My two young daughters have been spending a lot of time lately playing and exploring the great outdoors. Typically it is just a matter of minutes before shoes are shed and bare toes squish slick green grass, although in our backyard we have to watch for doggie land mines, if you know what I mean. We’ve been taking family walks at the nearby greenway and going up to the local playground.
It seems that there are some innate childhood rules to playing outside:
If there is a nearby mud pile, even as tiny as a dinner plate, they will find it.
If there is a hard metal surface nearby, they will bonk their head on it.
If there is a tree with suitable limbs for climbing, they will scale it.
If there is a branch that can be fashioned into a hiking stick, they will grab it.
If there is a swing, they will run to it.
If there is rough asphalt, a knee will be skinned on it.
If there is a friendly neighborhood dog, they will pet it.
If there is a hill, they will roll down it.
If there is a butterfly, they will spot it.
With each skinned knee, muddy shoe, drippy popsicle, and grass stain, I relive some of my own summer memories of childhood.