The Toy Bag

The process to passenger

I woke up and looked down to the other end of the bed.

The girls were already up, fidgeting with something, whispering about golden sparkles, going to the pool, and tea time. I look over Elisa’s shoulder and she had a handful of hair bands. Hair bands? I was astounded. While I turn my eyes to the mundane and meaningless of social media and notifiations, my daughters are playing make-believe with some colored elastics.

For these two kids, moving into a van is a big transition, from having hundreds of toys collected over three years of living in Bogotá, Colombia, to a life with one favorite stuffed animal and a hodgepodge of little plastic characters, a Peppa-Pig pocket puzzle, and handful of small games. Downsizing is the mounds of plastic brings pleasure and relief; in the van, toys are few, there is a Moana floating around, a family of bright colored ponies has already gone missing, a couple bite-sized paw patrols dogs under the seats, and a fairy, left in Baños, (Ecuador).

Back in the apartment, the average toy, by itself, meant little to these girls. And over time, the plastic piled up. After each plaything had been properly anthropomorphized by a 5-year-old and then by a 2-year-old, it’s off to the orange bucket. If you’ve seen Toy Story, you know what I’m talking about. Yes, there is sometimes a Woody, but there is a helluva a lot of landfillers.

Before setting off, in the midst of moving, we took it seriously, this ceremony of toy reduction. Elisa chose the one big toy and several small toys she would put into her backpack. The play-kitchens, and oversized stuffed animals would not be making the overland trip. The toys were divided again, between that which would be sent back to Utah and the toys donated to a foundation in Bogotá for under supported children.

Since then, the fact there are fewer toys has made these toys even more special, objects of comfort for the nomadic children. And then you include the objects they acquire along the way. An artist in Putumayo gave each of them a small flute and a maraca. Lucia, collects rocks, not only in her pockets but I find them in my jacket and in my climbing bag. Sticks often make 1–2 day journeys before being dumped and forgotten. A good stick is hard to find, ask my daughter.

At least it’s not plastic. Finding nature’s toys is a healthy endeavor. It means, they have their eyes open to the natural world, and quickly learn that toys are not the only things that shine. The art of finding insects requires new levels of hunting and bravery. And when I take the girls to the crag, these “old friends”, the family of ponies, Moana, and the fairy make for good playmates. Lucia’s first time rock climbing was merely an attempt to rescue a blue pony from a crack in the volcanic basalt.

Along the road, we end up staying with friends, park the van, and move into the guestroom for a night or two. Many of these homes are full of toys, by the bucket-load. These toy heaven stops recharge the girls’ needs for new playthings. And then when we get back on the road, the creative minds are unleashed, everything appears to be something to be played with. Saltshakers are castle towers, the curtains are hammocks, and plastic bottles are submarines. And if they can turn a handful of hairbands into a tea party, the issue of having bored children is not a lack of toys, rather it was a case of having too many toys.