Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Land, food, and life — it's a broad theme. "It has to be," I wrote six years ago.

I usually write about how the land produces food, how the food we choose affects our lives as individuals and as fellow biospherians, or how excited I am about nerdy food system things.

This week, the connections between land, food, and life take a new configuration: I recently backpacked across a section of land by the North Shore of Minnesota with what I thought was adequate food and supplies to sustain life for a weekend. At the trail head, I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Much akimbo very backpack wow
Photo credit: Arthur Aaberg

"Adequate food." "Sustain life." "Always look on the right side of life." Sounds so simple. And of course it never is.

Three-quarters through a supper of seriously salty vegetarian chili reconstituted with melted snow (fingertips shoved under the bowl to capture fleeing warmth), I asked my trail buddy how he would feel if we cut the trip short.Visions of pancake breakfasts and mini sardine pizzas had darkened and slipped away as quickly as the southern sun below the piney horizon and the circulation from my becottoned fingers.

A photo posted by Hannah J (@jastrd) on Dec 20, 2015 at 2:03pm PST

I knew I needed to avoid cotton, but didn't actually do it. Never again.

Even in the dark, I looked on the light side of winter camping (aka upsides).

Upside: No bug bites.
Downside: Frostbite.

Upside: Your food won't spoil.
Downside: Your food will freeze.

Upside: Snow-covered paths are easier on your feet.
Downside: You don't know what that snow is covering.

Upside: No other people around to distract you from the wilderness.
Downside: No other people around to extract you from the wilderness.

Did I miss an upside? A downside? Let me know.