Wandering and Wondering

My students had a final project in my “Women, Work, and Leisure” class at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill. I asked them to interview their mother, grandmother, or another significant adult who was at least a generation older than them. They were to use an interview guide to learn about the individual’s work and leisure life from childhood to the present. They recorded and transcribed the interview. They then applied what they learned to the research and major concepts we had been addressing all semester in the class.

One of the students came into my office to explain why it was not possible for her to interview her mother. She said her mother was hearing impaired and was hard to understand when she spoke. I suggested that the student give the interview a try and if it did not work out, she could interview someone else.

Several days later the student came into my office with tears in her eyes. “I interviewed my mom and then I sat down to transcribe the recording. It was hard to understand but for the first time, I listened and heard what she had to say. I learned so much that I never knew. Thank you for making me do this assignment.”

I was thrilled for the student. As often happens in teaching, I learned an important lesson that day, too. In future visits to my childhood home, I asked my mom questions about her work and leisure over the years. Like my student, I appreciated what I was learning.

My mother passed six years ago. Although I understood more about her childhood and years as an Iowa farmwife and a reading teacher, I wish that I had asked how she felt about her life experiences. I suspect I know the answers to some questions, but I long to have learned more from her before her health deteriorated.

As I get older, I contemplate questions that I now consider in my own life and wish I could ask mom to get her perspective. What would she say were the most important people in her life (sans her family)? What were her happiest moments? When was she the saddest? Who was the biggest influence on her life? What were the most important lessons she learned that might be helpful to me? What was her favorite memory of me? Of my sisters? Of my dad? Of her parents and siblings? What was mom proud of? Is there anything she regrets in her life? How did she feel about growing older and the physical changes that occurred? What were her hopes for her grandchildren, and great grandchildren? What wisdom would she like to pass on to them? How would she like to be remembered?

I know how I remember her, and I am grateful. I would love to talk to her again.

I noted the following statement on a recent fundraising mailing I got from the American Camp Association (ACA): “If parents believe that camp is just about fun rather than growth and youth development, they may simply decide that it isn’t worth investing in.” I do not think the outcomes of camp are an either/or issue. I believe, further, that downplaying fun does a disservice to both kids, their parents, and all adults.

Fun is a feeling of enjoyment, amusement, or lighthearted pleasure that comes from engaging in activities we find interesting and/or playful. It often involves curiosity, spontaneity, laughter, and a sense of freedom.

Camp or any kind of recreational activity should be fun. In this fast-paced age when people of all ages are stressed and worried about the future, fun is necessary. It is not just a luxury. It is not something to squeeze in only after other important outcomes or responsibilities occur. Fun is a vital part of a healthy, balanced lifestyle for children and adults.

Fun for anyone plays a crucial role in reducing stress. When I experience enjoyment, whether taking a walk along Lake Estes, dancing with my boy Gitch, laughing at movies with friends, or playing my trumpet in band, my body releases feel-good chemicals. Fun resets my mental state and offers relief from anxiety.

I have long argued that learning occurs best in fun environments. My philosophy of teaching emphasized that doing activities in the classroom that were fun made learning easier and reinforced important concepts.

Enjoyment also serves as a social glue to strengthen relationships. Any activity that deepens connections with family, friends, cabin mates, and coworkers is good. Shared laughter creates bonds, builds trust, and encourages communication. Fun is critical in cementing positive memories.

Fun, therefore, is not a distraction from a meaningful life. It’s a key part. Fun isn’t optional. It is essential. When people reminisce toward the end of their lives, they do not talk about achievement or survival. They talk about experiences that were fun.

Fun is not easily measured. It is difficult to document. Yet, we know when we are having fun and recognize that it keeps our minds fresh, our hearts light, and relationships strong whether at camp or any aspect of life. Now go out and have some fun!

The 2025 Government Shutdown lasted 44 days. Some people hardly knew it was going on unless they listened to the news. Many people were worried about the holding of SNAP benefits. Furloughed federal employees were often concerned about paying their bills. I found the shutdown personally disconcerting because I could not volunteer at the park.

I proudly say that my second career is volunteering, most specifically at Rocky Mountain National Park. I love the opportunities I have had over the past 10 years to interact with visitors and staff at this beautiful park. During the shutdowns in past years, volunteers were limited in what they could do. People often do not realize the situation, and different parks have handled volunteers in diverse ways.

Volunteers could perform some services offered in the park, but volunteers are not a long-term solution. If volunteers can easily do the work, then perhaps there is no need for paid staff. I vehemently disagree with that assumption.

As someone who has studied the impact of volunteers on recreation organizations over the years, volunteer opportunities clearly do not just happen. Volunteers require supervision and oversight just as most staff require this direction. Volunteers in any organization are meant to supplement the work of paid staff and not supplant them.

Therefore, the shutdown has been trying for me. I felt relief the first few days since I did not have regular 4-5 hour shifts several times a week. I had guests visiting in early October and the park was open. Having the park allowed us to recreate responsibly. I also went to Yosemite National Park in mid-October. Other than visitor centers closed and interpretive programs limited, nothing seemed unusual.

After those first two weeks, however, I felt lost without being able to volunteer. I was forced to clean my house and take a carload of unneeded items to the Thrift Store. I hiked a lot. I did far more doom scrolling on the internet than I should. Gitch and I argued who got to sit in the office chair since I was at home more than normal.

I missed volunteering at the park. I missed social interaction with other volunteers and staff. I missed not knowing what was going on in the park. I missed the chance to feel I was doing something important with my time. The shutdown did not create any dire circumstances for me, but I am delighted that I am back at work!

A family approached the Alpine Visitor Center desk. The man held a card in his hand. “We came into the park on my 4^th grader’s pass” he bragged. “Our family is having a great time.” He then asked me, as the volunteer staffing the desk, questions about where to go next. I was delighted they were enjoying the visit because of the pass.

Every Kid in a Park program began in 2015 as part of the National Park Service centennial. Congress renewed the (renamed) Every Kid Outdoors program through the EXPLORE Act in 2024, authorizing the program for another seven years.

Every Kid Outdoors mobilizes the next generation of stewards by introducing 4th graders to public lands in their backyards and beyond. Statistics indicate that almost every US citizen is within a 2-hour drive of public lands. Research also shows that adults are significantly more likely to return to a national park if they visited with their families as a child. Family outings to parks provide lifelong memories.

I never thought much about parks as a child, but I loved being out in nature. The outdoors was inevitable when growing up on a farm. I have childhood memories of going to the “crick” most days in the summer and playing in the water. My dad got really disgusted when we tried to dam the creek and the cows downstream didn’t have water! Fortunately for the cows, our efforts were usually futile.

Although going to a national park was something done on only one vacation as a child, we made use of our local and state parks frequently for family gatherings. Two of my state park memories are of swimming and hiking at Backbone and my folks coming to Iowa State to visit me and us all going to Ledges State Park for a family picnic.

One website I visit regularly is the Children and Nature Network. It was established shortly after Richard Louv authored his book, Last Child in the Woods. The site states “we believe that the well-being of children and the wild places we love are inextricably linked… today’s kids are less connected to nature than ever before.”

Just like the National Park Service and other public agencies have advocated, the Children and Nature Network supports and mobilizes people to turn the trend of an indoor childhood back outdoors to the benefits of nature.

As the family reminded me at the visitor center this summer, efforts must continue to increase safe and equitable access to the natural world for everyone.

A non-emergency medical van quietly pulled up to an empty space near the Bear Lake Ranger Station. A red Subaru pulled up next to it and a middle-aged couple got out. The late September day was sunny with an unusually calm wind for that area of Rocky Mountain National Park. The back of the medical vehicle opened. The driver and an assistant pulled a gurney out. A person was lying in the gurney bed, but I could not see him until they swung the wheeled stretcher toward the trailhead.

The man had white hair and pinkish skin and was wrapped in a white sheet. The accompanying woman with graying hair placed a bright colored orange and blue blanket over him and tucked it in. The attendant pushed the gurney toward the trailhead while the couple followed.

I was volunteering that day at the trailhead. We are there to give advice about hiking and to make sure people know the conditions. I was not sure what to say but I nodded to the procession as they moved into the paved plaza and headed across the wooden bridge to the pea-gravel trail to Bear Lake. Other visitors waited momentarily as they crossed the bridge and headed toward the right on the busy trail. The group did not hesitate and I assumed they had a plan. Circumnavigating the ½ mile around the lake was not possible with their equipment. The man in the portable bed closed his eyes as he bumped along the trail.

I waited several minutes and then walked the 50 yards to the lake. As presumed, they stopped at a place that volunteers called “Picture Point. Benches sit beside the lake and people often take photos with Hallet Peak and Flattop Mountain reflected in Bear Lake.

The attendant raised the stretcher slightly so the man could see the lake and the mountains. The couple stood on each side of him. The woman patted his arm. They talked softly. Visitors continued to take photos at the photo spot and meandered quietly nearby.

After 15 minutes, the attendant backed the portable bed and turned it back toward the parking lot. The old man’s face showed a relaxed smile and his eyes were brighter as they walked by me. I smiled and thanked them for visiting the park—my response to many people returning from the trails.

This incident happened years ago. I think about it as I reflect on what I might want as my last wishes. I wonder how the man felt as he viewed this landscape likely for the last time.

A visit to a beautiful landscape would be high on my list when I say my goodbyes. It am reminded of the power of nature every day and the importance of special places such as parks.

I wish I had been a Parks and Rec Kid. I was not. I made up for it by being a Parks and Rec Adult. Growing up on a farm in the shadow of a strong Puritan work ethic, I did not hear about parks and recreation as a setting or a career until I was an adult. My family loved parks, and we were a “4-H Family.” We presumed, however, that parks and recreation was a city thing.

I majored in physical education in college. I liked sports and wanted to be a teacher. However, I did not have a positive student teaching experience. I was teaching 7^th graders how to serve a tennis ball. I lost control of the class as they were laughing and being silly junior high girls. My supervising teacher reprimanded me. At that moment I realized that I did not care if they served correctly. I did care that they were having fun. A subsequent career aptitude test revealed that “recreation worker” was a good fit for me. The rest, as they say, is history. I have dedicated my career to advocating for parks and recreation and all that it offers.

Being a Parks and Rec Kid refers to the “I’m a Park and Rec KidSM” campaign launched by the National Recreation and Park Association (NRPA) in 2015 to encourage people to share their positive experiences in local parks and recreation programs. The campaign highlighted the value of parks and recreation as it relates to positive youth development. One of the stories that emerged was that Venus and Serena Williams began their tennis careers on public tennis courts in Compton, CA. Other athletes were introduced to their sports in their local communities before moving on to higher level participation.

I will always advocate for the significant value of public parks and recreation. Tax money pays for the programs that are open to all residents. Economic, environmental, and social benefits include creating jobs, improving public health, building strong communities, and protecting natural resources. They enhance the quality of life by making towns and cities more attractive places to live, work, and visit. As the California campaign advocated years ago, “Parks Make Life Better!”

Public lands and recreation have traditionally been a unifying force. They are bipartisan issues with broad verbal support across the political spectrum for their protection and funding, especially at the local and state levels. More funding, however, is required to nurture a whole new generation of parks and rec kids (and adults).

Just for fun, I asked AI to write a 400 word blog that reflects my academic convictions. AI has access to most of my professional publications. Here is the (inspired, AI word and not mine) article it wrote by Karla Henderson (unedited by me). I agree that it reflects my thoughts although I might use different examples:

Title: Leisure as Liberation: Creating Space for Ourselves and Each Other

What does it mean to live fully?

For many of us, daily life is structured around responsibilities — work, caregiving, managing a household. These are vital parts of who we are. But I’ve often returned to the question: where is the space for joy? For connection? For leisure?

And what even is leisure?

Leisure is more than free time. It’s a deeply personal experience — a space where we can be authentic, creative, and connected. It’s where we laugh with friends, hike a familiar trail, paint, dance, or simply sit quietly with a good book. For some, it’s gardening. For others, it’s skateboarding or knitting or attending a community drum circle.

But leisure is also political. It’s shaped by systems — by race, gender, ability, economics, and history. Not everyone has equal access to leisure, or equal freedom to define what leisure means for them.

Reclaiming Leisure

For women — especially women of color, queer women, and caregivers — leisure is often viewed as indulgent, or even selfish. We’re told to be productive, to take care of others, to put ourselves last.

But reclaiming leisure is an act of resistance. It’s a declaration that our time and joy matter.

In my years of research, I’ve listened to women share stories of how leisure became a form of healing — a time when they could finally breathe. Whether it was through writing poetry, roller skating in the park, or meeting with a weekly book club, these were not just hobbies. They were acts of self-preservation.

Leisure as Community

Leisure also builds community. Think of a community garden where neighbors exchange stories over tomatoes. Or a Zumba class that becomes a lifeline for social connection. These spaces can become sanctuaries — especially when they are inclusive and affirming.

Yet, we must ask: Who feels welcome in these spaces? Who has access to them? If we want leisure to be liberating, we must ensure it is equitable.

This means rethinking how cities design parks, how schools offer recreation, how organizations serve diverse populations. Inclusion is not an afterthought — it is the foundation.

Making Space for Joy

So I invite you to reflect: What brings you joy? What restores you? And how can you make space — not just for yourself, but for others — to experience leisure that uplifts and connects?

Because in a world that often demands our labor but not our joy, leisure is not a luxury. It is liberation.

Let us choose it boldly.

A bearded middle-aged guy (sans dog) stopped me on a trail in Rocky Mountain National Park and said, “So dogs are not allowed on this trail, right?” I was on Tundra Guardian duty and dressed in my volunteer uniform chatting with people as they made their way up the paved tundra trail. He went on to say, “I didn’t think there would be anyone here to stop dogs from being on the trail.”

I assured him that sometimes we had volunteers and staff patrolling the trails, but we obviously could not stop all the people from bringing their (non-service) dogs.

The encounter reminded me of how I frequently remind people that the park operates on an honor system. We have rules we expect people to follow, but the enforcement on 415 square miles is difficult. Thus, we hope people will honor the authority of the resource and follow the rules just because it is the right thing.

In another example, RMNP has a timed entry system in the summer that indicates vehicles must have a permit to enter the park between 9 am-2 pm. That requirement is enforced at the main entrances, but RMNP has several trailheads that do not require entering through the main gates. We tell people the rules and ask them to respect the system.

How people choose to be honorable and ethical is an interesting question. Moral development involves a person’s understanding of ethics and values.  I believe most people want to do the right thing, but they are not always sure what that entails.

Lawrence Kohlberg outlined stages of moral development grouped into three levels: preconventional (focusing on one’s self and how to avoid punishment), conventional (guided by social norms, policies, and law), and postconventional (based on universal ethical principles of what is good and right). Individuals progress through these stages as their moral reasoning becomes more complex, with not everyone reaching the postconventional level.  During the current shutdown, some people think the rules no longer exist and no one will enforce them. Planning to “not get caught” is a sad commentary on depreciated moral development.

Rules exist in the park related to doing minimal damage to natural resources. Helping people know what is right, fair, and just no matter who is looking is an ongoing challenge.

Mom keeps asking me if I want a new sister or brother. She avoids answering the question for herself about whether she wants another cat.

I have been lonely since my sister passed away suddenly three months ago. I did not understand what happened, but mom started sobbing and ran to the car with Mog’s limp brown tabby body in her arms. Mom returned. Mog didn’t.

Mog was having some health issues, but I had no idea she would go so quickly. She told me to take care of mom when she was gone, but I thought she was just yakking as she often did. I had no idea Mog would leave mom and me. Mog and I were litter mates and had only spent 3 nights apart in 15 plus years.

The days and nights are different without Mog. Mom lavishes attention on me and lets me sleep in the chair and on the bed where Mog used to sleep. Mog was bossy and I let her tell me what to do. I have never been a cuddler like Mog, but I try to let mom know that I am here for her. She is sad.

Mom talks to me more than she did before Mog passed. She said she loved having the two of us as kittens when we were adopted years ago but doesn’t think raising kittens again is what she needs. She wants an older cat that might be difficult to adopt and for whom she could provide a forever home. I like that idea. I do not think I could deal with the energy of a new kitten.

Mom went to the Pet Association last week to meet a 10-year-old yellow tabby that was surrendered because her elderly parents died. She said the cat was sweet but just did not seem to be right for us. I think seeing this cat and going forward with the possibility of adoption just made mom sadder about Mog.

As for me, I don’t know. I am taking care of mom by patrolling the house and cuddling up next to her to watch TV at night just as Mog used to do. Mom volunteers a lot so I am home by myself. I sleep more these days as I get older. On the other hand, it would be nice if a new cat helped me cheer mom up.

Both of us need a little more time to figure this out. We will know when we know.

“Introduce yourself briefly and talk about one of the scars, visible or invisible, on your body.” This request was part of an introductory activity during the first meeting of a group of people who did not know each other but who would spend the next 10 days together on an outdoor adventure trip.

I had never experienced such a request. I learned quickly, however, that talking about scars can carry personal, emotional, and social significance. I have been fortunate to have few visible scars on my body. That day I talked about the scars on my shoulder that were a result of surgery on a rotator cuff tear that I got when downhill skiing.

One woman talked about the mastectomy she had due to breast cancer. A youngish guy described knee surgery because of playing high school football. Another woman described the scar on her forehead where her brother had accidentally hit her with a baseball bat when she was 10 years old.

The significance of the get-acquainted activity revealed something interesting and unknown about the people we would get to know well in the next few days. Several aspects were significant.

First, scars can be a symbol of survival and/or strength. Scars often represent something the person has endured and overcome whether surgery or an accident. Talking about them can be a way of reclaiming agency over something painful.

Second, revealing information about scars can be an opportunity for communication. It can be an invitation for deeper emotional intimacy. Further, scars are part of an identity narrativethat show how good and/or bad experiences have shaped each of us. No one talked about emotional scars that I am sure we all had. Those stories were reserved for later when we became more closely acquainted.

Third, scars can be associated with social or cultural meanings. They can be stigmatized. Conversations about them challenge that stigma. Scars can be reframed not as flaws, but a part of a person’s lived experience. Though the scars I have from two shoulder surgeries as well as two wrist surgeries are faint, they remind me that I am fortunate to be an active person even though accidents can happen.

Dialoging about scars can be therapeutic, empowering, connective, and interesting. Descriptions are rarely about the mark but about the story behind it and what it means to carry it forward. Learning about people’s scars was a way to start a dialogue about what is meaningful in life.