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The Fabric of Our Lives

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The Fabric of Our Lives

By: Morgan Dinsdale

You can tell a lot about a person by their gloves. Like our hands, they tell our truths. Worn down palms, lightly ripped seams. Soft, supple leather. For those of us whose adventures draw us to the cold, to those early morning summits, to those late-night hikes under the full moon, these mitts, those gloves; they are the fabric of our lives. Every crease, every scuff, tells a story.

 

 

They tell my story. And if my gloves could speak, perhaps this is the story they might tell...

“Oh World, how your corners have dazzled me, how they’ve ravaged me.

Oh, the places I have been.

I’ve pointed to remote mountain peaks in Alaska and shouted “There, take me there!” I’ve unloaded basket after basket of skis and kept her hands warm and dry on long snowy days in rarely tamed mountains.

I’ve unwrapped so many cliff bars.

My palms have grasped, every so delicately, the handles of a paragliding wing, guiding us from 4,000ft above the grass on a chilly fall afternoon. I absolutely love soaring.

I’ve wiped tears of joy and tears of sadness from my friends' cheeks in the wilderness, even my own somedays.

I’ve summited the highest freestanding mountain in the world. The Peak of Africa. Mt. Kilimanjaro.

I’ve pushed marshmallows onto countless sticks and held together many s’mores around late night campfires. Now that I think of it, I sort of smell like marshmallows rubbed on the bottom of a leather soled shoe.

I’ve been scarred by rope tows at ski club fields in New Zealand.

I’ve raised and lowered countless ski lift chair bars.

I've held on for dear life to myself, hands wrapped around the driver of a snowmobile going laughably fast - or at least that’s how I interpret her laughter. Crazy girl.

I’ve seen so many sunrises, from mountains to lakes to chilly desert campsites.

I’ve watched the sun disappear from the sky and raised my hands to the glorious Luna as she illuminated the dark sky above.

I’ve held babies in snowsuits.

Belayed climbers on a shadowed rock.

I’ve even successfully turned a page or two of a good book late at night in the winter tent.

Most of all I’ve kept her warm and dry, no matter where her story has unfolded.

Oh, these soft leathery palms, what an adventure it has been and what adventures there are yet to be.”

My BAÏST story has only just begun. As I explore this beautiful planet, we call home, I’m ever grateful for how effortlessly dependable these gloves are no matter where I go. I wonder what else my gloves will say someday, as they continue to record the truths of my out of doors life.

Lucky for me, they’ve got a hell of a lot of life left in them!

So, tell me; what story will your BAÏST gloves tell?

Stoked to be a part of the team & to see where these gloves will come with me!


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