George
woke to the sound of a motor boat. Not a big one, just the putter of
a little engine. He was up in a flash and out the door and into view
of his bay in no time, Mottles peeked out from behind a rock too.
There were three of them, two in a boat and one in a canoe which was
being towed behind. They saw him too, just as surprised as he was.
They waved as they coasted onto the beach and George headed down to
greet them. They had come, it seemed, for some of the best wild rice
in the country which grew in several bays just around the east side
of the island, and this was where they always camped for a night
while they filled their boat. They were more curious about George
than he was about them, and he was soon showing them his cabin and
his stove and they laughed and laughed and began calling him a
snowball which made him laugh too, and even Mottles was taken to them
and that really made them laugh as he jumped in their boat and
sniffed everything. They were from a reserve north of the big city,
a mother and father and their son, and they made several trips here
every August for the rice which George was becoming very interested
about.
George
went about his setting rabbit snares when they left to harvest rice
after putting up a tent. When he finished he got in his boat to fish
and was drawn to venture around the east shore to see what his new
friends were doing. He found them in a grassy bay, the son was
standing in the back of the canoe with a pole, pushing through the
grass and the father sat towards the front with two sticks which he
would use to pull the grass over the canoe and lightly shake, and
then go on to the next strands. It looked so easy.
That
evening as they cooked some nice white fish which George had caught
near the bay, they told him all about processing the rice. They had
put all their days collection, about four hundred pounds, in sacks
and as soon as they got home tomorrow evening they would spread it
out on tarps to pick over for leaves and bugs and to dry for several
days in the warm sun. Then came the parching which would be done in
open pans on a big stove top. It had to be stirred constantly till
it turned a glossy dark brown as the kernels separated from the
chaff. Then came the hulling which further separated the kernels
from the chaff. They put a layer of rice in a large flat bottomed
tub and “danced” on it, a light rubbing motion for which they
wore soft moccasins that came to their knees because the chaff was
prickly. Last it was winnowed, which they did using an old combine
sieve, but which could also be done by tossing it from a pan to let
the wind blow away the chaff. George was fascinated, this might be a
real good boost for a winter food supply.
The
next evening as the three returned to sack their rice before
returning home they asked George if they could leave their canoe and
tent and blankets for a few days till they returned for another load.
George had been thinking all day. Would these nice people give him
a ride to pick up some winter clothes and supplies. They would be
coming back. There was a little conversation in a language George
didn't understand, the outcome of which was that the boat would be
too heavy for another person, but if he had money and made a list
they would gladly bring back what he wanted. George knew exactly
what he wanted and quickly wrote a list on a pad they gave him, and
then he wrote his magic number on the bottom and gave them his bank
card. “I don't know what's in the bank” he said, “but it'll be
over two thousand by now. Find out at one of those machines and you
can spend whatever is there.” They laughed and laughed and called
him a silly snowball and were still laughing as their boat putted out
onto the lake. George wondered to Mottles if he had done the right
thing, but Mottles jumped on his lap and purred so soothingly that
George felt he had made a good decision.
(To
be continued)
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