Thinking About My Dad
Today is a guest post by one of my kiddos, who I asked to share something about how wonderful she thinks her Father is, I thought it might give hope to parents just starting out and ideas to some, and just give a glance toward what the adult child thinks is most significant as they branch out and strike out on their own.
Quinn could have written about sledge hammering out walls, building her own bedroom and painting it, or just painting in general, about the hours they shared cleaning the office building and sending funds to her sister in Denmark, or all the hours they spent biking on the tandem, but she chose a travel memory.
One of the things Quinn’s Father spent the most time on was picking out just the most amazing story books with the most delightful illustrations he could find and then the receiver would benefit from hours of sharing that book. Oh there are so many stories to share I will say hope you enjoy this except from our almost Librarian.
My parents tell me that they stopped at Lake Tipsoo to break up the four hour drive between our house and our grandparents’ so my sisters and I wouldn’t get too antsy in the car and to get fresh air since the curvy mountain roads could induce motion sickness. While it was never intended, our thirty-minute loop hikes around the lake taught me most of the lessons I’ve learned about hiking and mountaineering. Dad was our trail guide on all these hikes; he taught us how not to trample the fragile mountain meadows, to leave no trace, and to understand how alive Mount Rainier and all mountains are if one only pays attention.
Every year we waited as desperately as the meadow vegetation for the brief spring on the mountain when the many feet of snow would melt, and the trail would become passable. Our family photographs are seeded with pictures from Tipsoo; with our grandparents in the spring, each of us as babies being carried around the lake in Dad’s backpack carrier, and standing on snow banks in June. Dad taught us the names of the meadow flowers, let us try to catch polliwogs, and kept us hiking at a steady pace so regular that we fall into it automatically when we hike today.
We could have made a roadside stop anywhere, but with my Dad we always stopped at Tipsoo, and those small lessons taught in those short visits are the same skills the three of us have used to hike mountains all over the world.
If you would like to read more about this Dad you can find him at The Biking Architect
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