Toad Story

Earlier this summer I was working the late shift at our cafe. The night had been busy and the kitchen was smokin' hot. As a result, the entire building was stifling. It was also dry and dusty outside in the gravel parking lot. Rain looked like an impossibility. Around 10:00 p.m., seeking relief from the interior heat, I went outside and noticed the patio needed a clean sweep. A short time later, while working the broom across the concrete, I came upon a toad the size of my fist. Since I had noted evidence of his existence many times before, I was not surprised to discover the warty fellow. At that time of year we often find puffy toad turds littering the porches of Twin Rocks Trading Post and Cafe when we arrive to open the doors. This was, however, the first time I had met one of the responsible parties. Between the bugs, birds, lizards, toads and an occasional snake or two, we have quite an ecosystem on the veranda.

Navajo Frogs After Rain Basket - Mary Holiday Black (#323)

As I swept, the toad repeatedly hopped in the way, and I openly chastised him for doing so. On one of his leaps, he landed smack dab in the middle of my debris. Like a insect on flypaper, he became firmly affixed to one of the tacky napkin wraps in my heap. As the little bounder thrashed about, he redistributed much of my sweepings. Aggravated, I gave the small bugger more of a push than I intended and he tumbled across the porch. From a darkened recess came a low voice, "Careful, he might cause arthritis." I squinted into the gloom and was able to make out an elderly Navajo man reclining on one of the rock and cedar benches. He was sitting in the shadow of the big metal trash bin, smoking what looked like a turquoise pipe. "Funny," I thought, "I did not seen him seated there when I came out."

The old man was dressed in worn Wrangler jeans, a faded cowboy shirt and run-down Red Wing steel toe work boots. "Toads are special creatures," said the man, taking a deep pull on the pipe. This caused the bowl to glow a fiery red. "Yeah, I guess," I replied, "It just got in my way, causing extra work. I wasn't trying to harm him, only move him on down the line." "They are defenseless creatures; just trying to survive," said the man in a casual tone. "They also help keep down the bugs." "I'm sure that's true," I replied, "but they do leave a bunch of unsavory packages behind." "A small price," was his comeback. The man took another drag on his pipe, and as he exhaled the smoke swirled about his head of thick salt and pepper hair like a cloud emanating from his body.

Working my way closer to the old man, I noticed his eyes appeared swollen, that he had a prominently protruding Adam's apple and that several dark moles populated his face. The old-timer seemed uneasy under my studious gaze and receded into the shadows. He took another hit from his pipe and smoke swirled around him like San Francisco fog. "Hot tonight," I said, trying to break the tension, "Wish it would rain." "Might," suggested the old codger. "What did you mean," I probed, "when you said the toad might cause arthritis?" "Toads and frogs have the power to manipulate your skeletal structure and cause pain in connective tissue," he responded, "But that's just an old Navajo legend, isn't it?" "Seriously?" I asked, glancing at the toad with renewed interest. Having freed itself from the sticky wrapper, the toad rested under a table behind me. "Do you mean they can twist your bones and inflame your joints?" I asked, rubbing my sore back. "Can they straighten you out as well?" "As straight and tall as you were at 21 is what I hear," he chuckled, noting my age. "I better treat those little beasties with more respect," I thought to myself. "I would," replied the old man. "Did I say that out loud?" I questioned. The man just puffed his pipe.

"Hey," I said, "would you like some coffee? Since it is the last pot of the day it might be strong, but I am happy to bring you some." "Yes, please," said the old man politely. "The stiffer the better. Anything to put into it?" "No," I replied, "my liquor license does not allow for that." Hustling inside, I poured a cup of Joe into a styrofoam "To Go" cup and brought it outside. When I returned, he was gone. There was a hint of what smelled like mountain tobacco in the air, but my new friend was nowhere to be found. "Humph!" I thought as I walked to the edge of the porch, searching for him in the darkened parking lot. "That guy is pretty swift for an old boy. I wonder why he left so soon?" Turning back to the bench, I noticed a slight movement and out from under the seat hopped another toad. I looked to my right and saw the first one still reclining under the table. Later, searching the trading post and cafe porches, I discovered seven toads working the shadows along the red concrete walkway. "Welcome brothers and sisters," I said magnanimously, "you will always find favor here."

I never did locate the old man, so before locking up for the evening I went outside to investigate one last time. Standing on the steps, I caught another whiff of burning tobacco. Just then there was a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder. A light rain began to fall.

With warm regards,

Barry, Steve, Priscilla and Danny; The Team

Barry Simpson likes

Twin Rocks Trading Post

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!

When He's Gone

The other day I glanced across the street and noticed Melvin, our neighbor of many years, setting his lawn sprinkler in anticipation of watering the grass. As the irrigation system sprang to life, Melvin quickly jumped aside to avoid the spray. All that may seem fairly routine, and of little interest, until you realize Melvin is in his early 80s, a time when precious few are able to move quickly for any reason.

Melvin's Work Shed

Never do I see Melvin without my outlook improving, and never does he fail to bring a smile to my face. Craig, Barry and I have known Melvin and his wife, Betty, since before we were old enough to recognize anyone. They have been important and indispensable parts of our routine since we arrived on this earth in the late 1950s. We have certainly assumed Melvin will always be over there poking around in his yard, welding, hammering and tinkering. Only recently have we begun to wonder what it will happen when we look out the windows of Twin Rocks Trading Post and realize he is gone. Surely that is as much an issue of feeling our own mortality as questioning his.

Melvin is the consummate contemporary Bluff settler; he was born here, but for a stint in the army during the Korean War he has lived here from birth and he will likely spend the remainder of his days here. Whatever formal education he has was taken at the University of Bluff, which is an affiliate of the School of Hard Knocks. Craig, Barry and I are working on degrees from that same institution, and after the Great Recession of 2008, we believe we may have earned our doctorates in crisis management.

In a community that has perfected the art of internecine squabbling, Melvin’s opinions are universally respected and he is often looked to for sage advice. During his working career, Melvin spent most days on the state road crew, building and maintaining the highways and byways of southern San Juan County. When he was not operating heavy equipment, he was repairing implements or inventing more efficient methods for his small farm east of Bluff. These days, he patches up trucks, road graders and Caterpillars for his son’s sand and gravel business. As a result, his tall frame is thin and his back more than slightly bent. He is, however, agile for a man of his age; thus, his ability to avoid being wetted by the water hose.

Imbedded in his vocabulary are numerous colorful phrases, which never seem out of place. With certain people, you realize such words are merely descriptive, not intentionally offensive. Melvin is one of those individuals.

As the water saturated Melvin’s swatch of green, I was reminded that life is a cycle, and that we are all merely part of the larger machinery. The test of our worth is whether we assisted the cosmic gadget in producing something worthwhile. Surely when the great Foreman in the sky punches Melvin’s time-card, it will be noted that things were better during his shift.

With warm regards,

Steve, Barry, Priscilla and Danny; The Team

Barry Simpson likes

Twin Rocks Trading Post

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!

The Discovery

Many years ago, when I was but a tow-headed barefoot boy wandering the gravel streets of Bluff City, I made an important discovery. It happened after I had been visiting our friend Roy Pearson at his gas station and automotive repair shop. Roy was always good for an odd job, which generally provided a bottle of cold soda and accompanying bag of peanuts to pour into the pop. Good stuff! On that particular day, I finished my task, polished off my treat, thanked Roy and headed homeward. My jaunt took me across the vacant lot to the east of his establishment. The summer had been long, hot and dry, so as I crossed the property a red, wispy dust trail arose in my wake. As I passed through the north end of the lot I saw a pointed object protruding from a cut bank. Hustling over to its location, I hurriedly excavated what turned out to be the tip of a large Anasazi spear point. This was a great find!

Navajo Horned Lizard and Arrowheads Basket - Lorraine Black (#223)

Turning the gray flint object over in my hand, I visualized how it might have looked when it was whole. The darn thing would have been a good six to eight inches long and one-and-a-half to two inches wide. If I could find the other half I would have a real treasure, so I spent the next two hours scouring the loose soil and digging into the cut bank. Finding only a few pottery shards, gnawed corn cobs and the remnants of long dead fires, my child-like exuberance finally wore off. Sitting back on my heels, I decided enough was enough. This was too much like work. Additionally, judging from the angle of the sun on the western horizon, it was almost suppertime. Momma Rose was a most excellent cook, but she did not tolerate her brood being late for dinner. To assure a healthy serving, one must be on time and well washed. Wiping my grimy hands on my once white t-shirt, I stood, dropped the spear point in the pocket of my cut-off jeans and hustled the remaining three blocks home.

As I came upon our house, I noticed my father standing at the front gate, speaking with a Navajo man he occasionally employed. Old Jim was handy in many trades and was a hard worker to boot. I knew my parents respected him for his work ethic and integrity. As I walked up to the men, my father looked me over and said, "Where have you been boy? You are dirty, filthy and stinky!" Without saying a word, I reached into my pocket and produced the spear point. Before I could react, Old Jim reached out and plucked the artifact from my fingers. Looking it over carefully, he stated emphatically, "This is not for you, it belongs to the spirits of the ancient ones and must be returned. Bad things might happen if you do not return it to its other half." "Bad things my biscuit!" I mumbled as I reached for the point. Old Joe dodged my reach and handed the point to my father.

Dad took the tip, looked it over carefully and asked where I had found it. I told him and, like a fast moving summer thunderstorm, a troubled expression crossed his brow. "One way or another Old Jim's right", said my father. "The man who owns that property would not appreciate you digging for artifacts on his land. Take it back and leave it where you found it." "Stink!" I said out loud, receiving a harsh look from both men. Hustling back to the site, I came to the conclusion my father had a deep and abiding respect for the property rights of others, and that he might be just a bit superstitious. Having returned to the lot, I dropped to my knees and re-entered one of my initial excavations. I dug the cavity as far back into the cut bank as my well-tanned arm would reach, placed the point at the end and collapsed the tunnel. "If I can't have the tip of that spear point, no one else will either," I said to myself. When I returned home, Old Jim was gone, dinner was on the table and the point had been pushed from my mind.

Later that summer I saw Old Jim again. He knew I was still a bit miffed about his part in sabotaging my discovery, so Jim explained his beliefs over cold soda and peanuts. He told me all things found in or near an Anasazi ruin should be left alone, because there are spirits that protect belongings such as that point. Old Jim also told me about the Hero Twins and the journey they took to their father, the Sun. He spoke of the Sun's gift of flint armor, which helped the boys vanquish monsters preying on the Earth Surface People. When the twins were through with their work, they deposited the armor with the benevolent Horned Toad to guard and protect until the day it might be needed again. Later on, Grandfather Horned Toad gained the ability to nap arrowheads with his breath, these he left about the countryside for the people to find and gather as talismans. I learned you leave the ruins alone in respect of the dead buried there, but that it is all right to pick up a point on open ground and inhale its protective properties. That summer I found and returned a point. In doing so I discovered a rich and unique culture.

With warm regards,

Barry, Steve, Priscilla and Danny; The Team

Barry Simpson likes

Twin Rocks Trading Post

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!

In the Natural World

Having successfully dislodged Kira from her homestead on the hammock adjacent to the house above the trading post, Grange and I have held our position on the porch for the past 90 days. Kira believes her environment became overpopulated by two when we arrived, and has not attempted to retake her spot. One wonders what will happen when she enrolls in college and is faced with genuine urban sprawl.

Night Moon Against the Sheer Bluffs

Throughout July, August and September we have slept outside on the flagstone with our camp cots, pillows and blankets borrowed from inside bedrooms and sleeping bags. During July and August we perspired through the early evenings until the cool desert breezes rolled in, tickling our skin and coaxing us to sleep. There were several times we wondered whether the light winds would ever arrive, but they always did. From time to time, rather than relief, they brought a dusting of red dirt that invaded our scalps, stuck in our teeth and made us sneeze. Still we held on, covering our heads until the worst had passed.

Late September brought cooler nights that chilled our ears and required an additional layer. We even had a few sporadic rainstorms during the monsoon season that moved us inside for short periods. Nonetheless, Grange and I steadfastly kept to our post.

While early October has threatened to end our occupation altogether, we are still encamped. When I am inclined to return to the warmth and comfort of my own bed, I think of Tom, Serena Supplee’s friend, who spent an entire year parked on an old sofa tucked under her verandah. Hot or cold, windy or clear, snow, sleet or rain, Tom never left his nocturnal habitation at the House of Many Colors.

Since Tom did not appear to have any romantic ambitions, for the longest time I could not understand why he might stick outside sheltering walls and away from the warmth of the hearth. That was, however, before I formed the habit of waking in the early morning darkness to gaze up at the monumental sandstone walls that soars up into the night sky behind Twin Rocks Trading Post. At about 3:00 a.m. the stars seem brighter than at any other time. It was while gazing into this unending space that I came to believe I might comprehend Tom’s motivation.

As the moon progressed through its various phases, expanding and contracting, becoming brighter and dimmer, coming up and going down, ever moving, ever the nomad, I have come to think of myself as an integral part of the larger order, and less like a gnat buzzing round without plan or purpose. This is a strange and unexpected development. Since the rocks nearby are so impenetrable and immense and the space above so limitless and indefinite, I expected this experience to make me smaller, more inconsequential. Instead, there is something that has caused me to feel integrated into the grand scheme, to feel a partnership with the moon, the stars and the vastness of our universe. There are even times when I think I may challenge Tom’s record. It may be a long winter.

With warm regards,

Barry, Steve, Priscilla and Danny; The Team

 

Barry Simpson likes

Twin Rocks Trading Post

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!