She hikes with her grandmother’s Sunday handkerchief. Yes, a vintage handkerchief. 100% cotton with a floral print around the borders. She layers it between the disposable rain poncho-which is 20 years old and not yet ready for the landfill – stuffed into the bottom of a bottle sling with the full water bottle on top. These are the essentials for a daily hike: rain poncho for a sudden downpour; handkerchief for bites the nose winter or spring allergies, and water bottle. It is not a new handkerchief by any means. Nor is it carried as a talisman. Grandma has been gone since 1965 and this is the year 2020. In her memory these are Sunday best handkerchiefs, too pretty for daily use. They are Pentecostal handkerchiefs once used to dab off the tears of joy while murmuring, “glory!” And they are babies in a blanket handkerchiefs, quiet, soft-as down distractions to keep toddlers occupied during long sermons. These handkerchiefs – there are four of them- have been carefully stored for 56 years. They came to her in an old-fashioned cedar chest this year upon the passing of her mother. Mother never thought to use the handkerchiefs for herself because disposable tissues have been the norm since the 1950s. For the last 50 years, Scotties and Kleenex and Puffs made the weekly rounds to church and office, carefully folded and tucked into purses. But these handkerchiefs are practical gold for the leave no trace hiker. Before COVID, on longer hikes, she traveled with two bandanas – one for wiping the face and nose and spills and the other for use as a tablecloth for lunch in a beautiful place. That was how she came to have 15 cotton fashion bandanas to choose from for face coverings. Now every hike requires a jaunty bandana tied around the neck at the ready to lift to the nose – but not to wipe the nose. So, she chooses a bandana carefully to match her mood or outfit and she heads out into Nature to meet and greet strangers by hoisting her bandana into place over her nose, slick as a cow puncher keeping out the dust. Between times, when her nose gets so chilly it drips or when the bridge of her nose has been pressed so often by the bandana it runs, she pulls out the Pentecostal handkerchief to gently dab at her nostrils. Nowhere is the likelihood of her becoming charismatic most strong as out on the trail – in Nature’s beauty, where all creation sings and blesses her and restores her spirit; where the sight of a mountain or a waterfall or a glimmering icicle provokes an exclamation of “hallelujah” or “glory,” – most generally translated “wow!” or “awesome!” and a spontaneous waving of a handkerchief.