Wild Ricing
By
Sherry Rovig
Driving the truck
down gravel roads
and logging trails
with the first colors of autumn
in tow
and canoe cap overhead
The black spruce push pole
is finally trimmed and sanded --
Its happy duckbill honking
in the wind
And we’re there
Lakes like grass prairies
Mudhens, muskrats,
and blue winged teal’s favorite
restaurant
the all-you-can-eat
Wild Rice Diner
History, word of mouth,
cyber gossip, and scouting
point the way
And we’re there
Standing in the stern
Balanced like a gondolier
Each plant, push, and recovery
a dance with weeds and wind
Keeping time
with the swish and knock
of rice sticks
as the rice bends
over the gunnels
and ripe grains tap
a staccato riff
on the inside hull
The heavy head of the grain
dives down
and waves a fine beard in the air
Soon the floor of the boat is
covered
with green/gold fur
and the ricer’s feet are buried
in the bounty
An open stretch of water
reveals a muskrat lodge
with its daub and wattle dome
squatting
like swamp meatloaf
ready to bake
And we’re there
Munching
on some smoked string cheese
and apples
Trying to remember
to drink enough water
Trying to breathe in the smells
and sights and sounds
So when we cook the rice
next winter
It all comes back
And we’re there
Sept. 2004
© 2006 Sherry Rovig
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