After They’ve Seen Paris

Lately, I have been thinking about a song written shortly after the United States entered World War I.  The lyrics go something like, “How ‘ya gonna keep ‘em down on the farm after they’ve seen Paree?”  My interest in that particular tune relates to Kira, who recently returned from a conference at the University of Maryland.

Barry and Steve Folk Art Traders

Don’t get me wrong, I have no interest in keeping Kira at the trading post indefinitely.  Indeed, when people ask whether she or Grange, or any of Barry’s children, will take over some day, I assure them there is virtually no chance of that happening.  Selling Navajo rugs, baskets, folk art and turquoise jewelry is not in their long-term plan.  Consequently, Barry and I are prepared to die trading.  In fact, I have made arrangements to have him stuffed if he goes first.  I figure I can prop him up next to the cash register or have him mounted in his office chair.  Either way I will have someone to talk to if Priscilla retires and business is slow.

If I am the first man down, Barry has indicated he intends to have me cremated and deposited in a Nancy Chilly pot.  Once that is accomplished, he will likely place me on a shelf and thank the trading post gods every day that I can no longer pay too much for baskets or “loan” our profits to needy artists who will never satisfy the debt.

Although I know the kids will leave one day, I prefer to keep them close until they graduate high school.  With Kira, that is becoming an ever larger challenge, and I worry I may have grown too attached to let her go without significant trauma.

Since she is preparing for cross country in the fall, most days Kira and I jog together.  Long ago we grew fond of sitting on the trading post porch after our runs, cooling down and discussing issues that concern her.  In the past our conversations have included somewhat mundane topics like grades, dating and how she might secure more spending money.  More recently she has wanted to talk about complex issues like religion, gay marriage, President Obama’s healthcare legislation, the U.S. Supreme Court and her mother.

Since finishing her stint at the University of Maryland, however, Kira’s primary focus seems to be ensuring she makes it out of Bluff.  Earlier today we finished our training a few blocks south of the trading post.  As we walked towards the Twin Rocks, I pointed out how the sunlight was illuminating the cliffs and said, “Isn’t this a starkly beautiful and absolutely peaceful place?”  “Yes,” she agreed, and promptly advised me that in spite of its beauty she wished to go to a university far, far from this small town.  I assured her I understood, since I vividly recall leaving this area in my early 20s to establish myself in California.  As I crossed the state line for what I thought would be the last time I would ever be considered a Utah resident, I felt a great relief.  Finally I felt free, liberated. 

Considering my own history, I was inclined to remind Kira that in the book Paris, My Sweet:  A Year in the City of Light (and Dark Chocolate), Amy Thomas had said, “I guess it goes to show that you just never know where life will take you.  You search for answers.  You wonder what it all means.  You stumble, and you soar.  And, if you’re lucky, you make it to Paris for a while.”

Having gotten a glimpse of the city, it is certain Kira must now experience Paris on her own terms.  In reality I would not have it any other way.  Who knows, however, having lived independently, she may one day come to realize that many Parisians enjoy a visit to Bluff.  At that point, this quiet and peaceful farm may seem a little more interesting.

With warm regards,

Steve, Barry and The Team

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"A Tale of Moon Men and Spider Woman"

The other day a couple named Gabe and Millie walked through the Kokopelli doors and instantly captured our attention and our hearts.  After the initial pleasantries, Gabe unabashedly proclaimed that he and Millie were soon to be wed, and this would be his first marriage.  Looking at Gabe, I decided right there and then he must be the consummate late bloomer.  He was slight of build, had hawkish features, thinning hair, a dubious ponytail and a fun-loving gleam in his eye.  By his own accounting, he was 67 years of age.  Based upon his outward appearance and our initial interaction, there seemed no reason why Gabe had waited so long.  Millie was slightly younger, short, with shoulder-length light brown hair, intelligent glasses, a matronly figure and an engagingly cheerful laugh.

Millie's betrothed launched immediately into the tale of how he had been born to kindly Jewish parents who lived in the heart of New York City .  He traveled extensively as a young man and, after completing his travels, settled down in Sacramento, California.  At that point his fast-paced life slowed a bit.  Millie, a divorcee with two grown daughters, serves as a minister for a Unitarian congregation.  She and Gabe recently met when he attended her church.  As Gabe explained it, "I went to expand my mind and lost my heart."

Gabe said he brought Millie to Bluff because he had mixed emotions about this place which had to be reconciled.  He declared, "My bad memories involve extraterrestrials and arachnids, the good have something to do with finding happiness in sad good-byes and new beginnings."  "Nice tease", I thought and settled in for the explanation.  Gabe told Priscilla, Steve and me that forty-some-odd years ago he was sure he had located his soul mate, a girl with a spider tattoo.  He and his love secured an apartment near the Hudson Bridge, conceived their son and found complete happiness.  At that point I revised my opinion of Gabe.  Apparently he was not a late bloomer after all.  After a year together, however, his girlfriend, the mother of his newborn son, decided there were "moon men" among them and she needed to find herself one.  Gabe saw the handwriting on the wall, took his infant son and headed west to find solace.

Navajo Ceremonial Basket - Mary Holiday Black (#321)

Upon his arrival in Bluff, Gabe met a kindly Navajo woman at the K&C Store.  She directed him to Sand Island for the night and told Gabe the cottonwood trees would afford a cool, comfortable spot during the day and the river would lull him to sleep at night.  Gabe and his son found their designated camping spot and, except for several large and sticky cobwebs which had to be cleared away, decided it was quite pleasant.  That night the moon came out full and bright, causing Gabe a great deal of anguish.  The sound of the river reminded him of his former home and his son fussed and thrashed about in a make-shift cradle.   To add injury to insult, Gabe soon discovered he had an intruder in his sleeping bag.  Before he found and removed it, the rather large spider landed several venomous bites to Gabe's extremities.  Gabe claims his allergic and emotional reaction caused him to, "Swell-up like a toad."  He had a bottle of Benadryl which, but for the newly introduced "childproof cap" and his swollen fingers and numbed mind, might have eased his suffering.

The next morning Gabe and his baby boy returned to town and once again ran into the woman from K&C.  She was impressed with his newly acquired, "Dough Boy" look, and asked how he had come by it.  While the lady opened his bottle of antihistamine, Gabe explained.  The Navajo woman shook her head sadly and said, "Spider Woman must be angry with you."  She went on to ask, "Are you conflicted with a woman, the moon or maybe the river?"  "All of the above," whimpered Gabe as he explained his miserable situation.  The lady shared his sorrow and advised Gabe how to disperse his despair, instructing him to go back to his camping spot, build a cedar fire, strip down to his skivvies and cover his body with charcoal.  At that point he was to pray, chant, meditate or do whatever his people do to communicate with the spirit world.  Gabe was admonished to continue from dusk to dawn, freeing his mind of negativity and anger.  She then sent Gabe on his way, loaning him an eagle feather to propel his prayers towards heaven.

Gabe did as he was instructed, and somewhere between a spectacular sunset, the large bottle of Benadryl and a brilliant sunrise, he was redeemed.  Gabe said from that point forward he was blessed with harmony and balance.  He raised his beautiful child, found a golden place and eventually discovered his perfect companion.  Gabe brought Millie to Bluff to show her where he had turned himself around, and to search for the Navajo woman who guided him to peace and rebirth.  "The woman's last name was Begay," said Gabe.  "Do you know anyone by that name?"  "A few," I replied.  Although Gabe did not relocate his savior during the short visit, he and Millie did leave a lasting impression.  Heck, we may even attend the wedding!

With warm regards,

Barry, Steve and The Team

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Road Trip

As I navigated the last few miles from Montezuma Creek west towards Bluff and the trading post where I have spent the last 22 years of my life, the distinctive, earthy voice of John Denver flooded the car.  Radio station KRTZ, 98.6 on the FM dial, had reached into its 1974 archives for a song that perfectly fit my mood.  I was about three miles short of finishing an approximately 2,500 mile road trip that had taken me from Washington D.C. to Maryland, on to Pennsylvania, back to Maryland and then through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, South Dakota, Nebraska and Colorado. Jana and Grange, who had by then logged more than 5,000 miles, accompanied by Kira, had left a week earlier.  I had arranged to meet them in Washington.  After our joint venture into Pennsylvania, where we visited Philadelphia, the birthplace of our nation, and Gettysburg, where North and South attempted to destroy what had been so carefully built, Kira stayed behind to participate in a two week engineering and student leadership conference at the University of Maryland.

Highway 163 Through Monument Valley (the Forrest Gump road)

"Hey it's good to be back home again", Denver sang.  I nodded my head in agreement.  When we turned into the shimmeringly hot gravel parking lot of Twin Rocks Trading Post a few minutes later, I noticed Priscilla standing behind the sales counter.  Buffy the O Dog, having been left with our friend during the duration of our trip, was not at her usual location.  Entering the store, I happily greeted Priscilla and breathed a large sigh of relief.  It was indeed good to be back home again.  As is most often the case since the great financial calamity of 2008, the shop was quiet.  Many of our former customers have more important things to worry about, so turquoise jewelry and Navajo rugs and baskets get less attention than they once did.  Barry had left for northern Utah a few hours before my return, so Priscilla was the store's only occupant.  After taking a little time to re-acclimate, I sat down at my computer to address the mountain of email I was sure had accumulated in my absence.  When it comes to electronic mail, I am old fashioned and refuse to remotely check in while I am away.

As I scanned the list of messages, one in particular caught my attention.  It was from my old schoolmate Greg, and the caption mentioned Tracy.  Tracy was our running partner from law school who had died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound only days after our graduation.  Chronic depression was how the professionals explained it.  We could not help thinking it was strange how we had overlooked that trait during the three years and thousands of miles we had logged together.  Greg's missive mentioned that he had recently met with several fellow students and that Tracy's name had come up during their conversations.  As I ran through the years subsequent to Tracy's death, I began to see how the trip I had just completed might be a metaphor for life.

Ours is a big country, and I did not realize just how big until this trip.  Like life itself, my journey was long and tiring, punctuated with unusual occurrences and unexpected experiences.  Speeding across the Midwest, with its never-ending fields of corn and soy beans, reminded me of day-to-day life.  As I often tell Kira and Grange while we slog through a particularly tiring run, there are things you just have to get through; efficiency and speed are not a factor.  The Midwest can be like that.  While I found its gently rolling, deep green hills perfectly beautiful, I was amazed by how much of it there was.  Never, however, was I bored by the land or its inhabitants, and I constantly found things that captured my attention.

Hidden among all those miles were treasures that defy one's imagination.  A sculpture garden located along the freeway in a location miles from any recognizable habitation; Wall Drug, with its endless inventory of kitsch; Mount Rushmore, with its indescribable majesty and raw beauty; and the mountains of Colorado.  These are things that I equated with enduring love, children, literature and unexpected friendships.  One can never be sure when or where these gems might spring up or what effect they will have on your life.

At Twin Rocks Trading Post unusual detours are a daily, if not hourly, occurrence.  A telephone call from Santo Domingo bead maker Ray Lovato can keep me laughing for hours; a visit from basket weaver Lorraine Black will inevitably confound me for weeks and a stopover by Elsie Holiday is certain to make me question my fiscal sanity for months.  Like this recent trip, the trading post journey is uniquely engaging.  One thing Tracy's death taught me is that while the road may be long and the travel tedious, exiting the freeway prematurely is a colossal mistake.  I cannot imagine missing one single mile.  Hey it's good to be back home again.

With warm regards,

Steve, Barry and The Team

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

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