Surprising thing A is that I am writing this in the afternoon Tuesday, not my normal time. (But proofing and publishing today, Wednesday.)
I just had the privilege of being given the opportunity to consider what nature was like at the house where I grew up. Was I aware of it? Of animals, birds, insects, weather events, and so forth? In an initially rather sad outgrowth of what I wrote the other day, I had to be honest with myself and say, the answer to that question is a decided "no". Some children make intense connections with wildlife, the landscape, or the elements, through games or imaginary worlds, particularly when their home life is rocky. But my parents themselves didn't really have a relationship with the nature, and I didn't grow my own connection independently, at least early on. "Experiencing the out-of-doors" was wading in our plastic wading pool, pedaling my tricycle down the cracked cement driveway...and you've heard the story about my making a fairy tea set with my grandmother (see May 3, 2016). Did I notice hawks and cardinals, or rabbits scurrying for cover, or caterpillars, or spider's webs? Did I notice the wind, or the power of a heavy snowfall, or the aroma of cut hay from nearby fields? No. I can remember half-a-dozen of the specific books on my parents' living room shelf, including Rachel Carson's Silent Spring and Winston Churchill's History of the English-Speaking Peoples (I guess I was fated to be an anglophile!) I remember the placement of every single item of furniture in the house. But we had no pets, and the outside world's "pets" were beyond my ken.
So here is Surprising thing B. The suggestion was made that I consider whether the wildlife near our house noticed me! I was a beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed baby girl, and I assume that from time to time, my mother took me out in a stroller or to crawl in the grass. Did little squirrels peek out at me from under a bush? Did eagles study me from above, or did the trees feel a warm sense of wanting to protect me from the wind? I mean, this has opened up a door to the possibility that, instead of being terribly alone as a child, I had a community of loving -- or at least curious -- animals, plants and insects around me, keeping me safe, caring, wondering how I would turn out. Even more than my parents, local wildlife may have valued my presence. What an amazing thought!
I feel badly that I was so clueless back then, so I guess all I can do is thank this wild population in the present. These days I actively talk with birds and squirrels, and take pictures of nature's beauty. Someday soon, maybe I will actually stop by the house, which is still there, even if just to thank that big tree that served to shelter a fairy tea party...
(And in true "Lizpath" style, yesterday's rich considerations have uncovered another vein of sadness and anger. Next time.)
