by Gladys J. Richter
Often, I leave the electronic world to reminisce about my childhood—a childhood filled with days chasing butterflies through a nearby field, hours spent catching creek crawdads, and time just playing outside with no particular goal in mind. I remember my father, a single parent raising his only child, asking me what I was doing as I looked under rocks along the river. My answer was simple and that of a youngster: “I plan to leave no stone unturned.” Quietly, my dad began to look under rocks with me as if to help me reach my goal, and as we turned over stones and gently replaced them, he taught me about the animals living beneath.
The author’s son leaves no stone unturned.
Working as an interpreter, perhaps the one thing I hope for my visitors the most is that each generation will pass on the importance of our natural and cultural heritage to the next generation, and that the next generation will be ready and willing to receive this important message. I hope that each child of today can say to their grandchildren tomorrow, “I belonged to a generation in which no stone was left unturned; we explored it all and stood in awe of it all.”
Richard Louv’s work, Last Child in the Woods, published in 2005, actually caused me to shudder to think that there were children that desired not to explore creeks, woodlands, and grassy knolls, but instead stay indoors with all the electrical outlets. I felt as though my hope had been dashed and that the next generation may not be ready or willing to receive messages about our outdoor heritage. It seemed so strange to me, for I strongly believe that the outside world is not only fascinating, but necessary to one’s overall well-being—physically and otherwise. Staying indoors has always been a source of cabin fever for me. Cabin fever is called fever for a reason, and having fever almost always signals illness.
Is it any wonder that children today have vitamin D deficiencies (an easily obtainable nutrient from the sun in just a few minutes per week) or that more seem to be turning up with cases of severe allergies, obesity, diabetes, and attention disorders? Would the next generation be able to realize that what may help them cope with the stress of the electronic age was absolutely free and waiting just outside their very door?
What would happen if, like so many of our cultural traditions (oral and hands-on), physicians and teachers simply ceased to pass on real medical and educational knowledge to new ranks of professionals? Would the human race survive without this accumulated wisdom?
I pondered this question, but had no answers until I became a parent. Surely, parents wouldn’t let their children fall through the cracks of industrialized sidewalks without noticing the succession of crabgrass growing there. Or would they?
Media articles regarding topics such as teaching your child to garden the natural way, new stress-busting facts about children and the great outdoors, and what getting outside can do for your attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) child had caught my attention. So my big question of, “What would happen to the human race?” was replaced with the following: Where are the parents? Even more so, where are the interpretive parents?
Children cannot learn about our natural heritage in a vacuum or by simply staying inside where the electrical outlets are located. Nature shows on TV are not your everyday walk in the park.
Nature author Rachel Carson wrote, “If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement, and mystery of the world we live in.” However, just how involved do today’s parents want to become after hours at work in front of a computer screen, text-messaged about deadlines, or frustrated because the home microwave went on the blink just when another mad rush meal was needed?
One would think that after such a harried day it would be worth the effort to stop and smell the roses or at least take notice of the lone dandelion poking its yellow head above that asphalt crack. Going outside just to relax seems like something that would be desired if not acted upon. As my father used to say, “Go outside and breath some new air.”
Louv emphasizes the important role of parents in forging an understanding of nature. He also points out that outdoor exposure does not have to be elaborate, and I totally agree. Just going outside is the answer. Turning off one 30-minute TV show and taking a leisurely walk once a day or at least once a week with your children is a tremendous step.
Yes, it is true that thousands of families live in the middle of bustling cities, but at some point there is downtime. Why not use that time to get back to our natural and cultural heritage?
Depending on whom you ask, one may say that a person who spent his or her early years skipping creek stones or building forts led either a glorious or boring childhood. However, children who have never done these things know not if it is a glorious or a boring childhood. They know only of their four walls and the gadgets plugged into outlets.
Parents today have many options. They can take their children to the park, creek, or zoo if it is nearby. They can go to an orchard or berry farm and enjoy the fruit they may pick there as an added nutritional bonus. Even many rooftops in cities are “green” with living plants these days. The key is to appreciate what nature you do have, and teach your children to appreciate it. Every child, from a 14-month old to a 14-year old, can have a good time outside doing something.
In my opinion, Last Child in the Woods beautifully articulates that parents do not need specialized training to give their kids a dose of nature interpretation; but parents do need to maintain a sense of wonder and a desire to turn over a stone or two with their children.
For More Information
Carson, Rachel. The Sense of Wonder. (New York: Harper & Row Publishers, 1965).
Louv, Richard. Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder. (North Carolina: Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2005).
Gladys J. Richter is an interpretive freelance writer.
No Stone Left Unturned: The Role of the Interpretive Parent
by Gladys J. Richter
Often, I leave the electronic world to reminisce about my childhood—a childhood filled with days chasing butterflies through a nearby field, hours spent catching creek crawdads, and time just playing outside with no particular goal in mind. I remember my father, a single parent raising his only child, asking me what I was doing as I looked under rocks along the river. My answer was simple and that of a youngster: “I plan to leave no stone unturned.” Quietly, my dad began to look under rocks with me as if to help me reach my goal, and as we turned over stones and gently replaced them, he taught me about the animals living beneath.
The author’s son leaves no stone unturned.
Working as an interpreter, perhaps the one thing I hope for my visitors the most is that each generation will pass on the importance of our natural and cultural heritage to the next generation, and that the next generation will be ready and willing to receive this important message. I hope that each child of today can say to their grandchildren tomorrow, “I belonged to a generation in which no stone was left unturned; we explored it all and stood in awe of it all.”
Richard Louv’s work, Last Child in the Woods, published in 2005, actually caused me to shudder to think that there were children that desired not to explore creeks, woodlands, and grassy knolls, but instead stay indoors with all the electrical outlets. I felt as though my hope had been dashed and that the next generation may not be ready or willing to receive messages about our outdoor heritage. It seemed so strange to me, for I strongly believe that the outside world is not only fascinating, but necessary to one’s overall well-being—physically and otherwise. Staying indoors has always been a source of cabin fever for me. Cabin fever is called fever for a reason, and having fever almost always signals illness.
Is it any wonder that children today have vitamin D deficiencies (an easily obtainable nutrient from the sun in just a few minutes per week) or that more seem to be turning up with cases of severe allergies, obesity, diabetes, and attention disorders? Would the next generation be able to realize that what may help them cope with the stress of the electronic age was absolutely free and waiting just outside their very door?
What would happen if, like so many of our cultural traditions (oral and hands-on), physicians and teachers simply ceased to pass on real medical and educational knowledge to new ranks of professionals? Would the human race survive without this accumulated wisdom?
I pondered this question, but had no answers until I became a parent. Surely, parents wouldn’t let their children fall through the cracks of industrialized sidewalks without noticing the succession of crabgrass growing there. Or would they?
Media articles regarding topics such as teaching your child to garden the natural way, new stress-busting facts about children and the great outdoors, and what getting outside can do for your attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) child had caught my attention. So my big question of, “What would happen to the human race?” was replaced with the following: Where are the parents? Even more so, where are the interpretive parents?
Children cannot learn about our natural heritage in a vacuum or by simply staying inside where the electrical outlets are located. Nature shows on TV are not your everyday walk in the park.
Nature author Rachel Carson wrote, “If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement, and mystery of the world we live in.” However, just how involved do today’s parents want to become after hours at work in front of a computer screen, text-messaged about deadlines, or frustrated because the home microwave went on the blink just when another mad rush meal was needed?
One would think that after such a harried day it would be worth the effort to stop and smell the roses or at least take notice of the lone dandelion poking its yellow head above that asphalt crack. Going outside just to relax seems like something that would be desired if not acted upon. As my father used to say, “Go outside and breath some new air.”
Louv emphasizes the important role of parents in forging an understanding of nature. He also points out that outdoor exposure does not have to be elaborate, and I totally agree. Just going outside is the answer. Turning off one 30-minute TV show and taking a leisurely walk once a day or at least once a week with your children is a tremendous step.
Yes, it is true that thousands of families live in the middle of bustling cities, but at some point there is downtime. Why not use that time to get back to our natural and cultural heritage?
Depending on whom you ask, one may say that a person who spent his or her early years skipping creek stones or building forts led either a glorious or boring childhood. However, children who have never done these things know not if it is a glorious or a boring childhood. They know only of their four walls and the gadgets plugged into outlets.
Parents today have many options. They can take their children to the park, creek, or zoo if it is nearby. They can go to an orchard or berry farm and enjoy the fruit they may pick there as an added nutritional bonus. Even many rooftops in cities are “green” with living plants these days. The key is to appreciate what nature you do have, and teach your children to appreciate it. Every child, from a 14-month old to a 14-year old, can have a good time outside doing something.
In my opinion, Last Child in the Woods beautifully articulates that parents do not need specialized training to give their kids a dose of nature interpretation; but parents do need to maintain a sense of wonder and a desire to turn over a stone or two with their children.
For More Information
Carson, Rachel. The Sense of Wonder. (New York: Harper & Row Publishers, 1965).
Louv, Richard. Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder. (North Carolina: Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2005).
Gladys J. Richter is an interpretive freelance writer.
Posted in Commentaries, Connecting Children to Nature
Tags: ADHD, childhood, generation, heritage, Last Child in the Woods, reminisce, vitamin D deficiencies