There's A Bustle In My Hedgerow...

When I was mowing the weed patch I pretend is grass this morning, there was a bustle in my hedgerow.  I wasn’t alarmed, now.  I knew it wasn’t a spring clean for the May queen.  It was just my Carmen chasing the butterfly that she first spotted while sitting in nearby tree.

So, as these things work for me, my brain cranked into overdrive.  All of my best thinking happens in the shower, while doing dishes, mowing the lawn.  Tedium frees the brain, I think.  Of course, it helps when Led Zeppelin replaces the Spongebob Squarepants theme song as the day’s earworm.

Thinking about my youngest daughter’s natural love and attraction to, well, Nature, reminded me of the young girl I used to know.  The girl who chased her own butterflies…and fireflies…and waterfalls (which is a great idea, despite what TLC may have said about it).  I realized I miss her.  She’s still in here, somewhere, but she’s been hidden by the weeds of life.

I spent so much of my childhood in a tent.  Later, we upgraded to a pop-up camper, but most weekends were spent piling into the station wagon for a drive to a lake or river or KOA campground (they might even have a pool!) for a bit of fresh air and adventure.  We built fires, tromped though mud, splashed in whatever water was handy, rode bikes, and scratched poison ivy.  It was wonderful, and I imagine that when I’m 99.5 years old, these are the memories that will still be with me.

Knowing what I know now, I know how hard my mother worked to do these things.  The boys certainly helped to put up the giant Army Surplus tent and we all helped to collect kindling and firewood, but the planning, packing, kid-wrangling, feeding, repacking, and driving fell on her.  I am forever grateful.  You see, we weren’t just camping.  We were together as a unit.  We were laughing together and working together.  We were learning every step of the way.  How to cooperate, how to see the world, and how to survive.  I doubt that was her intention, but that was the end result.

During hikes, or even just brief walks on a trail, my mother would point out plants to avoid – the aforementioned poison ivy, oak, and briars – and plants that we could eat, if necessary.  My brothers taught me how to shimmy up a tree and “parachute” down.  They noticed the snakes on the path and taught me which to avoid and which we could catch (still not sure why we needed to catch them, but I’m sure boys had a reason).  I learned to spot the difference between a slippery rock and a good stepping stone, and I learned to listen for the sound of a probable waterfall around the bend.  I learned to paddle my innertube with my flip flop and discovered the scent of a damp cave worth exploring.

It feels like it wasn’t so long ago that I still welcomed these adventures.  I backpacked the Nepali Coast of Hawaii and slept in a mosquito-riddled mangrove patch.  I’ve hiked along the Chattahoochee River with my dog, splashing, and taking in the beauty.  I’ve slept on picnic tables and on beaches and could build a pretty darn good campfire.  But I haven’t done any of that in years

I could blame it on any number of things.  Doing anything with kids is much harder than it used to be (yeah, I know how lame that sounds, but parents don’t have the “free range” freedoms that our parents had).  My family’s schedules are not in sync.  Any number of things that have come up over the past few years are reason enough to stay inside on the couch.  Excuses.  Legitimate, but still excuses.

I do try to maintain some connection with Mother Nature.  I plant a very small and basic garden and am pleased that at least one of my daughters likes getting her hands dirty and watching things grow.  Every time she has a seed in her hand (like from the apple she’s eating) it MUST be planted!  I love that.

My older daughter is content to play Minecraft.  I’m not a real fan of video games and when I first heard them talking about this, I cringed.  I thought it was landmines and fighting or something.  No.  You know what it is?  Virtual Survival!  Their pixilated characters are wandering some sort of barren region, settling, farming, and..what?  I don’t know.  Instead of going outside to plant a real tomato or walking their real dog down to the real trail at the end of our neighborhood, they stare at a video screen planting fake corn and raising fake pigs.  Sigh.

The bustle in my hedgerow just reminds me that I NEED to snap out of our rut.  I need to drag my girls out into the woods and let them feel the earth under their feet.  I need to teach them to pitch a tent and build a fire.

But who am I kidding?  I’ll probably start with showing them the joys of a restaurant patio first.