Wet grass soaked my shoes as we made our way through the valley, the hum of the highway fading behind us. Gabe darted around from the scent to scent, his fur still damp from plunging into Flint Creek. John was a little way in front of me, calling him back when the dog disappears into the trees for too long. When he emerged, panting wildly, waiting for John’s blessing to carry on, he embodied a blissed out state that we humans have a hard time wrapping our heads around.

There’s that familiar adage “Do more of what makes you happy” – but I’d say there are times when you don’t always know what that is. Especially when you’re weary and the motivation to live fully in the beauty of an area outside your front porch isn’t there. Sometimes it’s easier to find distraction.

My body was achy, but it felt like a long exhalation to be tucked into the woods, saying nothing except to comment on scat, or the tracks we are walking over. We stop and examine them. Then we carry on. There are the sound of birds I wish I could identify. In the hills behind us, there are smears of yellow. But here, deeper into the trees, the colors become more varied. White and purple. A solitary Indian paintbrush in the grass above a creek. I remember that when I am not doing so great in life, one of the first things to disappear is my curiosity. Out here it stirs. I want to be able to identify the sounds and smells around me. To know if I’m passing a cottonwood or an aspen.

There is the sharp smell of wild onion and I stop to pick a few of the green strands that come up on the banks, thinking of the bags of morels John’s twin nephews handed to us earlier that morning. They were fresh from camping and mushroom foraging at Moose Lake for the weekend. Their feet were still caked in dust, their arms and legs covered in bumps, bruises and scratches. Each mark was an illustration to a story about an adventure in the last 48 hours. These two 3-year-olds are my teachers on how to make the most of the long days we have, days I dreamed about in January when all of this was hidden in white.

The valley opens up before us again. We can see the truck and hear the highway. Gabe rushes for the vehicle with longing that is so pure it makes my heart hurt. He comes to life on these adventures, but he whines with happiness when we pull onto our street, leaping up the steps of our house and collapsing on the cool wooden floors. Out there in the wild was beautiful for him, but it is seven minutes in a past he’s moved on from already. Now he is back home. This is beautiful too. He slumbers peacefully, knowing how to rest his body after exertion.

We’ve only been gone for two hours, and we’ve barely driven ten minutes from our house. Sometimes doing more of what makes me happy isn’t as far off, costly, or as complicated, as I think it is. Kids and dogs understand this best