I’m going backpacking this weekend (without Dan, without the kids – but with a friend), which feels a little like announcing that I’ll be doing some alligator-wrestling in my tutu. The last time I schlepped all my necessities around on my back for a weekend in the wilderness was when Col was a tiny, unknown explosion of cells, furiously dividing in my virgin uterus.
I used to spend so much time traipsing around the San Juans with only a backpack, it was 2nd nature, wrangling that pack into the necessary configuration: 2 nights desert trip, 3 nights mountains with Dan, solo weekend with river crossing.
Eight (eight!) years later, I’m wondering, what exactly do people eat on backpacking trips? and What about coffee? and Aren’t there, like, techno-strategies for how you assemble your pack? Also, I’m crazy excited. (I’m thinking cheese, hummus, avocado, bacon sandwiches should be enough calories).
Everyone’s all abuzz in the house. Col is using every opportunity possible to declare his love for me. “Even after you leave, I’ll still love you,” he says. Dan’s been coaching me: “Okay, eat as much food as possible in the car on the way up, so you won’t need to carry as much in.” And Rose is alarmed at all the food it seems I’m snatching from the house. As I was figuring how many packages of instant oatmeal I needed, Rose split the packages into 2 equal piles. “There, that’s fair,” she muttered to herself.
Also, look who won a few ribbons at the County Fair:
See you soon, friends.