The Bone Collector
Summer Through an Eight-Year-Old's Eyes
One of summer’s greatest gifts is time with a child. Children have a remarkable way of restoring our sense of wonder. They remind us of that magical season of life when every feather is a treasure, every chipmunk deserves observation, and every star overhead feels like a personal invitation to dream.
We adults often say childhood was the time when the world was our oyster. But was it? Or did we simply stop noticing the pearls that continued to surround us?
This summer, Gary and I have the joy of hosting our grandchildren one week at a time: a week with our grandson Jaxson, a week with our granddaughter Addie, and finally a week with both of them together. Their parents gain dependable childcare, the children enjoy uninterrupted time with their grandparents, and we receive the greatest gift of all: seeing the world through young eyes again.
This past first week belonged to eight-year-old Jaxson. To call him curious would be an understatement. He approaches each day like an explorer convinced there is still undiscovered territory just beyond the next pine tree.
We included his two cents in our planning session of meals and activities. It was a much quicker process than I’d expected for planning meals and activities. His breakfast request was immediate: Opa’s “World Famous” Danish pancakes. Beyond that, his agenda was simple. Build Legos. Explore outside. Play. Repeat.
Getting Jaxson outdoors has never required encouragement. He seems built for another era, one that existed before endless scrolling and twenty-four-hour entertainment. Fishing, playtime at the local pool, kayaking, splashing through mountain streams, or simply wandering the woods are all equally appealing. Living in the Colorado mountains, we’ve learned that nature often provides better entertainment than anything money can buy.
Over the years, Jaxson has earned a nickname around our house: The Bone Collector. Our four-acre property is dotted with pine trees, steep hillsides, granite outcroppings, and lichen-covered boulders. Hidden among them are the treasures he patiently searches for: antlers, feathers, eggshells, deer skulls, fox bones, intact spines, and whatever other relics nature chooses to reveal. One prized addition to the collection isn’t from the forest at all, but the shell from one of Opa’s birthday lobsters.
His greatest discovery remains an entire animal skeleton, perfectly intact. Many adults might wrinkle their noses at such finds. Jaxson sees something entirely different. Every feather tells a story. Every bone is a mystery waiting to be solved. Not all the wildlife on our property resides in the immortal realm.
A well-worn copy of Sibley’s Backyard Birds of the Rocky Mountain States often accompanies him outdoors like a field guide to hidden treasure. Lately, he has become especially fascinated with the tiny Pine Siskin.
Plenty of other living creatures grace, and occasionally torment, our mountain home. Chipmunks and garter snakes dart through the rocks. Squirrels perform daily acrobatics. Birds fill the trees with song. Deer, elk, bobcats, foxes, and even the occasional lynx wander through our yard.
Every now and then, a black bear joins the guest list. One such visitor stopped by this week, sinking its teeth into our seed feeder before happily slurping the sugary nectar from the hummingbird feeder. Since then, our evening routine has changed. Along with locking the doors and turning off the lights, we now bring the bird feeders inside before heading to bed.
When he isn’t outside, he’s usually building. This visit’s project was a NASA Artemis Space Launch System Lego set containing more than 600 pieces. Hour after hour, rockets, launch towers, and tiny spacecraft gradually emerged from hundreds of colorful bricks. Watching the pieces slowly become something meaningful reminded me why I enjoy puzzles so much myself.
His snack choices are equally refreshing. Apples, preferably yellow ones, top the list. Watching a child eagerly reach for fresh fruit instead of brightly packaged snacks brings me an unreasonable amount of joy. Combined with his constant motion, it’s no surprise he is lean, strong, and blessed with the kind of energy adults spend fortunes trying to recapture.
One of his more unexpected fascinations this visit has been an old emergency radio tucked away in our garage. It runs on a hand crank and includes a small solar panel. To Jaxson, it might as well be cutting-edge technology. He cranks the handle, slowly tunes the dial, and celebrates each station that crackles into focus.
Watching him discover the simple pleasure of finding a radio signal transported me back to my own childhood, walking around the house with my mother’s tiny transistor radio and feeling wonderfully independent because I could choose my own music. Some experiences never grow old. Others quietly disappear.
Our biggest challenge this week has been books. Unlike Legos, fishing poles, or bird guides, reading still requires encouragement. Earlier this year, Gary and I wrote and published Jaxson and the Growing Spark, a children’s book inspired by him. We’ve taken him to the library and helped him choose books about subjects he genuinely enjoys, particularly action stories and Lego creations.
His analytical mind already thinks like an engineer. He dreams of designing robots someday. The reading skills needed to reach that dream simply haven’t caught up with his imagination yet.
As lifelong readers and writers, we naturally hope he discovers the same joy in books that has shaped our lives. But every child follows a different timeline, and perhaps wonder is the first chapter. Reading will come later.
As evening settles over the lake, deer and wild turkeys wander through the property with comforting regularity. We keep a watchful eye on our young explorer as dusk deepens, knowing mountain lions begin their nightly rounds.
Eventually, bedtime arrives. The guest room sits empty while Jaxson happily unrolls his sleeping bag on the floor beside our bed. We call overnight stays ‘slumber parties.’ Armed with a cup of water and complete contentment, he consistently falls asleep within minutes.
The little boy who once greeted every sunrise now somehow sleeps later than every adult in the house. Apparently, collecting wonder is exhausting work. Each morning, he wakes ready to do it all again.
As I watched him disappear into the woods one more time, I realized he wasn’t simply collecting bones, feathers, and rocks. He was collecting wonder.
Somewhere along the road to adulthood, many of us traded curiosity for efficiency. We stop examining feathers. We quit looking under rocks. We forget to notice the stars overhead because we’re too busy checking the forecast on our phones.
The world never stopped being a treasure chest. Sometimes it simply takes an eight-year-old to remind us where to look.
I love this story, Karen. "He is collecting WONDER." ❤️