"We've got a problem!" has become our backwoods rallying cry, an expression of joy and enthusiasm.

Kesselheim kiddos and Dad

We were picking our way down a steep gully on the way back to the car and came to the lip of a short, dry waterfall that required some adept scrambling. While I stood there considering the best way to deal with the obstacle, our two boys rose to the occasion. With a sudden burst of energy, they conquered the descent without a bit of trouble and were soon scurrying ahead along the bottom of the dry creek bed.

"Hey, here's another problem!" I heard one of them call, right before they dove into a gnarly screen of deadfall.

Then from downslope and out of sight,"Hey, Dad, c'mon! Here's a really big problem!"

By the time I got there, the boys had already negotiated a pretty challenging ledge and were again out of sight. "Wait up, guys!" I shouted, and started to trot toward the excited calls echoing in the tangled distance. Ever since that day, "We've got a problem" has become a backwoods rallying cry, an expression of joy and enthusiasm. The old familiar whines — "I'm hungry!" "When are we gonna get to the car?" "My legs are tired!" "Can I ride on your shoulders?" — have been replaced by this newfound zeal for dealing with backcountry obstacles.

Where it used to be that a good deal of my time was spent cajoling kids up slopes, bribing them with promises of treats waiting at the top, and kissing an appalling succession of abrasions, nowadays the goal, at least for those of us under four feet tall, is to find the most boulder-strewn, overgrown, precipitous, and detour-laden routes possible. The more challenges the better.

Eli will look out from some bower in the vegetation, his face flushed with enthusiasm, and say, "C'mon in, Dad!" How can I resist? So what if it requires a belly crawl worthy of a boot-camp obstacle course? Sawyer will stoop over, hands on knees, and inspect the latest insect of note, absorbed in his studies. The boys alternate between full-throttle sprints over the uncomplicated ground and meticulous negotiations past the obstacles — friction-climbing the face of a sandstone slab or clambering over a spiky, fallen log. Along the way, they somehow manage to discover porcupine chew marks, snakeskins, bits of pretty rock, and the occasional deer track.

It is another in the long line of live-for-the-moment lessons my children keep teaching me.

Move on to Embracing Obstacles

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