Wandering and Wondering

Richard Lingard stated, “You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.” I agree with this conclusion after years of observing people and their play and leisure habits. I sometimes project an (in)ability to play.

Watching animals play brings me extraordinary joy. I love seeing children engage in spontaneous play behavior. As I think about play, however, I realize that I am not exceptionally good at it. People watching me “at play” might conclude that I am mostly purposeful and not playful.

Play means to take part in activity for enjoyment rather than for a serious or practical resolve. I take immense pride in the leisure activities that encompass my retirement. However, my play usually involves purpose. If I hike, I have a destination. Band rehearsal is in preparation for upcoming concerts. I volunteer to be helpful. I am not necessarily playful in these activities.

Nevertheless, play is ubiquitous in my world. It brings great enjoyment. As someone who has devoted my professional career to understanding leisure and play behavior, and now encouraging responsible play in the outdoors, I think often about the meanings and value of play. I am concluding that play is leisure but not all leisure is play as I reflect on my life.

The developmental attributes of play for children are well documented. Fred Rogers noted that “Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children, play is serious learning. Play is really the work of childhood.” Because I have the privileged means, I have found for myself that leisure is the play of retirement with purpose.

The anticipation and involvement in play or any type of recreation involves fun and enjoyment. In my research and systematic observations over the years, as well as in my personal life, I know that enjoyment leads to people’s motivations. For individuals to act often requires the anticipation of pleasure. Jogging and dancing are ways to be active and may have different meanings for the play of individuals.

Play may be something that does not need definition. It just needs to be enjoyed an hour (or a minute) at a time.

I am learning about communication and visitor behavior as a volunteer at Rocky Mountain National Park. Managing expectations is a key idea.

Expectations are assumptions about something in the future. They are usually positive and based on prior experiences and present desires. Expectations, however, may not be reality grounded. Managing expectations is the practice of communicating information to prevent gaps between people’s perceptions and situational realities.

A fine line exists between encouraging people to visit the park and advising them about what they need to know as they anticipate the visit. Naomi Karten described the challenge as managing people who want more, better, faster, easier, and NOW. Those expectations may not be possible. Under promising and over delivering may be a good strategy.

People set both intentional and unintentional expectations. Everything we do, everything we say, everything we don’t do, everything we don’t say connotes expectations about upcoming events. For these reasons, expectations require managing to ensure that individuals hold realistic and intentional hopes.

Expectations clearly go two ways in any relationship. For example, park rangers and volunteers expect people to read signs and obey the rules. Visitors expect that they will be able to enjoy the park freely without impediments. Mismatched expectations can create disappointment. Honest messages about being PATIENT are necessary.

I have been thinking about the expectations I have in my personal life. I realize that I am happier if I keep my expectations lower. I am also discovering that my life is less frustrating if I don’t expect perfection from myself or others. I want to set the bar high for my behavior as well as from others, but I also aspire to be patient and forgiving when things do not go as hoped.

Planning for the worst outcome and yet hoping for the best helps me level my expectations. If I don’t expect certain things to happen, I am more likely to be surprised than disappointed. Managing my own expectations is an ongoing challenge. I hope my work in the park also helps others recognize that better, faster, and easier positive recreation experiences require patience.

Dad wanted a farm dog—one that would help him in herding livestock and be a watch dog on the farm. He wanted a dog not coddled by his daughters.  

Once us girls were in college, Dad had a chance to train his desired loyal hard working furry companion. He found someone giving away a puppy—a yellow lab/German shepherd motley mix. The pup slept in a nail keg when he arrived. Thus, he was named Kegger.

Everything started out well for Dad who thought he could train this dog. Kegger was not a quick learner, but he was only a puppy. He mostly followed Dad around and got into typical puppy curiosity troubles.

Farm dogs did not live indoors. Our dogs, however, spent nights in a warm enclosed porch. During the day, they were free to roam but usually stayed nearby waiting for a human to emerge.

One summer morning when he was a couple years old, Kegger went with my dad to do chores and then disappeared for several hours. Dad was concerned hoping that Kegger had not been hit by a car. Midafternoon mom got a call from the YMCA camp that was two miles down the road. The director said a yellow dog showed up and one of the neighbors thought it might belong to the Hendersons. Kegger had endeared himself to every child he encountered at camp that day. Dad retrieved him, apologized, and promised Kegger would not return.

He kept a close eye on Kegger for several days and tied him up if he was away hoping that Kegger would be cured of his roaming and forget the campers. When Dad thought Kegger had learned his lesson, he was under less scrutiny. Within days of Kegger’s freedom, however, the camp called and said Kegger had come for another visit. Camp was over in two weeks so Dad thought the problem would end once the children went home.

All was well into the fall and Kegger kept by Dad’s side. One late autumn day, however, my mother who was a reading specialist at our local elementary school, was assigned playground duty. When she went outside, she found Kegger nuzzling every child that would pay attention to him. Dad came to town and took him home.

This day at school was not isolated. Kegger set off to school (or camp) whenever he had a chance. He was addicted to children who would love on him.

Kegger was loyal to Dad but not committed enough to stay home willingly and tend to farm activities if children were an option. He lived a long life as a lovable mutt who eventually abandoned his wandering ways. My Dad adored Kegger, but Kegger never became a hard-working farm dog.

Footnote: My father turns 99 this month in heaven. I love remembering stories about him and his adventures, especially with animals.

A cool evening mist descends as the herd of 35 elk graze in Upper Beaver Meadows. A 6 x 6-point bull keeps an eye on his harem as he leisurely munches grass. A “spike” (2-year-old male with single antlers) gets too close to the herd and the bull hustles him away. Another hefty bull bugles in the distance and heads toward the harem.

The two big bulls square off to fight each other. The cows and calves stampede away. The guys wrangle. Out of nowhere, four small young opportunistic and eager bulls appear and advance toward the cows. Pandemonium ensues as the young bulls try to lure the cows with them. The big bulls continue fighting. One young bull succeeds in cutting off a half dozen cows and calves and they run away from the rest.

The fighting bulls stop. The winner is unclear. Each trots off in different directions away from the cows. Two younger bulls corral the remaining females and exit over the bluff out of ear or eyesight.

It’s the elk rut season. I spend 2-3 nights each week volunteering in the park with the Elk Bugle Corps observing drama as described above. The charge to volunteers is to keep the elk safe from the people, the people safe from the elk, and the people safe from one another.

I enjoy the evenings in the park. I have developed, however, a love/hate relationship with this time of the year. I feel sorry for the male elk driven by their hormones to endanger their lives in quests to dominate cows. For 10 ½ months a year, the bull elk have their “gentlemen’s club” where they hang out with each other and enjoy the mountain air. When the rut starts, they become mortal enemies in vying for the attention of the cows.

The reality is that the cows are in charge. Bulls can bugle all they want and roll in their urine and mud to become as attractive as possible to the females. They can fight and posture, but the ladies will determine who they want to father their offspring.

Determining winners and losers among the bull elk is hard to say. The bull who impregnates the most cows is a winner, but the consequences can be high. The young bulls may not be successful in younger years, but if they get big enough and live long enough, they will have their opportunities. The spikes can be pitiful since they want to be with their mommas but are chased away by jealous older bulls.

I am fascinated by this fall entertainment and am relieved when it is over. Calmness will return to the park, and cows will reunite to wait for babies to be born in May. The bulls will congregate in their “man meadows” as best buddies as they pass time until their antlers fall off and begin growing in the spring. The cycle continues…

When I was a teenager, I had dreams of grandeur in making a dramatic difference in the world—finding the cure for cancer or being the champion of world peace. Those grand goals did not come to fruition and yet, I am making a difference in other ways. The Starfish Story has served as an inspiration for me in recent years.

A man was walking along the beach after a heavy storm. During the storm, debris from the sea washed up on the shore- seaweed, driftwood, and various shells adorned the moist sand. In the distance, along the shoreline, the man saw a child playing in the surf. As he grew closer, he saw that the child was running inland, picking something up from the sand, and then throwing it into the ocean. He would time his run so that he could get as far out as possible without getting overwhelmed by the waves.

As the man got closer, he saw that the ground was littered with countless starfish of various sizes, each drying out in the sun. The boy was collecting as many as he could and throwing them back into the water.

“What are you doing?” the man asked.

Without stopping, the boy replied, “the storm washed all these starfish up, and they’re going to dry out in the sun. I’m throwing them back into the water so they’ll survive.”

The man looked around and noted just how many starfish there were- far too many for a child to collect in time. “But there’s too many,” he said. “You should just go play, you can’t possibly make a difference.”

The boy picked up another starfish and threw it back into the water. “Made a difference to that one.”

Anyone can make an impact in someone’s life. Sometimes a small act can have an influence not forgotten.

In the Information Office at Rocky Mountain, a wall hanging says, “They may forget what you said but they will never forget how you made them feel.” I think about that often as I respond to questions. I hope that people not only get answers but also feel positive about the park.

I am reminded of chaos theory, and specifically the butterfly effect, when I think about making a difference. The butterfly effect concept concerns any situation where a slight change may have larger consequences. The thing about making a difference is often we have no idea what effect, positive or negative, we might be having on others.

I often do not know what my words or actions portend, but I believe in working together, small efforts can have larger implications in the world.

They say that you never forget your first love. I can say that about my first “indoor” kitty. As I unabashedly proclaim, I am a cat person. That affinity, however, has developed over the years and began with my first cat named DJ.

DJ was a 9-pound gray tabby. This story is nothing remarkable except for what she came to mean to me. Many pets are not remarkable but their relationships to humans make them extraordinary.

DJ originally owned my friend Deb. I got to know both Deb and DJ when I was in graduate school in 1977. When Deb and I lived together, I mostly ignored DJ as did Deb. Eventually, however, DJ snuck into my life, and I ended up being her primary caretaker for years.

An amiable cuddly cat would not describe DJ. She didn’t like other cats or most people. One day she pushed another cat out a two-story window. The other cat used one of its nine lives and lived unscathed, except for its eternal fear of DJ.

DJ and I gave each other the space she needed. If she had food and a clean litter box, she didn’t want much else. Sometimes she would cuddle up next to me on the couch, but without a moment’s notice, sprint off and lounge in another room by herself for hours.

She avoided me if she saw a suitcase come out. Consequently, when I returned home, DJ would walk up to me as I was unpacking, establish eye contact, and disdainfully and purposely sit and turn her back on me. I was duly punished!

When DJ was 17 years old, she developed kidney disease. I did what I could to make her comfortable, but she really did not like a special diet. She began to lose weight and mellowed significantly.

The night that she passed I knew from her shallow breathing that the end was near. I stroked her head and thought about all she had meant to me over the years-living in four different states and double that number of homes, people coming in and out of my life, huddling together as a hurricane bashed our North Carolina house, watching as I graded thousands of papers, and reading together May Sarton’s accounts of her fur persons.

I love cats, and DJ will always be my first most special feline fur person.

When I am volunteering at the park, someone often will ask me about a “rule” we have (e.g., where dogs can go in the park, where one can walk off-trail). I am happy to discuss these questions but am chagrined if someone follows up regarding what the penalty is for breaking the rules. I despise people who think they can do whatever they want if they don’t get caught.

These questions prompt me to think about moral development and especially how the Authority of the Resource dictates how policies are made and how visitors understand the implications beyond punishment for breaking the rules.

The Authority of the Resource principle and technique, promoted by the National Park Service, focuses on the natural authority inherent in the requirements of a healthy ecosystem, rather the influence of the agency (e.g., law enforcement). It centers not on regulation and the requirements set by people, but rather on the requirements of nature itself. If an environment such as a National Park is to be sustained, people need to understand the implications of their actions and why we have “rules.” The emphasis is on WHY the policies exist to protect the environment and safety of recreationists.

Most people have integrity and want to do the right thing. If they venture into the outdoors, they generally care about the environment. Sometimes they just do not know what the right thing is and sometimes their moral development doesn’t reflect an evolved thinking.

One of the ideas that intrigued me most when I did my undergraduate studies over 50 years ago related to moral development in children. Although theories of moral development have been debated, they help understand human behavior. The theories suggest that moral development ranges on a continuum from being concerned about the consequences of breaking the rules to a recognition that living in society is a social contract where the goal of each individual is to improve society (and the environment) as a whole.

I enjoy using the Authority of the Resource Technique to explain why recreating in the park, or on any public lands, is a celebration of the collective good. I believe people have a moral duty to act in ways that protect the public land, and that staff and volunteers have an obligation to help others see why policies are necessary. I love the notion of the Authority of the Resource to facilitate meaningful recreation experiences while preserving the natural environment.

Fifty-five years is a long time. Could any of us in the Class of ’67 have imagined that 55 years later we would be gathering to reflect, tell stories, mourn those who passed, talk about our families, and marvel at the years gone by?

My high school class was typical of a small rural midwestern town. Everyone knew everyone. Secrets were well hidden. Cliques existed but we interacted with everyone. Many of us had been classmates since kindergarten.

I have gone to every class reunion since we started having them in 5-year increments. I am a reunion junkie. I make them a priority. I keep up regularly with a few classmates. The Facebook connections have helped maintain additional contacts.

The capable and caring event planner for many of the class reunions over the years is my good friend, Nancy. For this reunion, she put together posters of some of the highlights from previous reunions. Several observations were evident to me.

Change over the years reflected typical life stages. Not much had changed after the first five years except people who had gone to college had graduated and everyone was starting their careers whether as teachers or as farmers.

Twenty years marked the celebration of parenting and people feeling successful in their chosen occupations. The pride folks had of their grandchildren and maturation of their work endeavors was evident at the 40-year mark. This year’s reunion marked retirement for most people, but also suggested the inevitability of mortality.

From a graduating class of 40+, eight people are gone including three who passed since the last reunion. We honored their memories. I fear that we will venerate more of our peers in the coming years.

I am lucky because my parents lived into their 90s. This class reunion, however, was the first one without my mom. She was our 6^th grade Science teacher so knew many of my classmates as well as had been friends with their parents. I missed not spending the day after the reunion telling her all about the reunion activities and the conversations I had.

Regardless of the years, most people have similar personalities as in high school. We evolve over time, but high school leaves a permanent imprint.  Those quiet folks remain that way. The leaders during high school stand out. Although most times I am not concerned about my appearance, I felt I was thrown back to high school as I perseverated over what to wear to the reunion. I felt like a teenager going to the homecoming dance as my 17-year-old’s anxiety emerged.

I wish we had more time to visit at the reunion. I want to know what brings people joy today. I want to know how they have been resilient over the years. I am grateful, however, for 55 years of knowing these people. It will never be enough.

Idleness is not my strong suit. Retirement is a time for people to kick back and relax. If that is the case, I have failed miserably in retirement. The truth is that I have never been much for slowing down or doing nothing. I get over-scheduled, but I would not want it any other way. Voluntarily slowing down isn’t in my genes.

I recently read an article in The Atlantic by Arthur C. Brooks titled “How to Embrace Doing Nothing.” He described how hard doing nothing is for many people.  I find it hard to sit still unless I am doing something. I grew up a family with a strong work ethic and watched my mom and dad take little time for leisure.

My lack of understanding of my parents’ leisure ethic was what intrigued me to study leisure throughout my academic career. Although “doing nothing” can be leisure, it has never worked well as a definition for me. I like to think of leisure as something that is positive and active. I like days that I have little scheduled with fully the opportunity to do nothing. However, it never really ends up that way as I fill my day with activities I want to do.

For many years I have pondered the quote from the Sound of Music that Captain Von Trapp said to Maria, “Activity suggests a life filled with purpose.” I like to think that my volunteer and outdoor activities during retirement are filled with meaning, and I strive to assure that case.

I am envious of people who relish doing nothing as part of their daily routines. Brooks notes that learning to do nothing is good for people. Letting the mind wander during unstructured tasks can make us better at creative problem-solving. Unconscious thought can produce original ideas.

The key, as is true with all of life, is balance—to know when to do something and when to take some time off. The secret may be to find equilibrium between activity and idleness where neither is neglected. Although I doubt I will ever enjoy white space in my life, my friends on our Cotswold Walk reminded me of the words of William Henry Davies, “A poor life this if…We have no time to stand and stare.”

TIMING is important, perhaps essential, in life. I appreciate the verse from Ecclesiastes 3:1: “For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.”

The challenge is to recognize timing. The good things that happen to me are a result of appropriate timing—being in the right place at the right time. When the timing is off, either things don’t happen, or they may not have positive outcomes.

One morning this week as I was working on this blog, I looked up from my computer to see the rosy bright alpenglow on the Continental Divide. As I watched and wondered, it disappeared as quickly. I caught it at just the right time!

The Bible verse gives a conclusion about timing and includes more description. People in my generation, however, also are aware of the verses based on the popular song, Turn, Turn, Turn written by Pete Seger in 1959 and recorded by The Bryds in 1965.

A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

A time to kill, a time to heal

A time to laugh, a time to weep…

A time to dance, a time to mourn…

A time of love, a time of hate

A time of war, a time of peace…

A time to gain, a time to lose…

A time for love, a time for hate

A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late…

I am grateful for good timing during my life. The timing was good in 1974 when I had the opportunity to spend 6 months in Turkey with experiences that changed my world view forever.

It was perfect timing for me to be able to leave the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill and spend the last 10 years of my career at NC State.

The timing was mostly right to retire so that I could pursue my second career of hiking and volunteering in the park. I loved my professional work but wanted to move to new opportunities while I was still at the top of my game, and while I was still energetic and healthy.

Although the timing is never right when someone passes, I am glad that my mother left this world before the COVID pandemic. She would have been unhappy in those quarantine circumstances. Although I would give anything to have her back, her passing enabled me to use my inheritance to do good things that I will see in my lifetime.

One never knows for sure if timing is right. Sometimes I don’t know if the timing has been wrong or missed, but I continue to learn lessons that help me appreciate the purpose of every season.