H and I both love to be outdoors and to walk and hike. Our very first proper holiday together we went to Rome for a week and he’ll always swear I made him walk up and down every one of the seven hills (he’s exaggerating, it was only six of the seven) and in our pre-little people days we spent happy holidays exploring the bits of Scotland near to the family, showing him all of my favourite bits of the South West Coast Path, and earning our blisters in various forays to the Lake District.
I know it’s a few years off yet, but I am looking forward to the day when we can take the girls and the Little Bump up to the Lakes and they’ll actually be big enough to climb a few peaks with us. I remember going with my family when I can’t have been much more than ten and there are pictures of us climbing the Old Man of Coniston, and swimming in just about every river or pool we came across – it was Swallows and Amazons heaven.
And it seems like the love of outdoors has passed through to the girls; they would be outside most of the day in all weathers if they could be, and even better if we can take Daddy exploring too. We wandered along little shady paths, blackberried along by the river and the meadow, and in about an hour travelled in a nice neat little circle that was never more than a few hundred yards from the car park; it’s the impressive thing about the speed of toddlers; you can think that you’re going for a really long walk, and I suppose when you’re one it is a really long walk.
We turned the last corner and there before us was our mountain.
“‘Jaro” said Elma pointing.
“Do you want to climb up?” asked H;
“Yiss” she replied, and with a short pause,
Well they may not have climbed every step of every mountain, but we all got to the top again.
And they might think they’re climbing Kilimanjaro, but really they’re training for Kanchenjunga. Just give me a few years for me to get fit again!