Maylene Williams

The Lakin Depot – Maylene Williams 

About R.L.

1957 Navajo Sandpainter E. Martin Hennings
1957
Navajo Sandpainter
E. Martin Hennings

Everything I ever knew about art, I learned from  Santa Fe calendars.  The intensity of color, the drama of light and shade, the depth of texture, the play of movement, the working of shape and form.

1916 Making The War Shield E I Couse
1916
Making The War Shield       E I Couse

So every year, somewhere around January 1st, Dad came whistling into the kitchen.  He carried a brown- paper, wrapped tube.  And it was probably  lunch time or supper.  He unwrapped, unrolled,  and hung the new Santa Fe calendar on our kitchen wall.  It was always  a magnificent event.  All year we admired it. Every January we were eager to see what was next.

 

1918 Pueblo Weaver E.I.Couse
1918 Pueblo Weaver
E.I.Couse

That wasn’t the only adventure in our lives.  We rode trains.  Linda and I got on the train by ourselves with our little cardboard suitcases and rode the Doodlebug to Grandma and Grandad’s house 30 miles West.  We were little, maybe eight and five.  We did that for several years.  Mary was a baby and had to stay home.

The Doodlebug
The Doodlebug

Once our whole family saw both the Engine of the train and the caboose of the train from our coach window as it went winding around the Rocky Mountains on our way out farther West.

1945 Navajo Ponies Gerard Delano
1945
Navajo Ponies
Gerard Delano

Trains and calendars weren’t our only adventures.  There was music too.

It started with Dad’s whistling.  He stood at the back door whistling to the mocking bird in the huge elm tree out back.  He’d whistle a series of notes.  The mocking bird would whistle the same notes  in return.  Dad whistled everywhere he went.  In tune.  From Wagner to Gershwin.

1949 Passing Storm Gerald Cassidy
1949
Passing Storm
Gerald Cassidy

And the walls of our house shook when he played his records.  E. Power Biggs , The Art of The Organ, Erroll Garner Concert By The Sea, Poulenc, Prokofiev, Lena Horne.

He sang a rich baritone in the church choir.  My sisters and I sang with him in that same choir  in our turn.  When we started giggling or snorting at something that struck us as hilarious right there in church,  sitting  in our alto section, he would stare at us from the bass section with a look that meant sudden death.

Dad could dance.  The Charleston, The Fox Trot. Sometimes I would stand on his shoes and he’d dance me around the room. With my  head reaching as far as his belt we cut the rug.   He smelled like tobacco and cloves. There was always an adventure going.

 

1954 Navajo Shepherdess Fredrick Mizen
1954
Navajo Shepherdess
Fredrick Mizen

Dad laughed long and hard and made us laugh too.  And he could spin a yarn like nobody’s business.  My sisters could do that too.  We were story rich.

Thunder storms were a sensation.  Out there where we lived, we could see three or four thunder storms on that vast horizon happening all at once.  And when a thunder storm came to us, Dad and I sat on the back steps and watched the lightning gash through the black clouds and  felt the thunder shaking our bones while the rain cut though the elm tree and our fence and our faces. And then there was such peace as the storm faded away. Right there.  On our back steps.

Dad was a colorful character. He had a zest for life as my sister, Linda says.  My sister Mary and I get tears in our eyes when something strikes us as a memory of him. We both get a lump in our throat and we can’t talk. Sometimes words just won’t do.

Remembering Dad, after all,  is an adventure.

Super Chief
Super Chief