Month: April 2021

I went to Junior 4-H camp for the first time when I was 10 years old. The camp happened to be two miles from my home, but it opened a world that influences me every day.

Organized camps have been a part of American society for over 150 years. Millions of children and adults in the US as well as around the world have participated in camps run by religiously affiliated groups, not-for-profit organizations, governments, and private individuals. “Camp gives kids a world of good” has been a catch phrase for marketing camps for decades.

My first experience at camp was not extraordinary but I loved it. My counselors were “cool,” and I knew that I wanted to be one when I “grew up.” I went to several 4-H camps throughout my school days and got to be a camp counselor. I spent summers while in college at the Iowa 4-H Camping Center, a Presbyterian church camp, a private camp in Colorado, and a girl scout day camp. Professionally, I had the chance to teach camp management, write a book on camp counseling, and author numerous research articles and thought pieces about the value of camp.

The first research about the character-building benefits of camp was published a hundred years ago (not by me!). Since then, many studies have documented the value of camp such as developing self-esteem and social skills. Most camp staff are intentional in helping campers develop social-emotional skills, and that is key to nurturing human development.

I think, however, there is nothing wrong with acknowledging that camp is good fun and that recreational activities (e.g., hiking, swimming, canoeing, crafts) can become lifelong skills. Learning often occurs the best in fun experiences. Recreation offers enjoyable ways to learn. Camp gives people a chance to be themselves and opportunities to play in safe environments.

One of the research studies that I always wanted to conduct was to ascertain how camp contributes to an enduring love of outdoor activities in particular. This possibility was true for me as the summer I was a camp counselor in Colorado solidified my ongoing love for the mountains and mountain activities.

Another aspect of camp that intrigues me is HOW certain outcomes occur at camp. Heath and Heath wrote a book called The Power of Moments that explores why certain experiences have an extraordinary impact on people. I had such an experience at a state-wide 4-H Leadership camp. Camp did not turn my life around as I was headed in a good direction. I had a counselor, however, who challenged and enriched me. At the end of the camp, she wrote in my autograph book, “Love, love, love, and share, share, share.” Those words have inspired me for over 50 years—loving people, loving nature, loving myself, and sharing my blessings, camp research, and experiences with others most recently through this blog.

Camps are not inherently good. The value depends on the people who direct and facilitate those experiences. Positive human development for kids and adults can occur in many places. Nevertheless, camp can be an affirmative experience that connects young and old to others as well as to nature. It can change lives and it can enrich people’s lives. Being connected to camp and camp people has given my world a whole lot of good.

On a zoom call with friends several weeks ago we discussed where we would like to live for a year outside of the US if we had a chance. In thinking about that fantasy, I realized that all the places I wanted to reside had sheep—New Zealand, Scotland, Wales, Ireland. I have a storied relationship with sheep.

My dad was a farmer with diversified crops and livestock. Not many farmers had sheep, but my dad did. My affinity for sheep came from him. After he retired from farming and moved to an acreage, he still kept a few sheep in a nearby pasture.

Dad liked to tell the story of how as a 3-year-old, I followed him all over the farm “helping” do chores. One time I was in the sheep yard and a ewe came and butted me down. As he tells it, I got up and she knocked me down again. I think my father watching this happen bordered a bit on child abuse, but unknowingly that ewe perhaps taught me a valuable lesson about getting up every time you get pushed down.

I saw a similar situation when I was hiking in Wales. Sheep were wandering around a parking lot near a trailhead and one of them pushed a little girl who was holding an ice cream cone. The parents quickly grabbed the child, but the sheep seized the ice cream cone.

Most sheep, however, are mild mannered and not always the brightest of animals. If you can get one sheep to go the direction you want, they all follow generally without exception.

Spring brings the lambing season. We almost always had an orphan lamb or two to feed when I was growing up. They could be orphaned because their mom died or had no milk, or mom refused to own them, or sometimes if triplets were born, one was just too small to survive with the others. The baby lambs came into the house and were put in a large box with a heat lamp. Feedings were with warm milk in a nipple topped pop bottle every few hours until the lambs could be put back in the barn with the others and fed twice a day with the bottle.

My first 4-H lambs were named Mercury, Venus, Neptune, and Pluto. I showed Mercury and Pluto at the County 4-H Fair and got one blue ribbon and one red ribbon. After the fair, we took them to Wilson’s meat packing plant in Cedar Rapids. I cried when I had to let them go. Dad made it clear that we raised livestock to sell, and I would have more lambs in the future. The money I got from them went to buying my first used 3-speed bike, and I did feel less sad.

I learned about sheep management over the years and had almost 30 of my own ewes by the time I graduated from high school. I sold them back to my dad and was able to finance my first two years of college tuition.

Although I struggle with the ethics of eating animal protein, lamb is my favorite meat. A friend who had grown up in Washington DC came with me to visit my parents many years ago. She said to me, “Now I am not going to meet an animal on your farm and then eat it for dinner that night, am I?” I assured her that it did not work that way. Mom fixed lamb when I came home because she knew I enjoyed it. After blessing our food at the dinner table, mom said, “Do you remember that little crippled lamb we bottle fed last spring?” My friend was horrified. It is what it is on the farm.

Volunteering with a Stuffed Sheep at Sheep Lakes

I do not see many domestic sheep these days. My favorite volunteer activity, however, is with the Bighorn Brigade at Sheep Lakes in Rocky Mountain National Park. The Bighorn Sheep come from high in the Mummy Range to Sheep Lakes periodically to eat the minerals in the mud that they crave in the late spring and summer. The Brigade interprets the area for visitors and assists with traffic control when the sheep cross the busy road. I am thrilled when the sheep arrive, and even happier when they safely head home to high in the mountains.

Regardless of where and what kind, sheep make me smile.

“One finger, one thumb, one arm, one leg keeping moving, and we’ll all be happy and bright.” Perhaps you remember that childhood song that has unknowingly become the style of my life. I love to be active. I am addicted to movement. When I can choose to sit or move, I pick motion.

I was confronted with my movement affinity two years ago after shoulder surgery. When I tried to walk to my mailbox a day after the surgery, I thought I was going to die of exhaustion. I was so frustrated. Fortunately, two days later a walk around my cul-de-sac was refreshing and I even did a three-mile hike (very carefully) on the fifth day post-surgery. It felt SO good.

As a kid, I was up early in the morning and remember some days feeling like I only quit when I was forced to go to bed. I loved playing outdoors–running, jumping, building forts out of sticks or hay bales, riding my bike, playing in the creek.

I am blessed with some athletic ability. I like sports and was a runner for over 40 years. I completed 12 marathons and dozens of half marathons. Several years ago, I calculated that the number of miles I ran in my lifetime was equivalent to running twice around the circumference of the earth-50,000 miles. I experienced beautiful environments in all kinds of weather in the outdoors.

My running has mostly been replaced these days with walking, hiking, and snowshoeing. Sometimes I move quickly, and other times I just slow down and amble along. I do not desire to be fast, just consistent and steady. I miss running. I recognized, however, that long distance training was hard on my body and adopting a slow living approach could allow me to be an active walker and hiker for years to come.

The Slow Movement is a trend in society focusing on slowing down. Slow living is a philosophy and lifestyle that emphasizes slower approaches to aspects of everyday life. It is movement or action at a relaxed or leisurely pace and involves a reflective approach. Slow living emphasizes savoring the minutes instead of counting them. The idea began in Italy with the slow food movement, which centers on traditional food production in response to fast food.

Slow living, however, does not mean inaction. For me, it means slower movement and being mindful of my motions, and emotions. My Fitbit is both a bane and a motivator to my mental and physical fitness. I do not want to be ruled by a device, but I do enjoy trying to meet my step (and sleep) goals, even though most of the time I probably would come close with or without having a real-time count from a gadget. I focus on savoring the steps rather than necessarily counting them.

My mom, without any tool, walked three miles a day for many years. At the age of 85, she began having mobility problems. She said to the doctor, “I don’t understand why this is happening to me. I have eaten well my whole life, I don’t smoke or drink, I wear a seatbelt, and I walk every day.”

The doctor looked at her and said, “Well, if you hadn’t done all that you probably would have had problems long ago.”

I am now focusing on doing everything at the right speed (for me), instead of rushing. I want to stay happy and bright by wandering in slower motion and being mindful of the steps I get to take.

This week marks the second anniversary of my mother’s passing. Never a day goes by that I do not think about my mom and my dad. I was privileged to have mom in my life for almost 70 years. I also had opportunities to visit her for a few days every other month through the last years of her life.

You can never prepare for a parent’s death no matter how inevitable it is. I thought perhaps I was ready, but now I understand that I will never be ready. Mom passed peacefully probably almost simultaneously with me leaving my home in Colorado to visit her for what I imagined would be my last time. I had been to Iowa two weeks before and we had enjoyed March Madness together. A week later she had a stroke that left her largely incapacitated.  

Mom’s body was still at the care center waiting to go the funeral home when I arrived in Iowa. The staff had put make-up on her and positioned her comfortably. She looked peaceful and at rest, although the memories I have of my mother are anything but “at rest.”

Preparations for the visitation and memorial service were easy as we knew what mom wanted such as the hymns and scriptures for the service. She wanted her ashes comingled with my father’s for spreading at a later time with a portion on the farm where they had lived for over 50 years. The remainder were to be buried under their headstone in the little community where they had both gone to high school and participated in numerous church and civic activities for over 60 years.

I love the stories people share about their mothers. My stories are not extraordinary. I am, however, reminded of my mother every time I look in a mirror since I resemble her greatly. Personality wise, however, I am not as outgoing, but I did inherit her energy level and work ethic. I know she was proud of me and always demonstrated unconditional love for me. I learned from her to be a reader and to be curious for knowledge. She was an exceptional teacher, and I sought to be like her.

Mom once told my sister that she did not think she was a good mother. I wish I could ask her what she meant. I think she did a pretty darn good job. I know she could be critical sometimes and a little inflexible, but none of us is perfect. She did her best and that is all anyone can hope.

A statement the pastor made in her memorial service resonates with me every day. She described my mother as “frugal and generous.” She definitely was frugal as a result of her upbringing and the influence of the depression on her life. In a “Grandma’s Life” book she put together for my niece, she wrote about how delighted each of her brothers and sisters were with the single gift of an orange they got in their Christmas stockings.

Generosity was evident throughout her life. For example, she was a lifelong volunteer. After retiring from teaching, she gave her efforts to Aid to Women (a program that provided resources and counseling for women in need), as a court mediator for the County Judicial system, and for the Historical Society in our small town.

Mom was also generous in helping individuals in need. She never forgot to send a card for someone’s birthday or for other special, or difficult, events.  I am reminded of two stories shared at the memorial service. Janet was an 11-year-old neighbor when my parents were first married. She told mom how much she really wanted to go to camp but her parents could not afford it. My mom called the Campfire Girls camp and offered to volunteer for a week as a counselor if they would let Janet go for free. Janet never forgot mom’s effort and kindness as she related the story 65 years later.

A second story concerned a young woman in the church who was going through difficult times emotionally and financially through no fault of her own. One day the young woman went to the mailbox to find a note and a $100 bill from mom. The note said, “I wanted to take one of the rocks off your pile. Please do not tell anyone about this note and a thank you is not needed.”

My mom deserves a lot of thanks. Frugal and generous is now my life mantra and my legacy to my mom.