Go Outside

Both of my parents were urbane and sophisticated people.  They gave me the gifts of enjoying modern art, dance, theatre, the symphony.  They owned "Architectural Digest" type homes, decorated with beautiful furniture.  They dressed in fashion designer clothes.

Yet, when I was growing up, every Saturday morning my father would wake me, lead me into the kitchen, help me get on my long underwear that he had warmed next to the heat vent, and we would go to "the farm."  He would ranch cattle with his brother and brother-in-law while the cousins would roam over 200 acres.

And as I got older, my father encouraged me to continue being outside.  He bought me backpacks, my REI membership (back when that was actually an outdoor store), gave me climbing lessons for my 16th birthday, gave me a trip down the Green River for my 35th birthday, bought me my first fly fishing rod, and listened to me go on and on about the minute details of soil horizons.

I am sure sometimes they scratched their heads and wondered where they went wrong.  I am not urbane and sophisticated (even though I still have a passion for art and classical music).  But my parents did tell me to "go outside!"

Murphy's day.