Camping

Bryan and I have not been camping in the white mountains in at least four years. We camped in Stafford, Canyon De Chelly, and our land for like 8 months before the house was done, but have not gone fishing or camping together in a while. Tonight changes all that. The Jeep is packed, our plan is set, and I am excited about trying some scout cooking. (Tacos and Omelets in a bag anyone?)

Bryan and I both grew up fishing and hunting on the White Mountain Apache Reservation. Sometimes I think it's the shared history of this place that makes our relationship seem like it was meant to be.

This is the place my grandparents took my mom, and later my cousins and I, when we were little. With my Grammy and Gran, we used to drive around for hours looking for deer, beavers, and the perfect place to fish along one of the creeks. We'd be bored, but hear stories about our moms and their cousins and the crazy stuff they did. Gran would sing songs (that I still don't know the words to) and tell us about how Linda or Gwyn lost their shoe in whatever creek, and how the Pearce clan would slide down the hillside on a car door. Afterwards we always went to have a dip of ice cream at the 31 flavors in Pinetop. My Grammy always got black walnut.

This is where, when we moved to Arizona, Joel, my mom, dad and I would camp. My dad would set up the elaborate camp site, mom would draw plant life, and Joel would be Joel. I would find plants I would try to make things with, or harvest to take home. I think I was a crafter/gardener even then.

At every turn there is a memory of being caught in hail storms, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, catching fish, my dad and Joel getting caught taking a shower in the nude in a waterfall, and my being amazed by the inventiveness of my parents when we had a huge crayfish boil after a day of catching no fish, but tons of crawdads. Bryan wonders where I get my hunting and gathering skills from, but it was from lessons I learned from my mom and dad in the woods.

I loved this place before I met Bryan and knowing his history there I love it even more. Some of Bryan's happiest and saddest memories with his mom and step dad there. He spent hours learning how to fish, exploring, playing with his cousin and later brother and sister at Hawley Lake. Darrell and Debbie became more than just some people he was related to by marriage through the time spent there. He knows how to gut a fish (but only in the Dave way), the craziness of marriage, how to start fires (with boyscout spirit),and the importance of being true to yourself because of the lessons taught there. At thirteen, Bryan learned about the fragility of life on Hawley. Dave died and his ashes were spread there.

Our times shaped in this area have made each of us who we are. Most likely we shared our differing experiences at the same time, just a mile or two from each other. Because of Bryan's experiences he has faith that everything happens for a reason, and my experiences taught me the importance of knowing your family history and of being open to adventures. I'm looking forward to camping, not just because I enjoy to cook over the campfire and to fish, but because going back to this place grounds Bryan and I in our past and in our future together.