Nature, Finally

Well, wasn't that poll fun? Thanks to all of you for participating. I am somewhat surprised by the breakaway success of the "coverage of weird events" category. I never knew that's what turned you on. Get ready for an upcoming entry about our city's basset hound festival, in which more than 300 costumed bassets march down a parade route. You asked for it!

I am also somewhat surprised by your lack of interest in underpants. This must mean that there aren't many six year old boys among my readers. Or maybe you guys are just embarrassed to admit how much you liked last month's story about the thong injury.

Since we've been talking about anniversaries, I have to mention that a whole year has gone by since I first posted about how much we want our kids to love the great outdoors. I was on a kick last summer, reading about the importance of connecting children with nature, blah, blah, blah. We had this big ambition to get the boys hiking, so I set about finding kid-friendly hikes that were close to home and had big payoffs. But there was always some big obstacle -- Green's tantrums, rain, the problem of where to get and how to get a trail parking pass, the issue of timing the hike correctly so that the kids wouldn't fall asleep in the car on the way home (5 minute nap at 3 p.m. equaled no bedtime until 11 p.m.).

12 full months later, we got ourselves a parking pass. We landed ourselves some sunshine. Green woke up on the right side of the bed. Everyone was well-rested. And we went to the mountains. Oh yes we did.

This is not to say that getting there was easy. The boys insisted on controlling the music, which meant a solid hour of the song "My Toothbrush Marches Up and Down" (to the tune of "The Ants Go Marching One By One") on continuous repeat. But we made it to the trailhead, found a parking place, examined the outhouse in great detail, and set out for our 1 mile hike up to the "natural water slide." And while there was a fair amount of "are we there yet?" moaning, the kids actually handled the ascent pretty well. The payoff was indeed delightful, especially if you enjoy swimming in glacial runoff (uh, Sparky, this water is COLD).

To Michael, a lifelong hiker, no journey is complete without a trip to Dairy Queen at the end. I suggested that eating a 1400 calorie sundae after the hike might negate the exercise component of the experience. He outlined several reasons why eating ice cream after a hike actually improves children's love of the environment and makes them want to hike more, which in turn keeps them active. It didn't make any sense, but I agreed that we could stop at a DQ if we came upon one.

But we didn't find one. We passed sign after sign advertising various trashy fast food places, but there was no Dairy Queen anywhere. And then something unusual happened: Michael started to whine. It's as if his inner first grader emerged and couldn't handle a ride home without the obligatory Peanutbuster Parfait.

"Oh, come on," I said. "Let's just stop somewhere else and get a regular ice cream cone." "It's not the same," Michael pouted. Finally, we pulled into the driveway of a diner, one whose sign proclaimed, "Nothing in this establishment is good for you." That seemed a promising enough advertisement to me.

Right away, I noticed that we were not the only ones in search of a frozen delicacy that day. In the parking lot, alongside our dusty Subaru, loitered a sizable posse of Bikers for Christ (Their leather jackets read, "We Ride the Lord"). Apparently they couldn't find a Dairy Queen, either. I watched a big smile emerge on Blue's face. He exclaimed, "I want one of those!" I was worried that he meant one of numerous colorful Jesus tattoos that decorated the members' entire bodies, but he was clearly admiring the the long line of giant motorcycles. "Blue," I said, "you can get yourself a motorcycle when you are 18, but I will never allow you to wear a t-shirt that says, "Hey beautiful, show me your tats!"

The boys ordered some sort of marshmallow milkshake and Michael had a caramel one. Those choices seemed a little yuppie to me, given our company. But we polished them off and returned to the city drenched with nature, sugar, and good vibes.

And it's all about good vibes, isn't it? I think the drawback of the Get Your Kids Into Nature literature is that it turns something that is fun into a grim responsibility. Because, really, what's better than a day of swimming followed by a picnic with 200 reformed thugs?

(Michael inserts that it would have been better if the thuggy picnic was at a Dairy Queen. Crybaby.)