November 15, 2005

• Nature on the Ground

  For a recent town outing I grab a backpack that we
  previously used for a Fall hike.  Not having cleaned it out before
  we left, I
  do
  that in the parking lot as the kids call impatiently for me to
  escort them up the street.

  Many long hours later we drag back to the car.  I'm loading
  things on the passenger side while the kids do the usual kid-thing
  about getting in (kids being genetically programmed to enter simultaneously on the same
  side, usually via the driver's seat, thrusting muddy feet first, sticky fingers dripping stuff along the way).

  
  Ms. 5 (having lost the me-first race, pausing while the sister clambers):  Mom?  Does 'nature' mean 'everything that people don't make?'

  I dither, crooked half over the seat.  Should I complain that
  hers is an inside-out definition?  That it should be 'man-made is
  everything unnatural,' or perhaps 'nature is the undisturbed aspect
  of...'  I give up.

  
  Me:  Yes.

  
  Ms. 5:  Well, there's a lot of nature lying on the ground here.

  I meander around the car, shutting doors on safely-stowed children as I
  go, and only then see the pile of crumbling forgotten treasures from
  our hike, heaped in displaced woodsy detritis at my feet. 

  I
  get a rather poignant sense that there's a major lesson here.

  I shut my own door and back out, crunching nature further into the asphalt.

  • 9:02 am
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