Saturday, July 30, 10:51 PM. Brewer.

It feels like I haven’t used a pen in years. I’m not sure I’ll be able to read this. But we’ve all agreed to give up screens for this trip, and I want to record it. I don’t want to forget.

This is a crucial moment for our family. Maybe a turning point.

I don’t think I’ll be able to write very much tonight. The kids are all asleep. Amy’s reading with her book light, but yawning, and I don’t have a light of my own.

The trip to Sawtooth took fourteen hours, including maybe two or three for potty breaks and lunch. We had one near miss with a tractor trailer that had my heart pounding for quite a while afterward. But we got here okay. There wasn’t much talking. The kids were ravenously bingeing screens before The End came, when they would have to put them away. Amy and I just…weren’t talking. I wonder whether the kids notice.

I admit I’m a little nervous about the days to come. Are we crazy for bringing three kids and a (starting to be) pregnant lady on a five-day hike in the wilderness? Probably so. But would it be any crazier to lock this bunch into a suburban house with nothing to occupy us but video games and Netflix for a week? This will be good for us, for each of us and for all of us together.

I think we’ve picked a manageable route, mostly sloping plateaus and well-staked, easy trails. There are no cliffs or climbs or narrow trails. But there are bears, and snakes, and not many options short of CareFlight if something goes wrong.

We’re all experienced hikers. I’m not really afraid. Mostly excited. Once we get over the oxygen deprivation of the first day or two—not to mention the withdrawal from games and texting and YouTube—I suspect we’ll start to feel pretty good. And once the kids start to really fire on all cylinders, getting energized and cheerful in the wilderness—I’ve seen it before—maybe Amy will warm up. Maybe we’ll finally talk.

There goes the light.