When I look back on my boyhood, good memories are abundant and many of them take place outdoors. Whether climbing trees, going barefoot in the cool morning grass, helping my grandfather in his garden, exploring my aunt and uncle’s farm, catching lightning bugs on a summer evening, or listening to the crickets through an open summer window, all of these experiences made for an idyllic childhood. I grew up with Ward and June Cleaver and Grandpa Walton.
My generation watched the transition from a black and white to a world of electronic color—I still visualize Walter Cronkite in black and white. I saw the moon landing in black and white, along with the Vietnam War, baseball games, and the ’68 Chicago riots. I have since become addicted to color and more complex electronic gadgetry. I have also become numb to current events. Sometimes I think I’m on electronic life-support—if I were to totally unplug I would die, but then, I might be reborn.
Whether smartphone, laptop, tablet, news apps, weather station, flat screen television, or even the electronic device that tells me the moisture content of the soil in my garden, I feel like an electronic junkie. My weather station even tells me when lightning strikes and reports it to Weather Underground. But wouldn’t it be much richer to just reach down and grab a handful of soil to tell if it were wet or dry—eschew the latest news—or look up at the sky and see the lightning?
Rather than let nature stare at me through the window like I was a caged animal, I let the outside come in. Instead of staring at my computer, I get up and walk through the house, looking out each window. I see trees, birds, bumblebees, and butterflies. I watch the rain. I watch the skies darken, see the wind stir the trees, hear the thunder, watch the sun break through as a storm passes—perhaps a rainbow will appear in the east. Then, I walk outside, away from the electronic hum , that man-made heartbeat.
I go outside because I want to feel the sun, not just see it. I want to feel the rain on my skin, the wind on my face, the earth under my feet. I want to smell the air and the approaching storm. I want to walk out my door without getting into a car. I want to plant something and watch it grow. I want to resist the tethers of modern society. I don’t want to be a Roman, lost in the wilderness of our decadence. Is it possible to escape from our own cultural arrogance? Can we break free from our belief that dominance is our inheritance? Can we look at those around us without a feeling of superiority, whether human, plant, or animal? When the butterfly flutters from flower to flower, I wonder…can I hear it scream?
I have left the paper on my desk, the pen in the holder, the computer turned off, and walked out the door. I have smelled the rain, felt the wind, seen the flowers, and touched the earth. I held hands with that boy who bounded out his back door, barefoot and full of wonder all those years ago. We danced under the stars, with no plans to come back inside.
I often wonder how many people let nature stare at them through the window. I have never had a quarrel with nature. I stepped out of my cave a long time ago and discovered the world.
Rather than hear the incessant hum of man, I want to hear the sound of the butterfly as it flutters above the earth, floating free. Can you hear it?
