My family recently decided to move to Colorado Springs after weeks of deliberations, several telephone calls with the most tenuous knowledge, a session with a life coach and a conference of con and a very subjective conference on a yellow legal stamp. While I get on our options, I continued to seek the answer to a question I felt would be the key to our family’s happiness: what to do?
From what I gathered, the answer to Colorado Springs is unanimous. People make fun of their own pleasure by leaving and going up. They hike.
From our flat rental and midwest, I wondered if we could become a family of Colorado and what it even meant. While other children surely grew up in fishing and mud and mountain biking, mine had mainly grown up in Netflixing.
So, could I transform my suburban brood (4, 6 and 9 years old) into outdoor fans? I decided to give my best blow.
We started at Garden of the Gods because I understood that millions of visitors per year cannot be wrong. Did you know that you can park right next to the amazing prehistoric rock formations of the central garden? We did not do it, and after a long slog on the “boring” path of the visitors center, nothing could compete with the annoyance of my eldest son. My little one begged to be transported. Back in the parking lot, we crossed. Hit one.
When my mother flew up for a visit, we spent a day exploring the Denver Museum of Nature & Science, amazing the gems and minerals drawn from the earth and polished with luminescence. Then, we ventured to Red Rocks Park, where online criticism promised an easy 1.5 mile hike very suitable for children.
We started hesitantly, trying not to reveal to children the extent of our navigation fears. But they galloped in front of the dust and skip the stairs integrated into the path. It was a glorious day and from the blue sky, and my confidence grew up by seeing them enjoying the walk, finding their own entertainment in the moment, in the movement.
Except now, the sky darkened, the swollen clouds leaned closer than before and the temperature dropped. And where were we? Now I had the feeling of walking since always. How long should 1.5 mile take? Not so long. Was we even on the right path? My mom and I looked at terror and uncertainty while we urge the children with a false gaiety to hurry.
We returned as the first notes of the warm -up of this night started at the amphitheater and the first drops of rain started to fall. My daughter announced again and again that she had done everything and did not need to be transported at all. “All the hike!” We have accepted with enthusiasm. And, to each other, my mother and I joked: “The 15 miles of this”.
Later this month, we made another attempt by Garden of the Gods, this time armed with recommendations on where to park and hike. My boys demarcated on the red earth of the trail of the Siamese twins and climbed the rocks to place next to the giant hoodoos.
I carefully picked up my route and mounted on an outcrop, the feeling of height and sun and solitude filling me with gratitude – and a certain disbelief that there was no railing.
“The hike is fun,” said my elder later, not looking up to the sofa while hanging a finger on his tablet. My mouth almost opened, but I played it cool and simply accepted.
With a success to my credit, we left for Silver Cascade Falls in the North Cheyenne Cañon Park. I chose this hike after going to googled “hikes for the children of Colorado Springs” while pumping gas; We lacked time to go to my planned destination after we stopped in Target to buy whistles – my best efforts to protect ourselves against the separation or attack of the mountain lion.
As we make our way in the park, the air seemed to become more gray around us, the sidewalk bordered by ice. The children soon complained about car pain while the road twisted and turned. We jumped in the parking lot and I looked down to see my daughter in a pair of water shoes and my eldest son in shorts. Who dressed these children? At least we had our whistles.
We walked to the immediate award of the waterfall gushing on the rocks. And despite the cold, we have hiked on a path that can only be described as a solid ice. I found it terrifying. My children found it hilarious. We grabbed the handrail and slid our feet at the top. We slipped, we grove, we whistled. We smiled when we arrived at the top, then below.
“I think I did it,” I thought.
Not so fast, I quickly learned.
We drove east one morning to paint the mines of the interpretation park. The Colorado Springs had been sunny and calm, but in Calhan, the cold wind whipped our hair and gerged our lips. Our feet were consumed by sucking mud. It was not fun.
“I hate hiking,” mumbled my eldest son, going back to the van.
“I hate hiking,” resolved her little sister, then staged: “I hate Colorado.”
It was bad. I thought recovery was possible, but with these children, you never know. A policy reversal could happen quickly or negotiations could drag for months.
The following week, we returned to Garden of the Gods to find out more about raptors and reptiles. I take out the children with chocolate croissants in the reception center and I ask out with casualness if someone wants to hike. Miraculously, they agree.
I let the boys come out of the sight as they jostle a sleeping giant wearing t-shirts in the hot sun. Not being able to see them makes me anxious. But I know that the thrill of hiking is in the challenge, in uncertainty. I want them to feel like conquerors because they forge their own path. I want them to look at an extent of earth and feel above everything, and part of everything.
Even more than adapting to the life of Colorado, I want them to see that the inclination can be steep and that the uncertain sole, the wind can whip and that the rain threatens, but they can continue, one foot in front of the other.
And I hope they know that their mom is just a whistle, encouraging them.