Who I Hope Finds These Books

I hope these books find children who already love the outdoors and those who are still waiting to discover that adventure might begin just beyond their own door.

For children who still wonder what might be beyond the next bend

I do not know who will eventually read these books.

I do not know whether a child will discover one on a library shelf, receive it as a gift, or pull it from a backpack during a family trip.

I do not know whether they will read beneath a blanket after bedtime, during a rainy afternoon, or outside with their back against a tree.

There is a great deal about the publishing journey I cannot predict.

But while I write, I still imagine the reader waiting somewhere beyond the page.

Sometimes I picture a child who already spends every possible hour outside.

The kind who turns over rocks to see what lives beneath them. Who follows a creek farther than planned. Who comes home with mud on their shoes, pine needles in their pockets, and a story that takes much longer to tell than the adventure itself.

That child may recognize the world of Journeys Of The Crew immediately.

They may know how a familiar patch of woods can become enormous once the houses disappear behind the trees. They may understand that a fallen log can become a bridge, a shelter, a meeting place, or the boundary of an entire imagined world.

I hope these books find that child.

But I am also writing for another one.

The child who has not gone yet

Somewhere, there is a child who has never slept outside.

They may have never followed a trail beyond sight of a parking lot. They may not know how to read a map, cross a creek, build a fire, or recognize when the weather is beginning to change.

Perhaps no one has shown them.

Perhaps they have never had the opportunity.

Perhaps the outdoors feels like something meant for other families, other places, or people who already know what they are doing.

I hope these books find that child too.

I do not want the Crew’s growing knowledge to make an inexperienced reader feel behind. Tommy, Nate, and Adam do not begin as experts. They learn because they go somewhere, encounter a problem, make decisions, and pay attention to what happens next.

Sometimes they get things wrong.

Sometimes they hesitate.

Sometimes they need help.

Their competence develops gradually because real competence does too.

I hope a child can read their adventures and think, Maybe I could learn that.

Not, I should already know how.

The child who does not feel adventurous

When we describe an adventurous child, it is easy to picture the one who moves first.

The one who runs ahead, climbs highest, speaks confidently, and volunteers before anyone else has finished explaining the problem.

Some children are like that.

Nate often is.

But not every adventure begins with the person who takes the first step.

Some children notice what everyone else walks past.

Some ask the question that prevents a bad decision.

Some remember what the group forgot to pack.

Some need another moment before committing, but once they do, they remain steady.

Tommy, Nate, and Adam each bring something different to The Crew. Murphy does too, although his contribution occasionally involves stealing food or becoming distracted by something no one else can smell.

The group works because they do not all see the world in the same way.

I hope a child who worries recognizes something valuable in Adam.

I hope a quiet observer finds something familiar in Tommy.

I hope a child filled with more confidence than patience laughs with Nate, then grows alongside him.

I hope readers discover that caution is not cowardice, energy is not leadership by itself, and quietness does not mean having nothing to contribute.

There should be more than one way to belong on an adventure.

The child who thinks nothing happens nearby

The Crew does not begin its journey in a distant wilderness.

Their adventure begins close to home.

That matters to me.

Most children cannot choose to travel to mountains, deserts, national parks, or faraway forests. Their world is shaped largely by where they live and where the adults in their lives can take them.

But curiosity does not require a famous destination.

A creek can still deserve attention.

A neighborhood trail can still bend out of sight.

A stand of trees can still hold tracks, weather, changing light, unfamiliar sounds, and questions no one has answered yet.

Adventure often begins when a familiar place is given a second look.

I hope these books find a child who believes nothing interesting happens where they live.

Maybe The Crew will encourage them to look again.

The adults who remember

Although I am writing for young readers, I sometimes imagine an adult reading beside them.

A parent, grandparent, teacher, librarian, aunt, uncle, or family friend may remember when an afternoon seemed to last forever.

They may remember a creek that felt wider than it probably was, a trail that seemed to disappear into another world, or a patch of trees that became the setting for a hundred different adventures.

I do not think children need to recreate someone else’s childhood.

The world has changed. Families are different. Opportunities are different. Not every child has safe access to the same kinds of places.

But the ability to become curious about the world has not disappeared.

Perhaps an adult will finish a chapter and tell a story they have not thought about in years.

Perhaps they will take a child outside and let them choose which direction to walk.

Perhaps they will pause beside something small instead of hurrying past it.

That would matter to me too.

What I hope remains

I hope readers enjoy the stories.

I hope they laugh when Murphy behaves like Murphy. I hope they wonder what lies farther down the trail. I hope they occasionally promise themselves they will stop after one more chapter and then fail to do so.

But when the adventure is over, I hope something remains.

Maybe they pay closer attention to the ordinary places around them.

Maybe they understand that confidence grows from preparation rather than pretending not to be afraid.

Maybe they recognize that the person who notices, the person who questions, and the person who acts all have something important to offer.

Maybe they begin to see the outdoors as a place they can enter carefully, respectfully, and with a desire to understand it.

I do not know whether that reader already spends every afternoon outside or has never followed a trail beyond sight of the parking lot.

I do not know whether they will recognize themselves in Tommy, Nate, Adam, or in the dog currently disappearing into the woods with someone’s hot dog.

I only hope that when they meet The Crew, something feels possible.

Maybe they close the book and look toward the nearest patch of woods a little differently.

Maybe they begin to wonder what they have been walking past.

That is who I hope finds these books.

Continue the Journey

For more about the kind of childhood adventure at the heart of the series, read Why Adventure Doesn’t Need Dragons.

To see how the members of The Crew experience those adventures differently, read No One Sees the Whole Trail.