Hello everyone! It’s Chris blog post time again. Megan is very under the weather currently, so I tucked her in early and told her to let me take care of this post.
My childhood may not be quite as interesting as Megan’s (and I’m okay with that), but I do have some quirky stories to share. And in thinking about what to write I realize that Megan and I had immensely different childhoods. She was both a Girl Scout and a Boy Scout. I went to 4H camp three summers in a row. That was the extent of my peer-camp comradery. She learned how to build a fire when she was only three. I almost burned my house to the ground when I was seven.
When she was a teenager, she almost drowned after her sailboat capsized (I’ll let her tell you that story sometime), but she was able to rescue herself. I fell into a pond in my backyard when I was little, and one of my parents had to jump in to save me. I’m not sure if it was Mom or Dad, but I do know that Dad jumped off of our house’s roof one time because he saw me standing by a bush, my mouth covered in the purple juice of berries that weren’t blue, black, rasp, or straw.
And it’s not as though my parents were neglectful parents. I just got into trouble, constantly. And I still do. Undoubtedly, if you’ve read Megan’s posts about our time in Alaska, you already knew that. And you know, I don’t want that to change. With our combined senses of adventure and lucky streaks (which will hopefully continue), we shall continue to get into trouble. And don’t worry too much. We’re always very well prepared and have found ourselves in such a variety of scary situations that we’re pretty good about keeping a level head in those instances.
And so, as my lovely wife dreams herself away from her coughing, I raise a glass to her wondrous, infectious wanderlust. May we have many happy returns to the mountains and to the rivers and streams where adventure awaits us with open arms. And in the case that she reads this tomorrow, I love you, angel.