We’re in the Halloween homestretch, but I’d wager at least half of you are still riding the costume rollercoaster, days away from closing in on what your kid wants to be.

Back in the days before Amazon.com — when we actually had to make our own costumes — if you weren’t in the early throes of gathering your wardrobe supplies by this stage in the game, chances were a white sheet with two eye holes was in your forecast.

I had a bit of a wake-up call this week as I read over a fabulous collection of kid’s nature activities compiled by the folks at “Take a Child Outside” week. 

The list of splendidly simple ideas for exploring the world beyond the back door gave me a whole new perspective on playing outside, ways to engage and interact with the natural world that never would have dawned on me.

I recently took stock of our craft supply cupboard and realized it’s looking a little paltry.

At one time, I was proud of the run-of-the-mill pipe cleaners, popsicle sticks and multi-colored pom-poms in our craft stash. But that was before a Michaels craft store opened in Waynesville, and now, I find myself wandering the aisles craving must-have craft supplies I was once blissfully ignorant of. 

If you’re lucky enough to stay home this Labor Day weekend, revel in the fact you live somewhere other people — lots of other people — love to visit.

By Friday, droves of tourists will be here. In our house, we approach these prime time tourist weekends the same way others react to the weatherman’s call for a wintery mix: hit the store and stock up while the getting is good, because by Saturday, the inventory of hotdog buns and selection of sweet pickle relish will be severely depleted.  

By Stephanie Wampler

One day last year, I had high hopes for a glorious time at the library. I envisioned smiling children listening attentively to the librarian, singing the innocent songs of childhood, learning all about the world around them. A whole morning would pass so sweetly by. My reality, however, was quite different. There were smiling children with glowing faces and sweet voices, and there was a librarian with a stack of engaging books. But when those children raised their voices in song, my son was not among them. He was curled in a fetal position on the floor, crying.

I’m not sure where home is, but my children know. They’re first-generation mountaineers, which means, should they stay, they’ve got a lot riding on their shoulders. I hope they’re up to it.