Tied to the Post
Most Sunday mornings, I am the designated manager at Twin Rocks Café. That is my reward for not attending church.
A root on me
It was a hot Saturday afternoon, and I was in the yard pulling, chopping, hoeing, and raking weeds.
Rocks on your head
“You really don’t have to buy this rug if you don’t want to!” commented Edith Martin while she was showing Steve and I her weaving the other day.
On the lot
Most of the stories Steve and I share concern what goes on inside the Kokopelli doors of the trading post or the glass doors of the cafe. Some of the most interesting and amusing people we see nev...
It was a late May afternoon at Twin Rocks Trading Post, and I was sitting in my office trying not to nod off. The last time I fell asleep at my desk the resulting crash raised a bump on my forehead...
Of hats, saddles and the boot
A businessman walked into the trading post and said to me, “Can you help me out friend? I have been on the road longer than expected and am worried my wife may be angry and have the door barred whe...
Natives for sale!
There I sat, staring into the alarmingly narrow hazel-colored eyes of an attractive young woman who wore closely cropped hair, dyed jet black.
Over the top
I was having a bad day! It was getting on toward evening, and because of extenuating circumstances, I had not gotten much of anything done at the trading post.