Mindset
Playtime is Mandatory for Adults
and Children Alike
Play, play, play is my goal. I am not good at it, but I am working on my version of it forever.
One of my favorite places to play is in America’s National Forests. The Southwest, where I live, is full of them, and the four corner states have glorious amounts of National Forests, National Parks, and BLM land to play on. (For clarity, in this context, BLM stands for Bureau of Land Management.)
When I am out in the National Forests, the quiet graces me — not quite the quiet that thrives in the middle of the desert, but a lack of human clatter. Now, a three-day holiday weekend is an exception to that statement, as anyone living or working near one can tell you.
On those weekends, the developed areas of America empty into the wilds. Two to three nights of camping are better than one, so it’s a good call.
I have experience wandering around using land navigation or modern technology. It’s always a good idea to use both.
It’s a good idea to look behind you as you walk, not just to see what’s following but also to see what it looks like. Walk down a new trail, say about 50 yards, and then turn around. The view you are looking at is new to you. You don’t have its look imprinted in your memory. This is why we look behind us on the trail or out walking, not just watching for cougars and bears.
Those before us and those to come will have the forest for forage, food, recovery, materials, and peace. To establish a temporary camp in its canyons, meadows, and sky-scraping growth is to visit another world.
Close proximity to the Earth feels different to the body than being encased in concrete or other building materials. It is something that is felt rather than explained.
I’ll do my best.
We walk on this giant vibrating object that is said not to be a sentient being, that cares not if I live or die. Carbon is carbon. I project my beliefs on it. When I am out in it, removed from human-made structures, where the Earth is what I touch versus developed floors when I stop and sit or lay on its sand, dirt, and growth, everything changes; the first-world tension I carry in my shoulders subsides, my clavicles leave my ears alone and become parallel again.
My phone finds its way into my pocket.
I exhale deeply, “Huuuuuughhhhhh.”
I arc my neck left, then right, allowing parts to align.
I zone off into the depths, across meadows, and into my subconscious brain. I let it wander as the rest of me takes a break. Tiny beetles, the sheen of black shoe polish and legs of needles, blast the sounds of their pinprick steps in all directions. The leaves beneath their feet aloud with protest, crinkle, scrape, crinkle. I tap the ground next to the loud walker, and it sticks its butt up at me. “No, thank you,” I say.
I close my eyes again. As I relax my head, it tilts towards a shoulder. A majestic screech echoes my way. High above, a red-tail hawk works to startle some food; its graceful arcs to my lazy stroll. Both are seeking.
The afternoon breeze picks up as the lowlands send their heat our way. Ponderosa pines filter wind strength as the updraft condensates, and thunder claps as the first few oversized drops fall from the sky. Within minutes, the forest is raging. Trees clash as dead branches clatter. Hail and large droplets of rain charge the earth. Jagged bolts of lightning race back towards the sky after injecting the Earth. Lightening rides, glowing clouds gleeful, the area rejoices, the smells awaken. Earth musks and pines clean themselves with lemon, and junipers expel the scents of mountain lions to claim their zones. The air smells like metal tastes, perpexedly solid and malleable concurrently.
Walking inward into a canyon is a step from now to then, a journey from bustle to time’s patient revisit through the layers that were deposited even before that.
Many canyons have been carved back into the Mogollon Rim, some large enough to drive into and others skinny enough that ropes and wetsuits are recommended.
Nothing brings bewildered looks from visitors in flip-flops like hustling by them carrying a pack laden with wet climbing gear, dripping wetsuits, and a smile on your face. Our pleasant hello was fleeting due to passing speed, my stomach’s desire for a double cheeseburger, and 12 hours on my feet with a couple miles to go. Of course, no matter where we play, flip-flops are always an indicator of a parking lot’s vicinity, which entices my stomach to growl in delight, for it knows within an hour, I will be eating a cheeseburger, having had its fill of energy drinks, bars, and gue nothing else will do. Maybe two.
Whether camping along motor vehicle-approved roads or backpacking further in, it is always a good idea to be prepared; the wilderness is the anti-theme of suburbia by design. It cares not about everybody wins trophies, pool parties, or culdesacs. It cares not. Play at your own risk.
As you sit or wander, soaking in the crisp air, and watch your children play swords with abandoned marshmallow sticks or do so yourself, you’ll forget about technology for a while — at least until it is time to take a picture. In the meantime, take some new snapshots for your brain.
