
When you grow up as number eight of nine children, your memory develops a little bit differently.
Your older siblings' tales of fun and adventure start to blur into your own; photo album pages looked at time and time again suddenly start to feel like a past you lived and oral fables of fishing trips you never went on begin to invade your brain as real truths you once experienced.
Imagine this; California in the 1970's, beautiful weather, the Sierra Nevada mountains all around you, your brightly colored Jansport pack is strapped to your back and you are almost to your campsite. Can you see it? I can. Problem is, I was born in 1982 and those memories-no matter how many times I can imagine them in my head-belong to my Dad and my older sisters.
Growing up I was told my Dad was a backpacking legend.
I remember hearing stories from my sisters, older kids at church and from my Mom. He'd go for days-they'd say-all over the park; fishing and hiking and having adventures. He'd hike down into the steepest canyon to find a secret fishing spot. He'd scale a large rocky area just for a great viewpoint. Sometimes he would drag all of the older sisters along; each one with their own candy colored pack-for miles and miles into the woods. They would set up camp-take funny polaroids, swim, fish, rest-you know-the usual backpacking shenanigans. One time there was even a medical emergency involved and he grew a crazy long beard...I forget all of the details-but I remember it was very impressive.
By the time I was at the ripe old age of eight; My Dad's adventures were few and far between. I do remember the occasional day hike on the Ladybug trail. We were so lucky to be able to stop first at the Noisy Water Cafe where pancakes were the size of large diner plates and three of us girls would barely finish one. The three mile hike always felt like an epic pioneer trek (hey-I grew up Mormon with a big imagination). Somehow I remember always coming home with some sort of crazy rash and sun burns...
But a backpacking adventure? Nope, never really went on one.
* * * * * *
On my most recent trip home I got to do something I don't think I've ever done before in all of my 27 years of living. I got to spend time alone with my Dad.
We drove up into the hills, stopped at places that held old memories and for the first time in my life-I got to hear some of those old backpacking legends from the source himself.
And you know what?
They were all true.