A junk drawer is a random collection of life that is the most revealing place I can think of. I am in my post-college, not-yet-married phase, in a ski town in Colorado. I’ve been removed from Camp by a few years, though I still think about how to live “on the loose”.
I recently reviewed my own junk drawer’s contents (1 AA battery, 1 AAA battery, random screws, way too many free pens, and 37 cents… )
It’s amazing to me that rubber bands that have gone to Alaska and the Porkies and swam in Boulder Lake, picnicked by Trout Lake, rubber bands that may even smell like garlic powder, are still kicking around. I have a small collection of rubber bands, among the matchbooks, key chains, and business cards I have stashed there. They are a way I can hang on. I’m hanging on to those special days on trail, by re-using my rubber bands to wrap up my cheese (eaten, every last bite). And to think back on the float plane resupply that gave us carefully packaged food, each ensured by a rubber band.
As the massive caribou herd wandered by us, there were rubber bands there on my wrist. And in the tents, marauded by mosquitoes, on a duff day it was a fun game to shoot bug guts spattering across the tent in little specks. Campers and leaders alike, we were just On the Loose, hanging out in the wilderness, with few worries, and many rubber bands.
The thing about rubber bands this old is they usually just break, and I don’t care, I still save them.
If you would like to write for the Wetfoot, please email email@example.com for submission guidelines.