Jenny Anne Mannan

American Songstress


Sometimes, when you're camping, you wake up to this: 


The happy faces of first and third born, who at home are often separated by school schedules and the easy compatibly of their peers, bunking together in the trailer because their sizes fit the fold-down dinette bed. 

Soemtimes, when all the forces of mischief and wiring conspired against the previous day's travel plans, you end up braiding your baby's hair at Denny's in Missoula while you wait for the guys at Tire-Rama to replace your trailer tires. Also the rims, it turns out, because your current rims are something called 'split rims' and have been known to blow up whilst being driven down the freeway and are no longer legal. 


Soemtimes you pull off the freeway so the boys can go potty and you are reminded that Montana is really the Last Best Place and was probably the First Best Place and has always been your favorite place since you were but a girl watching it fly by the window as your dad drove the big brown bus down I-90, The Road To Everywhere.  


Sometimes, you swallow your principles and buy the fun pack of chips at Costco cause you know the trip is gonna be hella long and snacks will be your only link to sanity and consequently your 3-year-old becomes convinced you aren't really in charge of her because no self-respecting authority figure would willingly hand out something that tastes like savory candy or for that matter Doritos. 


Sometimes when you wearily pull into your campsite, 24 hours behind schedule, you realize nothing is as important as the memories you're making with these little people you sometimes forget to look at because you see them every minute of every day.

If you're really lucky, once you're out in the wilderness with no one but each other, those little people might agree with you.     


Copyright 2016, Jenny Anne Mannan. All rights reserved.