“There are indeed certain Liquors, which being applied to our Passions, or to Fire, produce Effects the very Reverse of those produced by Water… Among these the generous Liquor called Punch is one.”
Henry Fielding: Tom Jones ¬~ 1749
My Friend Barb Wire Johnny kept a 1940 Chevrolet pickup at the home ranch. I don’t think he ever drove or had a license, but his mother drove before her dementia began to set-in. After that, Johnny couldn’t trust her to be alone while he trained horses or went out on the trap line: he was forced to have her committed to the old folks home in Dawson Creek.
I inherited the job of chauffeur; a fourteen year old, unpaid, and unlicensed (no driver’s license, it was a different era) chauffeur. Every three or four months, I would drive Johnny to mile One O One on the Alaska Highway, turn South towards Fort St John and continue South on the Alaska Highway to Mile Zero at Dawson Creek, so Johnny could visit his mother. It wasn’t really a chore, I enjoyed being with Johnny, he was a magician with a horse and he taught me many of the mystical and spiritual relationships that can exist between men and horses, things that I still use on a daily basis.
My dad, a taciturn man who seldom shows emotion, had a soft spot for Johnny and his mother. They were handsome people who had wandered off the Reservation years earlier. I have always suspected that my departed mother, a beautiful Indian Princess type, who made men literally stumble over each other and push each other out of the way to be the one to open a door for her, was related to Johnny and his mother. All the local natives called each other cousin and they probably were, for all I could make sense of their family relationships.
The soft black flowing hair, the eyes and complexion were all similar among Johnny, his mother and my mother; most of the natives in that area had coarse straight hair: that and the fact that my dad would have the battery charged, the tires pumped up with a couple of spares and rims in the back with a full tank of gas, made me think that we were really at least cousins. My dad didn’t do this for me nor anyone else, this was a special deal that was only for Johnny and his mother.
This was going to be Johnny’s Christmas visit, I made my specialty, Captain’s Punch, and had it stored behind the seat in three Mason jars. My dad gave me $50.00 and specific instructions: don’t drive over 40 mph, don’t let Johnny get too drunk, stop by the junk yard and see if they have any good tires for the truck and don’t pay over three dollars, to stay at the Mile Zero Hotel and make sure that none of the oil field roughnecks beat Johnny up. He knew I would only have a glass or two of the Captain’s Punch, Liquor has never been a part of my life: I like a glass or two of red wine with dinner, but only in a medicinal sense.
Soon Johnny and I were off like a herd of turtles. The old truck would pull some of the hills at 20 mph, going down I’d pump the brakes and keep us at under 40 mph. On the down hill grades, Johnny would pull his Western hat down with his right hand with a big grin like he was going for fast gallop on a colt. We were laughing and having a great time when Johnny saw an Indian woman walking along the road about a mile ahead. He pointed and said, “It’s Clarice my cousin, pull over and we’ll give her a ride.”
I never doubted Johnny’s instincts or tracking ability, but this woman was just a speck on the horizon, how could he know who it was?
We pulled up along side of her and Johnny jumps out and says, “Clarice, hop in, we’re going to town, where ya headed?”
In the thick native brogue, she replied, “Goin Likka Storr.”
She was glad to see Johnny, the native women all thought Johnny was pretty special, even the ones who were three times bigger than him. Let’s say Johnny never lacked for female companionship, especially when he needed attention or a new suit of clothes.
She climbed in between us and Johnny said, “Clarice this is Skookum, he’s Ida Faye’s boy.” She looked at me in disbelief with her head held back and said, “Heard Ida had boy.”
You see, her shocked expression was understandable, when they rolled the genetic dice; I came up with auburn hair, a white hide, and green eyes. Consequently, I have been able to witness bigotry and racism through a special prism; a prism that is viewed from both directions.
Johnny decided that he should break out the Captain’s Punch so that he and Clarice could have a drink for the old times. They rattled on in bits and pieces of three languages, English, French, and their Native tongue, while I concentrated on the gravel road.
After about three drinks from the Punch Jar, Johnny fell asleep, and it was just me and Clarice. Suddenly she reached down and grabbed the inside of my thigh, she turned and looked me right in the eye and said “You pashinate!” My right foot nearly pushed the throttle through the rusty floorboard. The engine was roaring, but thankfully, the truck wasn’t going any faster.
I stammered in desperation, “I don’t think I am, uh, interested, no I don’t want to.”
She grabbed my thigh harder and higher and again said, “You pashinate!”
This time I jumped off the seat and hit my head on the top of the cab. In a high pitched voice I lied and yelled out that I had a girl friend.
With a voice that betrayed a desperation she yelled back, “You pashin Damn Likka Storr.”
I made a ‘U’ turn on the Alaska Highway and felt an enormous sense of relief as I pulled up to the liquor store. It was still against the law to sell liquor to Indians, but at 14, I could walk in and buy a bottle of whiskey for Clarice. Johnny and Clarice had no more Native blood than me, but they looked the part.
Johnny asked Clarice if she wanted to go to Dawson Creek with us. She said, “Hell no, need no blanket in Hell, that damn Skookum boy, he damn bad driver.”
Now this story would be just another forgotten story if I had been listening and understood the Native patois a little better. After all, Clarice told me I was pashinate, it was my fault I didn’t understand that she meant I was passing it.
In 2008, Barack Obama told us his intentions: he used the same terms the Marxists, Socialists, Communists, Progressives, and Useful Idiots have been using for over a hundred years. Wealth Redistribution, Hope, and Change have been key words for Leftists since the French Revolution; Obama deserves credit, he was bold enough to use them in a national campaign. Most of us were too astounded to say, “He can’t really be a Communist, he must be naïve, he can’t be serious.” Oh! But he was very serious; he pulled the wool over our eyes and gained the most powerful position in the world; all because we were reluctant to call him a Communist.
With Clarice, I can use he excuse that I didn’t understand her that well: there was no confusion as to the precise words Obama used. It is up to us to be determined that we will never be infiltrated by Communists or Socialists again, especially those who tell us we are passing the damn liquor store.
The Captain’s Punch
Makes three quarts
Ingredients:
4 lemons
½ cup sugar
1 ½ cup sweet white wine
1 750 ml of cognac
6 cups chilled water
Peel lemons, removing little of the white pith, and put peels in a bowl, save the lemons. Add sugar and crush peeling and sugar with wooden spoon until the sugar turns yellow and slushy.
Juice the lemons and add the juice to the bowl. Stir until the sugar dissolves, use cheese cloth or a fine sieve to strain mixture into a punch bowl or Mason Jars. Pour in wine and cognac and chill. Serve with a large block of ice in center to slow dilution with melting ice. Will disappear fairly quickly at parties. Use good cognac for a better punch, Cheers!
A professional horseman for over 50 years, Skook continues to work with horses. Skook has finished an historical novel, Fifty Thousand Years, that traces a mitochondrial line of DNA from 50,000 years ago to the present. The story follows a line of courageous women, from the Ice Ages to the present, as they meet the challenges of survival with grit and creativity. These are not women who whimper of being victims, they meet the challenges of survival as women who use their abilities without excuses or remorse, these women are winners, they are our ancestors.
Fifty Thousand Years is available in paperback and e-book, it is getting great reviews. You can purchase a copy here; Visit me on Facebook.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Dylantheauthor
Outstanding story Skookum,and the recipe looks good too.Think I just might try it. I always enjoy reading your words,I can visulize(sp)what is taking place,so when you got the part about pasinate I bout spewed my drink all over my computer.Best laugh I’ve had today. Thanks so much and keep writing. 🙂
Nice truck, good story.
Only took you three times to undrestand what Clarice was saying, good thing you didn’t drink any of that punch first.
Obama said it over and over without an accent. People weren’t listining, they were drinking that good punch. Bad spirits.
“Spiritus contra Spiritum” Dr. Jung
Loved this story… thank you for sharing such a terrific story.
I didn’t know where it was going, but heck, the ride in that old truck was so vivid, I didn’t care. I was surprised to be hit between the eyes with “OBAMA” – dang way to ruin a perfectly good story by dragging our Socialist in Chief into it. I know, I know… you were drawing parallels on language and intent, and well done, I might add. But Obama still ruined an otherwise deletable story. Much like ruining a perfectly wonderful, juicy, sizzling steak with a handful of dirt and debris.
SKOOKUM you did it again and this time i bow down almost to the floor i did not see it coming when Clarisse got cloose to you just like thoses who got blinded with promesses,thank you this has to go in your book
Thanks for the kind words, my patriot friends. Sorry to slap you in the face with another Obama analogy; but we must keep in mind that this is a Political Blog: thus it is imperative that we maintain a certain format. Although, I do tend to push the format envelope at times.
The punch will work great for the 4th of July or a Saturday Barbecue or Victory in November!
1903a3 now make sure you get that stickey drink cleaned up because it cant dry by itself computer are expansive bye
I think a lot of people bought in to the whole “Bush = Bad” and voted for Obama, to prevent “Bush’s Third term.” I only saw the last few minutes of the TV show “Boston Legal” before the 2008 election and I remember the line spoke by one of the characters as “These last 8 years have been so wrong.” I almost fell out of me seat laughing, they have been so wrong because we have been hammered by press and TV saying they were “so wrong” There were bad things in 2001-2008 but I think they will be like a passing cloud over the sun. I worry, but I also remain hopeful.
Picric, you mention valid points. Our so-called MSM or State Controlled Media as Rush refers to them, (although they were not state controlled during the W era, a more accurate portrayal might be our Main Socialist Media), certainly at the very least orchestrated the propaganda front for Socialism and set up the win for Obama the Socialist.
Just as trucks have evolved, so has our means of media consumption; we the people, with our radios and the internet have now become infinitely more well informed. It is no wonder the Socialists want to assert their authority and control over our computers and radios.
Hopefully, we will never again be so mesmerized watching the gravel road that we pass the liquor store and need to make a U turn on the hi-way of life.
I think history would judge Bush as a Great President if he would have been more fiscally conservative. There were other mistakes, but this is what ultimately cooked the morale of the Republican and Independent electorate: aided by the incessant jeering of the morally bankrupt MSM.
SKOOKUM i think that president BUSH was more the PRESIDENT for all Americans specialy because he knew AMERICANS where so hurt and distress about 9/11 and they where not mistakes they where spending in thinking to heal wounds it was so important to do remember when he said I HEAR YOU it was to a majority not to just a part of the population,bye
Bees, I think you are a kind and compassionate man. Normally, these are admirable traits; in a leader, there must be a point of compromise, a point that needs to maintained to guarantee the success of the mission. President Bush was overly compassionate over the illegal immigration issue.
I work with hundreds of illegals and it is hard not to feel compassion for their plight. (I don’t hire them, I work beside them.) Many of them are wonderful people who could make excellent American patriots over time and they have already proven this fact many times.
However, our country is reeling economically and paying for a welfare class and criminal class of Hispanics is not good policy. W helped the illegals out of sincere compassion and love, probably as a result of knowing many of them as workers on his ranch: Liberals want to enslave this undereducated class of people in a dependent serf and permanent victim status controlled by Democrat Elites in return for their voting loyalty, while masking their true intentions with false displays of humanism and compassion.
Please don’t misinterpret my words: I, like W, would find it hard to be forceful on the issue of denying a better life to people who seek nothing more than to become prosperous Americans; but we have many Americans who are denied work because of illegal immigration and the tax burden and deficit are becoming overburdened due to those who want a free ride or the life of a criminal.
yes i see your legitimite point i did not mean that way out of ignorance on the subject bye
Standing looking out across the Oklahoma prairie as the wind moves the golden tall buffalo grass is like watching the hand of the great spirit painting the earth toward the sky. The beauty of course is in the correctness, feelings, and intuition that things will always be good. The help of a cool glass of water, or “punch” may serve to improve the vision or release the mind to flow with the grass. Tomorrow the wind will blow and the grass will wave . . . Obama is only a small receeding cloud in the very distant sky.
Thank you, Tall Grass, for the Spiritual Message; it means more to me than compliments.
Please punch the name Skookum above in the heading and read some of my older stories when you have time, I think you will enjoy some of them. Please visit again.
Tomorrow the wind will blow and the grass will wave…
TALLGRASS very poetic we have to admit the GREAT SPIRIT made it so beautifull thank you
Thank you Skookum and ilovebeewarzone.
Skookum I read above about your family and the way the people of your world see each other and I felt that there was something almost hidden from this world in the lower 48 . . . something that is lost. Nothing has meant more to me in my life than to be called grandfather, father and brother . . . for in the Native culture . . . there is nothing as important as the family. I am Muscogee Creek by hertiage . . .and a manufactured man through actions of an all powerful government . . . much was lost . . . yet the ties of the family still reach deep into my soul. The respect for the life of the mother earth has great meaning to me. I am an environmentalist . . . yet also a nuclear engineer . . . go figure . . . thirty years ago . . . I was the hated enemy of the anti-nuclear movement . . . yet I know that few environmentalists can equal my own effort at conservation having personally planted many thousands of trees. I respect freedom and know in my heart that the free man has wealth beyond what money can buy.
I will continue to enjoy your postings and comment as the inspiration strikes.
TALLGRASS because you mention me i come to say i am very please to read you and meet you on on this technology way that i am very new at thank you.
Tallgrass, through my father’s family, I have family deep in the Creek tradition. The family lore sys that the Creek were nearly wiped out by Andrew Jackson’s troops (Yes, the future President) this was nearly 200 hundred years ago, so the verbal history is shaky at best. Of course, as you either know or can quickly compute, once you go back that far, you esil have over 2,000 antecedents on one side of your family tree.
The Canadian side of my family is much more recent. In the early 50’s I stayed at a motel south of Calgary and saw a Native Camp, on a frosty morning, with what must of been the last buffalo teepees in use in the world, they were along the Sheep River, South of Calgary. It was a very moving experience. I was just a boy, but I felt the desire to step back in time with the people of my history.
You speak of planting trees and of the difference between Northern BC and the lower 48: in the North. trees were the enemy, we were always logging and clearing trees for pasture. If a pasture was undergrazed for six years, the trees would reclaim it.
The Canadian native experience has a great variety, I have known wealthy “Oil Indians” and the most indigent types. They suffer from the same temptations as all people now. It is very sad. I am the only one I know of, who left the Peace to seek fame and fortune. My grown children all live in the large cities and say the were thankful for growing up in the bush, but they cold never go back. My grown sons wait for me to retire so that I can take them hunting and fishing. I was much younger than them when I killed my first Grizzly and provided moose and elk for the table. With each generation, more is lost.
I will take my sons hunting and fishing; but for them it will be an adventure, not a way life. In the mean time, I wait to retire, like a man in prison, so that when I retire I will be able to do what I did before I started this 40+ years of work. There is an absolute absurdity in this situation.
Like you, I have found solace in nature and can sit all day studying a river or mountain. This is where I find comfort and where I will die. Thank you for being a listener.