Romeo and the Teenager

When my daughter was little, she looked up to me. She looked at me with those sparkling blue eyes and I saw curiosity and wonder, respect, and love. She's fifteen now and most of the looks I get make me wonder if I've suddenly sprouted antlers or a second head. 

Last night we went for a short hike to return a snail to its natural habitat (where we found it) after hosting it in a terrarium during the pandemic. Romeo, said snail, provided us with hours of entertainment and education. Did you know that snails love carrots and will leave an orange poop trail on the glass? Or that they sometimes pull themselves into their shells and seem dried up and dead, until one day they emerge and are sliding slowly across the glass and you are SO grateful you didn’t dump them out with the compost? This dormant state during hot, dry periods is called estivation. With the pandemic restrictions loosening and people getting back out into the world it kind of feels like we’ve all been estivating for months. I’m grateful I wasn’t thrown out with the compost, which is what my daughter would most likely do with me if she could.

Anyway, we took the snail back, to live its free and wild life. During our walk, as I’ve done her entire life, I shared some of my extensive knowledge about the plants and animals we encountered. She used to appreciate this. She used to ask questions and we’d have excited conversations about what we were seeing together. No more. Now it’s exasperated looks, one word retorts (and “word” is generous), or silence as she taps away at her phone. “You might be glad one day to know that you can identify and eat plantain and lamb’s quarters. Or that wood nettle is delicious after you cook it to remove the sting. Or that you can dig up burdock and eat the root or use it medicinally to lower blood sugar and treat colds and sore throats, among other ailments.” Well, she wasn’t glad, not today. She was annoyed. Even when I told her she might need this information after the zombie apocalypse or some other worse pandemic comes along. 

She DID, however, in her own sullen teenage way, manage to notice some pretty incredible things out in nature, even while complaining about being hot and itchy. I even saw her eyes light up and detected the hint of a smile here and there. She noticed a wasp on a railing. Then watched as it raised its wings and wondered if it was protecting something. Suddenly two more wasps appeared and went into a crevice where we decided there must be a nest. She noticed, and caught, tiny toadlets in the grass. She pointed out monarch butterflies, an egg on a milkweed leaf, a slug, dragonflies, and a scorpionfly. She noticed a muskrat in the water and watched as it swam ashore and ate reeds at the water’s edge. We crossed a trail and she was the first to see a doe and her two fawns in the golden light just after sunset.

I took pictures and tried to keep my comments, my joy, to myself because what’s the use in sharing it if it only annoys your teenager? For a little while I caught glimpses of the kid she used to be. I miss that kid.

From all outward appearances, my teenager hates me. Can’t stand the sight of me, the sound of my voice, my very existence. And that’s a hard thing for a mother to take. I know I’m not alone. I’ve had many women give me hugs or share kind words or look at me with genuine understanding and empathy. 

I was feeling pretty down as we returned Romeo, not because he was going home but because it felt like I was losing another piece of her childhood, another piece of my heart. She nestled him tenderly into a hole in a log, a spot she chose because it offered some protection and perhaps comfort. Is that what she’s looking for, I wonder? Is she pulling away from me, pushing me away from her, testing my love with all her might, somehow knowing that I will always be her true home, her place of comfort and protection? That’s what I choose to believe. That’s what Romeo taught me. Well, that and to always look for signs of life before giving up entirely.

"Your work with children in nature is sacred."

Wow, it's been a long time since I've written a blog post. A lot has changed in the two and a half years since my last post. My commitment to working with children in nature has not. If anything, the last two years have given me more experience, a broader perspective, and a deeper appreciation for the work of the early childhood teacher with nature as the classroom.

I work for Dodge Nature Preschool, in West Saint Paul, MN. The preschool is located on the grounds of Dodge Nature Center, which is celebrating its 50th anniversary this year. We recently hosted an evening with Richard Louv at the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul, during which a great conversation unfolded about the value of nature in the lives of children. If you are not familiar with Louv's work, he coined the phrase "nature deficit disorder" in his book Last Child in the Woods. Since its publication in 2008, we've seen a movement driven by educators, researchers and parents to bring the importance of nature to the table, to advocate for nature in schools, in the workplace, in healthcare, housing, and more.

If you're reading this blog, chances are you already understand the value of nature for healthy individuals and communities. Here are some of the things I took away from the conversation that evening, some ideas I'm still pondering and trying to figure out how to expand on in my own work.

• Regarding the importance of getting children outside early in life... Truly, parents often end up rediscovering the wonder of the natural world right alongside their children. It happened for me. Shortly after my daughter was born, I put my teaching career on hold to be home with her. The days can feel incredibly long when you're a stay at home parent. Getting outside was crucial for my own mental health as well as for her development. The fresh air, the change of scenery, something about just walking around the block to clear our minds and lift our spirits was the antidote to many tough moments. Even better, the more we were outside the more we wanted to be outside. Everything was new and wondrous to my toddler - every rock held the potential of exciting new discoveries beneath it. Every new sensory experience was magical. It was those tough but precious years that drove me back to school to earn a Master's degree in Environmental Education.
• "Nature teaches compassion, hope, and acceptance." One spring my daughter found a robin's egg on the ground. Whole, beautiful, blue, delicate. She was sure that if she brought it home, placed it under a warm blanket, and watched over it that it would eventually hatch. Of course it didn't and that was a hard lesson for her. But in the process of trying to hatch the egg, she learned about life, death, empathy for other beings, care for another, to hope, to try, and to accept that sometimes there were things she could not explain or change. 
• Everything is connected. We are not alone. We need other species. Consider this study from the United Kingdom. Researchers found that city parks with higher biodiversity actually have a larger positive impact on mental health than parks where there is less diversity of species. Kind of makes sense. Being surrounded by more forms of life means a healthier ecosystem, of which humans are a part. We know that monocultures are not a good thing. The emerald ash borer epidemic in Saint Paul is a perfect example. Plant a large portion of your city boulevards with the same tree and when an insect specific to that tree starts to kill them, you've got no trees left.
• Cities can become engines of biodiversity. Think of rooftop gardens, inner city parks, pollinator gardens, and schoolyard gardens. When you plant a garden or protect green space in a city you create habitat for species other than human. And having those species around is important not only because they have a right to exist, but also for human well-being.
• In terms of nature being beneficial to child development, here's an interesting, and alarming, finding: Spatial sense atrophies in children who don't spend time outside. Do we want to raise children who are so dependent on technology that they can't navigate in the real world without it? Check out The Geography of Childhood: Why Children Need Wild Places, by Gary Paul Nathan and Stephen Trimble.
• "Your work with children is sacred" (Richard Louv, 2/9/17). It isn't often that we speak of the sacred in public discourse. We seem hesitant to talk about spirituality because it gets mucked up by religion. But this isn't about a particular faith. Yes, the word sacred is used in reference to worship or religion, but it is also defined as "something highly valued and important." So what nurtures the spirit? What can we do in our work with young children that is deserving of the label sacred? To me as a teacher and parent, it is taking children outside and letting them lead, watching them discover, explore, and observe, helping them test boundaries and take risks, encouraging them to ask questions and make connections. That truly is sacred work. And it is an honor to be part of it.