The boys and I went for a long weekend camping and exploring in North Devon this summer. We go camping a lot, it’s a great way to explore the world, find secret places and adventure, and help the children learn that this is their world – they need to look after it. Something happened this time which got me explaining to the kids and remembering being the kid.
Image not from my childhood.
We camped in the beautiful and remote Doone Valley high on Exmoor. It’s recently been purchased by the National Trust, hopefully they will let it stay wild with open fires and easy access to swim in the stream. For one of our day trips, we drove along the coast road to another National Trust site, Heddon’s Mouth, which is equally wonderful. A raging stream explodes out in the Bristol Channel with plenty of opportunity for simulated disasters and rescue as the kids move between the island rocks, stretching to pull each other to safety. Along the way, we made an unplanned stop in The Valley of Rocks, and the sign said ‘Whitelady’. I put the campervan on the verge and dragged 2/3 of the reluctant boys out of the van whilst I pointed up at the rock formation and the inverse silhouette of a lady leading the way the channel to our home in Bristol. I’ll admit it, it felt very Dad-like, leading my kids around the world. I’d found something new and interesting and was excessively proud of that.
Except I hadn’t, in a wash of Deja Vu, I was suddenly cast backwards 30 years. It’s the early 90s, and I’m standing next to what would now be a classic campervan. I’m probably wearing shorts, and my own Dad is pointing up at the rock. Suddenly, I remembered it.
How did this happen? I recreated the exact same experience, somehow completely subconsciously. That’s how powerful these times with our children are. I wondered if they’d do the same eventually?