Cheesy Potatoes

The Preamble

So it’s been a while since I’ve posted.  Almost 2 years to be exact.  Those of you close to me know that the last year and a half have been a whirlwind for me and Matt; and while in the midst of it I was too paralyzed to write about any of it.  We’ve been stretched in ways we didn’t expect.  Sometimes the stretching was fulfilling and good and full of growth and purpose, and at other times it was crushingly painful and debilitating.  We’ve said terrible goodbyes to cherished friends because God said it was time for all of us to walk different paths.  And we’ve welcomed new and important friendships into our lives. 

We had a glorious summer.  Matt was splendidly unemployed, which sounds horrible (and it certainly was for our stock portfolio), but it ended up being the best summer of my life.  We spent the summer frolicking about in the wild where we saw tens of thousands of wildflowers, dozens of waterfalls, bears, deer, grouse, and some very ferocious goats.  And with every step I took through the mountains this summer, I felt myself being renewed.

A lot of people have been encouraging me lately to start blogging again.  If you are one of those people, I want to thank you for caring about what I have to say even though I have no idea why you would.  But it means a lot to me.  I especially want to thank my husband who loves me tenderly and unconditionally and whose patience with me on a daily basis defies reason.  I also want to thank my dear friend John Graham who has given himself as a sacrificial lamb for my first blog post in nearly two years.  You are a true friend John Graham.

 

The Post

I love backpacking for several reasons.  First of all, at least in Washington, when you get out into the mountains there is beauty everywhere you turn.  The vistas are extraordinary.  The trees are impressive. The meadows are stunning. The flowers are tremblingly delicate and if you stop and take a moment to inspect one of them you will find that each one is a tiny and unique work of art.  Nature fills you up and teaches you.  I become very introspective when I am immersed in it—I find myself thinking about life in its grander sense; I’m not distracted by all the little unimportant things that can sometimes take over our lives and prevent us from really living.

Also.  You don’t have to do your hair or makeup and that is AWESOME.

You really get to know your backpacking friends.  You talk about things you don’t normally talk about.  You help each other.  You drink from the same cup without washing it.  You share each other’s deodorant.  Backpacking is all about breaking down barriers and replacing those barriers with bonds.

One weekend this summer I found myself on a backpacking trip with Matt and our friend John.  We went to the Olympic Mountains and did an 18-mile loop.  The second day we hiked into beautiful Heart Lake and set up camp.  Because there were bears in the area, we opted to make our dinner lakeside, away from our campsite, so that any crumbs and smells that we should leave behind would be well away from where we were sleeping.  

That night’s menu was Cheesy Bacospuds.  I found this recipe on a backpacking website online and we selected it because it was easy, lightweight but filling, we only needed to add water; and, having tested it previously, we knew it tasted pretty good for backpacking food.  It was a combination of instant potatoes, butter, cheese, and crumbled bacon.

When backpacking you have to take turns eating because you can only boil so much water at once.  Being the gentlemen that they are, Matt and John decided that I should go first, so I got the first helping of Cheesy Bacospuds.  I could only eat about half of it, so I gave the rest to John.

I’m going to pause here.  There are a few things that you should know about John.  First and foremost, John has the metabolism of Captain America and a body that appears to have been chiseled by the gods.  He can pretty much eat anything he wants, without consequence.   All food that John consumes seems to magically turn into lean muscle mass.  It is desperately unfair.  And believe me; when he’s hungry, John can really pound down the food.

So John ate my leftover cheesy potatoes.  And then he ate his cheesy potatoes.  And then we had an extra serving and so John ate those too.   And then we cleaned up and headed back to camp.

And on the way back John started rubbing his stomach a little bit and commenting that perhaps he had overdone it with the cheesy potatoes . . .

I’ll admit it.  There was a wicked little part of me that was happy to see him finally experiencing some food-related consequences like the rest of us. You know, it’s only fair.

Since you probably have a tiny inkling of where this is headed, I’m going to take this opportunity to inject something else.  Mostly because Matt is making me.  Personally, I would prefer to whitewash history and maybe not mention everything that happened this night because I don’t know if it is actually relevant to the story.  But Matt assures me that it is.

So here goes.  The truth is that I was actually the first person to break the sound barrier that night. Because John and I share a 10x10' office at the dance studio, Matt and I had been speculating for weeks on whether it would be John or me that would break the sound barrier first (aka pass gas in front of the other person) and Matt had his money on me.  Rude.  I was hoping and praying it would be John. 

Alas, as we were sitting there next to the lake preparing our dinner, quiet and contemplative, a dainty little indiscretion escaped out into the evening. Matt of course smiled a little bit because he loves being right.  John was polite and pretended not to notice.  I was feeling that if it was going to happen and it was going to be me, it was much better that it happen in the wide open wilderness than in our tiny office space.  So there you go Matt, I confessed.

Fast forward and we are in our tent, laying there in our sleeping bags like three fat grubs all in a row.  John was massaging his food baby, writhing to and fro and moaning “Cheesy potatoes . . . . Cheesy potatoes . . .”

“Are you okay, John?”

“Cheeeeeeesy Pooootaaaaaatooooooeees!”

He was becoming a little delirious.  In the twilight I noticed small beads of perspiration on his forehead.  My wicked satisfaction was starting to give way to actual concern.

“John, seriously, are you sick?”

There was a pause.  He said, “I’m sorry guys.”  His choice of words was ironic only because the bodily sounds that then filled our tent were very loud and long and most unapologetic.

Well, I couldn’t politely pretend I hadn’t heard THAT.  So there was nothing to do but giggle.  And then it happened again.  And again.  And again.  And each time it sent me into fits of laughter until there were tears rolling down my face.  Matt just chuckled next to me and sighed, “John. John. John.” 

(Matt would like me to let all of you know that of the three of us, he was the only one without any flatulent indiscretions on our camping trip.  And to that I say, Bravo.) 

I finally decided that really I was John’s angel of mercy.  If I hadn’t broken the sound barrier first, John might have actually DIED on our camping trip whilst trying to contain the effects of the cheesy potatoes. 

When things eventually died down, we started to talk about a range of topics.  The night sky was big and bright and full of shooting stars.  We talked about things solemn and things sublime.  And whenever we started taking ourselves too seriously John would bring us back down to earth by serenading us.  Not with his singing.

Eventually we drifted off to sleep.  At around 2 a.m. I heard John rustling around and woke up.

“Time to deliver your food baby?” I asked.

“Yep.  The cheesy potatoes have run their course.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks,” he said, and headed off to the latrine.

John felt much better in the morning.  The hike out was uneventful except for the part when we almost got skewered by mountain goats.  NBD.

As I said before, backpacking replaces barriers with bonds, and if you've never been, now you know a little bit more about how that happens. I am so grateful for a beautiful and rejuvenating summer, for my cherished friends and my amazing family, and for one unforgettable night under a blanket of shooting stars.   

So there you have it.  The blog is back.