The Tale of the Pickled Taco

The storm came out of nowhere. I have never seen a storm roll in and turn the daylight into night so fast; it was a torrential downpour at the bottom of Nesuntabunt Mountain. I was experiencing the worst stomach pain and nausea I have ever endured. I was annoyed by the pain and that we had only hiked about a mile when a boisterous clap of thunder grabbed our attention.  

“Alright, ladies, let’s get into lightning position,” the leader of our trip shouted to my group over the rustling of the leaves from the towering trees.   

Even though the leaves provided shade from the sun, they did nothing to shield us from the pouring rain. I took off my pack and placed it on the ground so I would be able to sit on it. My knees went to my chest and my hands into a prayer-like position. When I looked to my right, I saw my friend Charlotte had done the same about two feet away from me.   

“Laura, your raincoat is not even waterproof,” she said. Looking down, I saw that the raindrops had indeed gone straight through the layer of fabric and onto my skin.  

“Nothing is waterproof, but everything will dry,” I replied.  

“But it won’t be a very happy birthday when you get hypothermia,” she added.   

She was right; however, little did she know that my birthday was already off to a bad start because of the stomach pain I had been experiencing all throughout the morning. I was about to respond when another clap of thunder shook the ground beneath us, and a flash of lightning appeared. We all screamed when only a few feet away, a small birch tree fell to the ground. I have never seen a lightning bolt strike so close.   

I heard Izzy’s voice yell over the wind, “Holly! Remember last summer when you thought you could pickle a taco if you put it in a pickle jar?”   

We all erupted into laughter, reminiscing on how Holly carried that taco- filled pickle jar on the back of her bike throughout Nova Scotia for four weeks. After a few minutes of recounting our past adventures, we grew silent. Looking at each other, I knew we all realized that this would be our last trip together for quite some time. This made everyone feel uneasy, and the storm was not helping with the growing anxiety either.  

It was when I saw the fear in everyone’s eyes from the sound of thunder that I started singing. “A year from now we’ll all be gone, all our friends will move away…”  

“Rivers and Roads” by the Head and the Heart was a song we had all found comfort in at some point over the last few years. When everyone picked up on the chorus, I stopped singing because I felt so sick. Letting everyone else sing, I wanted to relish in this moment. I felt so grateful while looking around at all of my best friends, making the best of this immense rainstorm. By the time they started singing the next song, I began reflecting on how a rag tag group of girls, with almost nothing in common, somehow became best friends.  

As heavy raindrops continued to fall from the dark sky, I believed this to be my happiest moment of my life so far. Enduring the hardships of the rugged terrain that is the Appalachian Trail was no match for the positivity of this random group of people. About nine songs later, the rain eventually showed signs of stopping, and we put on our packs to hike to the summit.  

Meanwhile, as I reflect on this adventure, it was true we would not be going on a spontaneous trip together any time soon. About one year from that day we would all be heading off to college and our summers were no longer filled with excursions. Instead, most of us work at the American Youth Foundation, the camp where we all met. We all have had a positive experience befriending each other; so, we wanted to create that for future campers. 

However, when I recall this fond memory, the question from before still resonates with me: how does a group with divergent characteristics become friends? We are all so different from one another:  

 Charlie, an aspiring artist; Holly, a world traveler; Clara, who now serves in the military; Charlotte, the human equivalent of a golden retriever; Jennie, a bohemian goddess; Taylor, the bubbliest personality you will ever encounter; Izzy, the comic relief of our group; and me, the one that has the title of being the most immature and mature member of the group.  

There are so many possible moments of the exact time when we became friends. Perhaps it was when we were plopped onto a lake to canoe for seven days, shoved onto a ferry and biked one thousand miles around Nova Scotia. Or maybe it was when we were sent off to hike the Appalachian Trail. Another explanation could be that we were placed in the outdoors without a phone to entertain us. I am not positive when or how we became friends, but I am so grateful we did.  

A successful friend group can talk about a variety of topics, at any time of day in any location. These topics span from what they think they would look like if they were mermaids, while biking the last five miles of a hundred-mile day, to what they hope their lives might look like ten years into the future, while sitting in the dark around a pot of vegetable chili in thirty-degree weather. I am lucky enough to be a part of both of these experiences and more, and to have met a group this amazing.   

I am surprised that we have known each other for so long. Now that we are coming up on almost a decade of friendship, I am grateful that the great outdoors has not only given us a place to grow into who we are today as individuals, but a space for these friendships to develop and evolve as well. And the most magical thing is, I get along with all of them. They have been there for me at my worst; later that same day in the rainstorm, the occupants of my tent ended up contracting cryptosporidium from contaminated drinking water. We were all so sick; clutching our stomachs and groaning in pain as we unzipped our tent to vomit. However, we have also been there for each other at our best. For example, I was cheering in the audience when Charlie received a national award for her poetry.   

These are the types of connections that you don’t get while being on the phone or texting while scrolling through Instagram. I am grateful for everything they have given me. Each individual has given me a shoulder to cry on, instilled confidence in me when I have needed it and made me laugh so hard that unfiltered water has come out of my nose.  

So, to those kind souls, thank you from the bottom of my heart for making me who I am today. It is not every day that you throw up and have someone exclaim the iconic line, “Laura! My God, your vomit looks like the pickled taco.”  

• adventure
• connections
• friendship