Kempsey Kushana, Zuni Fetish Carver

Carved fetish necklace, attributable to Zuni carver Kempsey Kushana (1918-1965)

Pic 3

"Kempsey Kushana was carving bears for necklaces by the mid-1930s. He also carved leaves, as did his father, Kushana, and his daughters. Many, if not most, of their beautifully carved turquoise leaves were represented as the work of the heavily promoted Leekya, making them more salable (and valuable) for traders." Bahti, p. 30)

Pics 3 and 4 (above) from SPRIT IN THE STONE, p. 31, by Mark Bahti.

U.S. Capitol Christmas Tree for 2019 from NEW MEXICO, Land of Enchantment

The U.S. Capitol Christmas Tree for 2019 came from New Mexico and was selected from the Questa Ranger District of the Carson National Forest.

The forest was once inhabited by the Ancestral Pueblo people, who left ruins of adobe dwellings and other artifacts at an archaeological site now called Pot Creek Cultural Site. Carson is located primarily in Rio Arriba and Taos Counties, extending into Mora and Colfax Counties, and encompasses 6,070 square kilometers (1.5 million acres). A part of the United States Forest Service system, Carson is home to big game animals, including mule deer, elk, pronghorn, black bears, coyotes, bobcats, foxes, cougars, and bighorn sheep. And not to forget our little friends, a sanctuary to many species of smaller mammals and songbirds. Carson has four hundred miles of sparkling clean mountain streams and numerous lakes, many of them stocked with native trout.

Santo Domingo Pueblo Dough Bowl

7-1/2" in height and 14" across the opening

A potter from the Santo Domingo Pueblo went all out on this large dough bowl, made around 1940. Measuring 7-1/2" in height and 14" across the opening, it is decorated in traditional natural white and black pigments which, like the clay, is gathered locally. Bread is baked in an outdoor oven called an horno (pronounced orno). Most likely the bread would be made from Blue Bird Flour, popular in Native kitchens. Please pass the butter.

Decorated in traditional natural white and black pigments. 

Horno (pronounced ORNO) at Isleta Pueblo

Blue corn cake

Blue corn—sometimes referred to as Hopi blue corn because the Hopi Indians developed an early strain of this sweet corn—is popular here in the Southwest. For those who are not blessed to live in the Land of Enchantment (yes, we have more than our share of problems, but New Mexico is a glorious place!), blue cornmeal might not be a common sight in the flour and sugar section of your store. I buy mine in the bulk section of La Montanita food cooperative, a 15 minute walk from my house. Here’s my twist on blue cornmeal cake, which I bake in either an iron skillet or a pyrex baking dish.

1 C. blue cornmeal
1/3 C. each of flour, flaxseed meal, almond meal (I make my almond meal by grinding a good handful of raw almonds in my coffee grinder)
1/2 C. sugar (I reduce the amount to 1/4 C. and use raw cane sugar)
1 Tbs. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
2 eggs, beaten
1-1/4 C. milk (I use almondmilk coconutmilk blend)
Bake at 350 for 30 minutes.

I drizzled pureed cooked raspberries over my cake batter before baking. Had the raspberries and thought it would add interest. it did!

Things lost and found

The small diamond and sapphire pendant linked with the coral cross by famed Zuni silversmith, Horace Iule, has a story. My parents gave me the diamond set as a ring when I was young, either in college, or as early as high school. I continued to wear the ring for several years, even though I was not and am not a diamond person. The ring left my possession temporarily in 1971 on a trip home to northwest Houston when I was in graduate school at Southern Methodist University. At that time I-45 was more a 4-lane divided highway. It was nighttime, and my two guest passengers and I stopped in the inky black to relieve ourselves in the ditch bordering a solid pine and hardwood forest on the west side of the highway. I returned to the passenger side of the car and began brushing crumbs from the seat, residue of the crackers we had been eating.

Cold weather, cold hands, and “Damn!”, the ring flew off my finger into the grass. Pitch dark, no flashlight, what to do. I found a substantial stick in the grass and planted it in the ground, fully intending to search for it on my return on Sunday. Remember, 4-lane divided highway. You’ve guessed the rest. I did find the ring on Sunday. I don’t remember when I had the diamond made into a pendant for my mother. Many years later I bought the sapphire stone—my mother and I both have September birthdays—and had it made into a pendant. She wore them both. At her death in 2007. I got the pendants back. Recently I had them reset. The organic pendant made up of turquoise and opal grew out of a turquoise pendant I had bought for the stone and an opal ring I recycled. Peas in a pod.

Fences and walls

My fence. The fence keeps out dogs larger than a chihuahua or yorkie, or other similar-sized breeds. But not cats. Hisssss, meowww. And of course, not anything with wings, like the dreaded doves that overrun our city.

My wall. Keeps out all dogs. But not cats. Hissss, meowww. And of course, not anything with wings, like robins. I’ve heard and seen a few already on my morning walks. They will soon be a welcome sight around the birdbaths in my backyard.

Daniel Cribbs stoneware jar, Tuscaloosa, Alabama

It’s always interesting how things in the antiques and arts markets travel. Over 35 years of trading, I’ve lost count of the things I’ve sold in Texas and then come across in someone’s else shop or show booth in the states surrounding Texas. Things in the market routinely travel much farther, of course. I did not sell the pre-Civil War ovoid-shaped stoneware storage jar pictured here. The man I bought it from told me that he had gotten it at an estate sale in the East Mountains of greater Albuquerque. According to him, the people were from Dallas. Could be, and could be just a story. Too often, attributions are misguided, misinformed, or outright untruths. All part of the journey.

If this piece had been signed, attribution would be a no brainer. That not being the case, after doing some research online with collectors of early Alabama stoneware, I am informed that the piece is attributed to Daniel C. Cribbs (1800-1891), a Pennsylvania native, who moved to Tuscaloosa, Alabama in the 1820s, where he opened a pottery factory two miles south of town in 1829.

An advertisement in an 1830 edition of the Greene County Gazette says Cribbs was doing business on “Mr. John Meek’s farm, near Tuscaloosa,” selling “jugs, from 1 to 3 gallons, Pitchers, 1 to 3 dollars, Jars, Milk Pans, &c., &c.” His advertisement at the time promised “A liberal deduction will be given to those who purchase a quantity and pay cash.”  Ah, as always, cash is king.

Cribbs, who operated his pottery up until the time of the Civil War, learned the trade from his father, who passed down the skills of the family’s German ancestors. The salt-glaze ware he produced from Tuscaloosa clay was among the first of its kind in Alabama.

School days

Some of us went to school long enough ago that we sat in some version of this 1930s Craftsmen period oak desk chair. Chairs like this, as well as those wooden desks on iron frames from the late 19th century became popular as home decor. I know that we had examples of both desks around our house after Mother and Daddy's burgeoning interest in “junking” for old treasure. They liked to refinish old furniture for fun. I love that they had this shared hobby. They worked so hard, so hard in their family-owned business. The handmade chair on my front porch lost its paddle arm, used for writing in a New Mexico schoolroom of the 1940s, when someone wanted this chair just for sitting.

The 1930s Craftsmen chair and the late 19th century desk were manufactured, likely by companies specializing in mass producing school furniture. The chair from New Mexico was produced in a local shop, an example of what is often referred to as “WPA furniture,” named for the many workshops that were supported by government in work programs that started during the Depression of the 1930s. These programs continued with the G. I. Bill of the 1940s until after the Korean War with the purpose of training and job-creating for G.I.s. These programs were especially important in a poor state like New Mexico.

Soaking up the afternoon light, February 5, 2019. Well, as much as a chainsaw-carved wooden owl can soak up.

Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta, 2018

Balloon Fiesta comes to my neighborhood. That's the tail end of my Prius under my carport. Close, huh. October, 2018.

Sly foxes, guineas, and good neighbors

I love the saying about not sending the fox to guard the henhouse. There seems to be a lot of that going on, although that has been true, always. The idiom about the sly fox and the hens goes back at least to the late 1500s.

Guineas roosting at Los Poblanos,
in the North Valley of Albuquerque

Our dear neighbor in Texas, Jake Goodson, had laying hens. And as much as he tried to have a flock of guineas (technically called a “confusion”, the term for a bunch of guineas), he had little to no success. I think guineas are pretty, and I love the way they scatter and chatter when a vehicle pulls into the yard, that is, if they run loose in yard, like they do in so many country places. Some would say that guineas behave like a bunch of idiots. In an attempt to protect his guineas, Jake would put them in a “secure” coop at night, which turned out not to be so secure. Varmints dug under the bottom of the pen, and so the story goes.

Jake was a friend and in some ways like an older brother to us all though the 1980s until our mother’s death in 2007. About that time Jake started having memory challenges, which ultimately took him to Alzheimer’s care a few years ago. Jake, whose Christian name was James Henry Goodson, went to his own reward a few weeks ago. Thoughts of him, his guineas, the fox in the henhouse, and so much more, are precious. Rest in Peace James Henry Goodson (October 5, 1929-January 13, 2019).