Adventures of "Tom" and "Huck"

By Mike VanBuren

From the late March edition of The North Woods Call

    The coming of spring always brings back memories of growing up in rural Michigan, when roaming the freshly awakened woods and wetlands was relatively safe and uninhibited.
    My friends and I were free to do most anything we wanted in the Great Outdoors, as long as it was legal and we were home by suppertime.

     It was a time—in our lives, at least—when it didn’t take government programs and environmental activists to make sure that “no child was left inside.”  That was the last place any self-respecting kid wanted to be.

   Richard Louv’s 2005 book, “Last Child In the Woods,” was decades away from being published and nobody in our orbit gave much thought as to where we would spend our days.  It was simply assumed that we would be outside wading streams, climbing trees and generally burning off the youthful energy that many of us wish we still had today.

    The  mother  of  one of  my friends often referred to her son and me as “Tom and Huck,” reminiscent of the adventurous Mark Twain characters, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.  We even tried to build rafts, as I recall, to float down tiny Spring Brook after the spring rains came.

     Those were the days when parents didn’t have to worry so much about their kids being kidnapped, murdered or otherwise harmed by criminal weirdos with ill-intent, although we were routinely warned to be wary of strangers before we headed out of the house.

    Truth be told, the entire neighborhood kept watchful eyes and ears on us, and news of any misdeeds or trouble was likely to reach home before we did.

    It was a time when we didn’t lock our houses—unless the family expected to be gone for several days—ignition keys were always left in the cars and our garage door was seldom closed, day or night, from April through October.

    And  nothing  ever  came  up missing.

     In short, it was a glorious era  to be growing up before the widespread lawlessness, violence and general disrespect for the rights of others metastacized and became the cancer on our society that it is today.  No child that I knew needed to be coddled and sheltered within the walls of a protected home or day-care facility.

     So we roamed pretty much at will—camping, fishing, hunting, swimming, biking, wrestling, playing ball, building forts, catching frogs and exploring our world—from the time the morning chores were done until the skies darkened, night fell and we dragged our weary bodies up the stairs to bed.

     The benefits were obvious.  We strengthened our muscles, tested our endurance and got more exercise in one day than most children addicted to television, computers and electronic games get in a month—or more.

     Even our most inactive moments (every kid needs to rest from time-to-time) still involved much social interaction with friends and neighbors—playing croquet on the front lawn, participating in marathon front porch games of  Risk, or plotting our next outdoor adventure.

     And the related discoveries were legion.

     We might huddle beneath a trestle of the CK&S Railroad and feel the earth shake as the trains passed overhead, hike a few miles down the tracks to buy candy at the small store on Riverview Drive, dig spent lead from the sandy hillsides at nearby firearm target ranges, or search for lost arrows in the weeds behind straw-bale targets at the local rod and gun club.

     Once, “Tom” and I found a pile of unopened mail along a side road.  It had been stolen from a local seed company and we thought we had found a great treasure—especially when we ripped into the envelopes and retrieved several dollars in illegitimate cash that our parents promptly made us give back.  That was OK, because we got something even better—a coveted ride in a patrol car when a sheriff’s deputy came to investigate the incident.  

     Sleeping out at night—under the stars or in a canvas pup tent—was a special summertime treat and we did it as often as possible.  Escaping the valley where we lived to ride our bicycles five miles into the village of Richland also fueled our wanderlust and growing desire for greater freedom.

     It’s sad to think back on those times and realize what so many of today’s children are missing.

     Thanks in part to Louv’s aforementioned book, many people are now realizing this disconnect and legislative efforts are being made to amend the 2001 Elementary and Secondary Education Act (No Child Left Behind Act) to include environmental education.  Several states have already passed their own bills aimed at re-aquainting children with nature.

    Such laws were largely unnecessary in our neighborhood when I was a child, but most things now seem to involve some kind of government action.  Even so—like almost everything else—the political debate has been polarizing.  Critics claim such legislation will be ineffective and is intended to spread a political agenda to children.  Supporters insist that there are countless benefits to including environmental education in elementary and secondary schools.

     With the deceitful and corrupt nature of  modern politics, who knows what to believe?

     One thing that’s clear, however, is that children learn much and benefit greatly from being in the out-of-doors.  And the best education comes when this experience is unencumbered by too many rules and regulations.

     It’s all about freedom—to explore, learn and absorb the rhythms of nature at one’s own pace.

      Maybe  if  we  just  turned  the television off and put down our myriad electronic gadgets, our children could better see and taste  the world around them.

    Only then will their own curiosity lead them outside into the lives of fresh-air adventure that we all need for a more healthy and balanced life.