Barb Lachenbruch

Shortly, I’ll take Mom and Dad’s sleeping bags to the homeless shelter. These bags were well-used over the past 65 years. Mom and Dad used them as blankets in their Quonset hut during their two years in Utgiagvik (Barrow), Alaska in the early ’50s. We used them for childhood sleepovers. Dad carried the heavy things on family backpacking trips, and later, Mom and Dad used them as their blankets during 30 years of weekends at their trailer in the redwoods. The “PET4” stenciled on them refers to the National Petroleum Reserve, a 37,000-square-mile land that means a lot to our family--in part because Dad worked there from summers in high school up through his career as a geophysicist--the landscape affected Dad, and Mom, and through them, all of us; and in part because my brothers and I spent time in the arctic ourselves. I got an M.S. in arctic biology that introduced me to unforgiving landscapes of beauty and discomfort, good people, and ways of inquiry and wonder that have helped me find channels for my life.

When we were children, the bags served as warm-ups for the stories we’d hear. Later, they served as reminders of where we’d come from. Now, they’re symbols that trigger thought. But they’ve sat in my basement too long, and that’s not their highest use. I washed and dried the bags, then spread them around the living room for a couple of weeks. This morning, I sat with them a final time. Even rolling them up gave me memories. Now I’ll carry them for a last time into the car, and take them away. Someday, perhaps soon, the bags will get soggy from a mishap, or the flannel will split from an overactive dog. Until then, I hope that all that is stored in them–shelter from cold and monsters, dreams of adventure, tokens of decisions made and paths taken–becomes available for those who get them next. May the bags bring comfort, protection, and wondrous dreams that help other people through cold, dark times.

(Longer version at www.barbaralachenbruch.com)