Time

When I was a child — 5 or 6 — my dad got me up early one morning when we were vacationing in the Adirondacks. I wore my maroon hooded sweatshirt. First, we went to a little store at the foot of the hill — Dottie’s Store — where we bought Smarties to snack on. Then we went to Thirsty Pond and paddled around in the canoe. It was a deep pond with exceptionally clear water; I still remember my father telling me to look over the edge when we were out in the middle, and I could see all the way to the vegetation at the bottom.

Lately I’ve tried to give my girls some experiences like that — experiences of being selected to do something alone with, in this case, Mom. I think it’s especially important for my youngest. A few Saturdays ago, we got up early and went to the wetland we so enjoy. We saw lots of animals, and we saw the sun rise.

Then we went to a nearby park and shared a McDonald’s breakfast. We saw some fun things there too, and she threw stones in the creek — a pastime that never wears out.

Last weekend, my older daughter came along on an evening trip to the same wetland. My recent penchant for snapping pictures of everything has been contagious, and she brought her camera.

She’s trying here to get a shot of this ridiculous looking heron sunning itself on a branch far away. Even my camera, with its more powerful zoom, didn’t pick it up very well, but this is sufficient to show how absurd it looked. We got some giggles over it:

She did get a picture that thrilled her: a baby woodchuck.

It’s a parenting commonplace that times like these are important. But like anything else, it takes intentionality. Privacy can be like a greenhouse for a relationship; the kids will say things one on one that they wouldn’t say at other times, and I receive these things as gifts.

And as my own experience on Thirsty Pond testifies, the memories are precious.