Camping, hiking and spending six weeks on top of my boys, has released a few notches on the angry zipper in my belly, via unexpected routes. Such that the rusted cynicism and paranoia I had grown for the future, and for people in general, has begun to crumble, albeit slightly. Here's how:
Every day I have to face patience. Every single morning, rrrgh, I fit these two sleeping bags into their six inch and twelve inch tall sacks. I have to make everything that is big, small, every day. I have to do his quickly and efficiently so we can get up and going, and so I do not have to do it again in five minutes, down the way. I must wait 15+ minutes for the water to be treated, I must wait for my portion of food to boil, I must wash each sock individually, sort through the bear canisters, dry the tent before stuffing it away, roll everything, organize and order everything, pack and repack and remove everything carefully, only to replace everything carefully, every day, all day. I can't remove my pant bottoms without taking off my boots (which means I must stop walking, take off my bag, untie, unzip, retie, pack the pant legs, reload and begin walking). Even my boots need careful attention; they must be laced slowly, correctly so I do not trip or need to retie any time soon. There are no short cuts. I also have to pull this off without alerting the boys to any hectic or rushed air that screams through my gritted teeth, "comeoncomeoncomeon..."
Because here, there is no rush. Where I am anxious and eager to go is
out,
and up.
We are just going to walk. Walking one foot at a time.
We will get to our mountains, and usually with a bunch of stops to picnic and swim along the way. Accidentally, we stumble on caverns and caves and lakes and trees and just stare. Every day impatience gets laughed at, because there is no time for it. There is no place for it. We must remain in each moment, and are often rewarded for doing so. I have become an adage; without knowing it...while totally knowing all along.
I do have things to add to the Never Ever Board, for sure. I hate zippers. I roar quietly when rolling ponchos and sleeping bags and squeezing everything into mini cases. I hum and roll my eyes when I need to unpack the giant pack to get to a small sack that should have been strategically packed on top. I don't always like to slow down, and I do get aggravated. And I hate zippers. But hating them doesn't make it go any faster.
Boy wise: So far as I can tell, this has not marked Max yet, but maybe we will see after effects upon our return. Nate sees it, appreciates the lesson, but isn't amused by the hard work = results thang. Patience and deep breaths and appreciating it all and blahblahblah, I thought the boys might pick some of this up, this summer. But truthfully, I didn't expect the actual logistics of our day-to-day packing and walking to be the knock over the head teacher. Duh.
