“Windy,”
she said, “did you know that some Native American people
refer to November as
the Hunger Moon?”
Mamie smiled
as she placed some uncooked
rolled-up ground fish things with spicy what-nots on them.
They were wrapped up
in what was either alfalfa or a skunk cabbage leaf. Mamie
Dilworth was a
friendly, neighborly challenge to the aging cowboy and camp
cook, Windy Wilson.
“Native
Americans?”
“You know … Indian
people.”
“Thass right. I
memorate that now. You know,
Mamie, always wondered ‘bout somethin’. You know I was born
here in the valley,
right? Long time ago now, I guess. But doesn’t that make ME
a Native American
too? And you, too?”
Mamie
smiled. “I see your point,” she said.
“You want some tea to go with your lunch?”
Ol’
Windy grinned and patted his mouth with his napkin. “Shore
do. What kinda tea we
got today, Mamie?”
She told him
a name he couldn’t pronounce.
“And this-year tea … how does it help a guy out? Oh,
thinkin’ clearly… got it.
Anything else? Digestive properties? And that is? Oh, sorry
I asked.”
“I’ll put
the kettle on, Windy,” she said,
smiling.
“Great
idea,” he said, grinning. Then he
shoveled some of the raw fish to his fairly-new best friend,
Mamie’s cat. The
cat waited between Windy’s knees.
Windy
smiled and faked a burp as Mamie came
in with the tea. He was still hopeful she’d someday learn to
cook, but she was
sure good company in the meantime.
He’d stop
and get taco fixings on the way
home.
--------
Brought
to you by The Fly Fisherman’s Bucket List, published
by Rio Grande books
and written by Slim Randles, who got wet researching it.