We are knee-deep in our new school year. Things are going relatively smoothly, although we are running into our perpetual problems with the "extra" stuff--much of it is getting pushed to the sides and rarely done. And Tallman, who, now being in 7th grade, has much more expected of him, is taking some time to, um, enjoy the transition. Hopefully it'll iron out.
But unfortunately, nature study has suffered for us in the first weeks of the year. That, and finding a place for swimming practice during the day I'm reading a book right now, though, that is really pushing me to reconsider nature study and its place in our lives. It is Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder, by Richard Louv. I first heard of this book last year from another CM mom, and instantly put it on my list, tracked down a copy this spring, and it has finally worked its way to the top of the towering to-be-read stacks. :-)
Louv asserts that a sea change has taken place in the way we raise children--children are spending much, much less time in the outdoors. Oh, they might be playing soccer or skateboarding around a park, but much of the outdoor time of our children is programmed-taken up by organized sports, or experienced with an Ipod on, or something like that. Children have had little time to form relationships with the world around them--build a tree house, throw pebbles in a stream, watch the clouds, see the stars, put obstacles in the way of crawling ants, meander through the woods listening for one's friends. This matters, he says, because the consequences of this nature-deficit are showing up in surprising ways--time spent in natural settings is beginning to be correlated to childhood obesity, ADD, depression, lack of creativity and imagination, truly CARING about nature and the environment.
Well. I must admit that my family stands guilty as charged, despite our attempts at nature study. As a child, I was hardly an outdoorsy girl---but sense of place, of the world around me, was nonetheless an important part of my life--bike riding through the tall grass, sitting under the perfect oak tree, the woodsy area at the end of the trailer park that perpetually seized my imagination, and to which I would walk, drawn as if by hypnosis, despite my mother's forbidding my ever setting foot there--she believed there to be a homeless man with a knife back there, I never knew why she thought that---the dips and swales in the road around our house in the country (how could anyone ever think Kansas was flat? Try riding a bike up and down those dips and hills), the evergreen tree that made a perfect shady "room" underneath, where I could even escape the notice of my mother, the deep crusted drifts of snow along the side of the plowed road in the winter. My children simply do not have access to places like that. The sky--always in Kansas the sky--deep blue, or the brassy, vibrating heat of a summer afternoon, the puffy clouds--or the ominous, mile-high black ones, and the stars. Oh, the stars. I think half the stars in the sky I saw as a kid have been erased. The schoolyard--we had the typical blacktop, it is true, and I did play on that some--but we were on a quadruple-block lot, and a good half of it was just open grass. Nothing in particular, no playing fields, just grass. But enough of it for the imaginative child to stage wars, jousting tournaments, pioneer wagon trains (yes, I was that imaginative child roping all my friends into my fantasy world, lol) And one special tree--a pecan tree. It was pure gold--nuts, shells, shade, leaves, sticks--and a V in the trunk low enough to climb on!!!! True, the teachers immediately called us down if they caught us up there. But as soon as their backs turned, we scampered right up anyway--Kansas, being short on trees, is especially short on good climbing trees. Our trees tended to be enormous lone oaks with no low branches, or tall cottonwoods--not much to climb on.
But my kids? They play in the back yard, sure, and we go on hikes. But I don't think they've formed the relationships that Louv is talking about, that even I, a bookworm afraid of spiders, managed to develop as a child.
OK, this has gotten long. I'll post it, and follow up soon with some quotes.