I remember a warm kitchen on a stormy winter night. I am sitting on the floor with my Cheechum and the old ladies. The room is full of grandpas, mammas and papas, aunties, uncles and cousins. There is laughter, hot sweet tea and the smell of red willow tobacco. "Hahaa kiyas mana kisayanoo kah kee achimoot...Long ago the old man told us his story," my uncle would begin and my Cheechum and the old ladies would puff their clay pipes and nod. "Tapwe anima, tapwe... Yes, yes it is true."