A beautiful round “ball and claw” dining table graced the kitchen area of my West Texas childhood home. Here we ate our meals, told stories and did homework. And occasionally got into trouble. My parents bought the antique table in 1961 from an elderly woman selling things out of her house in Creede, Colorado. Years later I suspected she sold her own furniture to pay bills. Founded about 1890, Creede is wedged between narrow canyon walls near the Rio Grande head waters in the San Juan mountains at 9k feet elevation. It’s famous for its lucrative mines like the Holy Moses and the King Solomon. Three things stand out in my memory. Stretches of rickety narrow gauge track pinned to canyon cliffs. Hulking wooden mine structures. The elderly Creede Hotel’s restaurant and saloon. One day my Dad took us into Creede for lunch. An old man sashayed in carrying a scruffy Sears and Roebuck catalog. He plopped it on a vintage piano whose keyboard looked like a smile with broken teeth. The old-timer’s hands were missing fingers. Perfect fit. Call out for a song, and the old man would make a show of riffing the catalog to find the right page. I guess he saw music notes. I saw machetes and table saws. His music was insane. One late afternoon on a hot West Texas day, we kids lingered at the oak table anticipating a rare dessert. Mom’s pastries were exquisite. The smell of home-made donuts ravished us. Glowing with pride, Mom served us individually from a platter piled high. But my older sister acted like touching an icky donut was totally beneath her. She iced her little drama with a sniffy, Thank you Maurine. My eyes fell out. Mom, I heehawed, she just called you by your first name! Laughing was a capital crime in those days. Young man, you go to your room right this minute. And don’t come out. Okay. At least I wasn’t sold off to dig King Solomon’s mines. Mother died Valentine’s Day 2008. The ball and claw table was sold. Who’s laughing around it now? I wonder. Father Barker +++
A beautiful round “ball and claw” dining table graced the kitchen area of my West Texas childhood home. Here we ate our meals, told stories and did homework. And occasionally got into trouble. My parents bought the antique table in 1961 from an elderly woman selling things out of her house in Creede, Colorado. Years later I suspected she sold her own furniture to pay bills.