While our children were growing up we often went backpacking in the Wind River Mountains near Riverton, Wyoming. It was something we all enjoyed doing. Bob continued the tradition with our grandson.
I recall a trip they took in 1997. Shelby was 15. It was during our vegetarian phase which I hadn’t completely bought into and Shelby certainly hadn’t. When they left I fixed myself a pot of ham and beans – something I felt was much tastier with meat than without.
They hiked back about eight miles and set up camp for the night. It started to rain. In fact, it poured. Day after day. . The vegetarian food did little to warm them or boost their morale. Bob kept teasing Shelby about how good a hamburger and fries would taste.
After about three days of rain and deciding there was no end in sight very soon, they packed up camp and headed out thinking mainly about that hamburger and fries. This backpack trip was on the Pinedale side so they went to a café there since home was still a long ways off.
When they walked in the house ( I felt it was ill-advised to laugh at that point) I thought I’d never seen two more bedraggled guys, miserable with the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and stays there for the rest of your life. They tied into the ham, beans, and cornbread with a vengeance and chose to tell me about all the different aspects of the rain every fifteen minutes for the remainder of the week.
The opportunities for those excursions became much more limited after that year due to Shelby’s jobs, college, and marriage, and it still isn’t one of those warm, fuzzy events they choose to remember. The rest of us still enjoy it quite a bit and try to refresh their memory from time to time.