“Many have tried, all have failed.”

A month has passed since you dropped the gold coins into the wizened hands of the blind bookseller, but you still see his bone-white cataracts stare directly at you. Your broken Arabic understood every word. When you left his musty stall, deep in the labyrinth of that grand bazaar, Cairo’s Khan el-Khalili, you stowed the tome securely in your leather satchel. There was wisdom in his words. The French, the Germans and even a rogue element of Her Majesty’s Army all would kill for it. They almost poisoned you on the train to Aswan, but you know the smell of arsenic, even when disguised by the smell of Turkish Coffee.

Even now, alone in the desert, you pat your satchel to make sure the book is still secure. The Diary of the Mad Arab. You’ll need the answers to the puzzles that lay ahead.

A dust devil stirs the sands at your feet. You wipe your face, and reach for your canteen.

“Empty,” you mutter. You sucked the last drop this morning and the horizon shows no sign of an oasis. The chances of making it to one are slim. But you know that somewhere, just under your feet, hides the treasure written about in the Mad Arab’s book. The rock outcropping, the one described in the book juts through the sand. The face of Anubis, the jackal-headed god, still looks towards the west. The land of the setting sun. The land of the dead, according to the ancient Egyptians. Though eroded over the millennia by wind, his features are still eerily visible. A god refusing to pass from this world.

You mark the distance from the outcropping… one, two, three paces. Already fatigued from the journey, you pull out your field shovel and dig. The hot air shimmers over the sand as an occasional gust blows it into your face. Undeterred, you press on. Fickle sand falls back into the hole you dig, but for every shovel of sand that goes back in, you scoop out two.

A hard clank rings out in the quiet, desert air. Suddenly you are invigorated, as if you’ve just spent a night at Shepheard’s in Cairo. You dig faster until the shovel reveals a stone. Falling to your knees, you wipe away the sand and grin. There, painted on the stone is the cartouche you’ve seen in the Mad Arab’s book: Mnem-pa-tep. You have found the tomb of the forgotten Pharaoh.

You grasp the sharp edges and pull away the heavy stone. Cool air, wet and musty, fills your dried lungs. It takes three tries for your bloodied, shaking fingers to strike a match, but you light the lantern and lower it into the darkness. There’s about a twelve foot drop to the floor below.

You unpack your rope, fastening it securely to the stone. As you slide your way down, you remember the bookseller’s words: “Many have tried, all have failed.”

You take his warning to heart. Danger lurks ahead. It’s a good thing that your trusty whip hangs at your side.

Our line of underwear from Stanfield’s dates back to a time when they were made by Nova Scotia Textiles. The common name for the woolens was black underwear because of the dark color of the wool used. Nova Scotia Textiles made them with 100% wool. You might think that adding the nylon was a step backwards, but the 20% nylon combination makes them machine washable and allows the user to tumble dry (under low heat) the underwear. With 100% wool, the underwear needed to be placed flat on a table to air dry.

Below is an old excerpt from our Fall and Winter 1996-1997 catalog:

Nova Scotia Textiles is an old-line Canadian company, incorporated by two Nova Scotia Scots in 1883 on the basis of a business founded in 1868. It is still a family corporation, maintaining an on-going reputation as a manufacturer of top quality, basic knitted fleecewear and underwear.

Here is a photo from that catalog:

Spring 1996 David Morgan Catalog

When Nova Scotia Textiles closed down in 2005, the building was left empty. Unfortunately, there hasn’t been any new tenants. Attempts were made to refurbish the building for condos, but the plans fell through. Let’s hope the 130 year old building finds a new owner!

You can get a glimpse inside the building with this YouTube video by Terra Spencer. Enjoy!

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Stanfield’s

Discover the Warmth of Wool

Above our office doors hang two masks carved by Cedric Billy that tell a very interesting Squamish Lil’wat story. A Wild Man and Wild Woman live in the forest.  The Wild Man is a small, human-looking creature. Cedric has exquisitely captured the features of the Wild Man in his carving. The nose resembles a hooked beak. His eyes are sunken and he has a terrifying look.

Often, spirits of drowned people can be seen near him. And never take a meal from him, or it might turn you into a Wild Man.

Wild Man of the Woods by Cedric Billy

The Wild Woman is a giant, and twice the size of humans. She is dark and hairy with magical power. Her eyes are sunken, and she pushes out her lips to call out, “Uh, huu, uu, uu.”

She carries a basket on her back that contains all of the children she caught. She isn’t very bright and children can usually outsmart her. For some tribes, she is also a bringer of wealth. Below is another excellent carving by Cedric.

Old Woman of the Woods by Cedric Billy

For more information, please go to the Free Spirit Gallery.

The next time you are in the store, take a look at the masks hanging on the wall. They are amazing.

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Pacific Northwest Art