I heard about the wind to go by happenstance. About two years ago I was on a nice fishing

trip in the uppers of Minnesota with a couple of old buddies from grade school.

Don't ask, it was their idea. Apparently, some folks like to freeze

their asses off for fun and minimal returns, at least in my case. Anyway, after about an hour of sitting on a frozen lake,

I tossed my lines and told my friends they could find me at the diner by the lake,

sipping something very, very hot.

So I made my way there, Mift as hell that I had gone along with this plan in the first place.

Ice fishing?

Really?

I had been convinced fishing in the dead of winter is going to be anything other than wretched.

But once I was eating some warm stew with a piping mug of coffee and hair, I started feeling a little

little more generous towards my friends and their

favorite pastime.

The diner was cozy, the music was good, vintage motel, and there were just a few patrons, one of whom was a young lady at the

end of the counter. Eating a burger so fast I was sure someone was coming to steal it.

I puzzled over her for a moment. She seemed like one of

those people who was both utterly lost and comfortably at home in the world.

And after my moment of assessment was through, I couldn't help that head over in S what brought her into this winter wasteland.

Surely she wasn't a nice fish or two.

She wasn't, it turned out. Her name was Shania. She was a jibwe. She grew up on the nearby

reservation and who's to say how we got on the topic?

Probably from my comments on the weather.

...