I remember a family vacation from around the time I was 10 or 12 years old. My parents were involved in aviation and farm service and summer vacations were relatively rare. It was easier for our father to take time away from work during the winter. However, with a household of school-age children, summer vacations did occur. This particular trip was not taken by airplane, but rather was a small road trip. We drove from Montana to Colorado, returning through South Dakota for a visit to the Black Hills. We had been to the Black Hills before and were familiar with some of the attractions, but there was something different about this particular trip: fog.

We tried twice on different days to see Mount Rushmore, but both days the fog was too thick to see the carved mountain from the visitor’s center. In my memory the high point of the trip was swimming at Evans Plunge in Hot Springs, but I also have a clear memory of being at the visitor’s center of the National Monument straining to make out some understanding of the giant faces that were so close, but remained unseen.

Now, having live in the hills for 25 years of my life, I know that there are foggy days in the hills. Because the hills rise significantly higher than the surrounding landscape, clouds are occasionally trapped by the rising land and remain for a short time. Fog can be quite variable in the hills. There were days when we rose to bright sunshine and blue skies at our house and drove through dense fog on our way to the church and arrived to a gloomy low overcast. There were other days when it was foggy at home but not so at the church.

In South Dakota, however, if you didn’t like the weather, all you had to do was wait. Although I remember multiple foggy days in a row during my childhood vacation, such weather is really very rare in the hills. It is more common for a foggy morning to yield to a sunny afternoon. A clam day can become blustery in a few hours. Rapid changes in temperatures and weather conditions are common.

The fog here is somehow different from what we experienced in South Dakota. This time of the year, when temperatures are low, banks of fog form over the ocean and a slight breeze will bring them over the adjacent land like a blanket. Many days the sunshine will heat the fog enough that it lifts and visibility returns. On other days, however, the fog acts like a bit of insulation and the temperature remains the same through the whole day.

We’ve had quite a bit of fog in the past couple of days. On Sunday the fog was so thick that I couldn’t see the pilings and dock as the ferry pulled up to our island destination, but our return a few hours later was made under bright sunny skies. Yesterday, however, the fog lingered all day. It would be thicker at times and thinner at others, but there was fog all day long.

I went to the farm in the afternoon to meet the school bus while our son was at work and our daughter in law was running a few errands. The bus pulled up on time, its bright flashing lights reflecting off the fog and lighting up the whole area. Meeting the school bus, especially on days when our granddaughters don’t expect us to be the ones waiting, is a treat for the soul of an old grandfather. I get a couple of warm hugs as the girls bound from the bus. The driver gives me a warm greeting.

The century-old farmhouse is a bright center on a foggy day. Although on sunny days the windows make the kitchen bright, on foggy days there are plenty of electric lights to make the whole farmhouse glow with an inviting warmth and light.

Yesterday the younger granddaughter headed for a snack first. I remember well the stage in the lives of our children when they were hungry and needed to eat as soon as the school day ended. The work of school consumes a lot of energy and a body needs fuel. I also think that some children are far more interested in the social aspects of school lunch than the food. When I ask what our grandchildren ate for lunch the answer is often a much lighter meal than my typical noontime repast. Out came pretzels and yogurt and some kind of crunchy cereal.

Only one of the granddaughters was hungry, however. The other sat at the same dining table, but quickly pulled out paper and colored pencils and pens and began to draw. She was intent on drawing a four frame cartoon. “Art that tells a story,” she declared. She worked on her art, not pausing for a snack until her mother and brothers arrived a little while later.

The simple joy of having time with our grandchildren is something that I don’t think I fully understood until I reached this phase of my life. It isn’t that I am bored. I have lots of activities to fill my days. I have a list of uncompleted projects that could clearly keep me busy for years to come. And it isn’t that I am starved for contact with other people. I had a two-hour meeting with colleagues from around the country yesterday. I exchanged meaningful email correspondence with several folks. I made a trip to town and had pleasant conversation with clerks in a couple of different stores. My wife is a delightful and very interesting conversation partner.

There is, however, something unique and wonderful about the gift of time with children. Their lives are quite different than my childhood experiences. It seems that there are always new things that I can learn from them.

Sometimes, in church meetings, we speak of the importance of intergenerational experiences as if they were programs that benefitted only children. In this time of fewer children in our churches, congregations are eager to seek programs that are meaningful for children. I know, however, that intergenerational experiences are just as vital and important to seniors as they are to children. Fortunately for me, I have grandchildren to prove the point.