Laurie McKnight

Linda hates camping. Her husband Maurice loves camping. Linda agrees that yes, camping can be made more palatable, more pleasant, if one has all the bells and whistles, all the fanciest and, to Linda, necessary accoutrements: a spacious, warm, dry tent – easy to erect and stationary – not moving, even in high winds and rain storms. A reliable and functional water purifier. A good camp stove – easy to light and to keep lit. Small enough to travel well and yet big enough to cook something substantial. And food, yummy food. Not just trail mix or beef jerky or whatever one can collect or gather. Yummy, sumptuous food worth cooking. Food which takes away the ache of hunger. Food which tastes so much better when eaten in the out-of-doors, al fresco. Something unexpected.
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Linda is tolerant of camping with Maurice, especially if he does all the planning and implementation, and works especially hard to make the experience more enjoyable for her – more “normal” for her – so that Linda can for a moment forget that she is camping at all. Linda thinks she is a good sport even to go with Maurice on these trips – even to try. Linda is as busy patting her own back, telling herself kudos, as she is vigilant about criticizing and judging Maurice. For whatever reason, these camping excursions continue. They seem to work on some level. They are but one facet of their complicated relationship.
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Maurice likes hiking. Linda can take it or leave it. Once, Maurice is off on an ambitious hike; Linda is strolling along listlessly behind. They know they will catch up to one another eventually. Since the advent of cell phones, there is no danger that they will actually lose each other. Maurice hikes always with a destination, a view in mind. A look-out or a waterfall or some other body of water or landmark. Maurice marches – almost – with head held high. Linda walks with head down, watching for stones, watching for trip hazards, watching for holes or burrows, watching for snakes.
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There, peaking out from under some leaves and branches, is a flash of red. It catches Linda’s eye. It is obviously a man-made red – it is not a natural color lying there. Linda guesses and is right: as she draws near, she can tell that the red is plastic. She takes a risk and clears the debris on the forest floor away; it is a thermos, lying embedded in the mud. Casually or intentionally discarded? Dropped, mislaid, or thrown? Broken?
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Linda unearths the thermos from its muddy grave and decides she will keep it. Everyone can use a thermos. Maybe Maurice can even use another thermos. Maurice has one he likes, of course, state-of-the-art, naturally; but Linda likes the quirky “Marlboro” logo on her find. Why advertise a cigarette brand on something for beverages? Something that carries liquids? Why not? Advertising goes everywhere, Linda reminds herself. She decides she will wash this thermos, will make sure it works and doesn’t leak, and will give it a try with both hot and cold beverages. (The thought that she might advertise the thermos at the park ranger’s “lost and found” doesn’t cross her mind.)
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Maurice sees the thermos in the truck on the ride home, and makes no comment. Maurice sees the thermos in the sink at the kitchen at home, and makes no comment. Maurice sees the thermos come out of the dishwasher – looking cleaner and newer – almost like something he’d want – and makes no comment. Linda isn’t trying to hide the found thermos from him… eventually Linda gives the thermos to Maurice – because everyone can always use a thermos or two – for something – and Maurice thinks it is a thoughtful gift. It is certainly a useful gift. Maurice wonders about the Marlboro logo; but still he thinks, “She finally gets me.” And the camping trips continue.