There's a phrase that’s become popular over past few years that fills me with wonder. That phrase is "quality time." We've all heard it, and we all seem to accept it as a real concept. But to average country person, that phrase is difficult to comprehend.

Here's what I mean. Last summer, my 10-year-old son Cody and I spent an entire day walking fields, checking fences. When we saw a post that needed straightening or a strand of wire that needed to be tightened, we set right to work. Sweat poured across our faces, our shirts grew soaked from hard work we were engaged in. But as we strained against task at hand, we talked about his little league baseball team and how he could improve his hitting to opposite field.

Then, as we walked a little farther down fence line, we laughed till we cried when a covey of quail nearly gave us a heart attack as they exploded out of grass in front of us. We heard amazingly varied call of a cardinal in woods off to our right. We saw two red-tailed hawks circling lazily over our heads, and marveled at how they could see field mice at such a height.

My parents visited from Oregon this summer, and we saw more of Iowa than we'd seen in all years since our own arrival. It was a perfect excuse to visit places we'd been meaning to see, but somehow had never gotten to. But pace began to take a toll on my kids and yesterday my son began to complain. In my "philosophical father" voice, I said, "Just relax and enjoy yourself. We're on vacation."

"I can't," he lamented, "I'm DYING from vacation!"

I instantly flashed back to my own childhood, and I understood exactly what he was saying. There are times when every kid feels like he's dying from vacation. For me, those times usually began about three days after school was out for summer. I joyfully kicked off my shoes after I'd leaped off school bus for final time. Except for church and an occasional trip to town, those shoes and I would remain strangers rest of summer.

During first two days of vacation, I could feel chains of structure and obligation begin to melt away. Summer stretched out before me like an endless promise. But on third day, novelty began to wear off. (This was long before kids went to an endless series of camps, played little league soccer, summer basketball, baseball, volleyball and gymnastics. You stayed home and lived by your wits until back-to-school time finally rolled back around.)