On Packing

            It seems like such a simple matter. My mother recommends imagining the activities of each day and then putting the requisite clothing into two suitcases. If you can mail them ahead, that’s even better. A friend recommends laying out everything you intend to bring at least three days before departure.  He used the ping-pong table, much to his son’s dismay. Once he saw the scope of his stuff, he could fill any gaps and reduce any redundancies. Imagine the future, says one. See the scope of your stuff, says the other. Pair what you have with what you expect to be doing and your packing job will be done.

            The easiest time I had packing was for the second pilgrimage. Unlike the first time we walked across Spain, when we followed a packing list recommended by hikers of the Appalachian Trail, this time our imaging was informed by memories of Spanish bars and Romanesque chapels. We didn’t need three water bottles, one would do. We didn’t need binoculars and camping shirts, we needed a light frock for the end of the day. The memories surfaced and the requisite clothes and supplies slid into the backpack, practically vibrating with their intended use. Oh Camino, here we come!

            The hardest time I had packing was for a research trip to India. Research normally means laptop, and Internet access, and somewhat reliable electricity. So I dutifully packed it, although as it turns out, I left it with some friends in Delhi rather than risk losing it in a hostel up north. The clothes I brought I also abandoned, once the tailor in Landoor delivered me two outfits of the modest native attire, the salwar kameez. Indeed, just about everything I had thrown into the backpack and suitcase was either too skimpy for the Hindu and Muslim villages we traveled through or too heavy for the climate. As it turned out, the only thing I needed to bring to India was a shawl, a credit card, a passport, and a course of antibiotics. Had I done so, my empty backpack and half-filled suitcase might have brought home more exquisite cloth from the bazaars.

            By all accounts, packing for a month in Flagstaff, Arizona should be fairly straightforward. The electricity, I hear, is reliable and the cultural norms not that different from Southern Vermont. No need to cloak my frontal parts, nor will I need to shoulder my gear day after day. The chances are good that I won’t need antibiotics and that the desert heat will be tempered by altitude. The organizers of this NEH Summer Institute on Aldo Leopold provided me with a list of items I will need for dorm life at Northern Arizona University. Slippers, a bathrobe, a coffee maker, are all recommended. A laptop and the course texts are mandatory. I’ve already mailed a box of books ahead, books on sustainability and Native American spirituality, books by Leopold and Spinoza.

            Having read a week into the syllabus, I know that part of the discussion will be about the end of this world. The first chapter from Bill McKibben’s Eaarth argues that the world as we’ve known it since recorded time is over. The effects of 390 parts per million of carbon dioxide, where we currently are, is already knocking out coral reefs. It’s already making the oceans acidic and the glaciers recede to the point that water supplies in Lima, Peru are threatened. The president of the Maldives, McKibben tells us, recently announced that he is saving money from the tourist trade in his low-lying country to buy land in Sri Lanka where he will relocate his people.  I wonder what they will pack?

            An interactive Google map lets me see where the airport shuttle will drop me off, where the first night’s reception takes place, the fastest route between the dorm and the seminar room. Weather.com tells me to expect sunny skies, highs in the 70s and lows in the 50s. Headlines tell me that the Arizona fire is 18% contained and heading east away from Flagstaff. I’ve spent enough time in high desert and around seminar tables to know what to expect.

            Even the fire – like the flooding, the tornadoes and super-cell storms – is not unexpected. These outrageous performances of weather are the new normal, says McKibben, a common occurrence on this changed land he calls Eaarth. As the earth heats up, there is more energy available for brutal weather and magnificent displays of nature in the sky.

Were I to pack for global warming, my suitcase and duffle bag would be heavy with emergency supplies: Iodine tablets and flashlights, rain ponchos and running shoes. Lots of duct tape. Bottled water and energy bars. I’d be ready in a heartbeat to run out the door, towards the nearest shelter with my extra supply of batteries. But what about those times when the sky wasn’t thick with smoke or crashing down from the heavens? Wouldn’t I just want a shawl?

Indeed the more I imagine myself on this world without coral reefs, the less eager I am to go anywhere. Why not just stay home with the hens and the ducklings and the hoop house churning out mustard greens even after four inches of rain? If I can’t pack for the apocalypse I might as well just stay put.

But then I pick up a light blue shirt, the Queen of the pilgrimage, with pockets for maps, eyeglasses, and credit cards, and zippers that open up air vents in four different places. Worn once across Spain and several times in India, this shirt wants to go on the road and see what this new land contains. The shirt reminds me of life beyond the homestead, of meeting new people and seeing the old moon from a different location. It vibrates with the energy of adventure and challenge and lightweight self-sufficiency. Once it is folded in place, the rest of the packing follows quickly. Even with the unimaginable before us, I can’t help but feel eagerness.