A few years ago I took my oldest son trout fishing. I took out my fly rod, but soon found that I was spending most of the time untangling his Buzz Lightyear fishing pole. After a time he grew bored with waiting for the fish that were not coming, and wandered to a sandy area. He was five, and drawn to the simplicity of sand and rocks, to the rhythmic movement of the water.
While I cast into the water not far from him he watched the ripples like a protective parent. He threw sand into the water that created art that lasted less than a second. Occasionally he threw larger rocks into the water, ensuring that my casting that day was only practice.
When I fish I don’t go just to catch fish. I go to be in that place. Fishing is the perfect Zen experience, but without the effort of learning from a Zen master. It comes naturally in natural places. Walk one hundred feet, to a bend, and you disappear into a world that seems little changed from a thousand years before.
I’m not a great fisherman, but I’m great at getting lost on the water. This is a thing I won’t have to teach my son, but I will have to teach him how not to forget. We’ve created perfect worlds that destroy our ability to connect to the outdoors in the same way we destroy the outdoors itself. Children would never do what we have done.