Stories about what happens when we get outside.

The Swimming Hole

By the last week of August, there wasn't much left for us to do. We'd already ridden our bikes everywhere our parents let us ride them. We'd played enough baseball in the vacant lot that nobody wanted to chase another ground ball through the

The Road Past the Last Campsite

By the time we found the campground, my daughter had stopped believing I knew where we were going. This was unfair because I knew exactly where we were going. I just didn't know how far away it was. "Twenty minutes," I had told her at the