love and backpacks

I spent the weekend backpack the Ochoco Wilderness in eastern Oregon with two of my favorite boys. One is in the photo with me. I've discovered the real joy of backpacking is as much about the afternoon naps under ponderosa pines as it is about climbing high and deep into the forest, hauling a 40lb pack. I slept more in the woods last weekend than I did the entire week before. I really relaxed--relaxed myself and relax into him. I literally did--leaning into his chest like a chair as we sat by the fire, taking turns reading aloud by flashlight. I love this man. I loved watching him fly fishing, seperated my the width and roar of the stream as I read a book with my feet in the water. I loved how we took up our old card game again during a thunderstorm and how he didn't mind the wet dog on his sleeping bag when the thunder got too scary for my sweet pooch to stay outside the tent. I loved that he kept casting his line until he caught us enough trout for dinner, eventhough it meant waiting until 10:00 pm to eat. I love him, but now I can't relax. He's leaving in a few weeks. It's a sort-of indian summer romance, but way too early in the season. I can't decide whether I want him by my side for every second of it, or if I'd rather push him away and take my pain now. So, instead I convice myself that I'm happy in the moment, trying not to overthink it. Just relax, I tell myself. But it was easier in the woods.