IT'S IN THE NAME by JoLynne Buehring

Pezottians have speculated for generations about the origin of the name of their eye-blink town, but are nevertheless proud to claim residency in the micropolis of Pezotte (Pay-ZO-tee), Wyoming. On the eastern edge of the Continental Divide, they like to tell rare visitors, usually flatlanders, that on a clear day you can see Nebraska. The town, nestled among slopes covered with thick spruce, aspen, and lodge pole pines, is out of sight of anywhere.

            The unincorporated community of 57 humans, 11 dogs, 7 goats, a fluctuating number of cats, and one potbelly pig named Dahlia boasts its own post office, housed on the back wall of the emporium/bar/diner. The only store in town, it serves as the community center as well. The other businesses are a gas station/repair shop and a taxidermist who also works as a hunting guide during the deer, elk, and bear seasons.

            Another source of community pride is the unusual names of residents, along with their quirky characters. Sage Wisemantle, the unofficial mayor, postmistress and owner of the general store, tends to be gruff with visitors, unless they have a sobriquet worthy of Pezotte. No Smith, Jones, or even Watson is eligible for residency.

            Sarah Seawall received a rousing community welcome with encouragement to stay when her car broke down on her way to Jackson Hole. She was so warmly embraced, she accepted the invitation to remain, eventually marrying Adam Cruder, the local taxidermist. They set up a joint studio where he plies his trade, and she creates artistic wonders from pine needles, shed antlers, and scraps of fur left from her husband’s projects.

            “Hail, he’s the best mechanic in town,” as anyone will tell you. Jubilee Hail is the only mechanic in town. Pezotte has few visitors, so demand for Jubilee’s tow truck is limited. Occasionally a resident needs his services when they slide off the road in the icy season, but he is always ready to fire up the old diesel and get the job done. In between brake jobs, tire repair, and an occasional tune-up, Jubilee also repairs washing machines, chain saws, and snowmobiles.

            As Pezotte luck would have it, Jubilee married Crystal Jubilee making her Crystal Jubilee Hail, a gem of a name by Pezotte standards. Crystal raises the aforementioned goats, grazing them in the lot behind her husband’s garage to keep the weeds down. She makes goat milk cheese, available for purchase in the general store, or at the café in a sandwich or omelet. All the ladies in town have lovely complexions due to the fragrant goat’s milk soap she makes.

            Esther Lenten is the widow of the late Preacher Lenten. He had been instantly welcomed when the residents found out his Christian name was really Preacher. They retired to Pezotte while still in their early 50s due to his undefined illness, which prevented him from continuing to serve in a church in Rock Springs. Both he and Esther spent their days doing good works, visiting the sick, taking supplies to shut-ins, and making crosses out of barbed wire. Esther continues the work, but is slowing down due to arthritis. She tells people that after she lost Preacher, Arthur Itis moved in. And she always blushes when she says it.

            Horst Macco and his cousin Giorgio Izzo keep the community supplied with adult beverages. Horst brews beer in his garage and has a still up in the forest that produces top quality corn whiskey. When anyone asks how he is, he always replies, “Still cookin’.”

Every fall, Giorgio and Horst go down mountain to Casper to bring back a load of corn, sugar, and grapes. Giorgio is an exceptional wine maker, taught by his grandfather and is very possessive of his aged wooden barrels.

The cousins are the genial co-hosts of the town’s annual Harvest Festival. Ira Hassler and Serx Geymert can be counted on to provide venison, elk, and sometimes bear for the occasion. They set up huge grills made out of fifty-gallon oil drums fired up in the picnic area behind the general store. For a month after the celebration, the two men still smell like roasted meat.

            Vigna Vanderneal always brings loaves of the Scandinavian bread traditional to her family. People line up to get the first slices, because she brings the bread fresh out of the oven. In addition to her bread-making skills, she is admired for her ankle length blond hair, which is usually braided and wrapped in a crown around her head.

            Rose Casbah, another accidental resident, dresses Dahlia, the pig, in seasonal costumes to the delight of the other residents and gives belly dancing lessons on request. She always drives down to a farm in the valley near Muddy Gap just before the fall festival to buy bushels of fresh roasting ears. Ira and Serx make sure one of their grills is hot and ready for the corn.

            Adam Cruder provides fresh tomatoes, salad greens, and beans from his garden, whatever he is able to salvage from the depredations of rabbits. Jack Seedy brings the watermelons that haven’t been squashed by elk. Both of these old bachelors live on the sunny side of the mountain and spend a lot of time drinking together, but are always ready for a community event.

            Roma and Mac Yardall’s contributions are apple pies, apple sauce, and cider from the old orchard they struggle to protect. The deer like to rub the velvet off their antlers against the twisted tree trunks, and steal whatever apples they can reach. Roma thinks one of the bucks has fallen in love with the scarecrow she made to try to scare the deer away.  She has to replace its skirt a couple of times a season.

             The Fall Festival, a small-town extravaganza of eating, drinking, and general good times brings everyone in the community together. After everyone has eaten their fill of the feast, Uncle Spud Jones and his buddies, Twig Crabtree, Lousy Beller, and Les Bosquet get out their musical instruments. Before long, everyone who can is stomping their feet and swinging to the music of Uncle Spud’s fiddle, Twig’s and Lousy’s guitars, and Les’ harmonica. No one is allowed to skip a turn on the dance floor. Even little Flora Bunting, who walks with two arm crutches, gets picked up and whirled around as the men make sure she is not excluded.

            My friend, Peg Knittle and I, Roxy Crochette, stumbled into the middle of this open-air hoedown when we stopped to get gas. We were on a road trip, wandering where the impulse took us, to celebrate our retirements. Finding the gas station unmanned, we followed the sounds of down-home music and hilarity.

            We were greeted by Sage Wisemantle, with open arms once we introduced ourselves. Heaping plates of food were thrust upon us. We had difficulty eating, because Miz Wisemantle kept bringing people for us to meet. All of them greeted us as if we were family who had strayed from home. Our glasses were kept topped up between mandatory dances, and we agreed to pass after the third or fourth round of home-brewed potency.

            Peg and I have decided to move here to Pezotte. We feel we almost don’t have a choice. The Pezottians made it clear we were adopted into the community, even though we couldn’t contribute a new speculation about the town’s name. We’re thinking of opening a yarn and craft shop.

            If you’re ever on the backroads of Wyoming and stumble across Pezotte, don’t stop if you don’t plan to stay—or if your name is as common as Brown.