Did you know that what we call the “fall colors” of leaves are actually their glorious “true” colors? The leaves don’t change to new colors in autumn but instead revert to their original colors. I learned this years ago when my oldest daughter asked why the leaves change color.

As a way to bond (and hide my ignorance), I suggested we search the internet together for information. We found that, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, “the four primary pigments that produce color within a leaf are chlorophyll (green); xanthophylls (yellow); carotenoids (orange); and anthocyanins (reds and purples). During the warmer growing seasons, leaves produce chlorophyll to help plants create energy from light. The green pigment becomes dominant and masks the other pigments. … As days get shorter and nights become longer … the fading green allows a leaf’s true colors to emerge, producing the dazzling array of orange, yellow, red and purple pigments we refer to as fall foliage.”

Equipped with this knowledge, we annually observe the emergence of fall colors differently. It’s a richer, more wonder-filled experience for our family. I thought of this phenomenon and its relationship to parenting while reading Alexandra Horowitz’s recent book, On Looking: A Walker’s Guide to the Art of Observation.

In the book, Horowitz takes 11 neighborhood walks with different experts to experience the same scenes with different eyes. The results are remarkable. Horowitz realizes “I had become a sleepwalker on the sidewalk. What I saw and attended to was exactly what I expected to see” and nothing else.

From a geologist, she learns “limestone, a popular building material, is full of the shells, remains, and other traces of ancient animals. … Taking this in, my view of the street was entirely changed: no longer was it passive rock; it was a sea graveyard.” From a field naturalist, she learns “even when you see no bugs before you, even when the ground looks still and the air looks clear, they are there.”

Learn through how children observe the world

Most relevant to parenting is what Horowitz learns about observation from her 19-month-old son. For him, a walk is “an investigatory exercise that begins with energy and ends when (and only when) exhausted.” An infant “has no expectations, so he is not closed off from experiencing something anew.” Also, the relative absence of language enables very young children to “sense the world at a different granularity, attending to parts of the visual world we gloss over; to sounds we have dismissed as irrelevant.”

Horowitz views a child’s acquisition of language in paradoxical terms. She acknowledges that language is key to a child’s development and navigation of the world. Hence, language could be compared to the necessary green pigment that fosters growth on leaves. But Horowitz also laments that the naming of objects in a child’s environment gradually limits his or her ability to observe and perceive additional aspects — or what might be called the environment’s true (and masked) colors — more fully.

She notes the bittersweet onset of language for her growing toddler. “I knew I did not have long before words, enablers of thoughts but also stealers of idiosyncrasies, muted his theatricality. And so our family had together created a fluid vocabulary of expressions, facial and bodily, that could be applied to a new situation,” she writes.

This poignant passage no doubt triggers every parent’s memories of those infant-to-toddler days when sounds were not yet words. One of my daughters at that age would repeat the sound “ta-doo” in varying tones. For weeks the family tried to discern the meaning of the sound. Then, one day, an older cousin simply said: “Maybe it just means ‘ta-doo.’” Somehow that settled the debate.

Improve your observational skills  

Every parent also remembers entertaining formulations from their children’s early language days. My older daughter once told me: “Dad, I’m a little bit big and a little bit little.” My younger daughter once wrote in her journal: “My dad has hair on both sides of his head and nothing in the middle.” That last one burned a little bit.

Selective attention is necessary for life, but parents should try not to narrow their attention too rigidly. Follow the example of very young children before language development. Try to maintain an open mind that does not allow habit and expectation to become blinders that restrict understanding.

A great way to embody this message might be a family nature walk this fall. Slow down and inspect the surroundings together. Keep a sense of wonder about all that reveals itself — like those “true colors” in the trees that the pandemic cannot cancel. Try to keep seeing the world with fresh, unmasked eyes.

Observe autumn photo: © Volodymyr / Adobe Stock.

You know who really falls for autumn dad jokes? A-parent-ly, you!

Don’t worry, they get better.

Ha! Of course, they don’t! Did you really fall for that? You really are a fall guy!

Since you’ve loved our summer dad jokes (the Halloween and Thanksgiving ones, too) we felt a duty to dive deep into the internet to find some of the best (and mostly, the worst) autumn dad jokes out there.

So if kid-friendly puns about gourds and trees are your thing, look no further than below. If they aren’t, then leaf us alone!

Best / worst autumn dad jokes 

Q: Why did Humpty Dumpty love autumn?
A: Because Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

Q: Why did the robot couple insist on being married in the fall?
A: They wanted to be fully autumn-mated.

Q: How did the tree get a new job?
A: He had the right qua-leaf-ications.

Mom: Autumn is better than summer.
Dad: Nope, that’s a fall-acy.

Q: Why did the tree have to go to work every day this fall?
A: Because he couldn’t get any autumn leaves.

Q: What did the blades of grass say to the tree at the start of autumn?
A: “Please don’t leaf us again!”

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The four seasons were arguing about which of them was the best.

Winter says, “Snow is so beautiful, and you can build snowmen. Don’t forget Christmas! Everyone loves Christmas!”

Spring laughs. “Sure, but come springtime, everything is so fresh and new! All the new flowers and blooms — it can’t get much better than that!”

Summer laughs even harder. “Yes, but I am undoubtedly the overall best season! No school, beach vacations, ice cream, nice weather. You can’t top that! What about you autumn, what do you have to offer?”

Autumn leaves.

+ + +

Q: Why did the pumpkin lose the boxing match?
A: He let his gourd down.

Q: Who helps the little pumpkins cross the road to school?
A: The crossing gourd.

Q: How do leaves travel from town to town?
A: With autumn-mobiles.

Q: What’s the ratio of an orange gourd’s circumference to its diameter?
A: Pumpkin Pi.

Q: What does a farmer wear under his shirt when the autumn weather turns chilly?
A: A har-vest.

Q: What’s the best way to fix a broken pumpkin?
A: Use a pumpkin patch!

Q: What’s James Bond’s favorite autumn drink?
A: Pumpkin spy-ce latte

Q: Why’s it so easy to play practical jokes on leaves in autumn?
A: They fall for anything

+ + +

The mob boss had four henchmen: Winter, Summer, Spring and Autumn. The boss called them into a meeting before a heist.

“Winter,” he began. “I need you to stay cool in the face of pressure. Ice in your veins,” he said, patting his shoulder.

“Then there’s you, Summer,” he said. “If the heat becomes too much for Winter, use that hot temper of yours to make sure the cops remember who they’re working for.”

“As for you, Spring,” he laughed, “This operation is gonna bring in a lotta green. Make sure that it keeps growing.”

He turned for the door as Autumn stood up.

“Boss!” he sputtered. “What about me?”

The boss turned back, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Autumn. You’re just the fall guy.”

+ + +

Q: What’s the problem with eating too much pumpkin pie this time of year?
A: You’ll get autumn’y ache.

Q: Why did the pumpkin and the butternut squash get on so well?
A: They were gourd friends.

Q: Why did no one laugh at the oak tree?
A: He kept telling acorn-y jokes

Q: What’s a fire’s least favorite month?
A: No-ember.

Q: What is the cutest season?
A: Awwtumn.

Q: What’s red, orange and yellow and doesn’t get hurt when it falls?
A: Autumn leaves!

Q: How are you supposed to talk in the apple library?
A: With your incider voice.

Q: What do you get if you drop a pumpkin?
A: Squash.

Q: What do you call a tree that doubts the existence of autumn?
A: In disbe-leaf.

Q: Did you hear about the tree that had to take a break in autumn?
A: It was on a paid leaf.

Q: What’s a tree’s least favorite month of the year?
A: Sep-timberrrrrrr!

Q: When winter arrives, what happens?
A: Autumn leaves!

Best autumn dad jokes photo: © Javier brosch / Adobe Stock.

How can you help develop the inner workings of your child’s brain? According to a new book, you must “think outside” our culture’s normal associations with the brain.

In The Extended Mind: The Power of Thinking Outside the Brain, science writer Annie Murphy Paul declares the common metaphor of the brain-as-computer is flawed and limiting. “Our culture insists that the brain is the sole locus of thinking, a cordoned-off space where cognition happens, much as the workings of my laptop are sealed inside its aluminum case,” she writes. “This book argues otherwise.”

The book focuses on the problems such a “brainbound” perspective creates in modern schools and workplaces. But many of Murphy Paul’s well-researched insights have relevance for today’s parents, especially given our ever-increasing technological saturation. Indeed, technological devices often “isolate” both adults and growing children “from one another, sealing us within our individual digital bubbles,” she writes.

Benefits of eye contact, gestures, conversation

The key for parents is to think beyond the screen as much as possible when interacting with their children. Some of these strategies for “extending the brain” are instinctive, but Murphy Paul’s research often pinpoints the reasons that can help parents be more intentional.

For example, we know that from birth a baby starts tracking a parent’s eyes, and parents naturally return the gaze. But Murphy Paul explains the importance of eye contact is actually built into our eyes. “Such gaze-following is made easier by the fact that people have visible whites of the eyes,” she writes. “Humans are the only primates so outfitted, an exceptional status that has led scientists to propose the ‘cooperative eye hypothesis’ — the theory that our eyes evolved to support cooperative social interactions. ‘Our eyes see, but they are also meant to be seen,’ notes science writer Ker Than.”

Beyond eye contact, gestures are another bodily way to “extend” a young child’s brain development. Murphy Paul explains “linguists theorize that gesture was humankind’s earliest language …  all of us, then, are effectively bilingual.” She notes that “well before babies can talk, they are waving, beckoning, holding up their arms in a wordless signal: pick me up.” Parents help “translate” the child’s gestures. Growing children, therefore, benefit from an environment rich in both words and gestures like pointing. Gestures can be especially helpful when a parent and child read a picture book together, which is essentially preparing the child’s brain to “read” the outside world as well.

As young children age, their brains and social skills benefit tremendously from as much face-to-face conversation as possible. The reason? “The body is the bridge,” Murphy Paul writes.

During conversations, “the body acts as a critical conduit, supplying the brain with the visceral information it lacks. … When interacting with other people, we subtly and unconsciously mimic their facial expressions, gestures, posture, and vocal pitch,” she writes. “Then … we perceive what the other person is feeling because we feel it in ourselves.” Think of how the lack of body language often impacts the quality of e-mail or of what Murphy Paul calls the “stutter-stop rhythm of asynchronous text exchanges.”

Role of exercise, motion, nature in brain development

Parents can also bodily “extend” a child’s brain development via frequent exercise and exposure to nature. Movement while learning new information can actually improve recall (hence we “never forget how to ride a bike”). Other ways to capitalize on this connection might be to encourage children to use their fingers when learning to count, act out stories they read, and write their thoughts in a journal. As Murphy Paul states, “whenever possible, we should offload information, externalize it, move it out of our heads and into the world.”

The value of exposure to nature in our increasingly digital (and urban) world cannot be overstated. In terms of brain development, Murphy Paul explains “children’s play is more imaginative when they are outdoors than when they are inside, research has shown; natural play spaces are less structured and more varied, and the props children may come across (leaves, pebbles, pinecones) have no purpose predetermined by teachers or parents.” Even if nature is hard to access, benefits can still result from home environments with natural light and growing plants. 

On a larger scale, Murphy Paul notes the paradox of nature’s effect in our high-tech age. “The time we spend scrutinizing our small screens leads us to think small, even as it enlarges and aggrandizes our sense of self,” she writes. “Nature’s vastness — the unfathomable scale of the ocean, of the mountains, of the night sky — has the opposite effect. It makes us feel tiny, even as it opens wide our sense of the possible.”

In her conclusion, Murphy Paul returns to the pitfalls of the brain-as-computer metaphor. “We should resist the urge to shunt our thinking along the linear path appropriate to a computer — input, output, done — and instead allow it to take a more winding route,” she writes. Such a route would embed brain-extensions into our family life as much as possible.

Parents do some of this instinctively, but Murphy Paul’s book is a reminder that while today’s technology has many benefits, it also tends to limit brain development linked to our bodies, environments and relationships. In other words, we don’t want our growing children to just “use their heads,” but to “extend their minds” as well.

Child brain development photo: © denisismagilov / Adobe Stock.

I don’t really like my son’s friends. Not at all. I don’t like their music or their lack of manners. Still, I relented when he asked if he could just take one more ride with them before coming in to dinner.

I definitely didn’t want him to give them rides. Yet, I sighed and stood there, watching my 5-year-old boy hold his friends tight in his lap, taking them one at a time down the slide. He laughed, and I was glad for his joy. One by one, they slid.

All 27 of his friends.

All 27 cicadas currently residing in his bug house.

And, for the record, I hate bugs.

But it’s not about me.

Let me back up.

In the final months of my wife’s pregnancy, my excitement began to grow. I was nervous to be a father — all right, make that terrified — and, at the time, had absolutely no plans to be a stay-at-home dad — my current profession. Yet, beyond the newness and the normal life-shattering “let’s flip the entire world upside down and never see the universe the same way again” stuff that everyone deals with, my growing excitement centered around another factor.

You see, this soon-to-be kid was going to be a “little me.” This was someone I could share my interests — my nerdiness — with, right from the beginning of his life. I just knew my son was going to love everything I loved. I bottle fed him in front of anime shows. He took his first steps to the Star Wars soundtracks. And one of his earliest complete sentences was “You … shall not … pass!”

Where our interests part

However, as he grew, something funny began to happen. My son wasn’t a little me. He was a little “him.” He had a huge, almost stereotypical boy-interest in trucks. Why is he so interested in trucks? How can he go from an adorable Lord of the Rings sentence to walking around saying “What’s that truck?” — which, due to his developing vocal patterns sure sounded an awful lot like, um, something less age appropriate. I tried to encourage him, though. I don’t like trucks, but I started getting books about trucks, drawing pictures of trucks and learning with him.

When trucks went out, and dinosaurs came in, I learned more than I thought possible about the beasts. I swear, when I was a kid there were only five species of dinosaurs. (Yeah, I’m old. Pluto used to be a planet, too.) It wasn’t until we were eating with another family and my son took out his toys that I truly realized what I’d learned. “Nice triceratops,” said my friend. “Um, that’s clearly a styracosaurus,” I instantly replied. It was. My son smiled. And I smiled.

You see, it doesn’t matter what interests me. Or what I’m interested in. Maybe he’ll get into that nerdy stuff later on, maybe not. It’s not about me, it’s about him.

We took a single vacation during the pandemic. Before vaccinations or re-openings or the world feeling close to sane, we traveled to Rehoboth Beach, Del., during the coldest week of winter. We stayed in a virtually abandoned vacation community, right on the water, and were the only people on the beach. After months of struggling through Zoom Pre-K, I saw a spark ignite. I saw my son become interested in things he had never cared about. We darted shell to shell, marveling at mussels and the washed-up bodies of horseshoe crabs. Thanks to my friend, Google, (note: Google Lens on the phone is a lifesaver) I learned that horseshoe crabs aren’t crabs at all. Who knew?

New interests, new knowledge

And did it work? Is he learning?

Well, here’s our bedtime conversation last night:

Me: I’m so proud of all the growth you’ve shown. You’re done with Pre-K, and you’ve learned so much. You’re growing up fast.

Kid: Well, you taught me a lot.

Me: I appreciate that, but I’m still very proud of you.

Kid: I am pretty grown up. I’ll be a daddy like you soon, and then I’ll have 15 kids … no, probably 9,000 kids.

Me: Nine thousand, huh?

Kid: Yup. I think I might need a wife first.

Me: Might help.

Kid: I grow up fast, though. I mean I don’t know everything like you. I don’t even know what’s in the deep.

Me: The deep?

Kid: You know … the deepest part of the ocean. The midnight zone. I don’t really know what’s there.

Me: Yeah, well, I think you already know more than me about that. You know, ever since the beach —

Kid: Oh, sure I know about hydrothermal vents, yeti crabs, gulper eels, anglerfish, [continues naming like a hundred other things for five minutes] … but I definitely don’t know everything. What am I gonna teach my 9,000 kids?

Me: I’m sure you’ll think of something.

And that brings me back to today. The truth is that dinos and the ocean were easy. I knew nothing about them, but it’s easy to encourage something you don’t mind. But bugs … bugs are gross. Here in the Mid-Atlantic there’s a perpetual scream, roughly 10 billion decibels loud. It’s the so-called Brood X cicadas. (I’m pretty sure Broodix is a planet from Star Trek. Or it should be.) I’m typing this with the windows closed. I can still hear them. And they’re swarming all over the window screen.

But it’s also a once-in-a-17-year event for my son to embrace. Did you know cicadas have five eyes (three ocelli between the two big red ones?) or that only the males “sing”? I didn’t know those things, but my son taught me. He taught me they’re harmless and ultimately, if he wants to take some extra slide trips with his friends, whether I like those friends or not …

It’s not about me. It’s about him.

About the author

Chris Mannino lives with his wife and two children. As a full-time stay-at-home dad, he considers himself a lion tamer, cat herder, sanitation manager, personal chef, private teacher and more. Somehow, he also manages to squeeze in a writing career: crafting fantasy stories from picture books through adult. Visit him at www.ChristopherMannino.com

Dad embraces kid’s interests photo: ©golubovy / Adobe Stock.

A pair of hawks, probably Cooper’s hawks, command the sky over my backyard and the surrounding acres. I spotted their nest high in an old oak across the street. I’m sure they are a mating pair, although at first, I thought maybe they were a hen teaching her fledgling to hunt. I actually thought that until two minutes ago when I looked up the breed and found out any hawks would only have eggs right now or, more likely, an empty new nest.

So, not a mother teaching a child to hunt or a father teaching a child to soar like I wanted it to be. What I’ve been seeing is likely courtship, nest building, pair bonding. I wanted to extend a metaphor about teaching children to soar and take care of themselves; about the joy of flying and learning and beauty. I had planned to beat that metaphor to death.

I continue to watch them, the hawks, even though I can’t mold them into the symbol I wanted them to become. They fly down again and land on a low branch on a maple not 20 feet from my window. They stand close together and … well. Their tails are red, one more than the other. Dammit, they aren’t even Cooper’s hawks; they are the much more common red-tailed hawk.

Now I won’t be able to share this quote from a college commencement speech Mr. Rogers gave so many years ago:

“In fact, from the time you were very little, you’ve had people who have smiled you into smiling, people who have talked you into talking, sung you into singing, loved you into loving.”

It’ll be hard to work in how those hawks made me think of this quote as I saw one take off and then the other and watched them soar and swoop in the cold February sky, thinking the whole time them parent and child. The effort and the ease of it, the work and then the reward of it all.

What better way to learn to circle through the sky than experiencing another doing it with you, showing it to you?

How can I say, now that the metaphor has failed, that we are like those beautiful hawks, we parents? I look to the wild and see labor of love. Nature doesn’t tell herself about love and ability, she uses no words, explains nothing, just as we cannot explain what love is, what a song or a story or laughter is.

“Smiled you into smiling,” a past tense verb leading to the present tense. And there, I think, is the essence of it all. Love must be a verb, teaching must be verb, parenting and mentoring, action verbs.

That means that we labor to show our children these things.

The first time I encountered the Rogers quote, I continued the thought in my mind.

When I see my nearly 14-year-old son honor someone, I know that I honored him.

When his twin brother marches up to me after an event at the school and says, “Dad, I broke my glasses,” I know his mother and I honested him into the truth.

A kind word to a classmate, is the kind word offered to them.

We laughed them into laughing, held them into holding, dreamed them into dreaming, cried them into crying, shined them into shining.

One of the hawks sends a shadow across the backyard. Maybe I wasn’t as wrong as I thought I was. Perhaps, now that I know they are just a pair of birds, what I noticed was the action of them, always above, on the hunt, always watching.

I probably won’t see when their nestlings are hatched and fed and ready to leave; the first fall from the nest; won’t see the wings open and watch as the wind fills them as they glide away. But I see it now, don’t I? I see it in the flaps and dives of these two birds, these parents.

Just as I see me, my wife, teachers, leaders, friends … you, mirrored in the hearts and souls of my sons, your daughters, our children.

We’ve shown them into showing.

Graced them into grace.

Hoped them into hope.

Flown them into flying.

Watched them into watching.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bill Peebles left a 30-year career in the restaurant business to become a stay-at-home dad to twin boys. He writes a blog, I Hope I Win a Toaster, that makes little sense. He coaches sometimes, volunteers at the schools, plays guitar, and is a damn good homemaker. He believes in hope, dreams, and love … but not computers.

Hawk photo: IthacaBarbie on Foter.com / CC BY-NC

You’ve been cooped up with the kids long enough, mom and dad! Spring means it’s time to start venturing outside, in and around the NYC area, for fun ways to entertain and even educate your children.

We compiled a list of several of the best kids’ spring activities you can find in the boroughs (and few farther out) to help you exercise your child’s body and brain.

Best kids’ spring activities in NYC: Nature in bloom

New York Botanical Garden — Head to the Bronx to see the azalea gardens and hundreds of cherry trees coming into bloom. Don’t forget to check out the amazing annual indoor orchid show. The Everett Children’s Adventure Garden offers 12 acres of fun just for little ones. If you can’t make it to the Bronx, visit the city’s other beautiful botanical gardens. The ones in Brooklyn or Queens also have nature trails and special children’s programming.

Macy’s Annual Flower Show (click link for dates) — You don’t need to brave chilly weather or muddy paths to indulge in the beautiful blooms of spring in New York City. For two weeks every March/April, Macy’s Herald Square flagship store puts on an amazing indoor display of floral and plant life tied to together by a theme like fairy tales or space adventure. Best of all — it’s free.

Visit your local park — Every NYC borough offers a little slice of nature amid the concrete and steel jungle. In addition to greenery for play and chilling, New York City parks offer tons of programming for kids of every age. Go to the NYC Parks website, click the Kids tab and find some fun for the family.

Best kids’ spring activities in NYC: Animals (and more!)

Visit a zoo — Beat the summer crowds and heat at any of the four NYC zoos (Bronx, Central Park, Brooklyn’s Prospect Park and Queens) or the New York Aquarium by Coney Island in Brooklyn. Better yet see all of them or visit your favorite multiple times at a great discount by becoming a member of the Wildlife Conservation Society.

Queens County Farm Museum — If your wee one loves animals, but the zoo can be a bit overwhelming, head over to these historic 47 acres in Floral Park, Queens — home of NYC’s last remaining working farm. You can roam the grounds, visit the petting zoo and feed the chickens, pigs, geese, goats and other creatures anytime, but the weekends are when the fun really happens. The spring brings hayride season (for a nominal fee) and events such as an Apple Blossom Children’s Carnival, Sheep Shearing Festival, Easter egg hunt and a season farmer’s market.

Best kids’ spring activities in NYC: Outdoor thrills

Adventures at Governors Island — Governors Island is just one big playground to begin with: great biking, walking trails, playgrounds and amazing water/downtown views. But now it has Adventures. Literally get lost in the challenging Amazen’ Maze. Play 18 holes of mini-golf. Scale one of three 25-foot outdoor climbing walls. Zipline at 21 mph down a 300-foot long cable while taking in sensational views of the Statue of Liberty, New York Harbor and downtown Manhattan. Check website for age/weight restrictions and hours.

Bronx Zoo Treetop Adventures — Little Tarzans (age 7 and up) and their parents will love this climbing park, with aerial courses for all abilities, and a 400-foot-long zipline that crosses the Bronx River. Check website for age/weight restrictions and hours.

Fly a kite — The spring winds and less-crowded parks and beaches make this the perfect time to let children test their aviation skills. Kite flying is allowed anywhere in Central Park but open areas like the Great Lawn and North Meadow are obviously the best. Any of the beaches in the NYC boroughs are also great. Also consider Liberty State Park in New Jersey, just across from the Battery, for spectacular views of the harbor; the enormous Freshkills Park in Staten Island or Long Meadow in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park.

Best kids’ spring activities near NYC: Ice cream!

The Museum of Ice Cream — What kid, from 1 to 100, does love ice cream? This imaginative, multi-sensory experience features 13 installations across three floors in the heart of SoHo. You can slide down an epic three-story slide, take a celestial ride on a pink MOIC subway, dive into the largest Sprinkle Pool and, of course, sample its signature flavors and ice cream treats. Reserve tickets in advance, kids age 2 and under free.

Best kids’ spring activities near NYC: Indoor water parks

If the unpredictability of the spring weather makes you nervous, look into one of the many indoor water parks in our vicinity.

One of our faves is Great Wolf Lodge in Scotrun, Penn., (that’s the Poconos, folks) It’s about a 90-minute drive from Manhattan.

If you want to stay in state, maybe head to the Monticello in the Catskills for The Kartrite, also 90 minutes. Opened in March 2019, it’s New York’s largest indoor water park at two acres. It features 15 water slides and coasters, a wave pool, lazy river and indoor beach.

See our full list of area indoor water parks and helpful tips for other locations, ways to save money and have more fun.

+ + +

You can also check out our friends at New York Family magazine for updated lists of seasonal events and Mommy Poppins NYC for other great suggestions for things for families and children to do in and around NYC this spring.

Photos: Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, Governors Island

The hill was steep enough that I had to stop, my lungs heavy and legs slightly burning. I pretended to fiddle with my camera and stared into the valley below. The boys waited further ahead, one closer than the other, with the dog loudly panting. This family walk was my idea.

We had started for their favorite oak tree, one of several in the area that have sprouted rope swings from their massive branches, but found it occupied by three teens and an Instagram account. They were listening to John Denver, sprawled upon a blanket beneath leaf and cloud, with the feet of their friends floating into frame then out again. Some men rode between us on mountain bikes, nodding as a greeting. A hawk flew overhead.

It had been reluctance that led us there on this family walk, despite our collective need for exercise, clean air and time spent wandering through it. We were stuck in another day of sedentary rote, indoors and uninspired, one roof over many walls, the lazy leave of an unwrapped holiday break and backpacks still untouched. We festered in our shared seclusion, some of us louder than others. It was time to leave the house, whether we wanted to or not.

The hawk, sensing my labors, circled around again, doing the math and crying about it. Further along, the boys were waiting, one with questions and one always questioning. I followed in their footsteps. It wasn’t lost on me.

I have become my own example.

“What do you think is the biggest problem in the world right now?” I asked either of them upon the crest. One looked into the distance, the other at a dead scorpion on the ground.

“Hunger?” asked one.

“Disease?” asked the other.

“Poverty?” I added. “War?”

“The climate?”

It was January, us outside and sweating.

“They are all related, aren’t they?” I asked.

The scorpion was a bend behind us, the hawk dancing in our slipstream.

“I couldn’t help but notice that none of our problems are on the list,” I said after, pausing for effect.

Of course, we could make the arguments. We had before. My life as a freelancer is literally living check to check, and I was on day three without a prescription that only the next payday could afford. Also, that part about the sweating. Still, those were bumps of nothing in a long road of comfort, and while they may find themselves flung and sharpened as shouts in the kitchen, none of our family’s problems would prevent us from the next hill or the road that rose to meet it.

It had been such a misconception that triggered this journey. The festering from before had finally popped in a glorious explosion of privileged anger, a cocktail of hormones and too much screen time that led to words like weapons and a hand that was one. So the boys and I took it outside for a family walk.

We ran for the hills as a coping mechanism, when really, we should be clinging to them, begging the day to stay. It is always better to live out than look it. A good walk is a wonderful thing.

“I know,” said one.

The other just kind of grumbled.

Downhill is a trick. It shows up like a sudden oasis, offering the ease of decline, and yet, the footing is tender, the slide quick and flinty. Downhill is a fast roll toward routine.

The youngest took my hand to gain his balance by stealing mine. His thumb tracing a new spot upon it, amber as the scorpion, covered in dust and a boy’s attention.

“I am aging,” I said. “That’s just another badge to earn.”

The boys looked at one another and the hill growing in the background. We didn’t speak much after that, but the hawk kept time and we hummed a few bars. Our pace slowed considerably.

Some breaths felt deeper than others.

All family walk photos by the author

We all feel the stress of life as a modern-day parent.

School. Work. Traffic. Bills. Politics. Scheduling kids’ activities. Shuttling kids to those activities. More traffic. Sometimes it feels like we are on a wheel that never stops.

To decompress, our family a few times a year tries to visit relatives who live on a 15-acre farm in Sonoma County — about an hour north of San Francisco and just west of Napa Valley.

It is a beautiful vineyard with views of the valley below. Every morning roosters and geese wake you as they go out in search of food and water. The daylight has a soft glow to it that is refreshing and, at night, you can see every single star in the pitch black sky. “Grandpa Stan” — the farm’s owner and resident for the past 30 years — calls it his “little slice of heaven.”

But what I love so much about visiting the farm with the family is the simplicity of the life there. Working the soil with your hands and tending to the grapes. Fixing everything on the farm from a broken ladder to a tractor engine. Picking strawberries and collecting eggs for the freshest breakfast you can ever imagine. All these little tasks are so foreign to our “city kids” but so meaningful because it connects them to the food they eat, the things they own and the people they love (mostly us).

Our kids soak in so much when they are in nature, especially when they are young. My 5-year-old is learning about seeds at her pre-school and she was fascinated every time she identified seeds on the farm. And my 2-year-old is into dirt — picking it up, crumbling it in his fingers … tasting it. And there was lots of dirt for him to play with on the farm.

As “city dads,” it isn’t such a bad idea to take our children out of the city every once in a while. A little time to commune with nature and to learn where things come from and how to make them. Maybe then they can appreciate all they have in the city, too.

Post your stories about your experiences to get the kids out of the city.