Jumping into Hard Rock

Summer often ends up being a time for unexpected discoveries.

I took the kids camping on Monday to our favorite site up the Poudre canyon, the Lower Narrows. The eight-site spot sits at a bend of the beautiful Poudre river, it's calm and quiet and is a perfect escape from busy city life and all its trappings. Ella and Sophia always expect to meet kids their age because the last two times we've gone, we met families with young children with whom they could play for hours and hours, without a passing thought to screens and electronics. Just like the good old days.

Poudre River

This time, our  neighbors were a man named Drew and his five-year-old son, Kieran, and Drew's two buddies, Sharif and Luke, who had driven up from Denver for an escape of their own. Drew entertained us by jumping off about a 10-story rock into the freezing river, and then doing the same with Kieran, who didn't seem the least bit afraid. The girls and I politely declined their offer to join in the fun. We did, however, learn that the water below that rock was deeper than any of us had thought.

Around late afternoon, while the kids played and explored along the trail that crosses through the campsite, I enjoyed a half-hour of peace in my comfy chair, reading my book and listening to the soothing flow of the water. I had a few beers with the Denver guys, then built a fire in the pit and cooked dinner: all without the slightest sense of urgency or adherence to any sort of schedule. We spent many hours under the sun's caress, drawing power also from the welcome breeze that flew down the canyon, dipping our feet in the cool river and enjoying the sounds of birds and rushing fresh water. It was perfect.

Me and my girls at Lower Narrows, outside of Fort Collins

After dinner, the girls, along with their young apprentice, found a butterfly stuck on the front grill of Drew's car. It couldn't fly. The kids tended to the injured creature and, sensing the gravity of the situation, created an elaborate ceremony to send her—they named her Claire—to Lepidoptera heaven. We marveled at their compassion and creativity.

Claire The Butterfly

And then Sharif broke out the Metallica.

"Your kid is amazing," Sharif said after I had returned from getting the marshmallows from my campsite just down the path. "Ella recognized the 'The Ocean' by Led Zeppelin and told me it was her favorite song. I couldn't believe it."

"Yeah, we love Zeppelin and AC/DC," Sophia chimed in. I beamed with pride.

While we stuffed ourselves with s'mores, "Master of Puppets" thundered in the background, complete with Kirk's hard-core guitar solos, Lars' obscene percussion skills, and James Hetfield's masterfully pained voice. "I like it," Ella said as she downed her third s'more, a perfectly toasted marshmallow filling the center.

The Denver guys were as incredulous as I was. Zeppelin is one thing, but Metallica is entirely another. I guess those summer discoveries happen to us all.

The kids tending to Claire

Claire in her final resting place