Outdoors/Adventure

Mothers of nature

The afternoon of Mother's Day found our home littered with reminders of an excellent weekend. Muddy boots lay haphazardly on the floor, the washing machine was full of equally filthy clothing, and all of us sported the unmistakable aroma of campfire smoke.

Delightfully exhausted, I didn't even make a big deal about sticky remnants of marshmallows in my younger son's hair after an impromptu s'more skewer duel with a friend.

I'm not big on the whole Mother's Day breakfast-in-bed thing, save for a cup of dark roast presented to me with the morning paper. Instead, I usually ask for time.

The outdoors is more than a playground to me; it's a place of healing and refreshment — just as church may be to others. So it came as no surprise to my family when I requested a nature-themed getaway to mark my 23rd Mother's Day.

I have two sons. The oldest is now a young adult who navigates the challenges and blessings of a life every day with autism. He was born when I was in my 20s and still figuring out a lot of stuff. My second son, now 12, arrived 10 years after his older brother to a mom and dad in their late 30s and early 40s, respectively. In theory this should have made us wiser to the ways of youngsters, but the real story is that we mess up all the time with this parenting gig. This is where nature fits in.

An evolving mom

Sunday morning, as a cold rain slammed against the roof of our camper and I sat wrapped in a favorite quilt holding a cup of Mother's Day coffee, I thought a lot about motherhood and nature and how I've evolved in nearly a quarter-century of raising kids.

Certainly the 20-something mom made different decisions than the 36-year-old mom, but how?

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If I could tell that younger, slightly terrified mother something today about the value of raising a child in the outdoors, what would I say?

Start with showing up.

A recent study by TechCrunch, a website focusing on trends in technology reported that U.S. consumers spend five hours each day interfacing with mobile devices. Here's how families roll today: Kids spend at least six hours per day in school, then transition to after-school activities (that may or may not focus on playing outside) before doing homework. Parents work, pick up or drop off kids to said activities, come home to make dinner and referee homework, all while constantly glancing at the phone in case an email or social media notification pops up. Showing up in the great outdoors means being present for your children sans electronics. It's hard, especially with the plethora of apps provided by outdoor-themed agencies and businesses that shout at us to share, share, share our best photos and moments. But I am making a conscious effort to share these moments with only my kids and not the world.

A great way to do this is via a family outdoor journal created from a school notebook. Take turns drawing or writing, adding print photographs here and there to create a momento they can share with their own children someday.

Don't be afraid. The concept of parenthood is, I've discovered, is a great paradoxes. Our inherent instinct is to nurture and protect children, but to do that, we must engage in a certain level of risk.

In nature, young animals and birds are raised for that moment of release by their parents to fend for themselves after a careful period of instruction combined with increasing independence. In other words, discovering the result of natural consequences. A certain amount of healthy respect for the outdoors needn't translate into fear. Let your kids learn by doing, and going. Engage in whole-family education through classes at public lands visitor centers on wilderness safety. Then apply it by heading outside on an adventure together. That way, you're more likely to problem-solve rather than avoiding a destination altogether.

Best bets: Eagle River Nature Center, Center for Alaskan Coastal Studies, or Denali Education Center.

Allow for detours. I thrive on order and balance in my life, and as a young single parent, a carefully-orchestrated day meant I had a handle on the chaos swirling around me. Outdoor adventures with my first son meant I planned camping trips with the precision of a special-forces unit, leaving nothing to chance — but allowing for little spontaneity either. If I had to do it all over, I'd take more evening trips to the park before bedtime, or slow down along a hiking trail to make the journey part of the destination. We'd sleep outside in the backyard and make big messes along muddy creek beds, clean clothes (and car seats) be damned. Kids wash well, and memories can only be made once.

Use the outdoors for talking time. Not until my sons were older did I learn that the outdoors could help child-parent communication. My kids each relay information to me in different ways, but nature has proven with both that openness comes quickly when skiing, hiking, or biking.

One son is able to relax in the quiet of a forested area with little noise other than what's provided by nature. Even as a toddler he would relax his over-stimulated brain and body faster while engaged in mellow outdoor time tossing rocks in a lake or building sand castles on a beach. My younger son talks best while engaging in activities that pair well with his boundless energy, and many insightful discussions have ensued while hiking with the dogs or kicking our bare feet back and forth from the end of a fishing dock. The point is to find a sweet spot where you and your kids are at ease with each other.

For years, my mother had a plaque hanging in our kitchen at home, a painting of a curving, leafy tree with a bird sitting at the top.

"There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children," it read. "One of these is roots, the other wings."

Whether the author meant to provide these roots and wings via nature experiences is unclear. But I am determined to follow its guidance 23 years after my first Mother's Day.

Erin Kirkland is author of the Alaska On the Go guidebook series and publisher of AKontheGO.com, a family travel and outdoor recreation website.

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