The two little boys were weighted down
with really big, camouflaged, external
frame backpacks. They looked like little
turtles balancing on their hind legs
with heavy shells tipping them
backward. A grizzled, bowed older man,
maybe the kids’ grandfather, wore a small
daypack. He looked like a hunchback.
And a younger man, maybe dad, had
no backpack or daypack but tattoos
which looked about as heavy to carry.
“Hey, getting your backpacking legs,
huh?” the man asked from the car’s
passenger seat window before pulling
out of the parking lot of the county park
after jogging with his Chocolate Lab.
“Nope. Don’t backpack,” said the grizzled
Grizzly Adams with a bald head. “The
packs sit on the back porch just in case.”
The man started to ask, “In case of what?”
But then thought better of it. He was
encountering the scared, wild
animals known as survivalists. The
paunchy, old grand-dad looked really
out of shape and the man understood
the really small daypack. He man smiled,
raised the window and drove off.
As he pulled away he heard his
Lab slurping water and thought of
baby turtles tipping backward —
their very vulnerable, still soft
bellies exposed.