Wilderness Camping

On occasion, when our children were young, we tried to take time with them individually, one parent alone with one child, rather than always doing things together as an entire family. Children need a dose of full attention from a parent from time to time, and to do special things without having to compete with siblings or the other parent. Such outings can be precious adventures, whether they last a few hours or a few days, whether in the wilderness or in the city, whether we are alone together or at some event with lots of other people. They afford new opportunities for closeness and seeing each other in a new light.

One of the things I (jkz) most enjoyed doing with my children was to take them camping in the wilderness, one on one. In a day or two, we would have experiences that gave new shape to our relationship, and memories that could last a lifetime. There is nothing like being in the wilderness for a few days to remind us of what is important and to get down to the essentials of living.

I took one of my daughters when she was nine years old to the Wild River in the White Mountains. We parked at the head of a trail and walked along the river for about five miles. She was missing her mom from the start. The stultifying heat didn’t make our going any easier. At a certain point, in response to her unhappiness, I suggested we get into our bathing suits and soak in the river to cool down. She loved being in the cool river in the heat, but she still cried a good deal as we walked on. I carried her pack as well as mine. She alternated between wanting to be home, wanting to get where we were going, and not knowing what she wanted… just feeling miserable.

At one magical point, we ran into a train of llamas going the other way. That added an exotic touch to our adventure, if only briefly.

It was the usual story. We had to keep going so that we would get to the place I had planned to make camp before the sun went down behind the mountains. Of course, she didn’t understand that, and she didn’t see why one place wasn’t as good as another. But I had a special place in mind, a large, flat place perfect for pitching the tent and close to a small waterfall, which I knew would delight her.

Missing home and unhappy, she walked along, while I tried to maintain my composure, struggling with feeling inadequate, worrying that maybe this was going to be a disaster, feeling like a failure for not being able to allay her fears or “make” her happy.

Finally, we got to the place I had in mind, a place I had passed through with her brother several years before on one of our adventures, which had taken us over South Baldface and down into this valley. The shadows were already long. As soon as we arrived, her mood changed. She enjoyed pitching camp, setting up the tent, stowing our sleeping gear, getting a fire going, and cooking dinner. The little waterfall was our companion, singing to us as we worked and cooked and ate while sitting on logs by the fire. The sky was full of stars as you never see them in or near the city, their shimmering light filtering down on our heads through the dark openings in the treetops surrounding our cozy clearing.

We got into our sleeping bags early and fell asleep to the singing of the river. She fell asleep first. I lay on my back looking out at the sky, breathing with my whole body, so happy to be with my daughter, listening to her breathing, feeling the joy of adventuring together.

We awoke to a crisp blue morning light, the mountaintops just turning golden. We got warm, had breakfast, and sat around the fire, making plans for the day. My idea was to hike to the top of the ridge. But that was not her idea at all. She wanted to stay put. She had no interest in going to the top of anything, view or no view. She didn’t want to walk, hike, or climb, especially with a pack. She had her home now. So stay put we did, as I stowed away my own strong expectations and desires, realizing that under the circumstances, it was important that the choice be hers.

So we explored along the river, and when it got warmer and the sunlight descended into the valley, we explored in the river. Noontime found us sitting on a high rock with the river streaming around us on all sides, boiling and roaring. There, I read Ronia, the Robber’s Daughter to her, Astrid Lindgren’s wonderful story of a strong girl in olden days living in the forest with her young friend, Birk, as they try to sort out the craziness of their feuding families’ lives. It was good to be in the woods together, alone, far from civilization. We were happy with very little. Sun, water, forest, each other, the timelessness of the moment.