No Child Left Inside

In a brilliant play on words and bureaucratic educational policy, there is a national movement underfoot to get kids into the great outdoors.

Richard Louv's stirring article, "No Child Left Inside," documents a burgeoning movement to reclaim the idea of outdoor play for kids, who are increasingly under house arrest. Louv ascribes many benefits to outdoor play, beyond simple physical fitness -- the idea of a connection to the outdoor, physical world, the numinous moments of natural beauty, the psychological benefits to distracted, hyper kids.

It comes as no surprise to me that children benefit from some time outdoors, and so do their caretakers. Exploring all the sensations of the natural world invites a discovery of one's self and surroundings that feels good to both young and old(er). I love watching my world change through the seasons, as Mother Nature gently sets the pace and reminds me who truly is in control of an otherwise crazy calendar.

As a family, we are all benefiting from some nature communing this summer. Sandy beaches, muddy pies, post hole digging, and snow pea harvests are offering each of us their summery reward. I've been deleting more shows on the DVR than we've been watching, and we all feel the benefits.

I say all of this not to be preachy or authoritative, but more because it's about to get a tad bit whiny around here.

Me, whining about "The Great Outdoors".

Why? Because we're about to go, as my friend Sara put it, to "Donkey Camp".

Yes, that's right, our first family camping trip. (Insert thundery boom and crackling lightening sound effects here).

And that's not "camping" in quotation marks where there is a bathroom with a flushing toilet and satisfying shower at the end of a leisurely day by the crik. No, this is big league Camping with a Capital C.

Mules, people.

Mules hauling gear. Tents the size of my living room. Turkeys being roasted in a bucket with nothing but a stick and some charcoal. Precipitous cliffs that could make children vanish faster than you can say "rescue helicopter", and last but never, never least: A Hole.

A hole in which to put the pee and the poo. Okay, probably more of the latter than the former for 3/4s of our family, but for me, there's going to be a lot of squatting in places that might be habitat for things that rattle or coil or slither.

We will be joining Grizzly Adams, aka Mr. Wonderful's father, on a little expedition into the Eagle Cap Wilderness Area. The link is inserted not just for the benefit of satisfying curiosity, but also so that dear ones can alert the authorities if they don't hear from me by a pre-determined date.

Feel free to come rescue me.

Just bring a 4x4, a mule, and please... a very cold margarita.