Columnist Susan Snyder: Youngster shows sage wisdom

Tuesday, Dec. 4, 2001 | 8:19 a.m.

Susan Snyder's column appears Tuesdays, Sundays and Fridays. Reach her at snyder@lasvegassun.com or 259-4082.

Bryant Mohan is a good teacher.

He's 4 and doesn't start school for real until next year. But I learned a thing or two from him during the Thanksgiving holiday weekend.

Bryant lives in California with his mom and dad and little brother. His parents and I were newspaper reporters in Tampa, Fla., in what seems like a lifetime ago. We braved deadlines, hurricanes, marriages, divorces and some serious hangovers. Basically, we grew up together.

Their travels brought them back within visiting distance, which means I finally got to meet the fruits of their labor (her labor?). The day after The Big Eats we all headed to Sandstone Canyon in Spring Mountain Ranch State Park for a little hiking and history.

Bryant slept soundly in his car seat all the way out there.

"Those mountains are steep," he exclaimed as we peeled him from the van in the parking lot. "Are we going all the way up there?"

"Nope," I said, bracing for an ensuing grumble.

But there wasn't one. Bryant simply shrugged as if to say, "Another day, perhaps," and trotted off toward the park.

Hiking with a 4-year-old isn't so much hiking as it is strolling. In meandering up the dirt road to the park's historic buildings, I got lost in the view and completely forgot to show Bryant the woodpecker holes in the cottonwood tree.

And he was busy situating himself on his mother's petite shoulders as we walked past the valley's second-oldest buildings -- too busy for falderol about blacksmiths and Paiute wives.

"My little legs get tired," he explained, squirming into place.

Well, maybe hikes are more about journeys than destinations anyway.

We lingered at Lake Harriet, where Bryant tossed in a couple of rocks. He wanted to toss more, but we grown-ups wanted to push on. Darkness approached. We wanted to "finish" the hike.

We saw burros, a couple of cottontail rabbits and a covey of quail.

"There aren't any ringtail lemurs here, though," Bryant said, as we walked back. "Because this isn't Madagascar."

And he would know. His mother says he loves geography. He knows about Antarctica and can find Uzbekistan on a map. I can't do that.

As we neared the lake, Bryant tossed a rock into the cattails. His mother told him to stop. A few seconds later when one of the grown-ups asked why, Bryant piped up and said you can't go tossing rocks into the bushes "because you might hit somebody's nest."

We stopped at the lake long enough to the amuse adults, then headed back to the cars. In retrospect, we should have skipped more rocks and taken fewer steps.

I hadn't shown Bryant a single thing I intended, but one of us still learned a lot.

Sleep when you can.

The mountains may be too steep to climb today, but there is always tomorrow.

If the journey makes you tired, ask for help.

Knowing where you aren't is as important as knowing where you are.

Don't throw rocks if you can't see who you might hit.

And if the path ahead is darkening, maybe it's best to stop where you are, toss few rocks in the water and be happy with where you ended up today.

There is always tomorrow.