I read these out loud for you, and I leave in the little stumbles and pauses. It feels more honest that way—because life isn’t perfect, and I don’t think we need our conversations to be either.
We had been building up to the month-long camp in Minnesota for our three boys. The older two had attended last year, but this was the first year for our youngest. There were options to ride a bus with other kids, but since it was his first time, we decided to go as a family.
As we prepared for this trip, I found myself thinking not just about whether or not the body soap I bought would actually get used, but also - what I really want for my kids from experiences like this. I’ve been reading Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, and while our life looks very different from the one she describes, it feels like a guidebook for nurturing in my kids a deeper awe for nature and a sense of responsibility to care for it.
She says: “Know the ways of the ones who take care of you, so that you may take care of them… Give a gift, in reciprocity for what you have taken.”
When the camp forms asked, ‘What do you want out of this camp for your kiddo?’
I could have written: independence, friends, fun, no video games—all true! But what I really wanted? For them to learn how to sit with boredom, push through the hard parts—mosquitoes, rain, long canoe trips—and come out with a deeper sense of self. To be in awe of a colorful sunrise or the sound of water against their boat. To understand that nature isn’t just there for their entertainment—it’s something to respect and care for. Who knows what they will actually come away with - but whatever it is - it’s the recipe nature ordered.
The travel there was mixed. A flight to Minneapolis, then a five-hour drive to International Falls. On the airplane, I sat next to our youngest, who had the window seat. He spent most of the time playing video games on my phone, ignoring the view he had asked for. He leaned on my arm, pressing into me. At first it felt so sweet—he doesn’t really cuddle anymore. Then I felt a suffocated because he was leaning so much I couldn’t type on my computer. Then I got annoyed at myself for being annoyed, instead of just letting myself enjoy the feeling of his small shoulder pressed against me.
Post flight, we hopped into our rental minivan (worried not all the gear would fit), endured several car fights, which reminded me of how nice the quiet would be…but also how quiet it would be.
