A while back, when we were still at home, I had offered to give Short Pants my pocket knife – if he could depress the locking mechanism to safely close the blade. It was a fairly sturdy knife, so unfortunately his hands weren’t strong enough. I have other non-locking blades, but I wouldn’t use those myself, much less give them to a neophyte. I told him that we would find him a smaller knife that he was strong enough to use.

I have been reminded of that promise pretty much every day on this trip. Every town we rolled into, Short Pants has remarked laconically, “Well, this looks like a good place to get a knife.” Geez, I get it already.

Finally, in Jasper, we passed by an outdoor store and they had knives on display and we had time to shop. When we came out of that store, Short Pants was the very proud owner of a brand new, blaze orange, Buck folding knife.

Since then, every stick has been carefully assessed for its potential as a whittling stick and I am amassing a collection of carefully crafted pointed twigs, presented to me with great solemnity. I, obviously unaware of the nuances of woodcraft, am instructed as to the most appropriate use of the pointed sticks. Sound are arrows, while others are more suited to more pedestrian use as pencils. I have yet to broach the issue of graphite.

Baby Girl was previously incognisant of knives, but since her brother had one, and wa having fun with it, she wanted one too. So, when we were climbing Castle Mountain, to motivate her efforts, I showed her my knife and told her that it was my favourite and that she could have it when we reached the top. I think the bribe was probably unnecessary because she climbed quite well, but I made good anyway. She clipped it to her waistband in a studied casual sort of way that said, ‘No big deal. OMG, look at this!’

Unfortunately, my favourite knife, now Baby Girl’s never made it to the bottom of the mountain. Somewhere between the top and bottom of the trail it must have fallen from her waistband. She obviously felt terrible when we discovered it missing, about halfway down, because she offered to go back up to look for it. Instead, I let Those Johnston Kids and Alison continue down while I ran back up to look for the knife. I ran back to our last rest stop with no sign of the knife, but I did find Short Pants’ buff where he had dropped it. 

I wasn’t upset that she lost the knife. It reminded me of my grandfather’s pocket watch. My mother have it to me when I was 10, with strict instructions to take good care of it because it was an heirloom. It was a beautiful silver pocketwatch, with a soft patina where it was worn. I loved it and carried it everywhere. Then I left it on the subway and it was gone forever. I still feel guilty about that watch.

I told Baby Girl that we would get new knives together when the opportunity arises.