two weeks to go

Last night I burned Cold Sassy Tree onto 11 discs. I had downloaded it from emusic several months ago, and realized when I started planning this trip that it might be the perfect soundtrack for when I'm driving and tired of singing. It's my favorite book of all time; I'd guess I've read it cover to cover at least six or seven times, and re-read favorite chapters many more times still. It's the story of a 14 year-old boy growing up in rural Georgia in 1906. The author, Olive Ann Burns, strung together the stories of her father's childhood, and his stories of his own grandfather's scandalous second marriage. It's a pure and simple story, somewhat a coming of age story, though really more a photograph of a very particular time and place, of a small town in the South just before modernity barreled through. I have always loved it for its innocence, for its wide open spaces and its simple but profound ideas. One philosophy of the book has grown into me and become my own, and been a comfort to me in hard times and a safe place when I'm afraid. But I'll save that for another day.

Last night, too, I wrote a preliminary packing list. Sweet jesus I'm going to fill that car up. It's hard to figure the necessities when facing a week of camping and solitude and as yet uncertain weather. I'll need books and a journal and music for certain. I realized with a start over dinner last night that I probably won't drink a single beer for a whole week, but then too I won't have to do my hair or makeup or even shave. I can bring the most basic cloths: my army shorts, a dozen t-shirts and socks and underwear. I don't have to figure whether I should bring any dresses or a good pair of jeans or anything nice at all. But all that gets replaced with first aid kits and extra pairs of shoes and bug spray and rain gear and extra layers in case it's cold at night in the mountains.

And food. This is hard to figure, food. I don't want to bring any cooking gear, so the first thing to go is my percolator and coffee grounds. I'll bring a small cooler in case, but I don't plan on bringing anything perishable, so it's cans and potatoes to cook in the fire, granola, trail mix, dried fruit, crackers, and gallons and gallons of tepid water and juice. I'm hoping to try some Southern delicacies, and I hope I can find them off the highways: warm biscuits and country fried meats and greens and maybe even a taste of sweetmilk. It's not that I want to be dependent on food I have to stop to buy along the way—and I sure as hell don't plan on a single crumb of fast food, coffee excepted of course—but I don't want to miss any chances to taste real Southern cooking either. In my Yankee fantasies, it's savory and hearty and piping hot.

So. Next steps: one final trip to EMS for the last of my needed supplies, and then it's maps and directions enough to find my way blind.