backpacking with a baby

The day I first realized I was pregnant I did two things.  I called my midwife and I shopped for a backpack.  It (the backpack) had to be strong, sturdy, comfortable for me, comfortable for the baby, hold extra gear and fit my husband too.  I'd spent the last fifteen years hiking and backpacking and I wasn't about to stop.

My pack was quite manageable.  My man's, on the other hand, was a little ugly.  He basically carried everything except the baby and the diapers (cloth diapers all the way, baby!).  So, yes: my sleepingbag, his sleepingbag, my clothes, his clothes, all the food, dog food, stove, pot, water filter, tent....  Yeah.  He's tough.    

But contrary to what many folks may think, it wasn't the baby that complicated this trip: it was the dog.  We had to find a specific trail that she could handle: it had to follow a stream (so she could drink and lay down and cool her heart off), it had to be a mellow grade, and it had to be short--ideally under five miles.  (But we ended up going for six.)  

WELL.  Damned if that dog didn't turn into a little spring chicken when she hit the trail and realized WE were carrying her food.  She did awesome.  She's like the energizer bunny: she just keeps going and going and going....  For her, everyday holds the promise of another meal.  And she's not one to let heart failure get in the way of that.  

:: We scouted for mule deer and listened to elk warm up their bugle's in crisp morning mountain air.  

June bug splash, splash, splashed in blood-stopping cold alpine waters,

and watched her mama entice cutthroat out of the lake and onto a dinner plate.

In the tent, our little monkey would speed-crawl headlong into our legs and squeal and wrestle and crawl all over the tent floor.

On the ground, she slowed down to a porcupine speed to inspect the delicate intricacies of pinecones.  (And sticks.  And rocks.  And grass.  And wildflowers.  And pine needles.)

Eating was a messy affair that earned Juniper the nickname "B.B."  Bear Bait.

And this here photo reminds me of something...

...when Juniper was a mere 7 days old.

    
And oh my, August is all about squeezing and wringing and gulping every last drop of summer nectar.  There is more to post about the end of August, and look here, it's already September.  More from the road.  J bug and I are off tomorrow to visit my mom.  My man and Osa will hold down the fort.  (And, free from the night-time routine of dinner-potty-bath-potty-diaper-pj's-toothbrushing-nosesucking-bookreading...he might get a few things crossed off his to-do list.)  Hoo-yah!