Sunday afternoons are perfect for geocaching. Today, my dad and I hiked through a spider-infested forest and then through a mosquito-infested field and into a bee-infested forest to find a cache that was mostly filled with business cards. I signed the log book while my dad rummaged through the junk and found a tiny toy triceratops worth rescuing. (We left behind a Hot Wheels car, so the melting plastic giraffe wouldn't get lonely.)
It's a new adventure every time we head out, and that is hands-down my second-favorite part. I love that we find new parks, new trails, new waterfalls, and new birds and flowers and insects and trees. My heart still skips a beat when I think about the great blue heron that nearly collided with my face on its way out of the river we were crossing. Majestic and thoroughly terrifying. (We also see a lot of bunnies and deer and other critters fit to befriend a Disney princess, so it's not all scary.)
The absolute best part, though, is that I get to go with my dad. I know that sounds monumentally sappy, but the truth is that he and I are both workaholics and hermits. It takes a lot to tear us away from our laptops, even for the sake of family and friends, so this ritual of going outside to walk around in nature and make up silly stories and talk about books—it's near and dear to my heart, and I hope we get to keep doing this for a really long time.