Rugs and royalty

On Friday I attended the monthly Crown Point Rug Auction. On the second Friday of every month Navajo weavers from all over the SW convene in this little town out in the middle of nowhere to auction off beautiful works of art that they may have spents months working on, especially if you count the raising and shearing of the sheep, the spinning and dying of the wool, and the hand weaving on the loom. Some of the rugs were no bigger that coasters and some were 4x6 feet. All were exquisite.

By the end of the night they had submitted for sale (not all sold) probably 200 rugs. Some sold for $40, some for $2000. All were worth every penny. I managed to keep myself from buying the big ones, knowing I had nowhere to display them, but did walk away with 6 smaller rugs to use as gifts and remembrances. To know that the weavers that created these pieces were sitting at tables in the back of the room was pretty special. So much better than going to some "trading post" knowing that the artists were paid so much less than the sellers would make.

 As I was standing in line to complete my purchases a man walked up and said he had won the bid on 6 rugs, but only got 5. The clerk found the last rug and said she thought he had bid $75 for it. He had really won it at $140.  She was going to take $75, but he said he couldn't do that. It was worth so much more. He paid $140. Just like NYC, right Rich??

I experienced my first road check point that night. As I rounded a curve on the very dark and isolated road I saw a bunch of police lights. I thought there had been an accident. But it was a random check point, where they stop all cars going in both directions to screen for DUIs.  This is a good thing, I thought. The car in front of me was being questioned for a particularly long time. Eventually the driver got out and literally stumbled around to the passenger side and the woman that had been a passenger became the driver. 3 miles down the road I saw them by the side of road exchanging seats again. This is why you have to be very careful driving after dark here.

Yesterday was the weekly Flea Market again. I decided to make a quick trip to see if there was anything new and different. Still lots of used tires, socket sets galore, and food and jewelry. And DVDs. Lots of them. As I was passing by a picnic table in the glaring sun I saw this regal elder Navajo woman, scarf on head, traditional skirt and jewelry,  sitting there eating an ice cone. I smiled at her, wishing I had the guts to ask to take her picture. After mustering up my courage (yes, this is one thing I have a hard time attacking) I went back and asked if I could take her picture. She obviously spoke no English, but I think she understood my hand gestures. As her ice cone dripped in the mid day sun I took one quick pic of her with the usual stern face that you often see on Navajo elders. When I returned with a few napkins for her, she busted out the most beautiful toothless grin. OH, thank you!! she said. The extent of her English I am sure, and I got to hear it.