explore the possibilities and found them satisfactory. Through an opening in the floor pan he began excavating a burrow. The thoughtful creature figured the old car would protect him from sun and storm on the top side and in the burrow deep within the good earth he could escape the extremes of heat and cold. As the badger dug, he heard a ferocious growl just outside his door. Stepping out of the car, he came face-to-face with a junkyard dog. The dog was mid-sized and well muscled, his hackles were raised and he seemed ready to fight. The badger sank low to the ground and bared his teeth, as if to say, "Okay Buster, if you want it, come and get it!" Sensing the challenge, the dog lunged. The fight really didn't last long. As the dog shot forward the badger neatly side-stepped the oncoming animal and clamped down on its nose. With razor sharp canines and a fierce determination, the badger held firm. The poor mutt let out a mournful howl of pain, struggled halfheartedly, laid down and gave up. The badger shook the pup one last time for good measure and released the Curr. Turning his back on his outmatched opponent, the badger kicked dirt in the pup's face and returned to the vehicle. Realizing there was a new sheriff in town, the junk yard dog ran off licking his wounded snot box and never returned for a rematch.
The badger settled into a daily routine of cruising the yard for mice and prairie dogs in the early morning light. He slept during mid-day, and in the late afternoon and early evening hours watched the man and woman work around the house and in the shop. By listening to the many visitors the couple met with, the badger soon discovered the names of his new neighbors. The woman, Betty Shorty, was small and sturdy, with thinning salt and pepper hair which she pulled back tightly in a traditional bun. She had a habit of singing traditional songs in a loud, clear voice as she scouted for parts her husband needed to finish one job or another. She was quite a sight walking through that mess in her brightly colored velveteen blouse and satin skirt. Betty was quite fond of her man. In fact, she thought him the most generous and helpful human being in the Four Corners region. Most everyone else agreed, because Ben Shorty was a gifted mechanic and fabricator who freely shared his talents. He was known to his friends as "Old Ben". Old Ben was 70-something years of age, tall and lean, with a ready smile for all people. Ben was laid back and easy going. Ben and Betty were good together.
Ben and Betty had become widely known for their benevolent nature. They were often visited by people seeking help to keep vehicles running, repair broken-down equipment and . . . well just about anything to do with metal. If Ben did not have a needed part or piece in his yard, nine times out of ten times he could fabricate it on the spot. Betty was a fabulous "finder" and cook. Her mutton stew and fry bread were considered the best in the land. The badger found it fascinating to climb onto the cab of an ancient Mac truck and, with a bird's eye view into his shop, watch as Ben worked his magic. He also loved to see Betty search out parts and pieces in the yard. It was amazing how that couple loved people and how they shared their talents so freely. Ben and Betty soon became aware of the badger and discovered his new home. They steered clear of the Mustang, believing the creature was a brother to be welcomed into their world. Except for a nonexistent social life, the badger was content.
Soon the weather began to turn cold, and snow came to the high desert Southwest. The badger appreciated his hot rod hovel even more because the windows in the Mustang allowed the car to warm up nicely during the day. The badger could not resist watching Ben and Betty work, and was continually amazed at what the old man created with his hands, a torch and a little metal. One day Betty drove herself to town in their Dodge truck. When she returned, along with many bags of groceries, there was a spruce tree in the back. The badger thought that quite odd, but was even more confused when Betty dragged the tree into the house. Ben was working in his shop, but soon followed Betty inside. From his perch on the cab of the Mac truck, the badger watched contentedly as Ben and Betty decorated the tree. As the sun set they finished their chore, and when dusk settled onto their home the Navajo couple lit up their Christmas tree. The badger stayed up late into the night, bedazzled by the colorful, twinkling lights.
The badger must have fallen asleep there on the cab of the Mac truck, enchanted by the lights of the Shorty's Christmas tree. Sometime between midnight and morning, the badger was awakened by a loud scraping noise coming from the train rock monument located just east of the Shorty compound. It sounded as if something had ricocheted off the sandstone spires. The badger jumped up and turned toward the clamor, seeing an explosion of sparks and hearing the crunch of metal arising from the bottom of the nearby arroyo. Out of the ravine lurched a group of odd looking deer harnessed to a crumpled red and chrome sleigh. For a brief moment the team and sleigh seemed to pause in midair, then it plunged back toward earth. The deer dug in their heels and slowed the rig just enough to keep it from slamming into the dirt. In a spray of rocky soil and a cloud of red dust, the team made a quasi crash-landing right there in the Shorty family yard.
The badger stood there amazed. He heard a loud sigh of relief come from the sled and turned to look upon a funny little man dressed in red velveteen trimmed in white faux fur. The jolly elf sported a snow white beard and mustache. "That was a close call," chuckled the little man, smiling brightly and winking at the badger. Then he sprang from the sleigh and comforted the nervously prancing reindeer. In their night clothes Ben and Betty exploded from the house and into the yard to see what was the matter. "Santa Claus?" they said in unison. "Hello my good friends" said the man, "I am in dire need of help. Can I count on you?" The Shorty's nodded an acknowledgment, and Santa smiled in a bright and appreciative manner. "We will need to hurry," said Santa, raising his hand in the air and shooting what looked like a mini flare from his index finger. That tiny rocket flew about 20 feet into the night sky, exploded and descended in several slowly tumbling arcs. As the sparkling rainbow fell it created a vibrant dome over the compound. The badger lurched backward so as to avoid being scorched by the brilliant light, causing him to fall into the back of the truck. Regaining his footing, the badger looked through the rear window of the Mac, just where the now glowing canopy ended, and saw an amazing sight.
It looked as if a giant snow globe encased the house, shop and yard. Inside the dome's perimeter a magical thing occurred. As the badger watched, Santa and the Shorty's warped into super sonic speed. Visually it was hard to keep up with, but the badger saw Old Ben, Santa and Betty inspect the sleigh and shake their head side to side. Ben shot over to a tarp he had covering something in the shop and uncovered what turned out to be a 1962 Cadillac Coup de Ville convertible. Santa nodded happily and soon everyone was at work reconfiguring the classic car. As quickly as you please, they chopped that Cadillac down to size, welded it back together, painted and re-chromed the exterior and reupholstered the white leather interior. Ben and Betty crafted skis from four separate bumpers, made struts and welded them into place while the jolly old elf popped the hood and went to work adding a little extra lift. As Ben and the old man worked on the guidance system, Betty began polishing the "new" old model sleigh. Before anyone could say "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year" the three had that modified convertible hooked-up to the dancing deer and ready to fly. Santa reached for the sky one more time and down came the time capsule. Santa then pointed at his new vehicle and shot it with a magical lightning bolt. The sleigh de Ville raised up off the ground and hovered, ready for a transfer of the numerous velvety bags of gifts contained in the crumpled sleigh. There were hugs all around, and Santa sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle and blasted off into the upper ozone.
As the badger climbed back upon his perch, Old Ben and Betty slid the wrecked sleigh into the shop and covered it with the tarp. The badger watched in envy as the satisfied couple return to the cozy house. When they walked inside there were presents of tools, cookware, clothing and sweet treats all around. It seems the Shorty's were well rewarded for their generous nature. As the badger climbed down from the truck and trotted back to his Mustang, he couldn't help be amazed at what he had just witnessed. "This Shorty estate was a wondrous place," he thought. As the badger turned the final corner to his abode, he pulled up short and sat back on his haunches in surprise. There, sitting near his front door, was the prettiest little she badger he had ever seen. The badger looked into the night sky and saw a brilliant flash of white light. "Now this", thought the badger, "will be a Christmas to tell the kits about."
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!
Friday, December 23, 2011
Friday, December 16, 2011
Silent Night
At Twin Rocks Trading Post, Priscilla has hung the colored lights and assembled the faux tree. The Christmas cards have flowed out, and the responses are flooding back in. To say we are in the holiday spirit would be an understatement; we are like kids at FAO Schwarz.
With party after party beginning to crowd our schedules and holiday candy at every turn, Barry and I are beginning to look like Frosty the Snowman and the Pillsbury Doughboy. Priscilla just giggles, afraid to poke us in the ribs lest she puncture our distended hides and cause a rapid deflation.
At the risk of overdosing on holiday cheer, thus requiring sugar detoxification and family counseling, last weekend Jana, Kira, Grange and I traveled to Albuquerque for what Jana’s family refers to as “Thanksmas”. As one might guess, Thanksmas is an annual affair that occurs between Thanksgiving and Christmas. For the Kennedys, two holiday celebrations came up one short, so they invented another. The party generally combines of the best elements from both festivals; eating copious amounts of food, talking until you are hoarse and a “Yankee Swap”.
As it happens, I love the holiday season and am crazy about Christmas carols. Consequentially, once the Simpson family SUV got within range of an Albuquerque radio signal, I found an all carol all the time station. Now, I am no Ella Fitzgerald, but I can surely belt out a serviceable Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and when it comes to Jingle Bell Rock there is no holding me back.
Kira and Grange were patient for a time, but after a few songs, they began to demand I give them equal time for head-banger music. I, however, was adamant, no screamer was going to interrupt Little Drummer Boy while I had control of the knob. They argued, somewhat convincingly, that I was in fact out of control.
As Bing Crosby crooned White Christmas, I was transported back to the spring of 1979. At the time Craig and I were in school and on the wrestling team at Weber State College. Our roommate, Rob Wurm, was a talented wrestler from northern California who loved country music. He had developed a good style on the guitar and could sing well enough to enchant the young ladies. I was envious, but, aside from the more obvious handicaps, was irretrievably tone deaf.
At the time a South Korean all star team was touring the western United States and Weber State was on their agenda. The afternoon before the competition, Rob and I were assigned to entertain two team members. Deciding to take them to Salt Lake City for a few hours, we shoehorned them into the back of Rob’s well worn Datsun 240z and caught the freeway south. Despite being shoved into such a small space, the Koreans were in good spirits and spontaneously began singing in their native tongue.
It was not long before they asked Rob and me to sing for them. While that was not a problem for Rob, finding a song I would not annihilate was a real challenge. Thinking of the holidays not long past, I suggested White Christmas. In my musical ignorance I believed our guests would not recognize the tune. I had, of course, failed to realize the song was universal. After bursting out in laughter at the thought of Rob and me singing Christmas carols at that time of the year, the Koreans joined in and we caroled all the way to Salt Lake City.
From that point forward White Christmas has been a reminder to me that no matter what our differences we are all the same and whatever our beliefs we can celebrate the holiday spirit all year long.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
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!
With party after party beginning to crowd our schedules and holiday candy at every turn, Barry and I are beginning to look like Frosty the Snowman and the Pillsbury Doughboy. Priscilla just giggles, afraid to poke us in the ribs lest she puncture our distended hides and cause a rapid deflation.
At the risk of overdosing on holiday cheer, thus requiring sugar detoxification and family counseling, last weekend Jana, Kira, Grange and I traveled to Albuquerque for what Jana’s family refers to as “Thanksmas”. As one might guess, Thanksmas is an annual affair that occurs between Thanksgiving and Christmas. For the Kennedys, two holiday celebrations came up one short, so they invented another. The party generally combines of the best elements from both festivals; eating copious amounts of food, talking until you are hoarse and a “Yankee Swap”.
As it happens, I love the holiday season and am crazy about Christmas carols. Consequentially, once the Simpson family SUV got within range of an Albuquerque radio signal, I found an all carol all the time station. Now, I am no Ella Fitzgerald, but I can surely belt out a serviceable Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and when it comes to Jingle Bell Rock there is no holding me back.
Kira and Grange were patient for a time, but after a few songs, they began to demand I give them equal time for head-banger music. I, however, was adamant, no screamer was going to interrupt Little Drummer Boy while I had control of the knob. They argued, somewhat convincingly, that I was in fact out of control.
As Bing Crosby crooned White Christmas, I was transported back to the spring of 1979. At the time Craig and I were in school and on the wrestling team at Weber State College. Our roommate, Rob Wurm, was a talented wrestler from northern California who loved country music. He had developed a good style on the guitar and could sing well enough to enchant the young ladies. I was envious, but, aside from the more obvious handicaps, was irretrievably tone deaf.
At the time a South Korean all star team was touring the western United States and Weber State was on their agenda. The afternoon before the competition, Rob and I were assigned to entertain two team members. Deciding to take them to Salt Lake City for a few hours, we shoehorned them into the back of Rob’s well worn Datsun 240z and caught the freeway south. Despite being shoved into such a small space, the Koreans were in good spirits and spontaneously began singing in their native tongue.
It was not long before they asked Rob and me to sing for them. While that was not a problem for Rob, finding a song I would not annihilate was a real challenge. Thinking of the holidays not long past, I suggested White Christmas. In my musical ignorance I believed our guests would not recognize the tune. I had, of course, failed to realize the song was universal. After bursting out in laughter at the thought of Rob and me singing Christmas carols at that time of the year, the Koreans joined in and we caroled all the way to Salt Lake City.
From that point forward White Christmas has been a reminder to me that no matter what our differences we are all the same and whatever our beliefs we can celebrate the holiday spirit all year long.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
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!
Friday, December 9, 2011
Vintage Dresses and Immature Men
In their early years, our daughters Alyssa and McKale were typical girlie girls when it came to playing dress-up. As a family we spent nearly every Sunday in Monticello, visiting and eating dinner with Grandma and Grandpa Washburn. In Grandma's closets and basement storage boxes the girls discovered prom and party dresses left over from Laurie and her four sisters' high school years. The Washburn home was a treasure trove of satin and lace. In the beginning, the girls roped my young and impressionable son into their princess party plans. When his sisters tried to dress him in prissy pantaloons, however, Spenser became disenchanted and decided he had been led down the garden path.
As of late, my now strapping man-child and his eldest sister are engaged in furthering their educational goals in the hallowed halls of Brigham Young University, Provo campus. Only McKale and a few closely guarded photographs remain at home to remind us of those more carefree days of model mania. Although she is a junior in high school, McKale has not lost her zest for rummaging through Grandma Donna's back closets and cedar chests in search of fanciful fashions. Sunday dinner at the Washburn homestead allow McKale time to seek out, uncover and model vintage apparel, and she has recently discovered a few of her Grandmother's Sunday-go-to-meeting dresses that had been carefully packed away after being exchanged for maternity wear. Six children and 50 years of family life have caused those top notch toggeries to be long forgotten. McKale was thrilled.
McKale tried on two dresses that fit her beautifully. When she modeled them for us, memories of Harriet Nelson and June Cleaver flashed through my mind. The dresses were classics, straight out of the 1950s. Grandma Washburn and McKale decided they should be laundered and put back into service. After looking the dresses over carefully, our daughter came to recognize that wearing apparel from that period was made a bit differently; it was crafted to endure the test of time. What a concept! Not only was the material top quality, the tailoring was impeccable. McKale wore the dresses to school and church; she was flooded with compliments and became hooked on antique clothing.
When I returned home from work last night, McKale and her mother were making dinner and talking princess, party and prom dresses, so I sat down at the kitchen table to listened in on their conversation. I must admit that I am a bit disturbed by the prospect of my baby girl entering the dating game. When Alyssa turned 16, I argued vehemently that she was far too young to go out with one of those hyper-hormone-injected beastie boys! I once read an article that indicated girls do not fully mature until they are between 26 and 28 years of age. Boys . . . well, to be perfectly honest, boys never do." Because of this, it is my personal opinion that 30 is much more appropriate age to begin mingling. Laurie disagreed with me altogether, and argued that I was once just such a hormone driven creature. "Exactly!" I countered, "I know just what she's up against. It's a jungle out there, with fangs, claws and junk everywhere." As you might guess, I lost that argument; I usually do. But I digress, I was talking about dresses, quality and such.
Taking the opportunity to give McKale a little helpful advice, I told her, "Always buy quality products. Do not waste your money on throw away items!" That is the tack we take here at the trading post. We are forever on the lookout for artists who use the best quality materials and spend a little extra time on finish work. We are interested in individuals who reflect consistently high standards and an elevated degree of creativity. These qualities make for distinctively desirable artwork, the type that discourages criticism and withstands the test of time. That's what I'm talking about! As for McKale and me, we have found a new hobby: searching out great items of vintage clothing and developing a higher standard for her in all things . . . including young men. "Get back Honky Cat? Better get back to the woods."
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!
As of late, my now strapping man-child and his eldest sister are engaged in furthering their educational goals in the hallowed halls of Brigham Young University, Provo campus. Only McKale and a few closely guarded photographs remain at home to remind us of those more carefree days of model mania. Although she is a junior in high school, McKale has not lost her zest for rummaging through Grandma Donna's back closets and cedar chests in search of fanciful fashions. Sunday dinner at the Washburn homestead allow McKale time to seek out, uncover and model vintage apparel, and she has recently discovered a few of her Grandmother's Sunday-go-to-meeting dresses that had been carefully packed away after being exchanged for maternity wear. Six children and 50 years of family life have caused those top notch toggeries to be long forgotten. McKale was thrilled.
McKale tried on two dresses that fit her beautifully. When she modeled them for us, memories of Harriet Nelson and June Cleaver flashed through my mind. The dresses were classics, straight out of the 1950s. Grandma Washburn and McKale decided they should be laundered and put back into service. After looking the dresses over carefully, our daughter came to recognize that wearing apparel from that period was made a bit differently; it was crafted to endure the test of time. What a concept! Not only was the material top quality, the tailoring was impeccable. McKale wore the dresses to school and church; she was flooded with compliments and became hooked on antique clothing.
When I returned home from work last night, McKale and her mother were making dinner and talking princess, party and prom dresses, so I sat down at the kitchen table to listened in on their conversation. I must admit that I am a bit disturbed by the prospect of my baby girl entering the dating game. When Alyssa turned 16, I argued vehemently that she was far too young to go out with one of those hyper-hormone-injected beastie boys! I once read an article that indicated girls do not fully mature until they are between 26 and 28 years of age. Boys . . . well, to be perfectly honest, boys never do." Because of this, it is my personal opinion that 30 is much more appropriate age to begin mingling. Laurie disagreed with me altogether, and argued that I was once just such a hormone driven creature. "Exactly!" I countered, "I know just what she's up against. It's a jungle out there, with fangs, claws and junk everywhere." As you might guess, I lost that argument; I usually do. But I digress, I was talking about dresses, quality and such.
Taking the opportunity to give McKale a little helpful advice, I told her, "Always buy quality products. Do not waste your money on throw away items!" That is the tack we take here at the trading post. We are forever on the lookout for artists who use the best quality materials and spend a little extra time on finish work. We are interested in individuals who reflect consistently high standards and an elevated degree of creativity. These qualities make for distinctively desirable artwork, the type that discourages criticism and withstands the test of time. That's what I'm talking about! As for McKale and me, we have found a new hobby: searching out great items of vintage clothing and developing a higher standard for her in all things . . . including young men. "Get back Honky Cat? Better get back to the woods."
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!
Friday, December 2, 2011
Thoughts on Wrestling and Navajo Baskets
Not long ago Grange and I were sitting in a Mexican restaurant, having dinner and enjoying few moments together. Earlier in the day he and I had been to a wrestling match, which, as anyone who knows me will confirm, is one of my all-time favorite things to do. I am immensely proud of all my children. Since this is a wrestling family, however, seeing Grange on the mat fills me with a unique pride. Competing in a sport where you have nobody to rely on but yourself and have to accept sole responsibility for your success or failure seems exceptionally courageous to me; especially when you are eleven.
Grange, however, has been wrestling since he was five years old, so he has a great deal of experience. Over that time we have had good and not so good years. That particular day had not been a successful one for Team Simpson. In fact, it had been exceptionally difficult, so he and I were working hard to find the good in our endeavor. As we waited for our dinner to arrive, I noticed one of our Twin Rocks Trading Post customers sitting across the dining room.
Tom, like Barry, is addicted to turquoise, and comes into the store to see what Bisbee, Morenci, Kingman, Number 8 and Blue Gem stones we have. When he holds the cabochons in his hand, he gets genuinely nervous and you can see that they actually affect his judgment.
Aside from being fascinated by Tom’s addiction to Sky Stone, or maybe as a result of it, I have grown extremely fond of him. He arrives at the trading post each year attended by a herd of young people from the private school where he coaches and teaches. The kids obviously love him and he surely adores them. So, along with his own children, who are now in their mid to late twenties, Tom travels the Southwest with his students, visiting Anasazi ruins, running rivers, looking at art and studying local cultures.
Seeing Grange in his athletic gear, Tom inquired where we had been and what we had been doing. One thing led to another, and before long he was asking how the day had gone. Reluctantly we admitted it had been challenging. Having been an exceptionally talented coach, Tom was quick to advise Grange that failure is an important part of any endeavor, and that if he took the opportunity to evaluate what needed to be improved, he would likely look back at this as a positive experience and find that it allowed him to improve his skills.
Grange seemed to accept Tom’s premise, and dinner became a much happier affair. As Grange and I drove home, I began to realize just how many times I had seen Tom’s advice at work in the trading post, particularly in the realm of Navajo basketry.
Twin Rocks Trading Post has been open just over 22 years, and we have been collaborating with the local Navajo basket weavers from the very beginning. Over that time I have watched as Mary Black has gone from a vibrant young mother instructing her offspring in this traditional craft to an elderly weaver. I have also seen her children grow from inexperienced, uncertain basket makers to acknowledged masters in their field. The evolutionary cycle has been both exciting and frustrating. Along the way there have been soaring successes and a few colossal failures. Overall, its been a stunning experiment. It is my hope Grange and I will look back on his time on the wrestling mat with the same emotion.
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!
Grange, however, has been wrestling since he was five years old, so he has a great deal of experience. Over that time we have had good and not so good years. That particular day had not been a successful one for Team Simpson. In fact, it had been exceptionally difficult, so he and I were working hard to find the good in our endeavor. As we waited for our dinner to arrive, I noticed one of our Twin Rocks Trading Post customers sitting across the dining room.
Tom, like Barry, is addicted to turquoise, and comes into the store to see what Bisbee, Morenci, Kingman, Number 8 and Blue Gem stones we have. When he holds the cabochons in his hand, he gets genuinely nervous and you can see that they actually affect his judgment.
Aside from being fascinated by Tom’s addiction to Sky Stone, or maybe as a result of it, I have grown extremely fond of him. He arrives at the trading post each year attended by a herd of young people from the private school where he coaches and teaches. The kids obviously love him and he surely adores them. So, along with his own children, who are now in their mid to late twenties, Tom travels the Southwest with his students, visiting Anasazi ruins, running rivers, looking at art and studying local cultures.
Seeing Grange in his athletic gear, Tom inquired where we had been and what we had been doing. One thing led to another, and before long he was asking how the day had gone. Reluctantly we admitted it had been challenging. Having been an exceptionally talented coach, Tom was quick to advise Grange that failure is an important part of any endeavor, and that if he took the opportunity to evaluate what needed to be improved, he would likely look back at this as a positive experience and find that it allowed him to improve his skills.
Grange seemed to accept Tom’s premise, and dinner became a much happier affair. As Grange and I drove home, I began to realize just how many times I had seen Tom’s advice at work in the trading post, particularly in the realm of Navajo basketry.
Twin Rocks Trading Post has been open just over 22 years, and we have been collaborating with the local Navajo basket weavers from the very beginning. Over that time I have watched as Mary Black has gone from a vibrant young mother instructing her offspring in this traditional craft to an elderly weaver. I have also seen her children grow from inexperienced, uncertain basket makers to acknowledged masters in their field. The evolutionary cycle has been both exciting and frustrating. Along the way there have been soaring successes and a few colossal failures. Overall, its been a stunning experiment. It is my hope Grange and I will look back on his time on the wrestling mat with the same emotion.
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!
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