Although I had traveled a couple thousand miles over the 10 days of my solo camping trip, I started thinking more about the places right here at home — or at least closer to home — that I could explore.

I’ve lived in Barry County most of my life. I grew up fishing and camping at Roaring River and on Table Rock. Last year, was when I really started to feel the camping bug. I dragged my family out to Roaring River, and then for my birthday, I asked for a trip with just Kyle and me. He took me to the Baxter campground.

I can’t exactly say what it is that I like so much about camping. I like the sounds. I like building a fire. I like how cool the mornings are, and waking up with the sun. I love being near the water, hearing splashes and waves, and seeing the reflection of the moon at night.

But, probably my favorite thing is feeling grounded — taking a deep breath and smelling nature, walking on the grass or wading in the water. It calms me in a way little else does.

I have a tendency to rush through life. My plate is always full, like most people’s, so I move from one task straight into the next.

But, I don’t feel like that when I’m camping.

Now, I’m no “professional” by any stretch — not at camping, not at hiking. But I don’t think I have to be to enjoy it.

When I came back from my trip and showed my family all the pictures and videos, telling them my stories was almost as fun as living them. My oldest daughter said she wanted to do it with me. So, I went to the Roaring River Park store and grabbed the map with all the trails. There are seven total.

She wanted to jump straight to the longest one — Fire Tower Trail. I told her we should ease into it.

That Sunday, the girls and I went on our first hike together. With a 10- and 3-year-old, we started with the shortest one, Springhouse Trail — half a mile round trip.

At one point, I got tired of walking into spiderwebs, so I carried a stick in front of me like a sword to clear the way. Unfortunately, a web wrapped around my hand, and in a moment of panic I threw the stick… straight into my baby’s head. That was not my finest parenting moment. But, she wasn’t hurt, didn’t even cry. Yet, she had gone through a phase where she told the same story on repeat.

“Hi, my mom hit me in the head with a stick.” No context. Just that.

Before school started back up, I convinced my family to go camping again. I planned it so I’d have a day alone, then a day with just me and my oldest before Kyle and the baby joined us. I even added another solo day at the end.

That first morning alone, I decided to take on Devil’s Kitchen. It’s less than two miles — nothing compared to the 22-plus I had done in Michigan. I laced up my boots and got a little chill.

I smiled, realizing the thrill I’d felt in Michigan wasn’t just because I was far from home. It was right here too, only 7 miles from my house.

Still, the Ozarks hills are no joke. It felt like I hiked straight uphill for five miles. I was sweating, huffing and second-guessing myself, but I made it back to the car with a huge smile, even though I was still short of breath.

Since we were in the middle of a heatwave hotter than the surface of the sun, I decided to wait before taking the kids on more hikes. But we set a goal, hit every trail at Roaring River by the end of the year, finishing with the Fire Tower Trail.

It sounds like the perfect way to connect with my daughter, with nature, and with adventure. It’s safe, or at least it should be.

However, right after I got back from my Michigan trip, the news broke about the couple murdered on Devil’s Den Trail in northwest Arkansas. That was too close to home. Too close, period.

A man stole two lives, broke a family, and ripped peace and joy away from everyone who loves the trails.

Something I thought was safe to share with my girls is now a source of anxiety. People told me to carry a gun. And, it’s scary to think that pepper spray and a taser might not be enough.

As parents, we worry about our children. Mine aren’t old enough to drive yet, but I can only imagine the anxiety of letting them grow up — driving, going to college, falling in love.

I made those little hearts. I kissed their scraped knees and soothed their tummy aches. And my heart aches knowing their safety could be stolen, even on a hike with their mom.

I don’t know how to make peace with that.

But I do know this: if I don’t let them grow, take risks and find adventure, they’ll never learn bravery. They won’t feel confident, strong, or capable. They’ll just sit back, watching other people live, waiting for the “perfect time” that never comes.

I spent too many years waiting for my turn. I want my girls to learn sooner than I did. I want them to take camera rolls full of pictures and find endless stories to tell me. I want them to see the entire world and come home to tell me all about it.

TroutMom says: “I don’t know if adventure is something we inherit, but it is something we can share. It starts with you taking the time to find it, not waiting around for the perfect time that never seems to come. That is how the next generation grows stronger, wilder and more adventurous than we ever were.”

Jordan Troutman is the Owner and General Manager of the Cassville Democrat, president of the Ozark Press Association, a wife, a mother of two daughters and a graduate of Capella University with a Bachelor’s in General Psychology. She is pursuing a Master’s in Marriage and Family Therapy. She may be reached at jtroutman@cassville-democrat.com.