Here’s a thing about me that you might not know. To my family, I’m Bear. Growing up, while I picked buttercups on the margins of the soccer field, my mom and dad shouted a never ending chorus of encouragements:
“Go get ’em, Bear!”
“You can do it, Bear!”
Mostly this mortified me, which it shouldn’t have. The inscrutable name coupled by my utter lack of response would have made it difficult to determine which of the players on the field was actually called Bear. To this day, parents of other players from Shoreline Connecticut circa 1992 might actually believe Bear to be the name of a girl who ran toward the ball instead of away from it.
That’s an aside, mostly.
The main point is this: On Sunday, to celebrate the first three months of my nephew’s sweet life on this planet, I dusted off the kind of athletic skills that have always been more squarely in my comfort zone and hiked Bear Mountain with my sister Cait, baby Oliver, and our partners in crime and other things. That’s kind of like hiking Erin Mountain. Just so you understand.
We packed a lunch of hummus and pita and more than our share of chocolate-covered almonds and spent the day outside of the city gulping in fresh air and getting sunburned. It was glorious. Here, a few photos:
Fueling up and fancy footwork. Bébé, incognito.Babbling brooks and other nature-y things.Cait and Curt, and an invisible-but-decidedly-present, Oliver. Stone steps.
Queens of Bear Mountain. Stunners.
Happy Earth Day, friends.
ps. My thoughts on what it means to “be green.”