THE THINGS I CARRY
THE THINGS I CARRY
◊ 16-ounce water bottles, up to three on a day hike.
◊ Power-up snacks: Cashews or granola bars.
◊ Pepper spray, a gift from my husband.
Never used it, but I have it. ◊ Paper maps, even of the places I often go. ◊ Kleenex. Doubles as TP. ◊ Neck gaiter. Like a bandana, multiple uses. ◊ GPS-enabled watch, another gift from my husband. Anyone I give permissions to can see where I am in real time. ◊ Chapstick. ◊ Car keys, clipped into my pack. ◊ Headlamp, sometimes charged. ◊ Small, waterproof first-aid kit, including gauze and matches. ◊ Small knife, sheathed and visible. ◊ Phone, except when I forget it. Even then,
I am fine.
I needed peace and a place to think. First, I took my husband with me. We’ d met this way, united in a shared love of wild things, before he had people in his ear constantly fencing him in and redirecting his time.
I took a boy or two in hopes of showing them all the things I see and love. They noticed, and then they talked. And they talked some more, and they clashed and swatted and argued, and after a while I couldn’ t hear or see anything else but the wildness in them that, as their mother, I felt obligated to contain.
Every now and then, a mom-friend or neighbor would call. We’ d hike as a group, because, you know, safety in numbers. More often, though, I’ d only take a dog— no communication expected except through the leash. But I didn’ t like being tethered, either, tugged faster than I wanted or stopped while someone sniffed or marked their spot. Finally, I’ m OK with hiking alone.“ You might want to leave out the part‘ alone,’” my editor for this piece suggested.“ There are weirdos out there.”
I know. I have been alerted to some as recently as this very trip— though to be( un) fair, any man can easily read that way in the woods. The first night, I came upon one in neon shorts with a crossbow; kept checking over my shoulder at where he was aiming. Later, within earshot of my campsite were two groups of men on a wild-andfree weekend. It frustrated me that my instinct was to duck and stay behind the tree line. But that way, I wasn’ t as worried when the nighttime sounds signaled drinking. They didn’ t know I was here, separated from any herd.
It helps me, in all moments of anxiety, to reach for facts.“ Your risk of being a victim of violent crime is thousands of times lower in a national park than in the country as a whole”( Backpacker magazine, 2014). Eighty-two percent of sexual
Continued on 28
March / April 2025 • Our Brown County 27