Wrangler Dani

“The pleasure of doing a thing in the same way at the same time every day, and savoring it, should be noted.” — Arnold Bennett

“You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.” — C.S. Lewis

Cold, early morning light bounces off the windows, not yet strong enough to penetrate and warm the house, although the cat who snuck in earlier is has trying to convince us that her light-patch on the rug is genuinely cozy. She’s curled up with her nose tucked under her tail, but I run a hand over her head and hear a purr start to rumble within her, the picture of contentment. Snow is glistening in the pines and a fire crackles in the wood-stove, as Dad straightens up and wipes soot off of his hands, satisfied with his morning labor. Never one to sit still for long, he’s off, lacing up his snowboots as the dog whines outside the door, eager for a work-day to begin and maybe a romp in the snow. Mom appears behind me with steaming mug, earthy, brown and smelling delicious. We sit down at the kitchen table with our coffee and chat about life as the sun slowly rises in warmth and power over the mountains.

Bright summer sun blasts through the bug-speckled windshield in hot rays that deny the early hour. I’m not a needy traveler, but I do demand coffee, early and often – luckily I married someone who feels the same way. We got a head-start on today’s leg of the road-trip, and it’s a good thing, because today will be a scorcher – it’s only 7 a.m. and we’re already in shorts and tank-tops. Our car is dirty and we have more camping gear and outdoorsy accoutrements than two people should ever need. We stop and pick up iced coffee from a local shop, and take off to our next destination.

Cold saltwater splashes onto my legs. For some reason, the smell of the ocean is freshest and most vibrant in the early morning. The water is clear and calm. No one is out yet in this usually busy harbor, just Adam and I, our kayaks breaking through the quiet water with a swish, splash, swish. I have a cupholder on my fair ship, and it seems fitting and oddly indulgent to carry on my every morning tradition even while on the water.

All the camp counselors meet for prayer and enough coffee to keep an army awake at 5:30 every morning. We sit groggily across from each other, holding our mugs in two hands as though they might creep away on the wide pine-wood tables, laughing at each other’s stories of crazy campers and sharing in the unique bond of hard-working volunteers – people driven by passion instead of a paycheck.

The only sound is Adam’s camp-stove, boiling water for coffee. The trees rise all around us like sentinels, our tiny orange tent seems like a child’s toy in this setting, the one piece of man-made comfort in a wealth of silent creation. We sit on a downed tree in our fleeces and cargo pants, and sip at our plastic REI mugs, steaming into the early morning air, an embarrassment of riches in a primitive setting.