It were back at rondeevoo of ’87.  The spirits were high as usual.  People dancing an singin and the reglar carryin on.

There was some last minute work havin to be done back at my lodge in Willow Creek, so my squaw stayed back.

Me and the boys rode on ahead knowin she’d ketch up next day.

Round camp that night folks got askin where the little woman was and I told em.  Come as sort of a surprise when one-umungus spoke up and saz “What is yer squaws name anywho”?  “Hot damn and boy howdy, I ain’t sure.  We been callen her all sorts of names for years.  Reckon a namin is in order”!

As the thinkers began to chunk out names, we all knowed this one had to be good in order to stick.

From the darkness and into the fires light came a face none had seed for bout a year.

It were “Magpie”, happy as a lark he was.  It was back slappin and grinny face good times.

After a bit he asked where my woman was and I tole him.

“Well by gooly dang—break out some ‘o her good wine and let’s toast to her health” he said.

Magpie had hit on sumpin.

Next day on the firen line we run into “Just George”, and after all the nitial  greetins, we aksed if he’d do a naming.  He were mor’en happy.

That night at council fire with all the ara of a good time everwhars “Just George” stood up and calls out for my woman.  She goes down to the fire cautious like.

With the talking stick and all the powers of the mountain “Just George” christened her and from that day forward wherever mountain folks shall meet “Wine Maker” she’ll be called.

Bears Butt

Nov-Dec 1989