Journal Excerpts

Ode to my Nalgene Bowl:

Oh my dear Nalgene bowl.
You who have always been there for me.
The number of times you have fed me is more than I can count.
You have been there in the canyon heat,
And in the blizzard when I could barely feel my feet.

The many meals you have fed me-
I can see many of them now.
Hiding in the crevices of your loyal lid,
And between the prongs of the titanium spork that lives forever inside you.

If I were to have a lick of the remains of the many meals that rest peacefully inside you,
What would I taste?
How would it smell?

I would taste the triple berry goodness of this morning's purple breakfast goop,
And taste the yummy chocolate brownies that the outsiders called poop.
I would smell the penetrating garlic goodness from the quesadillas-
a smell that has unfortunately chosen to stay both in my bowl and breath, adding flavor to brownies and pasta alike.

Perhaps I would taste the salt that came pouring uncontrollably in to our beans, just like snow crashing down a slope during an avalanche.

If I tried a little harder, and dug a little deeper,
then maybe I would taste the cheese from the cheesy pasta, from that first night in the canyons.
Is it likely? No.
But is it possible? Yes!

With you, my dear Nalgene bowl, anything is possible.

While some people look at pictures to remember a trip, all I have to do is smell you.
By smelling you, I remember the delicious meals I cooked over over our lovely stoves, in snow kitchens and beautiful canyons.
I remember the conversations that took place as I prepared to fill you.
You remind me of how I grew, from a beginner chef struggling to chop garlic with a spatula, to the person I am today, crafting delightful three course meals.

So thank you, Nalgene bowl, thank you.

Walking with Thoreau Essay: Thoreauseph My Broseph, by Brendan Buckland

                The other day, I was walking through a mountain pass and I ran into a strange bearded man. He introduced himself as Henry David Thoreau. He said he was from Concord, Massachusetts but his day’s saunter had taken him much further West then he usually goes. I asked him if he would like to join me in my walk. He replied that he would rather saunter, and asked me if I had left my father and mother, brother, sister, and wife, child and friends and if I would never see them again. When I replied that I was only on a day-hike and planned to return to my family within the next couple of hours, he sighed. He then asked if I had at least paid my debts, made my will, settled my affairs and if I was a free man. I responded that no, I had not written my will as of yet and had not thought much of my last testament, nor had settled any debts or affairs. He seemed slightly perturbed to learn this and asked me my purpose of walking. I told him I just wished to appreciate the calm of nature and escape the frenzied barrage of the city for a while. I explained how I found the wilderness to be a refuge for the mind. I articulated how I felt that a short jaunt through the woods could fulfill the same purpose as what he described as sauntering. When I had explained myself, he seemed to change his attitude.  For the first time since I had begun talking to him, Mr. Thoreau showed a renewed interest in our exchange. He claimed that he agreed with my purpose and shook my hand. He then asked me my name as we began to walk together. I replied that my name was Brendan. Surprisingly, he asked me why I was named this way. For this I had no response. I truly did not know for what reason I had received the name I was given. He replied that this was common with people he encountered on the trail. He explained that he felt that names should be earned and should reflect the character of the person it describes. I listened to him passionately orate his beliefs and though I disagreed slightly with his point, I respected the vigor in which he preached his view.  As the trail forked, Thoreau went further westward and I needed to return to everything that he had hoped I had left. As we departed, he tried to convince me once more to go with him and leave all behind. I refused once more, and we said our farewells. Though I doubted I would ever see him again, I realized I had met an intellectual counterpart and a new friend.