IN A NUTSHELL | Getting away in a mountain stream

Dang! Dogs sure do love mountain streams. The cool, bubbling, rambling ones. Strewn in river stones where they can run and bound and realize how their little wolf-like paws were meant to tear through the world like a brush fire or a blast of wind.

Free. Frantic. Frenzied.

Oh, to be a dang dog!

Same with kids. They like them, too, those streams. With the same gusto. Even at 14. Big splashes. Shoes soaking wet. Egging the dog on. No care in the world. “Come on, Lily, this way!” they yell, and the dog jerks about and tears down the other way.

Not a care in the world.

There we were. Out along little trails with no one else in sight. Somewhere in the mountains of North Carolina. Near to Blowing Rock, but not really near to anything. Anything civilized, it seemed.

Or anything that started with “c” and ended with “virus.”

For almost a week, we did our best to escape all-things-COVID … if such a thing is possible. By trying to escape something, sometimes you find yourself even more consumed by the thought of it.

But I guess it was the solitude and the independence and the peace we went looking for.

To social distance in a mountain stream.

You could do it early in the morning out on the trails and in the middle of the week. Before the hordes of weekenders got the same idea and descended upon nature to search out a little respite.

Alone in the woods you kind of forget your problems. That there are problems out there. Selfish, really, but also necessary. A chance to recharge and refocus. Or maybe un-focus.

This is the way it used to be. Remember? How long ago was that? Can you remember it? It was only March when all of this started up, but it seems like an eternity ago. A normalcy we took for granted, and desperately want back. Something so out of reach, at least for the time-being.

And then for a little while, running through a mountain stream, we had it.

What a strange feeling!

You come to realize a few things on a trip like that. Like how I think I’ve been a social distancer my whole life. Or how I don’t really miss certain things, like going out to eat or crowded shopping. That keeping other people safe has really been my primary objective all along, and is really what I care most about.

That all you really need around you is family.

My daughter is 14 years old, and I’m lucky that she actually wants to spend time with me. I know … it’s amazing! Most of the time, I don’t want to be around me.

Things like this – the time we’re living through – make you realize how important a thing like that is.

I asked her on the trip if she is going to want to keep traveling with my wife and me as she gets older. “Do I have a choice?” she asked. “Can I stay home and do whatever I want while you all go away?!?”

She missed the point.

Did she mind it? Was she OK with it? Did she like it?

Would she WANT to keep doing it? See “want” is the key word there.

Because I realized something: These trips won’t last forever. Not with a kid. Or at least, they might fall out of favor. The enjoyment or strong feeling of togetherness might fade away. You can be with people, but not really WITH them. Or not really WANT to.

I don’t want that to ever end. Just the pure joy of it. All spending time together, and appreciating that time. Like that dog running wild through the stream. And the kid chasing after her, screaming, “No! Not that way. Back this way, silly dog.” And the feet all flying. And the shoes soaking wet. And the wolf-like paws exploding across the stones. And the joyous sound of laughter.

Alone in the woods – not a care in the world – you kind of forget all your problems. You realize how important a thing like this is. And you never WANT it to end.

Brian Thompson is director of news and information at Flagler College.