My siblings and I grew up in our lovely Midwestern city with two transplanted, New England parents. My father didn’t seem to miss his homeland that much — he didn’t really talk about it — but our mother felt like an exile (and actually used that word from time to time). She missed her family, yes, but her longing went deeper than that.
Mother had the heart of an explorer; oh, how she missed the New England mountains, woods, and waters! Emerson could have been describing her when he wrote:
We need the tonic of wildness…At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be indefinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because unfathomable.
While the longing for home, ski slopes, hiking trails, and canoes remained unfulfilled, Mother was not one to give up and do nothing. So with children in tow she set about exploring, usually on Sundays after church and usually unaccompanied by Father. We struggled up Forest Park’s version of Angel Falls.
For a four or five year old the path seemed incredibly arduous, muddy, and steep. All the way up I wondered what we would find at the top. It turned out to be just a field, but it seemed to exist in another world — certainly not one just a few blocks from my house.
We visited the Park in all seasons. We went sledding, ice-skating, and boating at least once — maybe only once because we children behaved badly. But some places, such as the Jewel Box, we visited repeatedly.
I particularly enjoyed this survival of the World’s Fair, since I cold run around on the paths, hide, and jump out at people (I regret to say, not always my family members). The Art Museum was one of my favorite destinations and there I developed a fascination for mummies, endless corridors of empty furnished rooms, and beautiful staircases to nowhere.
like this one, but not this one
Mysterious spaces full of treasures.
Sometimes we just got in the car and drove until we got lost. Once we found an abandoned quarry with a lake of pink mud, a slough of despond if ever there was.
like this, but not this
The rocks we threw into the slurry disappeared without trace. That trip scared me and gave me nightmares.
Sometimes we got a bit further afield and went to a state park like Elephant Rocks
I think Father came on this trip
That one made an impression on me because I almost got stuck trying to squeeze through a narrow passage in the rocks. I was not a skinny kid.
I could go on and on — I haven’t even touched books, movies, and baseball — but I must say that except for the occasional moments of terror (e.g. pink mud and narrow spaces), I loved these outings. Until recently I probably would have said that my childhood was pretty boring and that time lagged horribly during long, hot summers, but I now realize that we actually did quite a bit when I was little. My mother managed to make even the twentieth trip to the Historical Society or the Art Museum interesting. Even if I didn’t know it at the time, these outings helped me develop a keen imagination and various interests. Quite by accident, I learned plenty, too.
And if there was sometimes an element of desperation in my mother’s efforts, well, she had reason. But I know she also enjoyed herself, too, because she loved to learn and be with her children.
What childhood outings do you remember best?
*Alas, the fleeting years slip by (Horace).
dual personalities 