He examines my tuber with interest I might admire if he hadn’t already proved himself to be an idiot.

I walk forth, a mite huffily, but not stomping. Why take it out on the ground?

“It’s wapato. I wouldn’t expect you to know that, considering you nearly ate dogbane.”

“What? What’s dogbane? That was milkweed.”

“No, idiot. It’s dogbane, which happens to be poisonous. I just saved you a very nasty stomach ache.”

I breeze by him, but not before he calls out, “Wait! I’m kind of new to this.”

“Obviously!” I shout back as I keep on moving.

“Stop. Please. Help me?”

I find myself stopping. Turning. Why? Since when did I pity the ignorant, the irreverent? But this guy is trying…has to count for something, right?

He approaches.

“I’m Nick.”

“Hiawatha.”

There is no handshake.

“Well, Nick,” I say. “First rule of foraging. Don’t eat anything you’re not willing to identify in front of a panel of botanists.”

“Or a gorgeous wapato-throwing wild woman?”