Calvary's Thread: Every Bandana Tells a Story

At our overlook on the Crescenta View Trail

Every Bandana Tells a Story

It’s true that every bandana tells a story. Some more than others, even if it is simply, “I didn’t have that color”, or “I forgot to grab one on the way out.”

I’ve worn bandanas as sweat bands since the 60s while working in the yard, back backing/hiking, swimming, and kayaking/rafting in rivers and on lakes. Since I got well into losing my hair, I had to go to the doo-rag style of tying them to keep from burning my scalp.

There have been periods of time when I’ve used hats and caps of various designs to keep from burning. I have used bandanas in concert with hard hats on job sites to keep my neck less than scarlet. (see photo below) They have helped me in sandstorms, smokey environs, and while combating wasps. See photos below.

off to fight wasps after
they attacked Jeremiah

at the Shenandoah Peak passive
repeater retirement project

I do love a good bandana.

Rafting the Rogue. Me
at Glice geared up

On summer trips to Merlin, Oregon, to visit my parents at the Oregon Whitehouse and my sister at Camp Caldwell, we rafted every summer for about 25 years, and a bandana was part of my standard gear. I think we only rafted one Saturday and then focused on a mid-week rafting runs after the Rogue River resembled the 405 Freeway heading toward LAX one Saturday. After that, we reserved Saturdays for a trip into Grants Pass for the Farmer’s Market. My mom loved all of it.

Mom's gift of a bright bandana

One year while we strolled along, we came across a booth with tie-dyed clothing. I commented on a particular bandana and then we moved along. We hadn’t quite completed our loop when that bandana was dropped into my bag. Mom.

This past Saturday, August 29, 2026, I roused myself enough to hike up the Crescenta View Trail out the Deukmejian Wilderness Park with guys from my church, some ex-pats from same, and friends of theirs from various walks of life. On a whim, I donned my brightly colored bandana and took Mom with me.

Thoughts of her floated in and out of my mind and over and around our beloved trail conversations. I loved every minute. Mom was always my biggest fan and would love this post. She might be the last true fan of my writing. God, how I miss her.

Mom and me at Rainnie Falls.
A bandana is there, trust me.

She loved hiking. We did the trail to Rainnie Falls on the Rogue several times. She did many of the LCPC Senior High hikes, even if she didn’t have one of her kids on the trip. She would not have let the Saturday hike billed as a “men’s hike” stop her. She’d have tagged along but given the men their space when they needed it.

It is rarely with a sad heart that I remember my mom these days, and even if so, always with fondness. She lived life well and, I am certain that she heard the words, “Welcome. Well done, good and faithful servant.” I also am quite certain that if there weren’t hiking trails in heaven when she arrived, she quickly forged new ones.

Whatever you treasure for the memories, embrace them. Then call your mom.

In His grip,

Jerry White

Author's note to self: Make sure colors are set in any given bandana before any sweaty use: