Blankets are sentimental for me.
I’m an Army wife. I’ve watched my husband pack his ruck sack more times than I can remember. It’s pretty impressive, what they can pack in those things. I’ve watched him pack a sleeping bag over and over again.
Back when he first enlisted, he had a massive sleeping bag, which was just one layer. Just canvas, no extra inserts, full of wool, or whatever, but pretty warm. We still have that sleeping bag, and it’s one of my favorites, as big as it is. It has old snaps and an old zipper, and it still works.
Time marches on, and the military has perfected its ways of compacting sleeping bags. Now we have ones that have three or more inserts, and can compact into less than half the space the previous one did.
I remember a few years ago, showing my Grandpa Jackson, who was a World War II veteran, how my husband’s sleeping bag (with three inserts) could shrivel up. He was in awe.
Then there are the blankets and a poncho.
We used to have a couple of old Army wool blankets, probably from my husband’s early Army days. I’m not sure what happened to them. We probably used them in a move, or something, but they got so much use over the years.
The poncho, with its old Army pattern, and its crazy ties on the sides to roll it up appropriately, (which never seems to work right for me, but then, I never went through Basic), has sheltered us during soccer games in the snow, being stuck on a mountainside trying to get a Christmas tree, and on camping trips. It stays in the back of my Jeep, for just the right time of need in Wyoming. It is probably mostly sentimental to me, because I know it was taken to deployments, and came home, safe and sound, along with the soldier who owned it.
I have other blankets that mean so much to me. But I think the Army ones, including the sleeping bags, mean the most.