Lost And Found Out West
As we sat under the sloped plywood roof of the lean-to, we squinted into the foggy distance and flicked the caps off our bottles of lager. A Jon Krakauer audiobook played on the Bluetooth speakers behind our camp chairs, just audible above the thrumming of summer rain and punctuated only by the occasional slapping sound of a mosquito being quickly and mercilessly dispatched. Eric, my husband of just two weeks, clinked the neck of his bottle against mine, and we drank to the soggy remains of our campfire. It was in this melancholy manner that we spent the first night of our honeymoon.
