Of the many places we lived growing up in the United States Air Force, I think New Mexico was one of my favorites. The mountains were amazing. The deserts were just as wonderful. The family campouts were always an adventure.
One camping trip in particular in the Santa Fe National Forest was a bit of a test of all our skills. We had hiked up a mountain, but not on a well groomed trail. It was a bit rougher than that. We were like Lewis and Clark! Just Dad and my two older brothers and I exploring the world. We climbed over boulders and dad lifted me over several steep points that were a little too tall for me to reach. I was wearing my school backpack, but contents all swapped for real survival stuff like binoculars and marshmallows.
Along the way, I had slipped down one boulder and landed in a creek. It wasn’t more than about shin deep, but Dad had told me not to get my shoes wet or I’d get blisters. I didn’t exactly ignore him, but sliding down a boulder twice the size of Dad’s Dodge Ram Charger was a bit of an Tarzan experience. Once Dad pulled me out of the creek, he told me I’d have to deal with my wet shoes and the blisters that would result.
Later we arrived at what became our camp site. As I remember it, it wasn’t a formal or recognized park campsite, but it was perfect. A large, flat circular stone surface about fifty feel across that rested at the base of a larger round stone face. We gathered rocks to make a fire pit and setup camp. I stripped my wet shoes and socks off since I was staying in the granite campsite. I spent much of my childhood barefoot anyway. I would venture barefooted to one edge or another to get more sticks for the fire.
After we ate our foil pack dinners – what a treat that was every time, and one of the few times I would eat all my veggies – I decided to rest my socks and shoes against the rocks around the fire pit. I figured this would help them dry out faster since we had a long hike back tomorrow. “Don’t do that, Bryant. You’re going to lose them” Dad said. In my ten year old wisdom, I knew better. A couple times Dad told me to check on them and move them away. I would touch them to see that they were warm, but didn’t move them.
Out in the middle of the forest and up on the mountain, you can see the stars like you cold reach out and grab them. And shooting stars were entirely magical. Dad was pointing out the Big Dipper and other constellations and I was lost in the wonder of nature. Eventually, Dad told us to get in our sleeping bags and get some rest because we had a big hike in the morning.
When I woke up to the sun peaking over the trees, I took a deep breath. Then I realized I wasn’t savoring the scent of nature. I smelled melted rubber. Then it hit me. I jumped out of my sleeping bag and tiptoed to the campfire that was mostly just smoldering ashes now. My socks had shriveled into something that would fit a baby, and they were crispy hard. But I could get over that. My shoes had each taken the shape of the rock I leaned them on. Sort of soccer ball shaped. I pulled them off the rocks and tried to flatten them, but I’d missed the heat by a few hours, and they’d vulcanized into this awkward shape.
Dad was sitting there watching me try to figure my way out of the mess I’d made. He wasn’t mad, but he was disappointed. I hated disappointing Dad. Oh, I felt low, remembering that he had warned me not to put my shoes that close to the fire. Knowing I had disregarded his direction.
“What are you gonna do for the hike down the mountain?” dad asked?
“Same as I do at home, Dad. I can do this barefoot.”
Dad’s expression told me that wasn’t likely. As we broke camp, Dad told me I’d be riding piggy-back for the dangerous parts. He shifted all the gear in the different backpacks. My two older brothers would have to carry more than they had brought in, and dad would have to carry a little less since he would be carrying me. And my pack was empty except for the bread and the sandwich meat for our lunch planned for the trail head.
It was actually pretty fun going down the mountain. For me. There were parts of the way down that Dad let me walk, but the more challenging parts I was hanging onto dad for dear life. I kept telling him I could walk but he kept me on his back for much of the hike. Then we arrived at the trail head where we would be meeting mom. We had all worked up an appetite and were ready for a good meal.
That’s when dad learned that I had failed to zip my backpack closed all the way. The meat and cheese had fallen out somewhere along the way. Oh boy, I can’t tell you how disappointed I was to have let Dad down again. I was sure I’d get a good whooping for this. It was warranted, I had calculated. But that’s not what happened. The bread had survived in my backpack, but was pretty smashed.
That’s where dad decided to both give us a science lesson and employ master dad skills. Dad took the bread out and tore each slide into four pieces. He hold us to put it in our mouths, but don’t chew it up. He said that if you just keep it in your mouth, it will eventually break down into starch and sugar. If you keep it long enough without chewing it up and swallowing, it would become sweet.
Ever the scientist wannabe, I eagerly gave it a shot. Sure enough, it worked! Besides the science, dad had cleverly also gotten us to consume our meager lunch much slower and to focus on enjoying it rather than feeling like we were eating empty, dry bread. When Mom arrived, I was excited to tell her how I got to ride piggy back down the mountain and about how bread turns to sugar if you’re patient enough.
Decades later, I showed my own boys how to change bread to sugar, while also sharing the story of how I could do anything barefoot.
I’ve got to add that Dad was not a perfect man by any measure. He had many flaws, but he had some seriously good virtues as well. I miss him dearly now. As a final side note, I have many times found it movingly revelatory to sit in a pew on Sunday when sacrament is passed and I’d put the little piece of bread in my mouth only to let it stay long enough to become sweet. The simple bread that represents the body of my Savior Jesus Christ is sweet to ponder and to appreciate as a gift to me.