Aji
This blogathon grew out of a conversation PDNC and I had about my frustration with the devastating impact the economy continues to have on our business. We have never been, and never expected to be, wealthy, but there was a time when tourism dollars and existing clientele were sufficient to pay the bills. The bottom dropped out in 2008, when the economy crashed; we hung on for two more years before we completely lost everything. And we've remained hopeful that, as national and international economic indicators picked up, so would our business again.
It was not to be. Every year is worse than the last; this has been the worst that we can ever remember. Tourism levels are down, but beyond that, no one is buying. And I finally poured out my frustrations and my abject fear in June, after a full two weeks with exactly two sales: one two-dollar postcard on Saturday, and one two-dollar sage bundle the following Saturday. $4 in two weeks. And when neighboring shops are selling two pairs of earrings for $10 (and then throwing in a third pair free) . . . well, with the quality and market value and supply and labor costs of Wings's work, there's no way we can compete with that.
And so after brainstorming a bit, the blogathon idea was born. PDNC was both mother and midwife; I can't take credit for any of it. And we were fortunate enough - blessed enough - to make four sales as a result of her diary on our behalf.
Which is good, because there have been no sales at the brick-and-mortar gallery this week, either. There was, however, a chance to pay it forward on Friday, and that's precisely what Wings did.
This weekend was the Taos Pueblo Intertribal Powwow. This is never good for business; all the tourists are at the powwow, not at the Pueblo. But Friday, a group of four children came in, roughly ages 8 to 13 or so. They were from one of the Texas tribes, and they had their hair braided traditionally in preparation for that night's dancing. They were looking for moccasins; they needed some to dance in. They saw the pair of children's moccasins that Sara highlighted in her diary last Sunday, and promptly fell in love with them. It's not difficult to see why: They're handmade out of buttery-soft white deerhide. And then they saw the price tag: $125. And he said all four faces fell. They thanked him anyway, and walked out.
He thought a minute, then went to the door, and shouted, "Dancers!" They looked up, and he motioned them to return, so they did. He said, "Whichever one of you can wear these moccasins can have them. For free. You can dance in them tonight." The three older children promptly pointed at the youngest and said, "Her." She tried them on; they fit like they were made for her. She thanked him and left clutching them under her arm, grinning from ear to ear. He went back to what he was doing; suddenly, the little girl ran back in, breathless. "Sir! What's your name?" He said, "My name is Wings." He gave her a card; she thanked him again and raced back out again, still clutching her new moccasins to her side.
And at the Buffalo Grounds the last three nights, there was a little girl dancing in new white deerhide moccasins that were meant to be hers.
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