I vividly remember sitting by a campfire at an unused outfitter camp at Moose Creek on the Selway River. There were four of us: Heidi, Jenn, Ranger Ronnie, and me.

Ranger Ronnie, a retired nurse from Friday Harbor, Washington, and now a volunteer ranger at a remote wilderness forest service station, is sipping red wine from an old jelly jar. It is the longest day of the year, and the sun is still visible through the trees. The air is warm. We swap stories as we eat our rehydrated dinners. Ranger Ronnie finishes her wine and is about to go back to her cabin when she looks at me, shakes her head, and says, “Lisa. Your hair.”

I smile and take the compliment. My hair is amazing. It is thick. The color of dirty dish water. I’ve slept in my tent the last three nights, worn a hat all day and have not showered in four days. My shortish shag cut is going in every direction. Heidi has long hair which is pulled back and braided. Jenn has thinning hair and always has it covered with a hat or a buff. My hair looks like I just blew it dry in a convertible going 70 miles an hour down a dirt road, then used tree sap to keep it in place. I’m wearing a thin pair of long pants and a long sleeve shirt, both are full of burn holes from campfire sparks. I have on my camp shoes which look like homemade sandals, as if I took a piece of rubber, with strategically placed holes and threaded para-cord through the holes to strap onto my feet.

I was backpacking for six days and had not thought about my hair or my outfit (besides the functionality of it). I had not seen a mirror. My night time facial routine was to wash my face with my self-knitted hemp wash cloth and hot water then apply some jojoba oil. This is my happy place. I am me. There are no algorithms telling me how to be improved. There are no commercials telling me that happiness is a well made up, fashionably dressed woman who is getting a puppy for Christmas and watching her good looking man who gets a new GMC truck for Christmas. I have left that world for the silence of the non-judgemental trees.

Last week, before leaving Montana to attend my dad’s funeral in North Carolina I had a panic thought. What will I wear? Brett later asks me “what will you wear?” Heidi ask me, after I have returned, “What did you wear?”

My dad just died. I’m going to travel 2500 miles to attend his funeral. I’m trying to come up with what I will say at his funeral. And I’m upstairs trying on random ass outfits in front of the only full length mirror in the house.

The day my dad dies, I commit to going to the funeral. I did not make it for his final days and I realize I cannot go with my hair looking like this. My hair was fine until this moment. He died on a Wednesday. Since Brooke, my hair stylist, had her baby, she only cuts hair on Wednesdays. I texted her. She’s full, how about next Wednesday. I don’t know if I’ll be here next Wednesday. PS: Side note, not only is Brooke a hair stylist and a permanent makeup artist, she knows Ranger Ronnie, as Brooke also works for a local outfitter in the hunting camp I stayed at, which is a secret, don’t tell anyone about staying at the hunting camp. And, just to be clear, Brooke is not styling hair and tattooing eyebrows at hunting camp. I digress. Brooke texts me back. I can cut your hair if you show up with it wet and leave with it wet. Perfect.

My sister has spent the day at my dad’s hospital room bedside literally watching him die. And I am driving to Hamilton with my hair wrapped up in a towel so it doesn’t dry before I get to Brooke’s. Because, all of a sudden, a trip back to North Carolina has me concerned about how I look. Why?

The funeral was on Day of the Dead. I have a t-shirt I bought in La Paz, Mexico with a skull on it. I could wear that. I asked Scyntya if I could borrow her day of the dead outfit. She excitedly replied, “I have three!” I had to tell her I was just kidding. I asked Hannah what she was wearing. “Red pants, black shirt. I asked Meg what she was wearing. “A pant suit she wears for work trips and boots. I told her going to dad’s funeral dressed like Hilary Clinton was genius.

What did I wear? A hand me down skirt from Juli, she has the best hand me downs, an REI sleeveless plaid shirt that I found at a thrift store years ago, my Bedrock River sandals with Vibram soles and my bright red sports bra from Tush and Bush that I bought in Friday Harbor, Washington. Ranger Ronnie had never heard of Tush and Bush.

The day of the funeral my outfit was wrinkled, I questioned my shoe choice and asked Meg and Hannah if I should wear my red and yellow high top Coco Gauff signature New Balance shoes in children’s size as they are half the price of adults and still fit my feet. When I’m in Montana, I never seek out opinions on my shoe choices. I stuck with the sandals. Luckily there was no indecisiveness on makeup as I do not own any and would not know what to do with it if I did. I felt like I did not belong. This is how I always feel in North Carolina and why I live in Montana.

We show up at the Kernersville Presbyterian Church and proceed to the holding room where the family gathers out of sight from the others until the service starts. Meg and I cheat when we see our cousins come in the front door of the church and have go get hugs and hellos. Back to the holding room where the outfits are church appropriate, the make-up is artistically applied, the smell of cleanliness prevails and I look like I should be teeing off at a public golf course with a six pack of Bud Light.

The holding room is very full due to the fact that my dad has two families, his blood family and his family. We all know about each other, but this is the first time we’ve all been in the same room together. We file into the church and take our seats at the front. It seems odd to be sitting in the pews reserved for the family and not know half of the people with whom you are sitting. The framed picture of dad’s family was placed in front of us in case the blood family was confused. Once the service starts, I don’t think twice about my outfit or wish I had my baseball hat. By the time it is over I’m covered in 14 month-old grandson Roan’s hand mashed banana anyway, which I wear with pride and joy. And to be clear, Meg doesn’t look like Hilary Clinton at all.

I have another book to send my dad, “I Disagree, Winning Arguments without Losing Friends” by Fox News Show Host Jessica Tarlov. But, again, too late. I’ve never seen the show, but I’m sure my dad has. I do like the book though.

The book I’m recommending today is……oh man…. this is so bad, I just reread ANOTHER Wild About Books Book and I’m going to re-recommend it! AHGGGG. Are you fucking kidding me? No…..I’m not kidding you or me. I am me. I wear what I fucking want and do my hair with a baseball hat!!! And I am re-recommending a book. I just finished and recommend “The Shadow of the Wind” by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. This book will ruin you for ever reading any other books. It is that good. The writing is superb, the story line finely woven, the characters are real and you feel the coldness of the place in your bones, you are there in the cold fog of dusk.

More great adventures and book recommendations can be found at Wild About Books.