Do I dare broach the topic of personal hygiene in the wilderness? I think I will.

Showers are few and far between these days. What this means is a small basin of tepid water, a washcloth, and “top and tail” as my mother-in-law says. Basically a sponge bath.

How much exposure you’re willing to have depends on many factors, privacy being the most obvious. But there are also the mosquitos to consider. You want to be quick if you’re outside. I’m lucky to have the tiny trailer.

Why not jump in a lake? Or a river? Well, that’s always possible. But, again, the privacy situation has to be right if you want to skinny dip and the water here is very cold.

And what if you’re menstruating? I don’t have to worry about that any more, thank the Goddess. But I was once on this five day hike through the Purcell Wilderness Conservancy when my period started. In those days, I used a Diva cup. With all the animals around it was important to dig a deep enough hole to bury the blood. It is a total hassle and I had to use some of my very precious water to rinse the cup. Did I have to? I FELT like I did. So yes. Anyway. Menstruation kicks everything up a notch when it comes to hygiene in the wilderness.

So called “beauty” routines are gone. I realized today I hadn’t moisturized in more than a week. I mostly remember sun screen.

Today was the day I looked down at my cracked fingertips and rough fingernails and sighed. I found a little salve in my bag. That helped.

I go nowhere without my pocket-sized hand sanitizer.

Flossing is taking a beating, but I always brush my teeth.

But all of this is temporary for me and freely chosen. I think about how people displaced by war and disaster feel. The simple luxury of being clean is easily taken for granted and easily lost.

Lastly, the toughest thing is hair, and I don’t even have much hair to worry about. Hair gets bad pretty fast between the sweaty hikes and bug spray and sleep bumps. Bandanas and hats help. But I’ve got two words for anyone who is going to be unable to wash hair for a while: dry shampoo. It works. I used to use it in the hospital too. Over a few days it builds up and you can kind of sculpt your hair into place. If I’ve got big, good hair in the wilderness, you know it’s the dry shampoo.

As for clothes, there’s a lot of sniffing and shrugging these days. I shake clothes out. Good enough. Campfires are wonderful but the smell sure lasts. Maybe that’s a good thing.

My friend Val calls this gradual drift away from one’s usual standards of cleanliness “getting bushed.” Hard as it is to get used to, if I’m out for long enough, I always find getting un-bushed the hardest part of returning to my regular life.