My Nature Deficit

I recently borrowed ‘Last Child in the Woods’ from the library.  I found it very eye-opening as to how disconnected from nature I myself am.  At one point the author mentions a woman who loved the nature descriptions in J.R.R. Tolkien.  He goes on to quote one of her favorite passages.  I found myself skimming the paragraph waiting for something real to read. I made myself reread the passage.  I still didn’t really ‘read it’.  In fact after three attempts I not only can’t tell you what he was describing, I don’t care.  That is shockingly terrible! 

I am a mother, a teacher, and a tree hugger.  How could I possibly not enjoy nature!  Well it is one of many inconsistencies in me, one of the worst, which I usually try to keep secret.  After reading the first three parts of ‘Last Child in the Woods’  I decided I might not be the only adult with no knowledge, no connection, and no real love of nature.  Oh I am as ecologically minded as any proper gen Xer.  I recycle, I reuse, and I even reduce much of my consumption.  I scoff at folk who drive to destinations less than a mile away; combine my own driving trips to save on gas, and wish I could afford a more ecological car.  I pack lunches in reusable containers.  I even use cloth diapers.  And yet I have no idea the name of the trees in my own backyard. 

On the one hand I want to be willing to sit on the dirty ground, lean against a tree, and drink from  a fresh spring.  But on the other hand, every time I set foot outside I have to constantly squelch the internal voice telling me it isn't safe, it isn't clean, and it is full of germs and bacteria.  Well the truth is, it is full of germs and it isn't clean, but it turns out that dirty is good for you.  On the one hand I want a vegetable garden, both to save money and for the education of it.  Yet I wont even eat the wild blackberries that grow here.  Intellectually I know they would be good for me.  As of yet the kids still think I just don't want to take away from their own treat.

Somewhere along the line my brain, which is evolutionarily hardwired for nature, has become so disconnected that the very thing that should soothe my soul, causes anxiety.  How did this happen, and more importantly, how do I make sure it doesn't happen to my children?  I have been actively seeking out ways to help my children learn more about nature, and forcing myself to become more used to it.  I have also been looking at my childhood, seeing where it might have led me astray.

I have never built a fort, a treehouse, or even a fairy castle.  I never even floated a leaf or bark boat on a pond or stream.    I have never hunted, fished, (I shudder at the mere thought of touching a worm) or caught a frog.  No bug has ever entered my home and lived to tell the tale.  Never a single firefly have I caught.  I won’t say I never saw a firefly, but I can say I often forget they are magical.  After all they come out at twilight, when mosquitoes abound, and the safe thing to do is come indoors. 

I was taught never to play with sticks; I wonder if little Johnny caveboy had listened would we ever have learned to hunt?  I was taught to leave nature outside at all times; I wonder if little Janie cavegirl had listened to that, would we have ever learned to weave baskets? 

Now don’t get me wrong, I am aware that sticks can hurt, but maybe the greater harm is in having a child grow up disconnected with nature and unwilling to experiment with it.  I also know allergies are a big drive in keeping nature outdoors.  I myself am allergic to the world at large.  I hope I don’t pass on that trouble to my children.  I hope that allowing them to be in nature more, and keeping a slightly messy house, will help.  (Well the messy house might be due to laziness, but honest there is research backing me up)

For a short time I had access to a large farm.  I spent lots of time walking through the forest, or hiking up and down ravines, and over creeks.  I didn't play with the sticks, and I didn't climb the trees, or bring anything home.  I did however find  peace in many places.  By then I had already developed a distaste for dirt.  So long as the dirt stayed mostly on my shoes, I was happy to wander.  I occasionally forced myself to sit down, or lean against trees.  And of course I had to move branches to get by in places.  I am grateful for that short time when nature was so close.  It gave me a chance to overcome my germ and dirt anxiety for a time.

When that opportunity went away, I was busy with work and life. For a time I completely ignored nature (except to recycle of course).  There just wasn't any need to be in nature.  I didn't think I was missing anything until I had children.

I find myself constantly wincing when out and about with my kids.  The touch worms, even dead ones.  They turn over rocks and search for creepy crawly things.  A stick becomes a lightsaber, a bow, or the beginnings of a dam.  They come inside with dirt in their hair, crusted on their arms, and even some sneaking in their ears.  Really how do boys get so much dirt on them?  I have two girls who love the outdoors; yet they can spend twice as long outside, and still come in with less dirt than the boys!  

While I cringe internally at all this nature, I try to show no fear outwardly.  I want my children to feel connected to nature.  I want them to know and love the trees they hug.  In fact an actual willingness to hug one might be good.  You know without the shudder at the bugs, moss and sticky sap.

Is it enough to send them out, and hide my own disconnect?  Is there more I could be doing for them?  I don't know, but I keep looking for new ideas.  Time will tell if it is enough.  One day I will have a grandchild, and then I can find out if my kids let them get dirty, or caution them against exploration.