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"We can now assume that just as children need good nutrition and adequate sleep, they may very well need contact with nature." Richard Louv, in "Last Child in the Woods: Saving our Children from Nature Deficit-Disorder."

In a society where kids are bombarded with stimuli luring them into an electronic abyss, this "need" for contact with the outdoor world becomes a challenge. My brother is a "gamer" - a big one. He'll go on gaming binges that keep him from seeing the light of day for far longer than he should. I have friends and co-workers who echo a similar story. I never thought twice.

But last year my son Elias was born. Now I think about this - and far too much else - on a regular basis.

So, how do you raise an outdoor child, one that yearns to be out in the elements and understands that blueberries come from backyard bushes and salmon from that place "out the road?"

The answer is simple: Take them into it. Even if it's just for a moment and they're so young they sleep the whole time. Show them the birds and the trees, let them feel the texture of bark and quiz colors using wildflowers. Let them hear water running, cascading over itself. Those simple experiences will take root. And those are the experiences that can never be replicated by video games, nature shows or even text and picture books.

Sure, it won't always be easy. There'll be logistical nightmares, not to mention lost sippy cups, snacks to pack and, in time, meltdowns. Yes, it takes a bit of planning if the destination is anywhere but your backyard. But isn't it worth it?

As young as second grade, I can remember my days being spent lying in the tall fescues of the Montana East Front. I picked alpine forget-me-nots and watched the clouds blow by. A tree my brother and I called the "lying down tree" was our pirate ship, bucking bronco, our secret hideout. We understood many things about nature - like how the Chinook winds arriving in spring meant the disappearance of snow drifts (and the arrival of puddles). We knew the names of common flowers, hunted grasshoppers and knew the shrill call of prairie dogs. Nature to us was not a disappearing rainforest, or a thinning ozone - it was our home away from home.

Since Elias was 6 weeks old, he's accompanied my husband and I on countless runs, hikes (in snow, rain or shine) into the muskeg meadows behind our home and on Nordic skis while he was tucked deep to my chest. And while he slept through most of the first year of outdoor excursions, I think it's paid off.

Now, at fifteen months, he vigorously points "outside," helps us zip his jacket, finds his socks and shoes. He'll pick flowers and gift them to anyone who is near and collects nearly every rock he comes upon. He waves to airplanes passing overhead and points out birdies flitting in the trees.

Perhaps it won't last. Certainly, one day, he'll be making his own decisions about anything and everything. So in the meantime, as parents, as teachers and as lovers of nature, we're taking simple strides to show Elias his world. He'll learn about global warming, about the extinction of species and the environmental challenges that affect our race, all in good time.

But that's not all he'll know. And that's what really matters.