I met the wild ricer behind a ski lodge in the mountains above Lake Tahoe. We were both attending a writing workshop, and we took turns reading our work to each other.
My project was a passionate essay about the evils of Christmas tree farms that I’m embarrassed to even remember. The wild ricer, a rugged hunting guide from Northern Wisconsin named Nick Vander Puy, introduced me to the verb “ricing” as he read an unforgettable piece about an Ojibwe elder on a lake in Northern Minnesota.