bSimplicity

I’ve always been drawn to Andy Goldsworthy‘s artwork. It embodies so much of what I believe, too, not just the value of nature’s wonders, but the idea of enjoying a moment, art or an object like a season. And, then saying goodbye.

My friend Gianna Marino reminded me of this when she painted my child’s room complete with wistful sunflowers, flying kits and ladybugs crawling up the wall. The room was a delight and made the perfect nursery. But, I openly expressed my worry to her how sad it will be one day when the children grow and the walls will be painted over.   After hours of laborious painting, Gianna said nonchallantly, “It’s just a season. You can always create something else later.” And, she was right. When you know you are creative and believe in the temporal value, you don’t  have to hold tightly. You can let go and be content with rich memories the season produces.

I run a nature program where I feel I’ve got an absolute blessing. No fixed agenda, but the gift of opportunity to discover what is before us and how it comes and how it goes. These last weeks the children and I walked along the trail to discover the growing Forget Me Nots. The flower buds are swelling and eagerly each week the kids would run out to find the soon to be blossoms. They have not come yet, but when they do they will be treasured. And, then we will eventually say goodbye, coveting the rich memory. The excitement is so simple yet so rich!

We looked at a collection of pictures the photographer Karen Berman gave to me. They are a vibrant study of nature’s patterns, textures and colors. It’s easy to marvel at the golden hues of a rocky river or the bright blues and reds of a sea anemone captured by film.

We get creative. We cut spirals – how the rocky patterned image looks to resemble the texture of a snake! Another child snips little pieces, creating an egg shaped mosaic  (a spring egg pattern!) and frames it with sticks covered with lichen. Still another decides to cut out a fish shape to hang on her fishing pole, a stick with some string is complete with a dangling tropical fish or blues, reds and yellows!

 

The children hold tightly to many photographs. But, I tell them just take two, later it becomes four. But, the act of trying to decide is hard . . . as it is for many. I believe it’s a skill you can learn, not to covet all, but to be content with a choice or two and value that well.

We roam the woods afterwards looking for patterns ourselves. The flow of algae in the river looks like flowing hair swishing in the wind. Spontaneously it made me think of a story of a maiden and I share it – a story of a young girl who kept coming to the woods to take stones and flowers home to keep. All along the animals asked her to leave nature alone otherwise they wouldl have no home themselves. When one day she returns, the river decides to keep her. So, now she stays with the river to remind us to be kind to nature and enjoy what is there, being content with the beauty and life you see.

 

We see a collection of roots of a large Laurel – it’s fringe along the creekside shore. We look at the ground where we stand and notice finger like roots all around us, gripping the ground to grow strong. That strength is all around us, giving us strength. We just have to look.The children discover “Rock Island”. This is their space. And, even I don’t dare tread upon the space. The idea belongs to them, to discover, overcome fear as they clamor over the mossy boulders or get their feet wet crossing the creek. I listen to them as they work together finding rocks to build a bridge across the creek. Fingers get dirty. Cool splashes abound.  A. takes notice of the different rock shapes – one looks like an eel, another is a jigsaw piece. Meanwhile the river babbles and a one can hear the cry of a hawk faraway. Little K. notices a pattern in the water, how a submerged rock changes the surface water texture, creating a distinct living artwork of ripples gliding in a spiral. And, she tells the others, gleefully.

I’m reminded of a talk Rebekkah Ladyne gave at a recent Spirit Rock program contemplating the thought of “abundunce” – and how there is plenty for all. She tells the story about children clamoring for cookies on a dish. Each child desperately trying to get one. But, if we gently tell everyone – “Don’t worry. There is enough, there is enough for all,” how quietly the children settle down.

Indeed there is plenty for all, if we can each stop, look and simply admire, and only take what we can absolutely value.  It’s a lesson most of us have not learned in childhood and it’s causing too many consequences for us all – we’re becoming buried in excess collections and unfortunate living standards that our children will one inherit. If we can stop coveting . . . and appreciate the temporal value, we’d all be able to enjoy the richness of it all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Voting Yes on Measure A – You are supporting modern day heroes like David Herlocker with Marin Open Space, a group not just offering educational hikes, but one that takes charge in  maintaining the health of our surrounding hills and upholding incredible values of stewardship. We have been inspired to volunteer pulling invasive broom and to learn about our treasured but fragile open space that contains history, science, botany, wildlife and so much more. As a parent, educator, Marin resident and a concerned citizen about the future of our healthy planet, I share this with you.

My six year old daughter stood in our yard with a hissing long snake in her hands.

“Mom, look what I found!” She gently held its head to her face, gazing into its eyes. The snake’s tongue darted wildly.

“Ah, is it a boy or a girl?” I asked with interest.

She looked where one should. “Boy, and it pooped all over me!”

“Be sure to put him back where you found him, honey,” I said.

“I know, I know,” she answered with some attitude. “David taught me that.”

David Herlocker, Interpretive Naturalist and Program Director with Marin County Open Space District, has taught our family many things, not just how to identify snakes, handle them gently and have deep regard for them. Before we met David our family hikes had a goal – to reach the top of a mountain or the end of a trailhead. Now, we don’t get far at all, and happily so. David empowers us and as many as 400 other children and families a year to slow down, discover, connect and learn to protect the wondrous nature in Marin County.

David’s approach is brilliantly simple, completely inclusive and accessible to the entire community, free and overall profound. Families with children of all ages join him and his exceptional assistant Shannon Burke on a scheduled date at a predetermined trailhead, such as Cascade Canyon or Deer Island, twice a month. Then the meandering, adventure and discovery begin. David leads the group and may find the first stages of life cycles – tree frog pollywogs or eggs of western toads or newts. Defense systems and hunting habits are revealed – trap door spiders hide inside mossy cliffs waiting for prey. Symbiotic relationships are highlighted – the empty carcass of a Jerusulem cricket floats in a creek. “Ah! the consequences of its parasitic worm!” David tells the group, with child-like enthusiasm infecting everyone.

David can spontaneously catch a moment – or a flying wasp, native bee or butterfly – and share with people how marvelously the insects, animals and plants live, feed, thrive and die in our very own surrounding hills.

After a few hours of exploration, the families eat together perhaps in a meadow, along a trail or a hillside. Then the children have time to work on their own – they romp together through the grasses or climb scraggly rocks and trees. They find lizards, preying mantids and beetles. With each new find the children collectively come rushing to David to learn more. And, they want to learn more! David patiently answers questions, continuing to inflict his earnest and genuine curiosity.

There are no scripts, no homework assignments, text books or scientific gadgets.

David doesn’t ramble on with statistics or even raise woes of environmental issues. His objective and success is one to share the here and now, the unusual and the exquisite creatures and plants that we have virtually next to our own backyards. And, by doing so, families are building a deeper relationship with nature and changing their habits. Clearly a relationship one values is one which will be protected and honored. David is virtually instilling a sense of stewardship and most certainly inspiring a new generation of biologist, etymologists and conservationists.

Such play by children in meadows and trees may not seem unusual to those of past generations. But, this generation is facing overscheduled lives, media saturated culture and unbalanced pressure from schools for quick academic results. It’s a challenge to allow children to slow down and engage in real time, rich experiential wonder. Yet these types of experiences and knowledge, like David imparts, are the ones children will embrace all their lives.

David does even more than lead family hikes. He has an adult hiking program servicing 1620 people a year. I’ve seen grown men put their nose to the earth to capture the scent of a native vanilla plantain.

David conducts training sessions for educators of the Audubon Canyon Ranch, Point Bonita YMCA, Slide Ranch, The Bay Institute and other groups, which, in turn, his teachings reach even more children who can connect to the magic of our local nature.

David conducts programs for the Canal Childcare Center and other school groups, those who may not be able to join hikes in the Marin hills.

David is a unique, genuine and passionate educator and leader. Other teachers, families and adults can learn tremendously from and be inspired by him. He is an immense asset to this community and his teachings are a gift that should not go unrecognized. And, it’s because of Marin Open Space these very programs and immense learning opportunities are accessible to everyone.

My daughter released the snake and it slithered away. We talked about how fortunate it is to share our home with such a fine creature. We hoped others who encounter him will be as kind and marvel how extraordinary he is. And, if not, they surely need to go on a hike with David Herlocker.

Help us look to the future and preserve one of our most treasured assets, one that is in our proverbial backyards. Our children will thank you.

I recently discovered this entry from my diary soon after becoming a mother. Enjoy!

I have an interview with a head honcho from The New York Times. He wears framed glasses and has a salt and pepper goatee – a real intellectual type. I squeeze into the chair at the little bistro table, trying to maintain a professional composure, as we meet in a very hip French restaurant, you see. He’s busy scanning important articles that the world will read tomorrow.

I open my sleek black portfolio . . . a dirty diaper falls out. He seems surprised and furrows his brow. A bead of sweat drips from my forehead. I look down and see striped baby pajamas with avocado stains hanging out from my Coach bag. I put the diaper and pajamas to the side and lick my lips nervously. Where’s my resume, damn it. I begin to panic. I sift recklessly through papers in my portfolio, but I can’t seem to find a clean, laser printed, bond paper resume. But, oh, here it is. I hand it to him. Damn, it’s not my resume. It’s the first coveted crayon scribble my daughter made!

I wake up . . .

. . . and breathing softly at my side is my baby daughter. I sigh relief.

I’m a stay-at-home mom and proud of it. Don’t get me wrong, I believe women should have choices, and by no means do I hope to hurt the struggle feminists have made in the last century to achieve equality. But, in that progress I question if society has shunned the importance of one of the most natural, biological acts, that of serving as the primary caregiver to one’s own child. I often sense I’m at the bottom of the professional food chain – “just a housewife”.

I hear it all the time – on television, I read it in the paper and when I meet old colleagues. “So, what are you doing these days, Barbara”, they ask. “I’m taking care of my child”, I answer proudly. “But, what else are you doing?” “Well, I’m using cloth diapers, to help with the environment, so I do a load of laundry every other day. I also make her food, organic, of course, I try not to use that store bought stuff, so that takes time. I’m involved with a local mother’s group, so I volunteer for fundraisers and community events and get to know other mothers. It’s a great way to learn about the nursery school scene. Oh, also, I try to give her enough playtime with other kids and downtime, too, to wander the garden and dig in the mud.  I read books about child development. Ever hear of Diane Provo? She’s got a great disciplinary approach. Also, I read to my daughter and breast feed and clean up after she eats in the kitchen. My floor just gets so dirty these days.”

They smile, but I see they think I sold out. Sold out to what, I wonder?

Okay, maybe I do go to bed at night wondering what meaningful act I contributed to the world that day. Then again, I really don’t do that too often, because sleep has become so precious I wouldn’t dare jeopardize it with too much intellectual pondering.

But, I can say this. When my baby daughter first sat up all by herself, she looked at me with big eyes. When she learned to swing, I shared her laughter. When she sat in her sandbox last week and our black cat curled up beside her and purred, she giggled unlike anything. Yesterday when she figured out the remote control has power, she whooped. I know these days are numbered, and she’ll soon be a toddler, a teen and then be off to college. My god, she’s already ten months old.

I used to enjoy the big things in life – travel to exotic places, schmoozing with people and talking politics and world affairs, as well as being in-the-know of the hippest restaurants. But, how wonderful it is to stop and share the simplest things in life with a new little person who can marvel at a duck quacking or spot the tiniest flower on a scraggly bush or experience glee squishing red grapes and green peas between fingers and toes.

Yesterday she said “mama”.

I do manage to pick up The New York Times, though after ten months I have yet to get through an entire article. Quite frankly these days, the first paragraphs say enough, and I hold my daughter tightly wondering what the world will be like for her. It’s enough to remind you that each day is a blessing, if you can live safely, with enough food, shelter and good friends. I hug her even more tightly when I learn of the losses other mothers have endured over the last year, whether American, Afghani, Israeli or Iraqi. And, though fear begins to grip, an elevated anger of injustice also grows. And, I wonder why we mothers have not united. Surely mothers abroad share my feelings too.

Maybe I’m not involved in any important professional endeavors these days. I missed the presidential television address the other night because my daughter was sick. My portfolio bag is covered with crusty spit up stains and I haven’t had a hair cut in about year. But, something very deep inside tells me I’m helping to shape the future each day when we’re at a playground or I sing her Itsy Bitsy Spider. And, one day, I hope, I can see her experience the broader world, and she’ll still remember the tiny flowers on the scraggly bush. And, if she forgets, I will remind her of them, because she taught me to open my eyes to what’s really important. Much of which, it feels, the world has forgotten.

Oops, she just woke up from her nap. I’ll finish later. Gotta run now!