275/365 Last Child in the Woods

I'm reading the book, Last Child in the Woods by Richard Louv (I think Richard? I'm actually too lazy to walk into the next room to get the book). It came out a few years back. Its premise is that due to a number of reasons (fear of litigation, the Bogey Man, over-scheduled childhoods, the idea that nature should be left pristine for viewing purposes only, and so forth), children are no longer in touch with nature.

I read these statements and I nod my head. But then I look at my block and I think that even though we are in the city, even though the park across the street is one of those "look, don't touch, unless you're playing on approved fields or equipment" kind of parks, we are doing our very best to allow for this nature connection.

We camp, for starters. The older girls are in girl scouts, and as their leader, I'm making sure they learn about their environment (and not in the distant "save the rainforest" way, but in "this is an edible weed; this is a white oak; these are possum tracks" way). My yard is, due to laziness, mostly in a wild state. No pristine swaths of grass back there. The McAllisters have left toy dump trucks and shovels on the tree lawn for digging. Our kids build, and destroy, and build again, fairy houses--perhaps not the same as building their own treehouse, but they still learn something through this.

A couple of dads hunt. A couple others fish, and take their kids. Fiona will get her hunting course done this summer. We garden. I'm about 5 years away from chickens--that number fluctuates but it's not here yet. But our kids know where food comes from.

Daisy plays with these little centipedes that live in my open compost pile. Both girls know you can eat daylilies, but not Easter lilies. They know poison ivy and they have built dams on creeks and canoed down rivers.

But sitting at Irish dance the other night waiting for Fiona's class to finish, the topic amongst about 8 parents turned to vacations and camping. Many of the people there had camped as kids. I was the only one that still camped. Or had been to a state park even for a day trip.

And I realized this book wasn't for me, the woman with the book of knots sitting on top of the computer desk. And as Lisa put it in the comments over on my other blog, my kids aren't the last children in the woods but perhaps the last children in the world.

We live a good life here. I guess sometimes I forget how good.

Anybody want to live across the street from me?

274/365 Power struggle

Eliza calls just as Daisy and Fiona are getting in the backyard pool. "Do you want to come over?" Fiona asks her. No, she doesn't want to swim. Swam all day Sunday or something like that. Since they're on speaker phone and Daisy craves playmates, begging begins.

"Don't," I tell her. "If she doesn't want to come over, that's fine. Don't whine and beg."

They get off the phone. "I don't understand," Fiona says, my lovely non-game-playing child. Straightforward.

"She probably isn't too interested in swimming," I begin, "and maybe wants to see if she can pull you away from swimming to play on her terms." Maybe not. Maybe I read too much of my own experience into things.

Fiona shrugs. "I like the pool."

Three minutes later, I'm heading out with the phone. Fiona is taking the cover off the pool. The phone rings. Eliza has decided swimming sounds ok.

273/365 Sprinkler!

Mostly interested in trying to fill tiny little water balloons. But there was some running and jumping. And a lot of squealing.

272/365 Gnome

He just wasn't quite ready to bare it all for the sprinkler.

271/365 Ambulance

Just driving by. Lights and sirens on, but no police escort. Just an ambulance. Like always: a fire house is a block away.

270/365 Peony Memory

They're gone, of course, dropped their petals and shriveled up brown. The leaves are still flourishing amongst the hostas and vinca. Mine are "Sarah Bernhardt" according to the catalog they were ordered from. I like the reference if nothing else.

269/365 Spring Evening