The man on the screen has slung a hammock tent between two posts and loaded it up with bags of concrete, to show how much it can hold. He pokes his head above the mountain of mounds, the hammock defiantly taut, while a caption reads, “Do not try this at home.” The Kickstarter for the new ultralight version of Haven Tents’ outdoor sleeping system (“better sleep than your bed at home”) is underway, and my kid declares that he has found the camp setup of his dreams.
His dad and I roll our eyes. It seems like a scam. A gimmick. What’s wrong with a tent, on the ground, which we already have three of? Why would someone be raising money for their product launch on Kickstarter instead of going to the bank?
We were shaped as Outdoor Lifestylers and professionals in a different ecosystem—one where Outside Magazine, the Mountain Equipment Co-op, and topographic maps in waterproof bags and print guidebooks were north stars.
Cut to 2025. Every niche culture has evolved, digitized, memeicized, and pandemic-supersized, leaving me holding the same cook-set and insulated mug from 30 years ago. Must-have accessories shifted from multitools and headlamps to USB rechargeable lighters, flat pack solar panels, and tents on the rooftops of cars.
My guide in this new world is my kid. And this was prophesied to me, long before I even contemplated contaminating lifestyle with family.
I don’t know if impending climate collapse has put a pause on older generations asking young couples this, but we got one question a lot: “When are you having kids?”
It was always awkward to answer. Telling clients you’d been babysitting for that a day with their children was very effective contraception didn’t seem likely to induce a generous tip.
So, I was delicate but honest when the older woman at the heliskiing lodge asked.
“Um, it doesn’t look very compatible with my lifestyle goals,” I confessed.
She was a massage therapist, her partner a heli-guide, and they spent months at a time living at remote lodges in the mountains. And, they’d done it with kids.
She listened thoughtfully, then replied that, in her experience, having children didn’t ruin your lifestyle. They gave it back to you, because just as you are subsiding in your skill and strength and upward trajectory in your sports, they’re coming into their own, and you derive contact joy and inspiration from their enjoyment. She seemed to be saying that not only was it fun to pass the torch, but it gave you back some spark, too.
I’d literally never heard that before.
Not inclined to take our word for anything, my kid scoured the internet, watching video gear reviews, making his own assessments on a range of tents, hammock tents, pads, sleeping bags, camping pillows—all the gear he’d need for a summer of camping, a week at ancestral skills camp and a five-day through-hike.
He did not convince me that a hammock tent was a legitimate offering. It struck me as a bastard child of two otherwise incompatible outdoor nests, but happily, Haven Tents’ founder Derek Tillotson accepted my suggestion that I’m the analogue equivalent of an influencer and sent us a second to try.
Second or not, the Haven proved to be the real thing, and all the inducement needed for kiddo to log at least 14 nights so far sleeping strung between two trees. Everyone who’s seen it set up has been duly impressed, and the lad, fully versed in all its nuances, has given multiple tours more compelling than any sales clerk. Thus, we’ve all spent more nights outside, just for the joy of sleeping under an open sky and setting up your gear.
It’s hard to acknowledge that you’re becoming crusty and rigid in your thinking, especially around topics that you feel “expert” in. It’s like your otherwise neuroplastic brain has become coated in a plaque made up of hubris, confirmation bias, sunk investment costs, and risk aversion built up with every bad-luck tale you’ve absorbed. Someone else’s enthusiasm can be the grease the old thinking patterns need…
This is what the woman at the lodge was telling me. We pass on our passions to the next generation as parents, grandparents, aunties, teachers, guides, coaches, and they then reframe them for us, by having different approaches, different relationships with technology, different language, and gift them back, afresh, sometimes unrecognizable, but definitely revitalized. It’s evolution. Not as a survival of the fittest, or the one who can grip onto their ideas of right and wrong the hardest, but of the ones most willing to listen to the next generation, the ones who prove best willing to adapt.
Lisa Richardson is a longtime contributor to Pique whose writing, journalling workshops, yoga classes and other random contributions are fuelled by her deep gratitude for place and desire to contribute to greater community resilience.
