Not the Same

Whenever you leave a place and come back to it, the place has changed—and so have you.

Philip Gerard

I was surprised last week when I received a multitude of comments on my post about equipment. I should not have been, for I have learned after several years of publishing this blog that posts about backpacking equipment always attract a large number of readers and frequently lively comments as well.

But that post was not really about equipment at all. Instead it reflected the musings and grief of an old woman trying to come to terms with the reality of likely not backpacking again, saying goodbye to her equipment, reliving the memories that each item contributes.

It was heart warming to realize how many readers share these feelings. One of them, another blogger who goes by kamrawerk, told me that he blows up his Thermarest, places it on his bed, turns out the light and reads with his headlamp on. Another suggested that I try pitching my tent and making camp on the forested lot that is my home here in the Okanogan Highlands.

When considering these suggestions it always comes down to these five words, “It wouldn’t be the same.” Of course it wouldn’t be the same, but neither is hiking and camping on the trail these days. Many of my favorite backpacking areas have burned so that the trails I hiked there are completely obliterated. And it is becoming increasingly difficult to find the kind of solitude I once enjoyed.

The photo above was taken at a campsite where I spent several nights in the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming. It was one of those perfect sites that has created the memories I now return to, the memories I write about in these posts. I climbed to the top of that mountain you see in the background, where the summit was covered with sparkling quartz crystals. I explored small lakes high above my campsite. I sat in camp and sipped my tea, read a book, wrote in my journal.

I can still sip my tea and still read a book and still write in my journal, and I do so everyday. I am surrounded by tall pine trees and enjoy the warmth of a wood stove and the comfort of my beautiful home.

Of course it is not the same, but I am creating new memories. They are softer, tinged with a little sadness, and the green teacup is still there, sitting on a red bandana, probably the very same bandana I wore in that campsite in the Bighorns.