Post #3 -- Good Times

Good Times

A product of the Great Depression – that’s how Mom and Dad described themselves.  Their stories of that time left me with such vivid images it’s like I was there.  Both my parents came from large farm families.  In the 1930s that meant that they were very poor.  Lots of their stories were about hard times and hard work.  Still, for every one of those stories there was one about play and good times.

Memories

Mom and Dad were very competitive and good athletes.  The first memory I have of Mom is her telling me that I had to go home with Aunt Martha because Dad was taking her to the hospital for stitches.  A high stick had sliced her eyebrow during a women’s hockey game.  Dad could run and jump like a white-tailed deer.  He had represented his army troop at track and field games during the war.

All of the stories that they told took place outside.  Most of my stories happen out in nature; some of our sons’ stories happen in the out-of-doors.  I have wondered about how hard it is going to be for today’s youngest to create an interesting story that takes place in front of some electronic device.

Nature’s Welcome

This trend that has our young people spending more and more time inside is hard to explain given that outdoor activities are so welcoming.  They are not expensive – some activities fit into a 1930s budget.  Nature experiences make no demands that we need to be top athletes.  Competitiveness isn’t a requirement. 

My favourite outdoor activity is splitting firewood for the stove.  In all my years I have never been challenged to a wood splitting contest.  Snowshoeing, hiking, fishing and bird watching are other activities that require little or no experience.  If you desire something more physically challenging, try canoeing, kayaking, archery, cross-country skiing or wilderness survival.  All of these nature-based outdoor experiences will fill your day with enjoyment and material for a good story.

It’s About Choice

Mom and Dad grew up outside because they had no choice.

Then TV came along as a source of entertainment and gave me a choice.

Our kids saw the arrival of the computer screen and another choice.

Today our young people have quietly had one of their choices taken away from them – that’s the choice of playing and learning outside.

We must give that choice back to them and encourage them to spend more time in nature.  If we give them that opportunity they will have a variety of stories to tell future generations.

Pops

Post #2 -- Methuselah

Methuselah

In the book of Genesis we learn that the oldest human lived for 969 years.  The Bible calls him Methuselah.

That’s a long time but as it happens there’s another Methuselah that makes 969 years seem like just yesterday.  This Methuselah lives high in the mountains of California and it is one of the oldest living organisms on planet earth at 4,849 years.  Its proper name is a bristlecone pine tree.

Nature has the habit of humbling us human beings and when it comes to size and age, trees are especially good at it.

The giant redwoods can live for 2000 years; sequoias can reach 3000; hemlocks 800 years and the beech tree 300; maple trees can live more than 200 and the pine and white spruce of Alberta’s parkland region can live for more than 100 years.

In a recent article in the Nature Conservancy of Canada’s newsletter, Mark Stabb (central Ontario Director for NCC) was quoted:

            “Big trees kinda put you in your place and time; your place on the planet, and remind us of how short a time we have compared to those big, old trees.”  His advice is to “respect your elders.  Say hello to old-timer trees in the forest and think of the stories they might tell.”

Other cultures around the world call these old trees Mother or Grandmother.  For centuries these cultures have known what our modern science is just now discovering – that trees really do communicate with each other and their surroundings.  Like all good mothers and kindly grandmothers they ask familiar questions like ‘How are you?’ or ‘Do you need help?’

Suzanne Simard (Professor of Forest Ecology at the University of British Columbia, Vancouver) claims that the oldest trees are the most highly connected to their surroundings and that in times of stress they send out lots of resources to seedlings, increasing their resilience.

She calls these resources wisdom.

It seems logical to think that if our desire is to have longer, healthier lives we might start by spending more time with trees.  Science is starting to prove that this is true. 

So, hug a tree or two, swap a story and maybe some of the old-timers’ wisdom will rub off on you.

Richard

Post #1 -- The Monster

THE MONSTER

I was standing on a hill looking out over a valley in an open field.  The edge of the field was about 200 metres away.  Beyond that was the family woodlot – 80 acres of magnificent old-growth spruce and pine.  Every winter Dad would harvest some of the trees for lumber but my eyes were fixed about 2 kms away in neighbouring crown land.  A monster had escaped and it was coming our way.

It was a hot, dry morning July 1, 1967.  Canada was celebrating its 100^th birthday.  Most of the trees in the woodlot were older than Canada.  I was nineteen and the monster had been born two days earlier.  It was birthed 15 kms away in a trash barrel.  Just minutes old it escaped out of its birth bed and started eating up dry grass.  As it gained strength it moved on to a stand of jack pines where it dined on pine needles.  Within minutes it had exploded into a full-grown monster.  It followed the wind devouring everything in its path.  Now just minutes away, the family woodlot would be next.

Behind me across the open field was the family farmyard; it too was right in the monster’s path.  Dad knew that there was no hope of saving the woodlot but he had a plan to save the farm buildings and had put together a small army to accomplish the task.  His plan was to use the open field as a fire break.  He had equipped his army with a half-dozen 45-gallon barrels filled with water and a bunch of old bed blankets.  Soaked in the water, the bed blankets would be used to do battle with the monster. 

I was the first line of defense; positioned at the top of the hill and armed with a wet blanket my mission was to snuff out any glowing embers that the monster spit into the wind and that landed in the grassy field.  My brother was behind me putting out any sparks that were blown over my head.  Mom and Dad were back at the yard prepared to deal with any sparks that made it that far.  That was the plan and that was Dad’s army – just the four of us.

The monster hit the woodlot at 11 in the morning, sending the ancient spruce up in towers of flame.  The wind picked up the live embers and began dropping them in the open field like little red bombs.  Once they hit the ground one of us was there with our blanket in hand to snuff them out.  The height of the battle lasted for about 5 hours.  After using up most of its fuel the monster started to sputter and weaken.  It fought hard to find sources of new fuel but with most of it spent, it sputtered and smoked.  Still, the fight continued throughout the night.  Small hotspots would spring to life and be put out.  By morning the wind had changed direction and was blowing the monster back onto itself.  As the smoke moved off the battlefield came into view.  Where grand old trees once stood only tall black poles remained.  The undergrowth and most everything else had been burnt away.  The open field was pocked with black spots where grass had been ignited and then quickly snuffed out but behind the hill the farmyard was untouched.  The little army had stood its ground and stopped the monster in its tracks.

Those are my memories of that day in July when Canada was celebrating its 100^th birthday, a family was celebrating a victory over a powerful foe and a 19-year-old was celebrating an awakening.

OPINIONS

Dad was fond of saying that opinions are like toilets – most everyone has one – some have two or three – some have more.  Dad put little store in opinions – even his own – always reserving the right to be wrong. 

I have doubled down on Dad’s opinion.  I think that opinions should be banned.  Attitude is far more important than an opinion and yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am fully aware that that is just my opinion but it’s based on one in-depth case study – my own.

Moms and Dads; Grandpas and Grandmas; teachers, doctors and pastors; baseball, dance and hockey coaches – like Dad said, we all have opinions.  When it comes to our young people we are all too eager to share them – what they should be and what is required to get them there.

I was 36 years old before I ever heard the word dyslexia – 40 before I became familiar with the term attention-deficit-disorder.  As it turned out, I suffer from both of them.  Wait, I take that back – I have both of them.  I have never suffered from them.  It was the opinions of the people that thought there was something wrong with me that caused me to suffer.  I was left-handed; I spent Grade 1 with that hand strapped to the desk in a failed attempt to force me to use my right hand.  I paced back and forth, acting out scenarios and plans in my head, forming ideas.  People would try to ignore me or would send me out of the room.  Then there were the opinions on my report cards.  “Richard does not concentrate or pay attention.  Richard does not follow instruction.  Richard does not complete his assignments.  Richard will not sit still in class.”  Then there were my parents: “Richard, what on earth is wrong with you?”  Good question.  I didn’t know and neither did they.  The last report card had the following comment: “Richard is wasting school resources, my time, class time and his own time.  It is my opinion that Richard would be better served if he pursued a life path that took him out of the classroom.”  Signed by my grade eight teacher.

BACK IN THE DAY

In 2008 Richard Louv’s book Last Child in the Woods:  Saving our Children from Nature Deficit Disorder was published.  Since then nature clubs and organizations dedicated to providing children with nature experiences have sprung up across North America.  Researchers have put together a mountain of evidence that shows that nature experiences send calmer, more eager-to-learn students back into the classroom.

We have come a long way since my school years back in the day.  Society and educators have made great advances but all is not perfect.  As a survivor of the dark days of education, please allow me an observation that might border on an opinion. 

“The opinion that people like me need to be fixed has got to go.  There is nothing wrong with us.  We are different.”

 A wonderful teacher who I will always remember shared a piece of wisdom with me.  “It is not up to you to learn the way I teach; it is up to me to teach the way you learn.”

THE NOW

Modern gurus tell us that the answer to our modern-day ills is to learn how to keep our minds in the one cosmic instant referred to as ‘the now’.  This is something that people like me find hard to do.  The truth is, that I doubt that it can be done at all by anybody.  ‘The now’ is a moving target that relentlessly marches forward.   The last thing any of the critters caught up in that 1967 wildfire wished for was to stay in the now.  For all of those caught in the path of that fire, present and future earthly ‘nows’ ended that day.  Staying in the now is not the way nature works.  Nature uses the now to prepare for the future, sending a single cosmic instant out to be part of a single cosmic endlessness.

IT HAPPENED THROUGH ME

It took a wildfire to get 100% of my attention but on that July day in 1967 the attitude I had about myself changed.  Nature, through a wildfire and through me revealed what I was capable of.  I could pay attention and concentrate for long periods of time.  I could complete a task on my own.  I could focus and take direction, hold my ground and succeed.  My natural gifts came into play; my movements were in tune with what was going on around me.  I had an ability to anticipate what might happen next.  For over 20 hours nature confirmed that there was nothing wrong with me.

In the southwest U.S. the Hopi tribe of old never took credit for anything.  They just said: “A thing happened through me.”  That’s what nature does.  It filters ideas into our consciousness and its wisdom flows out through us.  And yes, ladies and gentlemen. . .

. . .this too is my opinion.