Camping with my kid

A few years ago, when my daughter was about 6 or 7 years old, we began camping and canoeing as often as we could. We're far from hard-core: we paddle flat water for a couple of hours at a time, a couple of times a year, and we set our little tent up from time to time in a provincial park that's far from the wilderness.

In fact you could say that our outdoor adventures are mostly symbolic. Compared to the time I spent in the woods and on the water as a child, let alone to the experiences our ancestors had living on the land, this is tame stuff.

But then again so much of what we teach our children amounts to symbolism. Consider the efforts we make to convey religion, morality, politics, and culture... what are they but symbols?

Camping with my kid is religious, moral, political and cultural all at once.

I get to touch base with all that's holy for me, and pass along my reverence and respect for nature.

She gets to eat marshmallows charred over a campfire, wearing my worn fleece sweater against the evening damp.

When it rains we both get to hop into the car and head for town for a diner breakfast.

Who says it has to be hard?