I was talking with Ron yesterday. As you know from my BLOGS he is a pediatrician. Before he discovered doctoring, he trained as a Waldorf teacher. He is also a great nature enthusiast. Where this all seems to come together today is his observation, his worry, his sadness, that the kids, the thousands of them, that he sees today, have little or no experience with the natural world. And he lives and works in New Hampshire. (not exactly the inner city).
Everyone I talk to today who is of a certain age has fond memories of their secret place behind a tree or by a stream or behind the barn where they spent time alone as children, doing important work, like making a nest, or building a little house of stones and acorns and flower petals for ??? for the fairies, the gnomes, the Borrowers, the littlest bird?
There was something about being alone (even if it was very near home) in a natural place that allowed an interaction, a transfer of energy, a heart connection to take place that seemed to leave a lasting imprint on us.
Recently, I was in California, in the East Bay, with my grand daughter at a perfectly beautiful park with gorgeous natural wood structures and a creative, imaginative layout, near an estuary, and it was boring. I feel weird saying that because it was so thoughtful and expensive. But it was adult architects who created it. It was somehow like a high class amusement park. The kids ran from the swings to the slide, down the path and then did it over again. Gerbils.
Another time that week we were at a little path that led to the water. There was nothing there except a not very gorgeous tree. We were waiting for a friend to pick us up. We sat in the dirt under the tree, watching the tide go out and I started to put some pebbles in a little circle. Then I got a few wild flowers, then some pine needles. Within minutes Bella had started to make a fairy house. She told me I could collect things on her orders "No, not that flower", "a longer piece of grass, grandma", and she was making something that she imagined on a micro scale, that my big hands and less than perfect eyes could hardly be part of. She muttered to herself, "No, they don't like the bed to be over there" as she moved things around.
When our ride came, she jumped up and glanced back and moved on. Later when we passed that spot and nature had undone all her creation, she would glance over. She had an experience that day that was hers and hers alone. I have seem kids do this on beaches, running their little legs off to get another shell or another piece of seaweed to build something that they alone have the vision of and that they alone create from nature. Fleeting? Yes. Permanent, indelible? Yes.
I think allowing our kids the time, the quiet, the peace, the lack of toys, tools, equipment would be a first step towards having them connect with themselves. And I would even go so far as to say that to comment, praise, notice these works would break up their magic. This is private stuff. I think it would be a simple first step towards healing our children.
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