smells

During a bike ride at our spontaneous one-night camping trip this weekend, Sava told me, musingly, that when he grows up he wants to live in a tent. He said he'd move the tent every few weeks after he'd lived in a beautiful place for a while, and he would just keep doing that for as long as he lived; he'd live in Montana, or the mountains of Bulgaria, or "here"--meaning the Bay Area, which is the only home he's ever known. I reminded him of the small matter of having to work for a living, and he said in that case, he'd be running nature camps for kids. He'd be teaching them skills, such as how to build a fire or make a shelter, and he'd engage them in games, such as those he played in "wilderness survival camp" this week.

Samuel P. Taylor State Park; the creek gurgles all night long right behind the tents

We don't often pack up and spontaneously go off into the woods for a weekend, but this week we did. I've written before about the mysterious allure of camping for me, which we now know with certainty Sava shares also (as does Rado, although his true passion is backpacking, about which more below).

Sava attended a nature camp this week, and picking him up daily from one of the beautiful parks we have nearby inspired me with the idea of checking to see if, just in case, we could land a last-minute cancellation in a park we've wanted to revisit since before kids (for those not from "here," campsites in this part of the world get booked months in advance). And wouldn't you know it, Campsite 4 was hoping we'd stop by.

We recently outfitted our car with all the gear necessary for our upcoming long trek to Montana and back, so this was the perfect opportunity to test whether or not we'd be losing bikes and luggage on the highway. All came back intact.

When we woke up this morning, Sava told me that he sleeps much better in a tent. The day before, he had asked me how it is possible for people to love cities more than the wilderness, and he'd also declared--while scurrying about the campsite, collecting materials to put his new fire-making skills into practice--that because he could now make a good fire, this was the best short camping experience ever.

 

 

As we huddled around the dying embers of Sava's fire after the kids had already been tucked in their aptly named "kindercone" sleeping bags, Rado and I talked about the joyous miracle of having one child who intuitively, authentically, and deeply enjoys the outdoors. While Raya is too young to know what she truly likes, Sava--given a choice--would pick a day and a night in the outdoors above any other form of entertainment. In our book, that makes us very lucky parents.

corn baked in foil over the fire for dinner

marshmallows, lovingly cooked by the only children in the world who like to roast them but not eat them

sausages for breakfast

Thankfully, Sava also has a sister who by all measures is a terrific sport. She'll participate willingly in any family activity, and she'll don her brother's enthusiasm for any pursuit that he finds inspiring. Regardless of whether she ever feels moved to adopt camping as a permanent lifestyle (she'd need a van for her wardrobe), we hope that she'll always seek the smells of the great outdoors, now gradually being encoded in her DNA.

 

I found myself thinking a lot about smells during this camping trip. Just like other cultural givens, such as food, I believe that smells are a matter of nurture rather than nature (pun unintended). In the same way we crave only foods to which we have been exposed repeatedly, in adulthood we seek out smells with which we associate comfort and security. As I pondered, yet again, my inexplicable attachment to the idea of camping, I thought that perhaps it has something to do with fire.

Because of climate and culture, the Bay Area does not offer many opportunities, outside the campground, to smell fire. People rarely burn wood (too many people doing that pollutes the air), and when they do, it is on a handful of "cold" days during the otherwise balmy year. In contrast, I smelled fire a lot during my childhood visits to our grandparents in their village. The smell of fire spells for me warmth and home. Fire is one of the top ten reasons why I love camping, and it is one of the ways in which I hope our kids will be drawn, in adulthood, to the idea of spending time in nature.

 

(photos above made with crappy phone)
They also, I hope, will remember and crave big open spaces with miles of biking trails. They will seek to get out and pedal and think their thoughts in quietude (and pick the occasional blackberries along the road)

They will read or whittle.

And they will use their time in nature to get close to the ones they love.

:::
Speaking of time in nature, here finally is an occasion to celebrate our very first family backpacking trip, which took place about three weeks ago. Although we love car-camping, including and especially the fires, backpacking is where the future of our family lies (at least if you ask the parents). So far, based a single overnight experience, the older child heartily agrees.

 

As everyone who lives here knows, one of the remarkable things about the Bay Area climate is that summer is winter along the coastal swath. Late May through early August are the coldest months in San Francisco and its immediate environs. On some days the difference between the city and the South Bay is 15-20F degrees. Outsiders don't believe us when we tell them that, but it is true.

So that is how it transpires that on an otherwise warm day down in the valley, we are wearing down jackets and wool hats up in the coastal range, forty minutes from our home.

That is also why we watch Rado pitch tents in the midst of puddles, while the rest of the world around us is gasping for moisture in a historic drought. I honestly didn't think we'd make it, as all our shoes got wet on the two-mile hike and everyone felt pretty chilled, but that is where Rado's commitment to roughing it, based on his extensive backpacking experience and fond memories from the Colorado Rockies, carried us through and saved the day.

 While the evening was wet, and the kids had to climb up the hill in order to receive approximately thirty-five minutes of gusty sunshine,

in the morning we woke up in brilliant sun, above the fog!

Our tent was dry and our shoes nearly so. We all four felt on top of the world. More importantly, the kids got their first taste of what being so far out on the trail that there is almost no one else feels like (only one other family, also with kids, joined us at the four-site campground). Sava confirmed what he had already surmised, which is that backpacking brings you about seventy-five percent closer to nature than car-camping does. Both he and Raya understand that to get to places that are truly worth seeing, we have to put in the miles and effort and we have to carry our own loads on our backs; in that regard, backpacking is exactly like life itself, and I don't even have to work for the metaphor. (Plus, Rado would add, we need *very little* in order to get to the best places. He loves backpacking because it forces us to confront the barest essentials.) Truly, there is no better gift as parents that we can give them.

We are already plotting the next backpacking trip.