Now this we could use in Brookfield! Maybe in the rarely-used paths east of the Burr Farm pasture? Behind Gurski, down from the hills toward the now-being-rehabbed barn? Not optimal locations, no, but they could be "learn to" sites — perhaps a contract enterprise, like food services in public parks. A compromise — creating something fun and novel, so local families — and especially our kids — could start to appreciate the natural beauty around us every day.

What I'm talking about are zipline courses, the series of steel cables that the quasi-adventurous attach themselves to, by way of heavy-duty pulleys, carabiners and nylon webbing, in order to fly — aided by gravity — from tree to tree. Think Tarzan, or Robin Hood, or "Avatar" — though the cables are mostly horizontal, fixed, and aren't quite, um, natural. But if not natural, they sure get you close to nature, as I discovered this morning on taking a "canopy tour" here in Honduras. I can't recall the last time I looked down on flying birds, or almost hit a butterfly traveling at 20 miles an hour (me, not the mariposa).

Though I've heard about ziplines for few years, I hadn't tried one out until today. And now I'm a True Believer — not because the zipline in Copan, Honduras, is so exciting (in fact, the thrill factor was minimal), but because this "treetop" view of nature is hard to get. Sure, you can feel immersed in nature while downhill or cross-country skiing; and backpacking; and rock-climbing; and fly-fishing in the middle of nowhere. But to feel the air all around you, suspended in space yet moving briskly with no effort... it's as close to being a bird as you're likely to get (small planes are noisy... but hey, maybe hang-gliding, still near the top of my bucket list). Flying along in the middle of beautiful scenery, you feel you're actually inside the postcards you send home, that no human has been where you've been.

Ziplines have been around awhile, first employed, as far as I can tell from limited internet access (yup, the power goes out a lot down here), in resorts geared toward international travelers. Tourists tend to get bored after a couple days at the beach, or hiking in the mountains... and are often ready to shell out a few bucks for thrills, if it keeps the family occupied. That's certainly the case here in Copan: the ancient Mayan ruins are the major draw, but few people are likely to spend more than a day or two investigating them. And after that... Mother Nature calls, because the Copan valley is beautiful, resembling (you imagine) what parts of Southern California looked like 150 years ago (though more tropical). River, mountains, sun, blue sky, sidewalk cafes, friendly people: maybe you'd wish for a beach... but a zipline will do.

Standing at the first of perhaps 10 lauch sites — usually a tree — your guides help you put on a helmet, a "swami belt" harness that captures each leg and a waist belt that clips onto a carabiner. The carabiner in turn clips onto a pulley assembly the guide attaches to the zipline — and once you put gloves on (specially reinforced with leather grips), you're ready to go. Pick up your feet, stretch out your legs, cross your ankles (for balance) and gravity takes over. Soon you're sailing downwind at a pretty good clip, seeing things as you never could otherwise, and marveling at the freedom created by such a marionette-like system. If you start going uncomfortably fast, or need to brake upon arrival at the next tree, you pull down on the zipline, to immediate effect: there's little sense of danger, and indeed, you'd rather go slowly, in order to drink in the scenery.

Would it be realistic to set up ziplines in the Brookfield area? Probably not: they're not expensive, but the regulatory obstacles are, I suspect, immense. (Even here, I had to initial a liability waiver maybe 10 times.) But I could definitely see zipping around Happy Landings in the spring, looking for bobolink nests or, at summer dusk, watching the lightning beetles come out. Most of the time, yes, I prefer nature untrammeled, untouched, but sometimes it's good to see the familiar in unfamilar ways, to perceive — and feel — the ordinary with new eyes.