When we took a Yellowstone vacation last summer, it was easy to get the kids excited about the destination, with geysers, buffalo, elk and the like awaiting. It was harder to come up with a strategy for 1,000 miles of highway driving each way.
We scoured the Web ahead of time for ideas about where to make some worthwhile stops -- hoping to come up with something more fun than another night in a roadside motel. We hit upon the idea of staying at a working ranch for a night, largely skipping the traditional dude ranch routines (and fees) but getting at least a momentary sense of what it means to work the land for a living.
That led us to the Andrus Ranch in Idaho, which turned out to be just right. The Andrus family raise a lot of sheep on several thousand acres. They're no nonsense but friendly; they like guests as long as the guest are willing to adapt to their routines. And we were. Our younger son was delighted to be bottle-feeding orphaned lambs in the morning. Our older one enjoyed riding around on a small tractor, unloading bales of hay for the sheep to eat.
Will they remember it for the rest of their lives? Who knows, and if we wanted to create epic memories, we should have stayed a week and really immersed ourselves in the rancher's life. We were in the midst of a busy summer, without enough time to do everything we wanted. But even in small doses, it was a good experience.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Things Really Do Go Better with Chocolate
Have you tried chocolate pizza?
It sounds kind of ridiculous, doesn't it? I'd managed to go all through childhood and early adulthood without ever even thinking of chocolate pizza. But on a stop at the Ein Tisch Inn in Hagerman, Idaho, we were treated to a festival of different kinds of pizza, straight from the oven. The grownups enjoyed pizza with artichoke hearts, smoked chicken and other non-traditional toppings.
For the kids, dessert was the moment they'd been waiting for. Out from the oven came pizza slices so thick that they looked more like pie. They consisted of regular pizza crust, adorned with a generous amount of chocolate topping. After their first shrieks of delight, the boys got very quiet as they concentrated on eating up every last crumb.
(If only they had been as wide as regular pizza slices -- our younger boy recalls that his piece was narrower than he hoped. But that's traditional for him; it's way of saying something was so good that he would have liked even more.)
The ultimate verdict: they want to go back, even if they have to drive a long way. The cream sodas are good, too.
It sounds kind of ridiculous, doesn't it? I'd managed to go all through childhood and early adulthood without ever even thinking of chocolate pizza. But on a stop at the Ein Tisch Inn in Hagerman, Idaho, we were treated to a festival of different kinds of pizza, straight from the oven. The grownups enjoyed pizza with artichoke hearts, smoked chicken and other non-traditional toppings.
For the kids, dessert was the moment they'd been waiting for. Out from the oven came pizza slices so thick that they looked more like pie. They consisted of regular pizza crust, adorned with a generous amount of chocolate topping. After their first shrieks of delight, the boys got very quiet as they concentrated on eating up every last crumb.
(If only they had been as wide as regular pizza slices -- our younger boy recalls that his piece was narrower than he hoped. But that's traditional for him; it's way of saying something was so good that he would have liked even more.)
The ultimate verdict: they want to go back, even if they have to drive a long way. The cream sodas are good, too.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Hiking with kids: wish I'd thought of this!
I was grinning like crazy earlier today, reading Fire Fighter Ron's account of taking his boys (ages 7 and 10) hiking around the lakes at the base of Mt. Whitney. The elevation is about 10,000 feet there, and it's a rocky trail most of the way. That's a bold agenda!
So how do you keep the kids in an adventurous mood -- especially when they discover that that pretty little lake is full of incredibly COLD water! I've ruefully watched my boys' moods head south in a hurry when they discover nature has its more challenging side. But Ron had just the right approach.
He brought along swimsuits for both boys and offered his older son $1 for each time he could jump into the lake and get out. At age 10, a dollar sounds like a lot of money. But even more important, it turns the cold lake into a Test of Valor, with a quick reward. Boys at that age love quests. Look at the movies they watch, the books they read, the games they play. It's all about taking on challenges and proving your worth.
So, sure enough Ron and his son went scouting around the lake, looking for the best place to jump in; the fastest place to exit, etc. Instead of being locked in a sour test of wills ("When can we go home, Dad?") his son jumped in once, got out, and promptly jumped in a second time. The quest was announced; the young contestant dared take it on; he labored hard and was found worthy.
And once you start those games, there's no telling what comes next. Once the water stopped being terrifying, Ron's son couldn't stay out. As Dad drolly writes, "While eating a snack, he fell in by accident. So that one was free."
So how do you keep the kids in an adventurous mood -- especially when they discover that that pretty little lake is full of incredibly COLD water! I've ruefully watched my boys' moods head south in a hurry when they discover nature has its more challenging side. But Ron had just the right approach.
He brought along swimsuits for both boys and offered his older son $1 for each time he could jump into the lake and get out. At age 10, a dollar sounds like a lot of money. But even more important, it turns the cold lake into a Test of Valor, with a quick reward. Boys at that age love quests. Look at the movies they watch, the books they read, the games they play. It's all about taking on challenges and proving your worth.
So, sure enough Ron and his son went scouting around the lake, looking for the best place to jump in; the fastest place to exit, etc. Instead of being locked in a sour test of wills ("When can we go home, Dad?") his son jumped in once, got out, and promptly jumped in a second time. The quest was announced; the young contestant dared take it on; he labored hard and was found worthy.
And once you start those games, there's no telling what comes next. Once the water stopped being terrifying, Ron's son couldn't stay out. As Dad drolly writes, "While eating a snack, he fell in by accident. So that one was free."
Saturday, August 16, 2008
A Few Thoughts About Motivation
So what's your reaction to a newspaper ad like this? "Men wanted for hazardous journey. Low wages, bitter cold, long hours of complete darkness. Safe return doubtful. Honour and recognition in event of success."
Sounds tempting, no? According to legend, 5,000 Englishmen saw that ad in 1913, recognized it as a chance to be part of Ernest Shackleton's famous Antarctic expedition -- and pleaded for the chance to join. That sort of rhetoric touches something timeless in us. When we pick modern-day adventures (even if they aren't as daunting as crossing Antarctica), we want the project to be hard. We don't mind struggle and fatigue. In fact, we expect it. It means we picked the right project.
But four-year-olds don't think like that. Even 10-year-olds don't. Their motivations usually are a lot simpler. Do things that are fun. Avoid things that are scary or painful. Oh, occasionally there are some adjustments to those credos, if it involves pleasing a favorite adult or enjoying a momentary burst of daredevil thrills. Still, the basic pattern holds. Long-haul stoicism is for grownups. Kids generally live in the moment.
So early on, our efforts to get the kids to do anything ambitious involved Pavlovian-style rewards. Press the lever, get a pellet. That's almost literally what we did. If we picked a hike of more than a mile or so, the best way to get our elementary schoolers to finish was to chop up a brownie into 12 or 16 pieces . . . and distribute them slowly, one at a time, each time our kids made it another 200 yards or so. In essence, we turned the trail into one long, outdoor snack bar.
Maybe that's starting to change. When we skiied at Tahoe last winter, my 11-year-old and I ended up on a long, challenging trail that became the only way to ski home. It was at the outer limits of what he could handle, and we talked about maybe putting him on a chair lift to get him down. No way, he said. He pressed on -and was proud of skiing all the way down.
Still, I've learned the hard way that when we adults see an ultra-ambitious goal that works for us, that's no justification for trying to turn our kids into pint-sized versions of Shackleton's crew. They're still kids. They want to see at least some elements of fun in the experience.
Heck, maybe adults are the same way, too. That legendary Shackleton ad turns out to be a 1960s fabrication. It was cooked up by sloppy biographers a half-century after the real trip. Shackleton never actually ran such a notice. He did get 5,000 applicants. But they responded to a much more upbeat notice of the expedition, talking about how well-prepared everything would be and how much scientific progress the trip would bring.
My suspicion: it's only when we create our narratives -- after the fact -- that overcoming adversity becomes heroic.
Sounds tempting, no? According to legend, 5,000 Englishmen saw that ad in 1913, recognized it as a chance to be part of Ernest Shackleton's famous Antarctic expedition -- and pleaded for the chance to join. That sort of rhetoric touches something timeless in us. When we pick modern-day adventures (even if they aren't as daunting as crossing Antarctica), we want the project to be hard. We don't mind struggle and fatigue. In fact, we expect it. It means we picked the right project.
But four-year-olds don't think like that. Even 10-year-olds don't. Their motivations usually are a lot simpler. Do things that are fun. Avoid things that are scary or painful. Oh, occasionally there are some adjustments to those credos, if it involves pleasing a favorite adult or enjoying a momentary burst of daredevil thrills. Still, the basic pattern holds. Long-haul stoicism is for grownups. Kids generally live in the moment.
So early on, our efforts to get the kids to do anything ambitious involved Pavlovian-style rewards. Press the lever, get a pellet. That's almost literally what we did. If we picked a hike of more than a mile or so, the best way to get our elementary schoolers to finish was to chop up a brownie into 12 or 16 pieces . . . and distribute them slowly, one at a time, each time our kids made it another 200 yards or so. In essence, we turned the trail into one long, outdoor snack bar.
Maybe that's starting to change. When we skiied at Tahoe last winter, my 11-year-old and I ended up on a long, challenging trail that became the only way to ski home. It was at the outer limits of what he could handle, and we talked about maybe putting him on a chair lift to get him down. No way, he said. He pressed on -and was proud of skiing all the way down.
Still, I've learned the hard way that when we adults see an ultra-ambitious goal that works for us, that's no justification for trying to turn our kids into pint-sized versions of Shackleton's crew. They're still kids. They want to see at least some elements of fun in the experience.
Heck, maybe adults are the same way, too. That legendary Shackleton ad turns out to be a 1960s fabrication. It was cooked up by sloppy biographers a half-century after the real trip. Shackleton never actually ran such a notice. He did get 5,000 applicants. But they responded to a much more upbeat notice of the expedition, talking about how well-prepared everything would be and how much scientific progress the trip would bring.
My suspicion: it's only when we create our narratives -- after the fact -- that overcoming adversity becomes heroic.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Lessons From the Lava Tube
Who's in charge, anyway, on this trip?
If you had asked that a few years ago, we wouldn't have realized what a sly question that really is. As parents, we figured it was our job to pick the destination, cover expenses -- and set the family's overall agenda. We were in charge. Our kids could simply savor their parents' good judgment and appreciate the great experiences that were about to unfold.
Wrong! Wrong!! Wrong!!! The nadir came a few years ago, when we decided that instead of flying or driving to Seattle, we'd do something more imaginative -- and ride the overnight Amtrak train. For us parents, it was a chance to remember long train rides through Europe and India. There was magic for us in the rattling of the car . . . lingering over coffee in the dining car . . . pulling out the bunks at night, etc. For our kids, it was a yucky, confining place without enough toys. They squabbled; we struggled to work out diplomatic compromises, and we all were glad to disembark 24 hours later.
Our big mistake: we hadn't given the kids a chance to feel that it was their trip, too. Even if we still pay the bills and (largely) pick the destination, we've found that things go a lot better if the kids feel that they're in charge for at least a few moments every day.
We got it right a few years later, exploring the lava tubes in Hawaii's Volcanoes National Park. Those tubes are incredible underground passageways, stretching onward more than 1,000 feet. Chambers narrow and widen. Jagged spires leap up from the floor or press outward from the ceiling. Without a flashlight, it's utterly, staggeringly dark. It's exciting and unnerving to press onward, farther and farther from the entrance, not really knowing what comes next.
How far should we go? We let our youngest son make the call. We gave him the brightest flashlight and told him to be our guide. He went first. The rest of us followed. He learned to sweep the flashlight's beam back and forth over especially bumpy passageways, so that everyone could find his or her footing.
We went a l-o-n-g way into that lava tube. We watched other adults turn around, eager to flee the darkness, while we pressed on. We made shadow figures on the wall; we made jokes about people who had been in the tube since last February. It was like being in a real-live ghost story and our boys loved it. We did, too.
So now, when we're trying to make sure that the trip really works for everyone, we let the kids take the flashlight. Or the camera. Or the map. They don't yet get the car keys. But that's probably coming some day, too.
If you had asked that a few years ago, we wouldn't have realized what a sly question that really is. As parents, we figured it was our job to pick the destination, cover expenses -- and set the family's overall agenda. We were in charge. Our kids could simply savor their parents' good judgment and appreciate the great experiences that were about to unfold.
Wrong! Wrong!! Wrong!!! The nadir came a few years ago, when we decided that instead of flying or driving to Seattle, we'd do something more imaginative -- and ride the overnight Amtrak train. For us parents, it was a chance to remember long train rides through Europe and India. There was magic for us in the rattling of the car . . . lingering over coffee in the dining car . . . pulling out the bunks at night, etc. For our kids, it was a yucky, confining place without enough toys. They squabbled; we struggled to work out diplomatic compromises, and we all were glad to disembark 24 hours later.
Our big mistake: we hadn't given the kids a chance to feel that it was their trip, too. Even if we still pay the bills and (largely) pick the destination, we've found that things go a lot better if the kids feel that they're in charge for at least a few moments every day.
We got it right a few years later, exploring the lava tubes in Hawaii's Volcanoes National Park. Those tubes are incredible underground passageways, stretching onward more than 1,000 feet. Chambers narrow and widen. Jagged spires leap up from the floor or press outward from the ceiling. Without a flashlight, it's utterly, staggeringly dark. It's exciting and unnerving to press onward, farther and farther from the entrance, not really knowing what comes next.
How far should we go? We let our youngest son make the call. We gave him the brightest flashlight and told him to be our guide. He went first. The rest of us followed. He learned to sweep the flashlight's beam back and forth over especially bumpy passageways, so that everyone could find his or her footing.
We went a l-o-n-g way into that lava tube. We watched other adults turn around, eager to flee the darkness, while we pressed on. We made shadow figures on the wall; we made jokes about people who had been in the tube since last February. It was like being in a real-live ghost story and our boys loved it. We did, too.
So now, when we're trying to make sure that the trip really works for everyone, we let the kids take the flashlight. Or the camera. Or the map. They don't yet get the car keys. But that's probably coming some day, too.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Long Trip, Fidgety Kids -- Here's What Saved Us
We've never been great trip planners . . . but we've always managed to grab a few essentials before hitting the road. Twenty years ago it was passports, a Lonely Planet guide and a lightweight down sleeping bag.
These days there's a new category at the top of our list: getting The Right Stories for the road. If we can find the right tales -- usually books-on-tape from our local library -- our boys suddenly forget that they're stuck in the back seat for hours on end. There's less haggling for food and bathroom breaks. There's far less pinching, poking and hitting. Instead, they are transported to somewhere exciting and magical, even if our car is just rumbling along an endless Interstate.
And if we really pick well, the grownups get swept up in the story, too.
Here are a couple of the best picks of recent years:
Rash by Pete Hautman. It's a wickedly funny satire of what the United States could become in 2070 if concerns about safety, politeness, etc. became so widespread and stifling that there isn't room for a rambunctious teenage boy to be himself. Our hero gets in trouble early and is sent to a vast Canadian prison that doubles as a pizza factory. He rebels -- and then spends the rest of the story in a madcap series of schemes to win his freedom. . . . We laughed so hard that it hurt. And we paused the tape a lot for really interesting conversations about all the rules in life. Why some make sense. And why some don't.
Undaunted Courage by Stephen Ambrose (abridged.) We had our doubts about whether this would really work with the kids. It's a recounting of the great Lewis & Clark Expedition of 1804-06, told strictly for grownups. But it's so fast-paced and full of fascinating details that the kids really got into it, too. One of our favorite chatting points: "If you had a time machine and could travel back to 1804, what would you bring to help the expedition?"
Anything by Andrew Clements. He's a former teacher who has a dead-solid-perfect ear for what spirited grade-school kids really care about. Frindle is his best known story, about a boy who defies his teachers to make up a new word -- and see if he can get the whole world to embrace it. The Landry News is perhaps even better -- about a girl who takes over her school newspaper and turns into a crusading force. Suddenly the paper has great power, in ways that seem terrifying until she can figure out how to control them. Things Unseen is intriguing, too. If you've got a child who questions authority a lot (and don't we all!), these are great stories to get your family talking. They're packed full of raw truth about how kids can defend their identities and still make peace (sort of) with the system. Wish I'd read them when I was young.
And, hey, since this is a blog, feel free to add your favorites, too. The more titles that people share, the better this becomes.
These days there's a new category at the top of our list: getting The Right Stories for the road. If we can find the right tales -- usually books-on-tape from our local library -- our boys suddenly forget that they're stuck in the back seat for hours on end. There's less haggling for food and bathroom breaks. There's far less pinching, poking and hitting. Instead, they are transported to somewhere exciting and magical, even if our car is just rumbling along an endless Interstate.
And if we really pick well, the grownups get swept up in the story, too.
Here are a couple of the best picks of recent years:
Rash by Pete Hautman. It's a wickedly funny satire of what the United States could become in 2070 if concerns about safety, politeness, etc. became so widespread and stifling that there isn't room for a rambunctious teenage boy to be himself. Our hero gets in trouble early and is sent to a vast Canadian prison that doubles as a pizza factory. He rebels -- and then spends the rest of the story in a madcap series of schemes to win his freedom. . . . We laughed so hard that it hurt. And we paused the tape a lot for really interesting conversations about all the rules in life. Why some make sense. And why some don't.
Undaunted Courage by Stephen Ambrose (abridged.) We had our doubts about whether this would really work with the kids. It's a recounting of the great Lewis & Clark Expedition of 1804-06, told strictly for grownups. But it's so fast-paced and full of fascinating details that the kids really got into it, too. One of our favorite chatting points: "If you had a time machine and could travel back to 1804, what would you bring to help the expedition?"
Anything by Andrew Clements. He's a former teacher who has a dead-solid-perfect ear for what spirited grade-school kids really care about. Frindle is his best known story, about a boy who defies his teachers to make up a new word -- and see if he can get the whole world to embrace it. The Landry News is perhaps even better -- about a girl who takes over her school newspaper and turns into a crusading force. Suddenly the paper has great power, in ways that seem terrifying until she can figure out how to control them. Things Unseen is intriguing, too. If you've got a child who questions authority a lot (and don't we all!), these are great stories to get your family talking. They're packed full of raw truth about how kids can defend their identities and still make peace (sort of) with the system. Wish I'd read them when I was young.
And, hey, since this is a blog, feel free to add your favorites, too. The more titles that people share, the better this becomes.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Get Into Your Kayaks!
Before we had kids, we did our share of river-rafting. And like most people, we began to crave bigger thrills each time we went out. Class III rapids were exciting at first, but soon started to become routine. Class IV became our new "fix" - with huge waves that threatened to swamp our boat, before we (or more correctly, our guide) steered through all that crazy foam and brought us to safety.
Who knows what we would have craved next. But then kids showed up. Rafting dropped out of the mix for a few years. When our boys finally were big enough to get into a raft, the only outfitters that would take our family -- understandably -- didn't want to do anything riskier than a lot of Class IIs with an occasional mild Class III thrown in. It was fun to hear our boys shriek as the boat got splashed a bit. For the grownups, though, gliding through thigh-high rapids was pretty anticlimactic stuff.
Give all the credit to Pete Wallstrom, who runs Momentum River Expeditions out of Ashland OR. He took us out on the Klamath River a couple years ago with the kids on the big raft, and the grownups in inflatable canoes. Suddenly Class III wasn't boring anymore. In fact, if we got sloppy, the Klamath's Class III rapids weren't even navigable. Each of the adults got thrown out of his or her canoe at least once, leaving us to swim through the rest of the rapid, chasing our paddle, our canoe and our pride.
It brought all the thrills back, without involving our kids in anything reckless. Our oldest boy tried kayaking the rapids a couple times and did passably well. (Riding higher on the water helped a lot.) Our youngest opted for the safety of the raft all the way through.
We haven't yet figured out a way to turning long-distance hiking, bicycling or other adventures into two-track activities where the kids are secure and the parents are testing new frontiers. But with careful selection, I'm hoping that's possible, too.
Who knows what we would have craved next. But then kids showed up. Rafting dropped out of the mix for a few years. When our boys finally were big enough to get into a raft, the only outfitters that would take our family -- understandably -- didn't want to do anything riskier than a lot of Class IIs with an occasional mild Class III thrown in. It was fun to hear our boys shriek as the boat got splashed a bit. For the grownups, though, gliding through thigh-high rapids was pretty anticlimactic stuff.
Give all the credit to Pete Wallstrom, who runs Momentum River Expeditions out of Ashland OR. He took us out on the Klamath River a couple years ago with the kids on the big raft, and the grownups in inflatable canoes. Suddenly Class III wasn't boring anymore. In fact, if we got sloppy, the Klamath's Class III rapids weren't even navigable. Each of the adults got thrown out of his or her canoe at least once, leaving us to swim through the rest of the rapid, chasing our paddle, our canoe and our pride.
It brought all the thrills back, without involving our kids in anything reckless. Our oldest boy tried kayaking the rapids a couple times and did passably well. (Riding higher on the water helped a lot.) Our youngest opted for the safety of the raft all the way through.
We haven't yet figured out a way to turning long-distance hiking, bicycling or other adventures into two-track activities where the kids are secure and the parents are testing new frontiers. But with careful selection, I'm hoping that's possible, too.
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