Buffalo Summers
This fall, my husband Tim and I will become parents for the first time. I’ve spent quite a bit of time lately reflecting on my childhood and dreaming about the kind of experiences I want for my own babe. Coupled with the anticipation of enduring the Arkansas summer heat during the last months of pregnancy, I’ve been dreaming of the Buffalo River.
I have no recollection of the first time I floated the Buffalo River. I was around a year old. I’m sure some parents may recoil in horror at the thought of an infant in a canoe on a free-flowing body of water. But it was 1981, a time when lawn darts were still on the market and it was summertime in the Ozarks—where else would we be but the river?
Growing up in rural Arkansas, I had a free-range childhood. I was free to play in the woods surrounding our hand-built house, to wander and taste from the garden and, later, to paddle my own canoe with friends. At an early age, my parents gave me the gift of unstructured play. They encouraged me to learn by observing the fascinating world around me and gave me space to be curious and adventurous.
In the warm months, the Buffalo River was my most frequent playground. It was a place where parents and kids of all ages could co-socialize while still having our own space. Springtime meant swift floats that provided lessons on boat handling and, for a somewhat anxious kid like me, courage-building. I always wanted to bail at the sight of a scary looking rapid or the appearance of a short summer thunderstorm. But, by making me stick with it, my parents helped build my confidence. Late in the summer, low, slow floats required creativity for my friends and me to entertain ourselves. We made our own fun—catching minnows in our hands, building drip sand castles or crafting algae into bright green stringy accessories—for hours at a time.
When my parents and I moved to New York City in the late 1980s, we spent summers in the Ozarks, mostly in the quaint town of Gilbert where friendly neighborhood dogs and pre-teen children could safely walk to and from the river at will. The Buffalo summers always recharged me to go back to the hectic city.
Tim grew up in Morrilton on a different kind on river and had his own share of outdoor adventures as a kid. Our friendship—and later romance—bloomed while caving, hiking and floating together in college. We’re already planning Baby McKuin’s first trip to my great-great grandparents’ Newton County homestead on Cave Creek, a tributary to the Buffalo River.
The Natural State is a dear and valuable place that we want our offspring to experience to the fullest. I know we can’t anticipate exactly how we’ll be as parents. But our hope is for our child to have free-range experiences in the landscapes that taught us a healthy respect for the outdoors and a strong reverence for our natural environment—and kept us cool in those sweltering Arkansas summers.