J. and I have been together for almost fifty years, but I'm still surprised when I'm reminded of how different we are. The other day I was shocked when I opened the trunk of the car we are sharing and found what a friend would call a "vignette." All of the trunk's contents belong to J.: ice poles for winter trekking, water bottles, rope, heavy shoes, a maul, an old pill bottle full of dry strike-anywhere matches; inside the gray case are all sorts of gizmos for starting fires without matches, including lint, which catches easily. Does he soak it some fuel? I said "maul," but I don't really know if that's the correct term for the tool with the long yellow handle. I can hardly lift it. There's a hammer and two bags of fire wood. J. likes to go into the woods by himself. He doesn't carry a gun, but there must be a knife in the kit somewhere. If I shifted the bags I would probably find a hatchet.
I wouldn't dream of going into the woods by myself. I might with J. In an emergency he could save my life; in the wild, I doubt I could be useful to him.