I’ve been mulling the meaning of ‘adventure’ lately due to this post over at travelbabbo.com. Google tells me that it descends from latin roots meaning ‘to come, arrive’ initially. I like that because when we start out down a wooded path and then come out of the trees, arriving at our destination, the possibilities seem endless.
Which feeling is conveyed in the 11th century adjustment of the word to ‘chance occurrence’ or ‘about to happen’. And that is what we found as we walked down to shore. What had never been there before, and was gone the next time we visited, we happened upon, by chance, this time.
And then in the 13th century, ‘adventure’ took on a new connotation, ‘accounts of marvelous things’. ‘A wonder’.
Which is precisely the reaction we all had to these structures. Amazement at what seemingly emerged out of the empty landscape. The only sign of human presence, albeit absent.
Built and left. For someone else to discover or, with the entropic nature of the universe, to disintegrate into a giant game of Pick-up sticks.
And then the unexpected nature of it. Adventure. Something that occurs by chance, fortune or luck.
Did they feel lucky to find a working payphone (no cell service back here, so free for emergencies).
“How does it work!?” “Can we get one in our yard?” We each got to make a call. Novel indeed.
So I suppose for me, adventure means to wander out into the world and notice, wonder at and relish in the unexpected. Which with children in the lead, means you only need to get them out and follow their lead. They are full of wonder and relish.