Germany, 2024
Our kids had no interest in the animals.
We’d gone to Cologne Zoo after landing in Germany the night before. Dani and I’d thought “a zoo” would be a soft introduction and quiet reward for enduring the travel. We thought we had planned well, but we hadn’t accounted for how much they would need something small and certain.
Instead, the zoo’s playgrounds called out to them. As if by some unspoken draw, they knew they existed before we did. This didn’t surprise us, but the playgrounds themselves did. They were large and dangerous looking—rope bridges, wooden towers, slides too tall for us to follow. The kids played hard, then burned out just as fast. Now, Avery rocked on a spring-mounted animal. Corbin climbed once, then stood at the base pretending he would do it again, but didn’t.
We moved on to the animals anyway.
They moved, played, and wrestled more than we saw at home. We loved it, but the kids hardly noticed. They were only here for the playgrounds.
In this way, we alternated habitats and playgrounds, moving between warm buildings with tropical, swampy, or nocturnal environments, and the cold rain outside.
The forecast had promised us sun and warmth, but it was April after all. The Germans have a phrase: “April does what it wants.” That day, it chose rain. Tomorrow it would snow. Inside the enclosures, though, it was hot. We shed our jackets, then put them back on, wandering at the pace of kids.
We found the first gift store near the big playground across from the elephants. We stopped for French fries when Dani saw it across the way and headed over.
At the store, Corbin gravitated toward a rubber lizard and spider, while Avery went for a stuffed lion. None of this surprised us. Corbin had always loved “spooky” animals—snakes, spiders, and eels—while Avery preferred small, soft things he could carry. Seeing Corbin get a second animal, he then grabbed a small stuffed hippo and shoved it in his pocket in protest.
Each stuffed their pockets with their animals, one hanging out from each side. From that point on, they carried them everywhere. Meals, trains, museums, walks through unfamiliar streets—everything was shared with Lizard and Spider, with Lion and Hippo
For Corbin, they became part of how he moved through the world. When he got snacks, he shared with them. When he felt cold, he told us they were cold. When he didn’t know how to say how he felt, they did.
For Avery, it was simpler. One in each pocket, their heads sticking out, he carried them everywhere.