Splash photo by Chad Kimberley Pitfall Brianna navigates her way along the flooded path at the Liberty Lake County Park.

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My Inner Child: Going outside to play
7/20/2011 10:29:18 AM

The creek ran along the back side of my neighborhood.

It was a special place for all the guys on the block. It is where we tried to catch and trap animals with our bare hands. It was also the place where a rope and a tree created a whole day of swinging and splashing.

During the winter months, when the creek bed was only filled with snow, it became a bobsled course of epic proportions. This creek was the greatest place in the world.

And for that reason, I never want to go back and see it again.

Why, you ask? It is simple. I know that creek can't be as good as my mind made it in those early days as a kid.

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If I were to go back to central Iowa, odds are the creek bed is only a couple of feet deep versus the "Grand Canyon of the Midwest" I believed it was. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole creek bed is now a block of back yards and garages since it bumped up next to an elementary school.

Splash photo by Chad Kimberley The Kimberley kids don't hesitate to get into the water and cool off after an afternoon hike.

But for a few years that small area of green space was the source of "Raiders of the Lost Ark" re-enactments, brutal and bloody king-of-the-hill battles and hours upon hours of running, climbing, exploring and diving. It was the place we would retreat to when our parents yelled, "Go outside and play!"

Unfortunately in the 25 years since my time in the creek bed, the concept of go-outside-and-play has changed a lot in our culture. Parents are a little more leery of their kids running up and down the streets and through the sprinklers of each house on the block. Technology now allows kids to stay inside and "simulate" running and exploring on the newest video game system versus trying it out firsthand. And open green space is often consumed by development in growing communities.

But then there is Liberty Lake. Somehow they seemed to have missed the memo on the changes in our culture.

When my family and I moved here four summers ago, what I discovered I loved the most was that nature was all around me. I could hike, I could swim, I could explore. Most importantly, so could my kids.

This community makes it very easy to recapture some of that inner child. And since there isn't necessarily a giant creek bed nearby for my kids to play in, I thought we would go on a hike and a dive to satisfy that longing I have to be a kid again.

The hike portion of our day took us to one of our favorite family spots - the Liberty Lake County Park. We packed a lunch, slipped on our tennis shoes and headed out to hike.

We decided to check out the beaver-damaged path assuming it would be a lot more fun to explore. We were right.

I say "beaver-damaged" only from the standpoint that the path is now flooded due to beaver damming which has created an awesome (in the words of my daughter) challenge trail. The flooded trail now had numerous tree stumps, wooden planks and rocks for hikers to hop, skip and jump their way through.

I felt like I was Pitfall Harry jumping on crocodile heads and logs to make my way across the screen. What I loved is that my kids thought the same (although I had to find the old game "Pitfall" on YouTube so they could appreciate the connection).

After the adventurous start and a quick bite to eat, the kids were starting to get a bit anxious for the second part of our afternoon - cooling off in the lake. So after a few more moments of forced marching, we decided to wrap up the hike and hit the water.

This is one of those things I love about where I live. In a matter of minutes, I can go from hiking up a hill to diving down into a lake.

It is in these moments I have to appreciate the differences of where I currently live versus my flatland childhood days in Iowa. Granted it is pretty cool to be able to stand on top of a house and see miles in any direction, but the Midwest is a bit limited in its elevation changes.

After the younger kids strapped on their lifejackets and my oldest daughter Bri put on her goggles, we rushed into the lake and immediately felt the cool relief of the water. Right off the bat, Bri suggested we do some fishing.

For the sake of full disclosure, I confess that I do not have a Washington fishing license. But before the proper officials come hunt me down, let me explain our version of fishing.

We dive down and try to get right next to the fish without them heading for the safety of deeper waters.

Essentially we like to see ourselves as ocean explorers who get as close as possible to the animals without disrupting their natural habitat. At times I try to use my cat -like reflexes to snag a fish, but I have yet to succeed in my three years of "fishing."

After a few minutes, our fishing turns to floating as the kids and I soak in the rays, the hills on the horizon and just hang out together. Our Mayberry moment passes quickly as some of the girl's friends make their way over and start chatting. I head to the shore to watch my son, Jonathan, play on the beach for a while before we head home.

I do miss the creek bed of my early years. But as I see my kids wiped out from a full day of playing outdoors, I am thankful. When I tell my kids to go outside and play, I know they have plenty of options… as do I.

This is the fourth installment of a summer column series Chad Kimberley is writing about recapturing his inner child.