I’ve been obsessed with the outdoors for a good many years now. Hiking, camping, rafting, kayaking, skiing, climbing, you-name-it. It’s a passion that hasn’t diminished one bit. In fact, it has grown stronger with age. I often reflect on the source of this outdoors obsession. And all signs point to my Dad.

As a little kid I remember Dad loading up the family and taking us on vacation. For one precious week each summer (that was all the time off Dad got in those days), we’d escape the urban environs of New Jersey for the beautiful Berkshires of western Massachusetts. When we weren’t doing the typical vacation things, lounging about the pool or playing tourist, Dad would take me out exploring in the surrounding woods and fields… for birds and butterflies, salamanders and frogs. Every trail, every pond, every little stream was a new world full of adventure. What was under that rock, behind that tree, or around that bend? My curiosity about nature was piqued.

A few years later, we up and moved to Pittsfield, right in the heart of the Berkshires. It was nirvana for a kid like me. There was so much to do! Dad got me involved with the Junior Naturalist Club and the Rock and Mineral Club at the Berkshire Museum. On weekends he would take me bird watching at the Pleasant Valley Wildlife Sanctuary, hiking up on Mount Greylock, and exploring for rocks and minerals in a nearby quarry.

I’ll never forget hiking up the Lulu Brook Trail in the Pittsfield State Forest with Dad early one Saturday morning. This was big hike for me and I was so excited! There we were, Dad and I, packs on our backs, hiking along enjoying the gurgling brook and the beautiful forest. Part way up the trail, we rested on a rock next to the stream and Dad broke out some snacks and a Thermos of coffee. I remember thinking how cool it was hiking with my Dad and being big enough to share a cup of coffee with him. I was an official hiker now!

When I was a teenager we moved to Maine. Dad was slowing down a bit but was still eager to explore our new home. We made numerous trips to Baxter State Park, our favorite place, cooking up beans and hot dogs over the fire, sleeping out in the lean-tos and making forays up Mount Katahdin. Dad never did make it all the way to the top (just beyond Thoreau Spring was his best), but we always had a good time together. My love for the outdoors had become permanent.

It’s funny, but it occurs to me that whenever I would ask Dad to do something outdoors, he would invariably say, “Son, I spent 39 months in World War II marching all over Europe and camping on the ground. I’ve had all the outdoors I need.” But he would always go with me anyway. And all those times I spent in the woods with my Dad, the love for nature and the outdoors he instilled in me—those are very special memories, more so now than ever. He helped shape the person that I am today and I will be forever thankful to him (and Mom too, of course).

My wonderful Dad, Joseph Kish, passed away on November 17, 2004 at a Fort Worth, Texas hospital.

My Dad, Joseph Kish, Sept. 2, 1919 - Nov. 17, 2004.

Dad had been in the hospital for a month. He went in for routine surgery on his colon, but somewhere along the way things went bad, and he developed a respiratory condition that ultimately took him. My brother and I made several frantic flights down to see him during the early part of November. Countless trips back and forth to the hospital with Mom; brief, heart wrenching visits with Dad in the ICU; meals on the run; emotional conversations; restless nights; lots of prayers; many more what-ifs. At one point I returned home convinced that Dad had turned the corner. But it wasn’t to be. I got “the call” the next day. We buried him with military honors five days later.

I never thought it was possible to cry so much, but I have. I may have my game face on, but I’m still a wreck underneath. My Mom is so strong. She’s held up remarkably well for a woman who was married to the same man for 54 years. And my brother Kevin has been solid as a rock. I miss my Dad terribly, we all do. But we’re carrying on with the support of family and friends.

Thank you Dad! For all that you were, for all that you gave to me. My Mom says the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree. I can only hope that that's true.

There’s a sign tacked to a ceiling beam at the Marshall Hotel (a favorite hangout of rafters and kayakers) in The Forks that reads, “Live Well, Laugh Often, Love Much.” They’re words to live by. And for the New Year that’s just hours away, I’ve promised myself--and Dad--to do a whole lot more of that.