In my last post I wrote about the importance of risk taking and how nature can facilitate that for children (and adults). I was reminded of this very notion yesterday as my oldest daughter led my youngest and I across a slippery and, in my opinion, terrifying path! We were walking in Euclid Creek along a path less traveled. It is a rugged, hidden walkway with fallen trees to jump over and slide under, roots pop up under the feet as you kick away the quiet carpet of fall leaves, and creep along what seems like a 500 foot drop along the river. In all honesty, the drop is about 50 feet, but for someone (like me) terrified of heights it feels much higher. It also doesn’t help build confidence in shaky adventurers like myself when I feel my feet sliding uncontrollably in the mud. I have to admit, I was petrified as we went from walking quietly through the carpeted forest with Noel, our Labrador Retriever, leaping and bounding over fallen trees and through chilly creek water to sliding across the top of a muddy ridge above the creek. I got to the front of trail and told my oldest daughter that I can’t walk on a narrow path on the edge of cliff. She said, “Mom, come on. You are always telling us to be confident and put ourselves out there. This is your time to be a risk taker.” I realized she was right. I was still scared out of my mind, but I could see that they both had walked across the cliff and neither had slipped and certainly neither had plummeted down to the rocky creek below. So, I edged up slowly to the beginning of the path and put one foot in front of the other. My knees were shaking and butterflies were fluttering all through my stomach and up into my throat. I had to psych myself into continuing to move my feet forward. I was literally saying (or more like yelling) out loud, “I CAN do THIS” as my two daughters cheered me on. Noel ran back and forth between my girls and I while I inched along this treacherous path. When I say ran, I mean she was like a Tasmanian devil moving at lightening speed, barreling past me as if one careless step wouldn’t push she and I both to our deaths (or at least cause a painful sprained or broken bone) as we tumbled to the creek below.
I reached the end of the path and my exhausted shaking legs gave way to a sense of strength and accomplishment. This time it wasn’t me encouraging my children, but them harnessing a spirit of confidence and risk-taking within myself that got me across that perilous path. I filled with pride and joy at the certainty they both exuded along with their ability to encourage their mother through a frightening experience.
Nature Novice 