As a little kid, fishing was something that filled my summer weekends. We lived close to the Potomac River on the West Virginia and Maryland border. So whenever the chance arrived, my dad, older brother and I would load up the car as the sun came up, filling it with gear, snacks and a new bait that promised to "definitely get the big one this time." We'd quickly make our way to the river to claim a good spot and set up camp for the day.

Fishing, however, was not something that could keep my attention for too long at that age. So when the thrill of bringing in the the big carp had passed, I would lose myself in the surroundings of the river. Relics of old bridges rose from the middle of the water as whitecaps broke nearby. Birds chased above as sunfish chased below. And rocks practically begged to be skipped as far as possible. The river was packed full of "things" that fueled my imagination in a way playgrounds never could.

Only after living in New York City many years later did I realize the importance of being in nature and how crucial those fishing trips were, even if I never caught the "big one."