I don’t like to tell people what to do. In fact, except for my kids, who lack imagination where performing necessary tasks is concerned, I’ve come to dislike it extremely. Well, even then. But I’ve been thinking lately that Mormons appear to be beeline people, traveling in more or less straight lines between this or that field of responsibility and the home hive. Work, home, school, home, temple, home, ward house, home, stake house, home, temple, home, Walmart— home, thank goodness!
Is Mormonism an indoor culture?
Whether it is or not, Earth Day is coming up April 22, less than one week away. If at all possible, I hope folks try to get outside, day or night, and have a good look around. And consider taking the kids. Even if it’s backyard exploration or a half-hour jaunt to the local park. Do a little bird-watching— populations are migrating right now, you might see something surprising. No need to step very far out of your comfort zone, and please, don’t take unnecessary risks. Keep it simple and close, if that’s your speed. It’s all call of the wild.
The world’s extraordinary, even when strange, even where it isn’t as beautiful as it used to be, and it stands in needs of us. Mormons. Not to save it, but to abide with it, to wind ourselves deeper into its braid. To change simply by witnessing, to be changed. It’s the nature of spirituality to rise to the surface at the least opportunity.
So try? Even for a few minutes. Stop between buildings. Wind down the car window. Think about God’s taffy pull with light, stretching it into being, shuffling land and sea, granting earth permission to sprout grass, sprinkling stars around the sun and moon, invoking the waters to bring forth life, shaping animals upon their bones, and seeing it all as good.
It is good. Even the seemingly bad reflects glints of good.
Get out and see for yourself. I’ll be reporting on my Earth Day activities, so if something cool happens to you while you’re out, you’ll be able to post about it in the comments.
Like I said, not to tell people what to do (shudder), but to suggest a possibility. People can’t have too many possibilities.
Wilderness Interface Zone 
I forgot to tell you, a local elementary school has had a nature grant given them and they built an open classroom. It has a roof and some walls, but not others. There was a picture of it in the paper with kids seated on the floor and the teacher standing by a clear case on wheels, showing off something natural, I can’t remember what. The one wall was not there, just sunlight and the color of the trees outside. It was so cool to see this.
I especially found it interesting that they would invest in such a classroom that would be for practical reasons unusable for much of the winter school calender. They must think the good it can bring in the short time it is available to be worth it!
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Years ago I was in Amman, Jordan meeting with Queen Noor. She admonished us to remember Earth Day. I was surprised that she cared. You remind me of the moment.
I love the earth, the dirt and the smell of it, the trees and how the wind sounds and looks as it blows through the leaves. I love when the winter comes to a close, and the sap rises in the nubile twigs. I love the sound of the water trickling beneath the thinning ice. I love the feel of the sun, fighting off the chilly breeze. I love the new green things that pop up, despite the nighttime frost.
I love how my dog can sense the newness coming on, and paws at the earth beneath her delicate feet, ready for the race that must be coming soon. I’ll have to take her to the track so she can prance with the wind and feel like she did when she was a pup, learning to race. Now she’s a retired racer, but she still springs like she did before her life turned to summer. She and I are in our summer, and we match. We both feel the spring in the same way, ready to play and run and roll in the grass and dig in the earth.
Coming out of Spanish Fork Canyon, the earth is springing into life, fuzzy green everywhere, so beautiful. What could be better? Life renewed. It can’t even wait for the snow to stop. And there are little purple flowers popping up amidst all the green.
Here in Price, all the globe willows are bursting with green. First with green in spring, last with green in fall. Who could resist the charm of a globe willow and all its joy, its love of life?
Not me.
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I especially found it interesting that they would invest in such a classroom that would be for practical reasons unusable for much of the winter school calender. They must think the good it can bring in the short time it is available to be worth it!
Hopefully, they’ll find a way to use it during those winter months, at least here and there.
In Last Child in the Woods, Richard Louv sounds high alarm over how many school had begun dropping outdoor recess from their daily schedules, calling it unsafe (lawsuits) and unproductive (falling test scores— how can going outside help raise those?). I’ve been in schools designed to eliminate the “outside distraction” of out-of-doors by not building in windows. I think that such sensory deprivation contributes to any number of problems for a student body collectively and individually.
Maybe such experimental spaces are in partial response to Louv, whose book has become very popular. And maybe it’s one of the cool things to come out of the global warming rhetoric. Sometimes good action is born of high rhetoric.
However it happened, that’s an experiment I wish I’d been part of when I was in school, rather than all those weird social adventures pedagogical pundits pushed kids into. Not to mention the odd things teachers did to control classroom environments, in which I was often an unhappy and involuntary participant.
Give me the wide outdoors over the classroom troublemaker any day.
Though … both together might be interesting.
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Hi Ruth,
Happy to see you here!
I love the earth, the dirt and the smell of it, the trees and how the wind sounds and looks as it blows through the leaves.
Do you get fierce wind and dust storms in Price? I’ve been through there many times, and it looks like you could—so much bare earth everywhere. Or have I cliched Price?
We’ve had dangerous wind and dust storms for the past three weeks. The air darkens with wind-driven earth, and you can’t go outside for very long or your throat and nasal passages are scraped raw. I like those clean spring winds like you describe, the ones that give the trees voice. But I’ve had it with grinding wind for a while. Hopefully, the storm fronts to the north that have generated them down here will let up and give all our lungs a break.
Years ago I was in Amman, Jordan meeting with Queen Noor. She admonished us to remember Earth Day.
For those of us able to put down roots in this world—sounds like you’re one—I think Earth Day an important, shall we call it, “genealogical” commemoration. But being able to remember our roots in this earth is not, for me, the only noteworthy opportunity. I like thinking about how as people, we’ve got roots in our kind, too, and acts of conservation ought to extend sideways into our own society. For me, this isn’t just a matter of preservation or reclamation, but also of creation or of remembering important moments in our lives when, among our own kind, we acknowledged the roots that run between us.
That’s probably vague. I’ll put up my Earth Day Field Notes from last year to demonstrate what I mean.
I love the sound of the water trickling beneath the thinning ice.
Ooo, ooo! I know exactly what you mean! That’s one of the most magical sounds in the world. And those bubbles that form between the water and ice that skitter like they’re some kind of life form right under the ice, following the flow down? I can watch those for hours.
I love how my dog can sense the newness coming on, and paws at the earth beneath her delicate feet, ready for the race that must be coming soon. I’ll have to take her to the track so she can prance with the wind and feel like she did when she was a pup, learning to race. Now she’s a retired racer, but she still springs like she did before her life turned to summer. She and I are in our summer, and we match. We both feel the spring in the same way, ready to play and run and roll in the grass and dig in the earth.
Sounds like you have a greyhound. That right? I’ve wondered what kinds of companions retired racers make, and it sounds like it’s worked out well for you. I have very little experience with greyhounds, except one funny one where my Siberian husky—who thought she was the only sentient being on earth—and I were sitting on the steps of a school, facing outward toward the field and playground, which were both completely empty. Something caught our attention to our left and we both turned to look. Suddenly, I became aware of a presence close at hand and turned to find a gorgeous brindled greyhound standing between my knees. It had come out of nowhere, and silently presented itself. I said, “Where did you come from?” and my husky turned, saw the other dog, and completely freaked out. She was a wildish thing, priding herself on knowing before I did what was going on, and the fact this creature had snuck up on her completely threw her for a loop. She started yelping in protest and the greyhound uttered a low “shut up” growl back while I scratched its throat. Then a Native American came walking down the sidewalk and made a low call to the dog, who turned instantly and loped away like the wind.
Made a big impression.
Coming out of Spanish Fork Canyon, the earth is springing into life, fuzzy green everywhere, so beautiful. What could be better? Life renewed. It can’t even wait for the snow to stop. And there are little purple flowers popping up amidst all the green.
I think something blooms in people in the spring. For some, it’s just relief. For others, it’s joy of the sort you describe.
Thanks for your lovely comment.
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Hi Patricia –
We do get wind in Price, not too fierce, and not often very dusty. Last week we had the oddest weather, though. It was very ominous, somewhat apocalyptic feeling. My kids were scared. I was excited and intrigued, and ready for what I thought might be an impending tornado. The prospect is so thrilling to me. Sick and twisted, I know.
The sky was filled with billowing reddish brown clouds that moved swiftly toward the northeast. There was no wind at ground level, however. I was so fascinated, I tried to excite my kids, rather than having them fear it. Eventually they began to enjoy the science of it, but initially I think they were ready to climb the walls.
There were some neat updrafts that looked promising, but it never did develop into a tornado. It did, however begin to snow, and the snow was a grotesque reddish-brown. My kids made snow art, by placing clean white papers on the lawn, and letting the snow accumulate in varying degrees. It was very lovely. We still have some on the fridge.
Cairo is the name of our greyhound. She is our pride and joy. I don’t know what we would do without her. She is my daytime companion, and drives my blues away. She keeps me from ever feeling alone, and sits by my side, my devoted companion. She knows when I am sick, and snuggles with me in bed when I am cold. She sits by my side when strangers come into the home, and makes me feel safe. And of course, she tips over the garbage can at night, just to make me curse her existence. She can’t be ALL perfect, right???
One day soon, we’ll have several greys and they will have loads of room to run and live out the puppy’s dream life. Isn’t that a lofty goal? And horses, of course . . . and . . . and . . . and . . . sigh . . .
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The sky was filled with billowing reddish brown clouds that moved swiftly toward the northeast.
That was probably dust from my neighborhood. 🙂
It did, however begin to snow, and the snow was a grotesque reddish-brown.
That happened here, too. Mudflakes.
Cairo is the name of our greyhound. She is our pride and joy. I don’t know what we would do without her. She is my daytime companion, and drives my blues away. She keeps me from ever feeling alone, and sits by my side, my devoted companion. She knows when I am sick, and snuggles with me in bed when I am cold. She sits by my side when strangers come into the home, and makes me feel safe. And of course, she tips over the garbage can at night, just to make me curse her existence. She can’t be ALL perfect, right???
What a perfect name! And she sounds like a very good dog, in spite of the garbage can weakness. Having a good dog in your life reveals the world in a completely different light. The husky I mention above lived with me in the desert. Beside providing an extra set of sharp senses that helped me stay safe, she was a remarkable athlete, and when we went hiking, she always took what we jokingly called the “Old Spice” route— the rugged way. Watching her climb and jump and skid across rocks and run across fields, etc., drew my eyes in directions they otherwise wouldn’t have gone. Because of her (admittedly complicated) companionship, I saw things I never would have seen without her being there to show me.
She was overall a moral creature, displaying good manners toward other animals and being mostly non-violent, even where cats were concerned. She never started a fight but didn’t prolong one either, putting the aggressor down quickly then going her way. She had a ego a mile high and ten wide, but given her other gifts, that little character flaw— if it can even be considered that— was completely forgiveable.
Much of what I learned about how to be a mother I learned from watching her with her pups.
Ought to do a post on dogs sometime.
How do you adopt a greyhound?
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