SEASONS AND CONNECTIONS
Being outdoors can deepen not only your bonds with nature, they can deepen your bonds with those you love.
In the last week of May last year, I took my oldest daughter to the Blue Mountains for a day walk. We stopped for coffee in Leura and scrunched through drifts of red leaves. Scarlett looked around at the bare branches and asked, “Is it autumn?”
To be fair, the weather in Sydney last year made it hard to tell. There were patches of cold, but with sunshine that made it feel like a cold snap rather than an entirely different season. Unlike other parts of the country, in Sydney we don’t need to change our wardrobes over or mentally prepare for winter’s long haul. Instead, we swap thongs for shoes and put on a jumper, at least in the morning. This lack of variation means that if you’re not paying attention, the seasons can pass you by, along with other markers of natural cycles—phases of the moon, the tide and the life going by outside.
On an Aboriginal Dreaming tour of the Rocks in Sydney, our guide talked about her totems. “They’re based on what’s happening in nature at the time and place you’re born,” she said, suggesting I pay attention to what was moving and blooming around my birthday. So last year, I did. In May, the coastal paths were bright with yellow wattle, and families of whales spouted along the headlands. The kookaburras no longer woke me—instead it was chirping parrots and raucous cockatoos. And camellia petals dropped on the deck; it seemed to be covered with pink snow.
On that Blue Mountains hike with Scarlett, there were clear signs of the approaching winter. It was a brilliant, still day as we walked along Fortress Ridge, the clear cliff edges contrasting with murky valley depths. Despite our t-shirts, it was not summer. There was no bite to the sun, and no depth to its warmth: A step into the shade and it was cold. Scarlett kept pace as we followed the ridgeline to its end, orange sandstone dropping away into deep green in every direction. She’s fourteen now, and strong and capable enough to shoulder a pack and head off on overnight adventures. If she wants.
That’s another transition that’s hard to recognise, harder to manage and just as inevitable: the process where she goes from being a part of my life, to me being allowed to be a part of hers. I’ve got some seasons and years left, to influence and guide. To teach her resilience and to appreciate beauty, to model patience and grit. Let her take risks and hear what she learns. To help.
These lessons don’t come when we’re negotiating screen time or managing the logistics of weekend sport. Instead, they happen outside. Things like: It’s worth putting on a band-aid to prevent a blister, because sometimes pushing through leads to unnecessary pain. Always look before you get in the ocean, because the same rip that makes it easy to get out the back also quickly takes you out of your depth. It’s important to pay attention to where you’ve come from, as well as to recognise the markers and signs that show you’re off track. Understand that life’s challenges can teach you the most and can expand your comfort zone, or at least make good stories. To say yes to things, to make choices that enlarge your life rather than shrink it, and to choose good company along the way.
But mostly that life (like nature) is really outside your control, no matter your age or situation. Plans are lovely, but they do (and should) alter. It’s knowing the general direction you want to head that will help you cope and change, bunker down or backtrack when a sunny morning becomes a washout, or when you need to regroup and work out where you are. In normal life, your compass is your values, developed by paying attention to the things that matter to you, and deepening these connections.
So I’ll keep taking Scarlett out bush, and make her step outside to admire the sunset. I’ll let her go to the mall and the climbing wall, and also take her to the beach to meet her friends (even if I’m not allowed to surf too close). And for years and decades to come, I’ll keep doing this (in one way or another), and appreciate the trip, the joy and the views and the golden, magical days that offset the steep hills and times of trudging. Because parenting is truly long-haul: even longer than a Canberra winter.
LIFE (LIKE NATURE) IS REALLY OUTSIDE YOUR CONTROL, NO MATTER YOUR AGE OR SITUATION.”