“Could we get an egg with that?” I asked our server as she placed the loaf of freshly baked bread on our table.

My daughter Elisabeth and I had backpacked into Nantahala Outdoor Center the day before and were resuming our southbound hike on the Appalachian Trail that morning. But not before enjoying a hearty breakfast at Slow Joe’s Riverside Café!

Over the past few days we’d steadily honed our camping and cooking skills – seemingly in direct proportion with increasing stamina and appetites – as we made our way southward from the very edge of Great Smoky Mountain National Park. The moment we’d arrived at NOC we’d leaned our backpacks against a tree and fished out a credit card to rent a pair of inflatable kayaks called “duckies”. We’d changed boots for sandals, stashed our packs behind the rental counter and – within minutes – had boarded a bus to take us upriver to the put-in point.

We spent a few hours in sheer delight splashing our way through rapids, taking occasional swims, relaxing in the sparkling sunlight – and letting the river do the work instead of our legs! After we each successfully maneuvered through Class 3 Nantahala Falls, we turned in our boats and crossed the footbridge to Slow Joe’s for a late lunch. That’s when we’d ordered the loaf of bread for pickup the next morning.

“How would you like your egg?” our server wanted to know.

“Raw!” I replied.

Looking concerned she exclaimed, “We can’t serve raw eggs!”

“But we don’t want the egg to eat now!” I explained. “We want it for making French toast tomorrow morning.”

Now she looked genuinely perplexed. “Huh?” was all she could say.

Elisabeth chimed in, “We backpacking the AT and ordered the bread to use for breakfast and lunch tomorrow on the trail.”

“Oh!” exclaimed our server. “Let me find out …”

From our table we could barely hear her end of the conversation.

“They want one egg.”

Something unintelligible …

“Raw – still in the shell.”

Something else unintelligible …

“They’re hikers!”

Moments later she returned and placed a single egg next to our loaf of bread.

“Enjoy your French toast,” she smiled, “and … have a good hike.”

“It would appear,” I speculated, looking at Elisabeth, “in a community of paddlers, hikers are weird!”

I returned home one evening last week to find my daughter Elisabeth and her fiancé Jude squatting in my driveway with my son Kevin and his wife Lennie. They were in the process of test firing my old MSR Whisperlite backpacking stove and were trying to remember the exact process for priming and then igniting the burner. It seems Kevin and Lennie were introducing friends of theirs to the joys of backpacking. They’d come to my house to borrow equipment from my “gear loft” (actually, Elisabeth was returning a two-person tent she had previously borrowed …).

A gear loft is a rectangle of mesh netting that ties to loops suspended from the top of a tent. It serves as a small storage area for lightweight items like a flashlight – or for drying a damp camp towel or freshly washed socks. I’d dubbed the decked area above my garage my “gear loft” when I realized it was a great place to store tents, sleeping bags, backpacks, bicycle accessories and all the other accoutrements of camping, cycling and canoeing we’d accumulated over three decades of adventures together.

I squatted in the driveway and led an impromptu coaching session on the fine points of operating the collapsible stove – including a safety inspection and some needed adjustments to the venerable burner.

“Dad, when did you get this stove?” Elisabeth asked.

“Hmmm,” I reflected. “I think I bought it for the trek we did on the Nantahala Forest section of the Appalachian Trail.” We both grinned, vividly recalling treasured memories from ten days we’d spent backpacking together in 1990.

Kevin chimed in, “Isn’t this the same stove we used at the Grand Canyon?”

I instantly conjured up a picture of him cooking supper on a South Rim campsite picnic table in 1996 the evening he and his brother Brian and I had just hiked river-to-rim following an overnighter at Bright Angel Creek. We’d gotten a backcountry permit and had packed into the canyon just the day before.

“Yep,” I answered, “and the family camping next to us refilled our fuel bottle and saved us a walk to the store that we didn’t need after that long climb up Bright Angel Trail!”

We lingered on the driveway for a while as a thunderstorm approached – sharing recollections of various backcountry trips I’ve taken over the years with diverse groupings of my children.

I’m very grateful for the terrific adventures we’ve had together – and the ones we’ll have in the future. And I’m very pleased that my children continue to work together as brothers and sister – and with their respective friends and now with their own children – to extend our family tradition of planning and sharing wonderful outdoor adventures.

That’s why my gear loft is always open!