Fragments From Floyd

Jansport D2 External Frame Backpack. Lifetime warranty from the company. It's life has come to an end after 27 years and lord knows how many pounds of necessities carried over how many miles of trail and backroad.

The D2's first trip in 1977 was to Cumberland Island, Georgia, for a three day human sacrifice to the no-see-ums. We caught fish from the inland brackish-water lake (almost stepped on an alligator) and gathered oysters just offshore from our campsite. The pack's next trip was to New York City (first time there, and last) and on to the Adirondacks with friend Steve. It rained for days, and our second morning, we hiked past a flash-flooded creek-side campsite where just the top few inches of a sky-blue tent appeared like an island above the previous night's stormwaters.

How I wish I had been journaling over these years so I could remember details of days on the trail. Thinking back, I've forgotten many--perhaps most-- of the destinations. In every one of them I've propped up the Jansport on its hip-yoke frame to give my shoulders a rest. The odd burnt orange pack stood out in modest contrast against the greens and browns of nature; that's why I picked that color. I learned my lesson once with my first pack that was the blend-with-the-environment color of moss. I once spent a whole hour looking for it from a rocky pinnacle at Grayson Highlands. It blended in so well with the vegetation that, less than three hundred yards away, I could not find it in plain view. I decided then that my next pack would be as conspicuous and visible and non-earth-toned as possible without inviting boo's from fellow hikers.

When we lived in Morganton (NC) I fell in with a bunch of old hiker-buddies and we went on excursions three or four times a year for the six years I lived there. Since moving back to Virginia, I've only used the old pack a time or two. But it has not sat idle, oh no. Its legacy has been borne by younger feet--first, in Nate's travels on the back roads from Maine to Goose Creek--some 1100 miles, in 2000. Then, it traveled with him around Ireland, and in ten other countries of Europe in 2001. When it came home from that ordeal, alas, it was so thoroughly used (not abused) that I didn't have the heart to send it back to Jansport a THIRD time for more repairs.

The zippers are broken, the former repairs to the shoulder straps have failed; it's just dying of old age. I was happy that it could get a second life thru the boy, and now the time has come for both of us to say goodbye to it. Today, with good memories and appreciation for years of companionship with this old home-on-your-back, Nate and I will toss it into the nearest dumpster.

And to rub our poor little noses in the pathos of this sad occasion, for its last farewell photo before it is euthanized, I've propped the Old Papoose up against the two sad hemlocks in the front yard that Nate and I will be cutting down this week. They have dropped 3/4s of their needles already--the Hemlock Wooly Adelgid's effects up close and personal. We're going to plant a couple of pear trees in place of the hemlocks this fall, and hope we can protect them from the deer long enough for them to bear fruit. And so it goes.

And one more thing: In the post called Day After Tomorrow a few days ago, I wondered what was going on with the ash trees in our valley this year. I've since learned that Ash Decline seems a possible candidate. Funny. Ashes were planted along many city streets to replace the Elms that succumbed to Dutch Elm Disease. So far, I haven't seen any of the D-shaped exit holes of the Emerald Ash Borer--another scourge that is apparently wiping out ashes right and left. The forest is paying a high price for our ability to ship nursery stock from Asia and across the US, bringing pests into places they would never have come, or come so slowly perhaps natural predators could have dealt with them.

One thing's for sure: our grandchildren will not inherit the same forests we have hiked under, camped within and loved.