When it comes to outdoor adventures, I am not the parent my 9-year-old, Will, generally thinks of first. I am happy to go out on the boat or fish off the dock, but my son was born deeply loving the water and the natural world that makes up our coastal North Carolina town, and is most at home when he is out in it. I have always believed it’s a genetic trait, something passed on from his father and grandfather, who feel the water, sand and sky in much the way that I feel words, and understand them on an elemental level that eludes me. But, last week, my husband was still at work when Will said, “Hey, Mom. Want to kayak over the island and walk the trail?” It was a little windy for my liking, but I said, “Sure,” all the same. Because I am the mom who does homework and carpool and bedtime. And, every now and then, I want a taste of what it feels like to be the fun parent. “You’ll be my guide, right?” I asked, only half-joking, as we walked across the street and down the dock. “Mom,” he said back. “I’ll show you everything you need to know.” And, well, my outdoor-loving boy taught me more than a few things about nature—and reminded me a little about life, too. We paddled across the waterway to the Rachel Carson Reserve and pulled our kayaks up onto the sandy beach. I followed Will from the shoreline to the path that cuts between the marsh grass, avoiding stepping on hundreds of fiddler crabs. One of the most awe-inspiring parts of this island is the wild horses that roam free on it; watching them out the window as I write is one of my favorite things. When they run—especially through the water—the sheer power of them is breathtaking. The evidence of horses was everywhere, and suddenly it hit me: we were alone on an island with those powerful wild animals. “Um, buddy,” I called to Will’s back. “Should we be worried about the horses?” He paused and looked at me. “Mom, I promise you, they’re more afraid of you than you are of them.” I doubted that very highly. But then he gave me the first lesson of the day: “Mom, you can’t be scared on an adventure.” And that, in a nutshell, is the difference between the two of us. I usually let my worry get in the way. Will chooses the adventure. So I followed him through the brush, winding through cacti I didn’t know existed in our part of North Carolina and even a few native palm trees, back to a clear, calm pond. Will’s favorite thing to do is fish. It has taught him not only an obscene amount of patience and the ability to tie flies so beautiful I want to wear them as earrings, but also an understanding of nature. He can read ripples on the water, and he knows that where birds are, fish are. So, as we stood by that pond, Will was completely and totally still, watching. An ibis was stalking something in the water and kept creeping closer and closer to my son. I was in awe of the fact that Will could have reached his hand out and touched this majestic bird, but he was completely unsurprised. Because if you are still, the good things come to you. That’s not something I excel at, but I know it to be true. As the bird took off toward its dinner, Will pointed at what he had been studying. In the clear, shallow water, a crab inched along. “He’s a blue crab,” Will said, then amended, “No, she.” “How do you know it’s a girl?” I asked. He grinned up at me. “Because she has pink on the end of her claw.” I peered down and, watching the crab intently, realized that he was right. She did, in fact, have pink on her claw, but I never would have studied her long enough to realize it. That’s when it occurred to me: Meditation isn’t something that only happens on an app. I find that quiet place inside me via Deepak Chopra’s voice on my iPhone. Will finds it here. I hope my son never has to repeat mantras and count breaths. I hope these birds and fish and waves and sunlight always help him to find that calm center at his core. We returned to our kayaks, and, a few minutes later, dark clouds appeared. Taylor Creek, which we needed to cross before we got home, isn’t busy during the week, and it isn’t terribly wide. But I could already see that the whipping wind and changing current were going to make crossing a challenge. After a few minutes of paddling furiously, I realized I was getting basically nowhere. I called to Will, “Let’s pull up at the dinghy dock.” It was a few docks closer, and, well, my arms were burning, and I was almost there. He called back, “Mom, just paddle toward the shoal marker! The current will carry you in.” I rolled my eyes. Right. Like changing the direction of the nose of my kayak by a foot was going to get me out of this mess. But then, well, it did, bringing us to the dock at the perfect high tide. Sometimes I try too hard. I am aware, on a deep level that the greatest things are never meant to be a struggle. But I have to be reminded over and over again: When we surrender to the current, it will usually carry us where we need to go. As we climbed up on the dock, Will said, “Thanks for taking me, Mom. You did a great job.” And, while I have to laugh at that now, at the time I kind of agreed with him. I went on an adventure and did not turn around because my novelist’s imagination was envisioning monster horses trampling me. I braved mushy sand that gave me the creeps and tons of mosquitoes and an almost-storm. And I had a really great time. But what Will reminded me with those words of encouragement is this simple lesson: Never be stingy with praise. It takes so little effort to pay someone a compliment, when it’s sincere, and it just might make their day. In this case, it ensured that next time Will wants to go kayaking, I’ll say yes right away. As a mother, I spend so much time thinking about the things I want to instill in my son, about what I want to teach him. But what he reminded me last week is that some people learn by listening. Others, like him, learn by watching. And so maybe it really is the example we set that matters most. I might never be able to feel nature deep in my veins like my husband and son do. But every time I’m out in it—on the water, or simply under the blue sky—still and patient, watching and listening, I get just a little bit closer. And that, I have to think, is a lesson in itself. Next, what secrets are we holding within? Author Patti Callahan Henry challenges you to dig deep. Friends & Fiction is an online community, weekly live web show, and podcast founded and hosted by bestselling authors Mary Kay Andrews, Kristin Harmel, Kristy Woodson Harvey, Patti Callahan Henry, and Mary Alice Monroe, who have written more than 90 novels between them and are published in more than 30 languages. Catch them and their incredible author guests live every Wednesday at 7pm ET on the Friends & Fiction Facebook group page or their YouTube Channel. Follow them on Instagram and, for weekly updates, subscribe to their newsletter. Kristy Woodson Harvey is the USA TODAY bestselling author of eight novels, including Feels Like Falling, The Peachtree Bluff series, and Under the Southern Sky. Her writing has appeared in numerous online and print publications including Southern Living, Traditional Home, USA TODAY and Domino. The winner of the Lucy Bramlette Patterson Award for Excellence in Creative Writing and a finalist for the Southern Book Prize, Kristy is the co-creator and co-host of the weekly web show and podcast Friends & Fiction and she blogs daily with her mom Beth Woodson on Design Chic.
