Cape Cod Magazine / Wild By Nature / January 2011 / Winter Traditions

Jan 14, 201104:53 PM

Exploring the Beauty of Our Own Back Yard

Winter Traditions

It truly is a formidable endowment that as parents, we hold the ability to vastly impact our children’s perceptions of the natural world, by infusing their lives with simple nature-laden traditions. Manicured to reflect your family’s lifestyle, propensities and values, such rituals, when properly distilled, can, in effect, imbue your children with an altruistic sense of place and self-belonging at an early stage of life.

When my husband and I awoke on New Year’s Day, 2008 with no pressing agenda, we made an impetuous decision to traverse the slice of Long Beach that we admire regularly from the Centerville Bridge. This spit of land spans from Centerville into Osterville, and is an ambler’s delight. At the time, we had no idea that while we were ushering in a brand new year in an atypical way, we were also laying the groundwork for a practice that had the possibility of evolving into a revered family custom. Now, I can assuredly say, indeed we were.

This New Year’s Day, when I inquired of my son, “Don’t you think it might be just a bit too cold…or, um…windy to go to the beach?” he didn’t answer me. He didn’t have to. Seeing straight through my attempt to linger in my pajamas, he stood with his fists clenched, agape. His glare read as clear as a Route 66 billboard: ARE. YOU. KIDDING?! Fearing what might ensue next, as I was well-versed in what the wrath of my three-year-old could bring, I quickly geared up and we set out.

Minutes later, emerging from the dense tree-lined trail that serves as a foyer to Long Beach from Long Beach Road, we were immediately struck by the commanding visual experience we were to behold; we first stood in awe, as a sense of calm enveloped us. Then, pressing forth, we all took turns making mention of what most caught our curiosities: my husband was taken by the irony in that although the sun was being held captive, the strip of beach we were meandering was wreathed in a balmy fog; my son pointed out a solitary seagull perched regally atop a rock jutting out of the sea, whose “ca caw” sounded of laughter; my daughter, eager to employ one of a handful of newly-acquired words, proudly alerted us to her sighting of a “dog-gy;” and my gaze was seized by the fluid motion of the swollen tide, gleaming with a hypnotic radiance.

I plunked down in the sand, and ever aware of the novel beginnings associated with this first day of the year, I consciously embraced my surroundings. I admired my son culling stones to skip off the cascading surf, and marveled at my daughter, a passenger aboard my husband, her arms clasped tightly around him. I tasted the salt that had settled on my upper lip. I breathed more deeply than I ever have, looked more closely and listened more intently.