Reunion 2010: Thoughts on butterchurns and dead fingers...

It was my beautiful baby sister Lisa's turn to plan the family reunion this year. (I just love this woman. Seriously LOVE HER.)

She decided to have it in Yellowstone and we would all stay at the KOA just west of West Yellowstone. We would get there on Thursday and go home on Sunday. She handed out an itinerary, and menus for three meals that she would provide, and also a list of things that would be going on locally that we may like to participate in. One of those things was The Mountain Man Rendezvous. You can read about the history of this here.

I've heard about these things, the history, the people, the reason they 'are', but I've never been to one. I'm intrigued by these people, past and present, and have begun to wonder if there is a part of me that wants to *be* part of it. Maybe it's in my blood; passed down to me through the generations from those who crossed the plains, homesteaded the American West or even crossed 'The Pond' looking for freedom.

Anyway, it was with a feeling of gleeful anticipation when finally stepping out of our modern covered wagon (our black Grand Jeep Cherokee with a sunroof, leather seats and automatic E V E R Y T H I N G [I'm not bragging, just appalled by the comparison]) after driving for HOURS, at least 5, (not days/weeks/possibly months) to the 'camping spot' (a KOA with bathrooms and flush toilets and a POOL! no less [I have to say here that we did pitch a tent AND sleep in it for 3 nights...on a blow-up air mattress) that it was entirely possible that I may be able to attend this event. I was almost giddy!!

We decided to go on Saturday morning on our way into the park and see what it was about. Okay, I was a bit disappointed by the smallness of it. Admittedly it was early, well 10:30-ish, and there weren't that many visitors yet, but there just weren't that many tents set up. I'd imagined a far bigger 'Rendezvous' after reading about them, with LOTS of people and music and vigorous trading and dickering etc... I had to castigate myself saying, "Self, there just aren't that many mountain men any more. Give them a break. They're doing the best they can."

I took my modern day self and my rugged looking husband wearing his new slouchy cowboy hat into the ring of tents and started looking around. It didn't take long to find some real characters. I swear they were mostly named Grizz or some such rugged and masculine name, except one who's name was Erik. I suppose, being mountain men, they wouldn't admit to a name like Randy or Mike or even Steve (although I happen to think Steve is a Very Rugged, Masculine Name.)

The first tent was manned, or womanned, by a nice lady who is in business with her husband and they are potters. I love hand thrown pottery. I believe anyone could learn to do it but to make a living at it would be very difficult, rewarding, but difficult. I found a beautiful small butter churn. Yay! I'm going to learn to use it too, if only to appreciate those who *had* to do it on a regular basis. AND you never know when something like that would come in handy, right along with my treadle sewing machine.

Other than the potter's tent and a flute maker's tent and the musicians, most of the tents sold the same kinds of things: beads and things, moccasins, furs, leather goods, some old guns, antler/horn knives, and some really nice handmade bows, old timey looking clothes...there were a couple of food places too. It wasn't so much what they sold but who was selling it.

Take this last guy with his ummm...medicine stick? Voodoo Stick? I really can't remember what he was selling, it certainly wasn't his stick. When I asked if I could take a picture of him he was more than pleased to pose for it...in the sun, for good light, and then wanted to know if my husband's camera was on and would we like him to tell us about his stick? He was so friendly and affable if more than a little eccentric. I loved his stories and the reasons for all his little doodads and things and then he started telling us about this one thingy...I didn't really get a good look at it, but my husband, no doubt, got a good close up in living (or dead) color. It was the dried up tip of his, now dead, friend's finger! I kid you not! Nail and all! His friend cut it off himself with his own knife because it was diseased and going to fall off anyway. Then boiled it, dried it and varnished it. It was diseased by all the tobacco he had rolled into cigarettes over his lifetime. After he cut off his finger and gave it to 'Grizz' to make into an 'E A R R I N G' he died about 3 weeks later. Grizz made it into an earring and it now adorns his 'Stick' as a lesson to all those trifling with the idea of taking up smoking. Cured me of even having a nightmare about smoking, so it must have some power.

Notice the small dried alligator head...uhhm...wearing a small set of antlers on the top. I have no doubt that this man could become a millionaire if he wanted to sell this thing to some crazy billionaire who already has everything...but this stick. But that would be like selling his soul. And I say that with utmost seriousness and respect. I don't think that's going to happen. I would be disappointed if it did.

After leaving the Rendezvous my husband wondered out loud how many of these people would actually be 'homeless' if they hadn't honed their talent(s) and found a niche in on what some would call 'the fringes of society'. Actually, I find this so called 'fringe' so full of flavor and personality that I'm absolutely sure that we need them, if only to add flavor to a life that tends to look and taste and feel rather beige and flat. People...amazing people...we are a marvelous and varied palette of color, flavor and texture. I had such a great time.