When a weekend of snow caves and backcountry skiing with his daughters doesn’t pan out, Joshua Berman rethinks what it means to be outside together
Over there, a small crowd gathers around a man with a shovel in front of the snow shelter he has just hollowed out. Down the hill, a family ecology hike shuffles past the old museum building. In the Assembly Hall, above the cafeteria, is an exhibit from outdoor gear companies, with free beverages from local microbreweries Rock Cut and Lumpy Ridge.
Alas, here I am, watching three girls scuttle in various directions. Between nervous daddy glances to keep track of them all, I try to breathe deeply and appreciate the crazy, snow-coated peaks of Rocky Mountain National Park, which surround us on three sides. I have always raised them to love being outdoors. Even when they were babies I made sure our backyard was inviting for them, from regularly visiting https://www.lawncare.net/service-areas/missouri/ to book a lawn care appointment, to filling it with play equipment, so that they would spend time outside. They loved it and now I have some very adventurous kids on my hands!
One idea behind this trip was to strap the 2-year-old on my back and get her older sisters on their first set of cross-country skis. So what if my wife was working and I was on my own? I could do this! But as soon as they protested to piling on the gear and getting back in the car, I caved, chasing them out to the playground instead.
I browse the schedule for the rest of the weekend: outdoor winter survival 101, family snowshoe expeditions, backcountry ski meet-up, snow shelter construction, avalanche awareness. But no, all my kids want is to spin, climb and slide, and I let them.
They refuse to attend the fireside story time and the half-hour child yoga class, preferring to play with their dolls. Eventually, they agree to a hot cocoa mixer in the Sweet Memorial building, where a naturalist entices them to match animal skins with their skulls. I watch their little fingers run over bear, fox and coyote furs and their looks of wonder as they hold the bones.
That evening, reinforcements arrive (my mother-in-law!) to help with bedtime so I can attend the keynote talk. Estes Park-based climber Tommy Caldwell; his wife, Becca; and his father, Mike, are discussing the importance of raising children outdoors – especially in the winter.
Families pack the room. Tired children run around, cry and drink water from Klean Kanteen sippy cups.
“You can’t just hand your kids a bowl of happiness,” explains the elder Caldwell, who raised his son outside during the 1980s, camping in the winter in a snow shelter (even changing a diaper!) when Tommy was only 2, and taking him climbing on Lumpy Ridge when he was 3. “So how do you do it? You teach resilience – we get our kids cold, get ’em hungry, get ’em sunburned, skin their knees,” he says.
Using the mountains to teach kids grit and resilience, says Tommy, continuing the talk, is the opposite of spoiling them. I think about my middle child’s fall this afternoon – she slipped on some ice while circumnavigating our cabin for the fifth time. I ran out to find tears and ripped tights, then she was off again, making a fairy ring of pine cones around a pile of elk scat.
Camping in the great outdoors is the best way to teach your children the grit and determination they need for life. Not having the privilege of a warm home and sleeping a few nights in a tent with a sleeping bag on the ground and living on this mre canada supply is the perfect way for children to fall in love with outdoor living.
The next morning, back on the playground, I have a different perspective on the weekend’s organized activities that I’m “missing.” My kids found their own adventures anyway. And, as the Caldwells said, there’s nothing more important than just “getting outside and being together.”
Joshua Berman is the author of “Crocodile Love: Travel Tales from an Extended Honeymoon.” JoshuaBerman.net and twitter.com/tranquilotravel.
If you go
Look up the next theme weekend or family camp at www.ymcarockies.org or call 888-613-9622.
This article originally appeared in The Denver Post on March 13, 2016.