Is it Real?

What is real? Over the past few years, Barry, Rick, Priscilla, Susie and I have been asking ourselves that same question over and over again. After much debate, we finally concluded we can’t generally determine real from unreal. That may not come as a surprise to our friends, family, and financiers who have suspected as much for a very long time. While we have tried to bury that inconvenient fact in a fog of disinformation, it has eventually found its way to the surface. Fortunately, the fallout has not been catastrophic.

Almost every day, Rick comes wandering downstairs from the apartment above the trading post where he and Susie live to report the morning news. In a way it’s like having our own walking, talking BuzzFeed. Being a grizzled old newspaper photographer, Rick is an avid watcher of the day’s events. While he relates his daily findings, we all just shake our heads and wonder where this train is heading. When it comes to world events, nobody seems capable of deciphering the code. So, it didn’t come as a surprise to any of us when a youngish couple with questioning eyes walked in through the Kokopelli doors last week. After inspecting the operation, they opened an inquisition. “What is a shop like this doing in such a small town?” “We really don’t know.” “How do you sustain this place?” “We’re not sure.” “Why did you choose this out of the way location?” “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” “Don't you have any sensible answers?” “I don’t know!” “What? Are you for real?” That one completely stumped me.

Having failed to gather even a scintilla of valuable information from their initial line of questioning, the couple redirected their attention to flint and obsidian knives made by artist Bo Earls, a South Carolinian who long ago relocated to Utah. Barry began buying Bo's reproductions of primitive weapons and tools several months ago. To my surprise, they sell like hotcakes; people love them. Bo is an Anglo flintknapper who specializes in replicating Clovis points. The Clovis people were a prehistoric group named for the town in New Mexico where the distinctive stone tools were originally identified. These same Paleo-Indians also occupied the San Juan River drainage about 10,000 to 13,000 years ago, hunting Shasta ground sloths, mammoth, Harrington’s mountain goat, shrub-ox bison, and possibly giant short-faced bear, and even camels. The Clovis people are well known for their unique projectile points and are considered the ancestors of most indigenous tribes in the Americas. Bo maintains his stone knives are sharper than anything in the world; sharper even than surgical scalpels. It is the history and artistry of these early inhabitants, however, that motivates Bo to reproduce their implements.

Since the visiting couple had not been successful extracting useful information from me up to that point, I could see the apprehension build as the husband formulated his next inquiry. “Are these real?” he asked. Apparently anticipating my response, and hoping to avoid a repeat of the earlier situation, his wife quickly interjected, “The tag says they are real reproductions.” “Hum,” her husband said, not completely satisfied. He was obviously beginning to wonder whether my uncertainty had infected his spouse, and how permanent or extensive the contagion might prove to be. Obviously concluding the risk was high, he tried another tactic, “Are they Native American made?”

That inquiry always gets what we call the “Jamie Olson reply.” “No, we don’t discriminate against the white folks, so long as they make good art.” The response originates from my initial encounter with Jamie, who stopped by Twin Rocks Trading Post nearly 20 years ago. Jamie, a disaffected concrete worker who had left the trade to become a jeweler, was living in Colorado at the time and had driven south on Highway 191 in search of new venues to display his art. Having stopped at several locations along the way, only to be told by the shop owners they bought exclusively from Native Americans and he did not fit the bill, Jamie was in a foul mood when he arrived on our doorstep. “Do you buy from white guys!?” he demanded as he came in through the open doors. Being in an odd mood that afternoon, and hoping to ease the tension, I responded, “I don’t care if you are purple, pink, or aquamarine, let’s see what you have.” When he laid out the pieces on our counter, I was amazed by their creativity, craftsmanship, and beauty. The rest, as they say, is history.

About that same time, we also began purchasing finely crafted contemporary arrowheads from an elderly man named Homer Etherton. Homer has since gone on to another dimension, but at the time his flintknapping was so good Navajo medicine men specifically requested his work for healing ceremonies they had been engaged to perform. The patients who came into the trading post seeking Homer’s points would often ask, “Are these real?” The first time I heard the question, I didn’t know how to respond. I soon discovered, however, the issue was cultural in origin. Navajo people believe the points found in the area previously occupied by Ancient Puebloans were made by Horned Toad, the wise old man of countless local legends. Horned Toad is believed to chip the points with his breath, which instills them with special power.  Navajo people are taught to give an offering and prayer whenever they discover a horned toad. Upon giving the blessing with corn pollen, they place the toad gently over their hearts, moving him in an X motion. This guarantees protection because Horned Toad is the grandfather of all Navajo people and is strong medicine. When our Native customers asked whether or not the arrowheads were real, they were actually inquiring whether they were ancient, made by Horned Toad. Real, in that context, took on an extremely unusual meaning.

In an effort to better address the type of questions posed by the youngish couple, over the past week I have been researching the meaning of “real.” In doing so, I read countless definitions, white papers, and expert explanations, and only become more and more confused. Question after question arose: Are Navajo legends real? Are Bo’s knives real? Is Anglo culture real? Were Homer’s arrowheads real? Am I for real? Having pondered all these issues to the point of exhaustion, I still had not found a definitive answer. Then I stumbled onto The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams, a book I often read to Kira and Grange when they were young.

In that children’s book, the Velveteen Rabbit asks the Skin Horse, “What is REAL?” The wise old horse answers “Real isn’t how you are made. It’s a thing that happens [when somebody loves you] . . . It doesn’t happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time . . . Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand . . . Once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.” Although I didn’t answer all the questions I had, there was at least one mystery solved. Based upon the Old Skin Horse’s definition, the folks around here have become VERY REAL.