TIED TO THE POSTby Steve Simpson
The heavy rains had come a week earlier. As a result, the weeds were pressing in on the trading post.
I had put off attending to the ever-increasing patch longer than I should and they demanded attention. The morning was bright and sunny, so I decided it...
TIED TO THE POSTby Steve Simpson
As young boys in the 1960’s, my two brothers and I haunted the flickering street lights of Bluff.
With fists full of pea gravel, we attempted to bring down the acrobatically elusive bats which also frequented the lamps after dusk.
Drawn by hoards of...
Tied to the Postby Barry Simpson
“Am I not crazy?,” the woman said as we strolled about the Twin Rocks Trading Post perusing the displays. “I shouldn’t love this stuff, but I can’t not!”
Each time I showed and described another piece of art to my enthusiastic patron, I was graced with...
TIED TO THE POSTby Steve Simpson
When we first opened the trading post, I was constantly amazed by what our customers said and did.
If it wasn’t the tourists, it was our Navajo patrons doing things that made me shake my head in wonder. Often, as I relived the day’s events later that...
