"The Trees are Alive with the Sound of Coughing" by Devin Wakefield

*Please note this piece contains “colorful” language.

My family, and especially my mom, encouraged me to get into nature. Early on as a kid, I remember my mom and godfather were most encouraging. They created the Mountain Goat Club for my brother and myself, and my godfather’s son (in between my brother and I in age). They would give us badges after a difficult hike (like after climbing Mt. Lassen, ~10,000ft elevation) and would hunt down hard-to-find doctors in the boonies for us if we got hurt (I remember needing stitches). And most important: my mom would hunt down the ranger stations with electricity so I could do all my nebulizers.

The toll of disinfecting nebs in the woods, unfortunately, took its toll. One day, my mom was laying out my freshly disinfected nebulizers to dry, and then the wind shifted. The wind now carried the campfire’s ashes towards the nebulizers and soon the nebulizers were… un-disinfected. Fuck!!! We didn’t go camping as often after that. But we did continue to go occasionally, and as portable nebulizers got better, and CF meds more effective, I began to get more adventurous again.

I had a friend who loved to go backpacking. She could carry everything she needed to live on her back, allowing her to go wherever she wanted. She had CF and a lung transplant. She didn’t need to do as many nebulizers as I did, but she knew well what it took to get out there, and she had a lot of other pills to take besides. She invited me to come with her. I learned a lot of the tricks of the trade from her, including how to make great tasting food in the wilderness, and to keep meds safely organized in my bag. We hiked along the lost coast. We hiked to the top of the Crater Lake’s rim to see Wizard Island in the lake. We shunned poison oak. And we survived running out of water once - thank goodness we found that trickle of a stream the next morning! And other times, we decided to rent a cabin instead. Hey - there was a huge storm coming in with 50+ mph winds, and I think it’s nice to have a hot stove and warm bed for a cozy, long weekend.

This year, I miss my friend who taught me how to backpack safely. She passed away last year after getting bored of cancer. I’ll keep seeing her smile in the ripple of water. I’ll hear her laughter on the breeze of another hiker’s fart (or my own farts). I’ll remember to add extra salt to my food after a hot day of hard hiking. I’ll feel her sphincter clench as I dig a hole to poop in. I’ll taste something weird for dessert, like freeze-dried cheesecake, that she would often delight in trying. And I’ll keep going back into the wilderness for more.

Thank you to everyone who has ever brought me into a forest or encouraged me to climb a mountain. I hope to see you at the top of the next peak, or perhaps we can picnic in a mossy clearing somewhere.