Thursday, April 4, 2013
I was reminded of the first time we hiked together to the top of a white mountain in N.H. We were 23 and 24. So young. Paul Bunyan even had some hair. On that hike he taught me about bird calls, imitating them with words we know: "teacher teacher teacher". And then at dinner later that night his fingers brushed up against my ankles and that was that.
Besides identifying trees, he's also teaching me how to use a chain saw- of which I'm very nervous to use because quite frankly I like all my appendages right where they are. He's taught me a whole hell of a lot over the years, mostly that you can pretty much do anything if you put your mind to it. I could probably write a beautiful eulogy right now for him if I had to. "He taught me how to fold a tent properly, how to paddle a canoe, how to fix..."
And then I had to start thinking about what he would say at my funeral: "She could fart in her sleep and belch like a mother-f...."