Email this article

My Own Piece of the Outdoors

By Susan Oloier

Found in: | Outside | Hiking |

From an early age, Jeff and I have taught Justin (and now Zane) respect for the outdoors. We started with Justin during our year-long road trip. We insisted on a no trailblazing rule, refused to allow him to pick wildflowers because the next person would not be able to enjoy them, and, while lunching along Shadow Lake in California's Lassen Volcanic National Park, introduced an ongoing phrase that Justin continues to remember today: "Get your own food." While a Stellar's jay hovered in the branches over our heads begging for food, that statement was born. "Get your own food" became a family mantra for the outdoors.

We never allow Justin to take natural souvenirs from the parks. At his age, this is sometimes a difficult concept, especially since he has a special fondness for rocks. Whether it is throwing them into a nearby stream or collecting them in a bucket, he enjoys a good rock as much as the next four-year-old. Instead of allowing him to pluck them from the ground and stuff them in his pockets, we often pay the exorbitant costs to get him his own bag of polished ones in the Visitor Centers.

During a visit to Petrified Forest National Park, we meandered with the boys through the desert landscape that was once a vast floodplain. This is one of the parks where the temptation to break the rules is pretty strong. The petrified rocks, which are really 200 million-year-old trees from the Late Triassic Period, are impressive. Infused with minerals, the fossils show amazing colorful crystal patterns. Like many before him, Justin wanted a piece of history for himself. As he made his first reach for a chunk of wood, Jeff reminded him that he could not take anything. "Why not?" he inquired. "Because then other people can't enjoy them."

Unfortunately, many don't stop themselves or their children from pocketing what does not belong to them. I was astounded to read that up to twelve tons of petrified wood is stolen from the park every year, only to find its way into display niches, bottoms of junk drawers, or atop paper in an office. Many people believe that taking a tiny piece won't amount to anything. But twelve tons is - well - a lot. It's not as though the wood regenerates itself. Even though some people - apparently plagued by guilt - later return stolen pieces, the wood cannot be restored to its place of origin. And, not all people return what they have taken.

Petrified Forest National Park is also home to petroglyphs. These too bear the brunt of human disrespect. In our travels, we have seen people (adults, no less) climbing on ancient petroglyphs even when signage clearly indicates that this is less than acceptable. Jeff and I use times like these as teachable moments. "You should climb up there, too. Right?" we bait Justin. "Noooo," he always responds. "Why not?" "Because I'll ruin them," he answers. We hope he keeps this in mind when the temptation to climb strikes.

We have seen many examples of what not to do in the outdoors: picking a bouquet of wildflowers, littering on the trail, luring animals into human hands with food, and graffiti - to name a few. There are many how-not-to examples out there.

Apart from showing our boys what not to do, we have introduced things that are acceptable to take. Or rather, pay for. From the start of our trip through the National Park system, we began collecting pins, brochures, and photographs from each park. And while these human-made souvenirs don't have the same appeal as, say, petrified wood, they're a pretty good alternative to emptying out your neighborhood national park. Besides, unless you're a skilled jeweler, you can't wear a piece of petrified wood on your lapel or lanyard.

There will always be someone who thinks it is okay to pick a flower because another one will grow in its place, or take a piece of petrified wood because no one is going to miss it anyway. In the end, we still need to teach our children to leave nature as they find it. They are the ones who will grow up to be the adults who make the choice to pilfer a piece of history or leave it alone for future generations to enjoy.