Alternate Title: Why You Shouldn't Wear a White Dress to a National Park
Zooming down the Pacific Coast Highway, watching the surf smash against giant rocks – keeping my eyes peeled for whales, I am struck by what a beautiful life we have crafted for our family over the last 15 months.
Last night, Dominick, my eight year old, told me he’d rather live in a house, than travel the country. When I delved deeper into his concerns he told me he “doesn’t like packing up”. I can commiserate – that’s not my favorite part either.
But then I reminded him, if we lived in a house:
He wouldn’t have known that people make play houses out of driftwood on the beaches in Oregon – and he would definitely never have been able to have a picnic in one.
Zooming down the Pacific Coast Highway, watching the surf smash against giant rocks – keeping my eyes peeled for whales, I am struck by what a beautiful life we have crafted for our family over the last 15 months.
Last night, Dominick, my eight year old, told me he’d rather live in a house, than travel the country. When I delved deeper into his concerns he told me he “doesn’t like packing up”. I can commiserate – that’s not my favorite part either.
But then I reminded him, if we lived in a house:
He wouldn’t have known that people make play houses out of driftwood on the beaches in Oregon – and he would definitely never have been able to have a picnic in one.
He wouldn’t have known that sometimes lava cooled faster than trees disintegrated - leaving huge tunnels that he wriggled and giggled through one random Tuesday.
He wouldn’t have known...
