We pulled over to the side of the road once we caught sight of a bridge overlooking a thickly wooded ravine. The sturdy bridge was broad and spacious enough that onlookers wandered from side to side, gazing at the beautiful scenery. The steep-sided ravine, with densely packed forage and closely arranged trees, was undoubtedly home to an array of wildlife. However, the birds were the creatures that were active and capturing attention that day.

This was just one of many stops during our adventure spanning over 500 miles in and around Yellowstone. The goal was Junior Ranger status for the kids, not an easy accomplishment, as we learned when our proud Junior Rangers received their badges. Traveling together, parents, grandparents, and children—eight in all, we piled out of the SUV, as we had often done over the last several days.

I do not remember whether this stop was spontaneous or part of the carefully planned itinerary. But I do know it was one of my most memorable, as simple as it was.

Beside me, walking along the bridge, was my oldest son, then nine years old. We were, at times, looking down at the ravine and then glancing up at the tall trees rooted in the steep incline that continued high above bridge level. Birds were chirping and swiftly flitting from tree to tree. Not to be outdone was the graceful flight of soaring birds of prey, occasionally landing in the treetops.

The bridge was not long, and we had barely reached the middle when my son, glancing up, exclaimed, “Hey, Mom, there’s an Osprey.”

I want to say I believed he had correctly identified the bird. At the moment, I was just happy he was trying to classify. And I would like to say I was not completely surprised when a gentleman stepped toward where we were standing, raised his binoculars, and stated, “Yep, he’s right.”

I had not seen the bird. I had failed to track much wildlife my son had pointed out during his short life. I believed he thought he saw it, and I felt sometimes he did see it. I was simply pleased that he was looking and not worried quite so much about accuracy at that stage. But my doubts began to change from that day forward.

I learned later my son had seen the Osprey in flight until it landed in a tree well off in the distance. The gentleman took an interest in my son and began a conversation with him, pointing out other birds as his party came over.

I moved on to my other children. After a bit, I glanced back at my son, still in conversation, when I had another surprise. One of the party had retrieved the largest scope I had ever seen for nature watching. It was nearly as tall as my son. After setting up the scope on a tripod, he was kind enough to explain the scope and allowed my son to peer through it.

On leaving, I rejoined my son, leaned over toward him, and asked incredulously, “How did you know that?”

“The Audubon books, Mom.” He stated it so matter-of-factly as if that easily answered my question. I thought that just flipping through the National Audubon Society Field Guide to Birds would not have been enough. He clearly had been studying the guide.

As we drove through the twists and turns of the forest road on our return, I reflected on a decision I fell upon more than made a few years before. I had been drawn to the idea of education through “real books,” as they are called, instead of textbooks. Full books on singular topics are written by authors passionate about their subject devoting untold hours in their pursuit. Textbooks, on the other hand, by nature, devote minimal time to a slew of various topics. Although valuable as an outline for subject matter, details are minimal.

The National Audubon Society Field Guide to Birds qualified as such a “ real book.” And at that moment, the uncertainty that I had felt about choosing a different pathway melted away, providing me with confidence that I had made a good decision to teach with a concentration on real books. And as my husband and I moved forward in taking full responsibility in educating our children, such moments of clarity were repeated many times over throughout the years.

And to this day, the Osprey holds a special place in my heart. I can envision the experience as if it was yesterday. My son’s siting and identifying of the Osprey reflected that first moment in time when it became clear to me that the difficult choice to take a road less traveled was reaping benefits.