backpacker
She carried a bag of her belongings on her back. A sturdy, clean pack fitted to her strong body, weight resting on her hips, not the shoulders. Legs can bear the heft of a pack that size for greater periods than one’s back could ever manage.
I see her and I know this fact because I was that woman. Looking back only five years I think of myself as a girl then. A girl with laced-up boots and a long stride.
I watched the woman walk and wondered if she was training for a hike or if she was traveling in the same way that I used to. I still resent suitcases and having my mobility slowed by wheels or frankly any luggage that’s not strapped to my body. (Guitar excluded.)
I want to be able to move through crowds at a brisk pace. I want my hands free to drink a coffee, or to make a phone call. Or to just swing at my sides.
As I moved on with my morning I thought of the many trips I’ve made: across Canada, across Mexico, across the pond. On trains and in buses. Checking my pack at the airport and wrapping it in the dreadful plastic bags the attendants gave me to keep the straps from snagging along the bag’s unwitnessable journey.
I would wear my pack, tie up my boots and walk great distances without concern. There were uncountable comments about the pack’s size and weight, but I knew my strength and endurance.
When I saw the woman walk by, I thought, “That was me.” I grieved that freedom, then chided myself.
I didn’t choose to stop using my backpack after years of travel, and certainly not after a month of stuffing my dirty socks next to my denim jumpsuit and chasing Colter Wall across Europe and the UK. It’s not sitting in storage waiting for another Canadian adventure. My backpack was worn in, but not worn out. One of the buckles was broken but functional. The waterproofing was peeling on the inside. It had seen 16 countries and countless miles. And the reason I don’t use it is because it was stolen, or technically, it was traded without my consent. Someone popped open our storage space and grabbed it along with a power drill. It its place was left a crummy gym bag with a badminton racket pouch. As if I needed another reason to hate badminton. From my office window I had watched as my backpack walked into the problematic apartment across the street. In disbelief I ran to our storage locker and confirmed the crime.
All I need is a new pack. I still am that woman.
What a relief.
Two more shows this year, friends.
NOVEMBER 18
Blenders Concert Series
Swift Current, SK
with opener Dillion Currie
TICKETS
DECEMBER 1
The Bassment
Saskatoon, SK
TICKETS
damn! i would have sent you mine had i thought of it! i sold it this summer for $50