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Eight Years Ago

June 16, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I hadn’t realized it until my blog reminded me, but my Pacific Crest Trail backpacking trip was eight years ago. Actually, the blog detailing the trip was written exactly eight years ago today, so I can only presume that the trip was a day or two before that, but still, it’s close enough.

It’s funny that eight years doesn’t seem that long ago. When I’ve mentioned hiking and backpacking, people nod at me, thinking it was when I was young, and I might have been younger eight years ago, but I was still climbing up in years while I was climbing up those hills.

What surprised me about the blog post, No Resfeber for the Weary, was the reminder that I took the overnight hiking trip in June. In the desert. What was I thinking? I also remember that I was just getting over a cold, so again, what was I thinking?

I do remember, come to think of it. I was thinking that if I didn’t do the backpacking trip then, I never would. And I was mentally ready.

Apparently, despite my hiking with a filled backpack for months before that in preparation, I wasn’t really physically prepared. Since I’d planned to be gone for several nights, I needed to carry one heck of a lot of water because there was no water up in those hills. I wish I could have been out longer than that one night — it really was incredible being by myself on that isolated trail, camping alone out in the middle of nowhere — but physically, I gave out. I’d heard of “hitting the wall,” but had never felt it. And then I did. Hit the wall, I mean. I was lucky I didn’t tip over and fall down a mountainside. Oddly, I wasn’t sore. Just unable to move.

My one regret is that I was never able to do a long backpacking trip, but I am very glad I managed to do that particular overnight trip. Hiking, of course, wasn’t anything new, nor was camping, but the combination of the two was what made it an unforgettable experience.

I was right about that being my only chance. Exactly one month later, my homeless brother died, which in a roundabout way changed my life. And now here I am, a thousand miles away from where I hiked that day, living in my own house, tending my garden, and trying to hold back the years still creeping up on me.

After Jeff died, I was determined to live despite the agony and angst of grief. I didn’t want to waste the years of freedom he gave me (his dying freed me from further care and I’ve always been cognizant of that sacrifice, involuntarily though it might have been). And looking back, not just at the past eight years, but the eight years before that, I see how much I have done. I bet he’d have been glad I experienced life in the way that I did — he felt bad that the constraints of his illness stole my spontaneity from me, and I made sure that I got it back so he wouldn’t have to feel bad. (Odd how that worked — he was gone and it wouldn’t have mattered to him, but it mattered to me.)

I’ve lost that spontaneity again, at least mostly. I’m certainly not going on any backpacking trips (though I still have all the equipment, just in case), but then, I have nothing left to prove to me or to anyone. Nothing left to make up for, either.

Still, I do sometimes dream of a long trail hike, and I wonder . . .

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

Posted in Adventure, dealing with old age, grief, life. Tags: a night on Pacific Crest Trail, adventure, backpacking, carrying a backpack, hiking, hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, hiking with a backpack, legs stopped working, Nature, trail magic, travel, wilderness experience. 8 Comments »

My June 10 History

June 10, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I keep getting notices here on this blog about articles I posted on that same day during the previous ten years. I was going to opt out of the notifications, but somehow I never have. (Though I’m sure if those notices included my grief years, I would have opted out immediately.) It’s interesting to see where I was and what I was thinking previously on this date, and interesting, too, to see how much I’ve forgotten. Apparently, once I’ve posted something, it was out of my mind, which, come to think of it, was the point. I never purposely went back and read what I wrote, which considering how long I’ve been doing this blog, could take months, but now I peek at what shows up in my notifications.

Six years ago on June 10, I lamented my lack of a garden. What I mostly had back then was dirt, dead weeds, some newly planted lilac bushes, and a few flowering plants that were here before me. Like the trumpet vine. In previous places I lived, I tried to grow trumpet vines, hoping for a bit of color, but they never managed to thrive. But here, they do. In fact, I have a hard time keeping them in check — I find starter plants all over the place. I dig them up and plant them where they would better serve me, and though slow to grow, most are still alive.

The old vines are blooming cheerily right now, which adds even more color to the garden I never thought I’d have. I remember back then telling a neighbor that in ten years I should have a beautiful yard, and I was partly right. I do have a beautiful yard, but it only took six years to get to this point.

It’s funny, too, that in that six-year-old post I mentioned how bad the winds were, and oh, we’ve been having terrible winds! I wonder what it is about this day and winds? Well, it is southeastern Colorado, which means we almost always have winds.

In 2022, on this day, I wrote about waking up every morning amazed that I am living in such a house on a beautiful mini estate. How very strange it is that I stood outside my house just today, thinking that very same thing — how amazed I am (and so very grateful) to be living here. Perhaps, like the winds, that isn’t a coincidence since I often feel gratitude for this turn my life took, but today it truly did strike me anew how very blessed I am.

Last year, on this day, I wrote about feeling detached from the garden that five years previously I’d wished for. I just didn’t care. (I didn’t need that blog to remind me. I remember how I felt) Oh, I did the necessary work last year, but beyond that, I didn’t take many photos, seldom blogged, and just felt as if it weren’t worth the effort because the intense sun just burned everything.

Whatever struggles I had last year — both with my attitude and the garden itself — didn’t destroy anything permanently. The garden is going well this year, I’m actually enjoying doing the work, and yes, I am still appreciating my cheery trumpet vines.

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

Posted in being me, blogging, gardening, home, life. Tags: amazed at my garden, feeling blessed, feeling detached from my garden, flowers, garden, gardening, Nature, plants, this day in my history, Trumpet vines. 3 Comments »

The Camping Life

April 29, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Daily writing prompt

Have you ever been camping?

View all responses

The summer before my epic cross-country trip, I lived in a friend’s camper in Northern California where I could tramp along the coast and hike the redwood forests. Although most people call this camping, to me I was simply living in a tiny house and enjoying the environment that was so different from anything I’d experienced before. (And enjoying the friendship, of course.)

The other end of the camping spectrum is “cowboy camping” — out in the wilderness with no roof over your head except the Milky Way and so many stars you wouldn’t believe. Although the romanticism of that appealed to me, the physical sensation of being out alone and vulnerable in that vastness seemed too intimidating, so I never did it.

I did camp in a tent, though, which seemed, Goldilocks-like, to be perfect, falling as it does somewhere between a tiny house on wheels and an infinite roof overhead.

I loved tent camping. Like most of my adventures, people kept telling me I couldn’t do it — I was too old, it was too dangerous, too many things could go wrong — but that didn’t deter me.

The first night I camped out was the first night of my cross-country trip. I’d practiced setting up the tent, so that wasn’t a problem, though it was a bit awkward since the tent was a six-footer. (I got a big one because I wanted to be able to stand up. And it was on sale.) I had a folding lounge chair big enough to sleep in since I wasn’t sure I could sleep on the ground, and all sorts of other comforts, including the main one — a restroom within walking distance.

I woke in the middle of the night to use that rest room. By the time I got back I was wide awake, so I lay on the top of the picnic table and drank in the stars. Eventually, I went back into the tent and finished the night in my cozy pallet on the ground.

I learned a lot about how to be comfortable in that tiny space. I spent most of my time outside, of course, so it was only at night and in the heat of the day that I sought shelter. A few nights were frigid, and I couldn’t get warm, so I opened my backpacking tent inside the larger tent, and soon became warm enough to sleep comfortably.

During that trip, I camped in deserts, mountains, forests, near swamps and lakes and on a beach. Each campsite was special. Each experience was exquisite. Each person I met was an instant friend. One slightly older woman had gone to the same high school I did, which made us even instanter friends. She was a retired teacher whose retirement funds didn’t stretch enough for a conventional life, so she spent most of her time on the road, living in her tent. Although campers were only allowed a two-week stay, she’d been there almost a month. There were few campers during that February, and so they let her stay.

I considered doing what she was doing, and if I hadn’t lucked out on buying a house, I might have lived the camping life, though to be honest, as much as I loved camping, I’m so much more comfortable living in a stationary house with a roof and heat and running water and my own bathroom.

I didn’t camp every night during that trip. Most often I was with friends, who treated me royally. Occasionally I spent nights in motels, especially if the weather was bad or I was tired or there weren’t any nearby national parks. (I did stay in a couple of state parks, but so many were almost as expensive as a motel that it didn’t seem worth it.)

I still have that oversize lounger. Maybe this summer I’ll drag it out and sleep under the stars. Or not. Although it’s a nice thought, second thoughts remind me that mosquitos, skunks, and other denizens of the night aren’t so nice.

It’s funny — sitting here writing this, I know I had all those adventures, but they seem as if they happened to someone else, as if I’d just read myself into some fictional character’s life — a character who is spontaneous and adventuresome and courageous, all things I’m not.

Except, apparently, I am those things. Or at least I was.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

Posted in Adventure, being me, life. Tags: adventure, camping, cowboy camping, dailyprompt, dailyprompt-1923, hiking, learning to camp, Nature, tent camping, travel. 4 Comments »

Echoes

September 20, 2013 — Pat Bertram

Writers need to watch out for echoes — a duplication of words, phrases, effects, details, scenes that reverberate in readers’ minds and dilute the work. As an example: originally I’d written the first sentence of this blog as “Writers need to watch out for echoes — a duplication of words, phrases, effects, details that echo in readers’ minds and dilute the work,” but the second “echo” echoed the first and diluted the effect of both, so I changed the second “echo” to “reverberate.” In the same way, if you have two scenes that make the same point without adding anything new, then the scene is not only redundant, but echoes in readers’ minds, and makes them feel as if the story is going nowhere.

Sometimes, however, an echo can be used to good effect in writing, such as when you’re trying to play on a theme, but it’s especially effective in photography. A roof can be an interesting subject for an image, but showing the roof against an analogous background — peaks against peaks — can strengthen the image rather than dilute it.

There is no shortage of peaks around here — roof peaks, mountain peaks, hill peaks — and I was able to find shots of peaks perfectly echoed against peaks to illustrate my point.

peak to peak

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.