Seagulls Don’t Like Lettuce

In an alternative reality, this blog post would have been about the awesome experience I had with my children watching the sun set over the beach … how we’d all lounged together peacefully atop the quilt Granny Solomon had stitched for Henry when he was born … eaten freshly-picked strawberries and Trader Joe’s snacks … watched the sky turn from blue to orange to night … all while humming Kumbaya. But the real story of what unfolded the day we sought the sunset is slightly different, and more bird-brained.

For one thing, we’d picked up “freshly made” Subway sandwiches and Doritos for our picnic dinner. And for another, the tune we’d been rocking out to on our drive was “Sunglasses at Night” (we’re in a collective Corey Hart phase right now).

In fact, the song was still running through my head as we laid down Granny’s blanket (that part is true), because I remember being surprised at how blindingly bright and high the sun still was at 6:15 p.m. It was scheduled to set at 8:11 p.m. A lot of earthly rotation needed to happen in two hours, I thought to myself.

We sat down and unwrapped our sandwiches. Henry and Sadie split a foot-long tuna sub, as always, and, it was a complete and immediate mess, as always: mayonnaised tuna fish smeared on cheeks and fingers, strands of shredded lettuce falling to the blanket like confetti, flimsy pickles stuck in the sand. The good news is that while moms do not love messes, seagulls live for them.

Within seconds, a gang of five silver-backed gulls inched toward us, led by a particularly hungry-looking elder with red eyes and ruffled feathers. We were easy targets because the crowd of beach-goers had dissipated substantially by that time. When Sadie, the bird lady, saw the gulls, she dropped her sandwich, stood up and started dancing and clapping. Her convulsions did nothing to faze the scavengers. The pack separated, but only in order to surround the blanket on all sides. They stood at a safe but still intimidating two feet from us, tamping their gray toes in the sand and periodically squawking their demands for food. Sadie and Henry squawked back, and I could see in their eyes how much they wanted to share their dinner with the birds.

“Don’t feed them,” I said. “If you feed them, more will come.”

As soon as I spoke those words, I regretted it. What I should have said was, “If you feed them, they will go away and never come back, and won’t that be sad?” But it was too late.

Henry started throwing food to the gulls … but the boy loves a Subway tuna sub, so what he threw to the gulls was … lettuce. He just scooped up all he could off the bread and tossed it at them. The birds nearly collided heads darting for the shreds of lettuce, each one greedily grabbing a mouthful.

To my surprise, just as quickly as they’d gobbled them up, they’d spit them back out. Seagulls don’t like lettuce! Mother Nature’s trash collectors don’t like lettuce. They’re not big fans of pickle either. The birds waddled backward in the sand, disappointed.

Suddenly, I felt bad we’d let them down.

I looked at Sadie who had taken three bites out of her sandwich. I knew she wouldn’t finish it. I also knew the kids wanted to see the birds happy (or maybe I did). So, I broke my own rule. I opened up her sandwich and scooped out some seriously generous portions of tuna and flung them toward the gulls, divvying up the food as fairly as I could: first to the elder, then to each of the younger birds.

“What seagulls really like is tuna,” I said.

“Yeah,” Henry said. “Seagulls love tuna!”

We all joined in, feeding the seagulls probably more than what any of us actually ate. (Seagulls like Doritos, too.) Luckily, we did not draw a huge flock of other seagulls. As you know, seagulls can be aggressive and downright dangerous sometimes. A Jersey Shore gull once stole a whole funnel cake right out of my sister-in-law’s hands in Atlantic City. They aren't the cleanest birds around either. But, these twilight gulls of ours were pretty friendly, all things considered. Sadie, of course, was over-the-moon with the experience.

Speaking of the moon, we never made it long enough to see the moon rest over the beach that night. After dinner, the kids played in the surf a little, but eventually Sadie became too tired to tolerate the beach. She hung on my leg crying. She laid herself in the low tide and moaned. She dipped her pacifier in the sand and stuck it back in her mouth, then cried more. I had no choice but to abort the sunset mission.

Still, we enjoyed our dinner with the gulls. When we got home, I was able to sneak in one book with sleepy Sadie: “Salty Seagull: A Tale of an Old Salt,” by Suzanne Tate. Sadie closed her eyes before the last page, but she still had a smile on her face.

Make Outdoor Time Outstanding

I love Todd Christopher’s book, “The Green Hour.” It’s a helpful go-to guide for getting the most out of being outdoors with your kids, and it’s broken down into useful chapters based on location, too: backyard, trails, meadows, shore, etc. What I want to share with you today are a few quick tips he gives for making those experiences enjoyable, rewarding and memorable every time … mixed in with a few points of my own to support Christopher’s wisdom.

Simple and Flexible

“Wonder unfolds at a child’s scale and pace, which are necessarily smaller and slower than an adult’s.” – T.C.

Generally speaking, I try not to do too much or expect too much during our outings. I don’t count on the kids to last very long, and I don’t set my standards high. As Christopher says, there will be frequent stops and even more frequent questions. With one of my children firmly planted in the why stage at 5 1/2, and the other teetering between timid and needing to be tamed at 21 months; I never know what our adventures will bring. Sometimes I am running back and forth between them, shouting answers to one, and just plain shouting at the other (DON’T EAT THAT!). There are days we might walk a mile, and there are days we might walk only a yard or two. That’s why I very rarely “plan” the adventures. Things run more smoothly when I slow down and go at their pace. The kids are my compass. I read their interests and supplement our experiences based on what is happening in the moment. That becomes part of the adventure. Because we go into it blind, we can't help but come out with something surprising and special—whether it’s a new discovery, a renewed sense of spirit, or the memory of being wildly silly together.

Positive and Powerful

“… knowledge isn’t a prerequisite for exploration. There’s nothing at all wrong with saying, ‘I don’t know.’” – T.C.

Reading this, I’m pretty sure I exhaled. I mean, I’m no walking encyclopedia. I know some obscure things and some general scientific explanations, but overall, ask me something about nature and I’m more inclined to tell you a good story about it without actually answering your question in a useful way. So when I'm out and about exploring with the King of Why, I like to turn his questions back on him. When he asks me why bugs bite, for example, I ask him what he thinks first. Okay, for one thing that buys me time. But, I always love his guesses. I like to watch the wheels turning behind his brown eyes. My mind takes a snapshot of his imagination at its finest. Then, I might take a stab at an answer, or I might admit I don’t know. Christopher says this connecting moment of "I don't know" is a powerful and positive one, because it puts child and parent on even ground when we can say, “But, let’s find out, together.”

On this note, he suggests never showing fear. Children so easily mimic and internalize the reactions we put forth, and worse, they might take them on for themselves, which is the last thing we want. We all have stories about where our deepest nature fears stem from: "this one time, at ____ camp ..." Why not do what we can to put on a brave face? Fake it a little. I admit I have some work to do in the bat-and-bug department on this one (their ninja-like qualities freak me out), but it is kind of fun pretending to be the super heroes they think we are. For Sadie, I know this has had a positive impact. Just the other day we had the chance to experience a park interpreter's "pond aquarium" at a nature seminar. Sadie just stuck her hand right into the murky, smelly water and helped look for the elusive turtle we were after. Impressive stuff.

Pure

“Remember that while childhood takes time, it is precious and fleeting.” – T.C.

You’ve worked hard to provide your children the opportunity to build a personal relationship with nature, and to connect as a family unit. Don’t squander it. The best thing you can do is be in the moment—with them. Remember what it was like to be a child. Remember the wonder that comes from watching ants working. The dreams that are born in the color of a flower.  The mystery of a rustle in the brush. Experience it all again, with your children. You will not only give them the beautiful parental excitement and animation that children thrive on, but you will send joy your own way. You'll make these fleeting moments last forever in your mind and, most importantly, in the pages of your children’s childhoods.

Caverns in the Sand

Sand is like cinnamon. Come in contact with it, and you’re instantly whisked away to a content, yummy place in time. Somehow, though, our response to the feel of sand on our bare feet exists outside of time. There are many people who report experiencing this serene response even upon their first encounter with the sometimes soft, sometimes grainy but always satisfying stuff. Sand is something we connect with in an intrinsic way.

There’s a passage in Richard Louv’s “The Last Child in the Woods” where he provides an interesting nature-as-therapy “theory” that he was introduced to by perpetual nature lover Elaine Brooks. During her years on the planet, Brooks worked as a biologist, oceanographer, and eventually teacher of nature. And what she alleged is that the relaxation response to nature is in our DNA.

Primitive humans in the heat of pursuit climbed trees to escape their would-be captors, she explained. Finding refuge in the branches provided them a “rapid comedown from the adrenalin rush of being potential prey.” Brooks said “biologically, we are still the same,” and we’re still programmed for flight or fight. So amid the stressors of today—balancing work and family, information overload, the constant blue buzz of technology, and good old-fashioned noise —we find respite from the race in the quiet of nature.

Sand, for whatever specific primordial reason, triggers the relaxation response as readily as the branches of a tree. That’s why every time my little family and I arrive at Salisbury Beach Reservation, I crave the moment when the boardwalk planks give way to sand and all the thousands of miniature peaks and valleys created by all who’ve walked there. 

But, in addition to this wonderful gift of peacefulness, sand (and nature) can also serve up life lessons ... if we're paying attention.

Tuesday morning, Henry, Sadie and I made our own footprints when we arrived (early enough to enjoy an almost-empty beach). Henry and Sadie are beach kids. They can play for hours, happily. Switching easily from building sand mountains, to sifting sand for seaweed and remnants of shells, to running in the surf. Just when I think they are tired, the cycle replays. I usually have to use bribery to get their rosy cheeks and sweaty, sand-sugared/sun-kissed blonde heads back to the car.

On this particular morning there was an older boy building knee-high sand caverns at the edge of the water, each cavern complete with its own moat. At first, he did not want the kids to come near his masterful sand village, but like seagulls to Goldfish crackers, they hovered around the boy until he finally let them help.

Sadie sat in each moat, one-by-one, scooping up wet sand and letting it run through her fingers. Henry worked with the boy to build the next cavern. He listened well and studied the boy as he worked, then matched the boy's techniques and details almost exactly.

Every once in a while Sadie would stomp through a cavern accidentally, or take a shovel to the side of one, devastating the internal structure. Henry and the boy would jump up and try and save their work.

As it turned out, though, the biggest threat to the village was not Sadie Leigh and her barbaric baby ways—it was the tide. It started coming in, slow at first. But eventually it came fast and relentlessly, and with every wave a cavern was being lost.

It reminded me of gardening, and how we work so hard to maintain our yards, but in the end—a hundred years from now—whatever work we put in will be overgrown, gone, and probably forgotten. I felt sad as I watched the frustration build on the boys’ faces. Eventually they had to withdraw their efforts and walk away.

Henry was a little down and out afterward. I asked him how it felt to help his friend build the village. “Really fun,” he said. I asked him what else he liked about it. “I liked helping,” he said. “I liked making the sand super high.” Just recalling it brought the smile back to his face.

“Well, next time we come to the beach, let’s do it all over again,” I said. “But, I insist on drip castles.”

“Okay!” he said.

While I don’t know the factual reason that we connect with sand the way we do, or why it brings us so much peace; I was reminded of what we can learn from sand:

1) There are so many things in life we give our energy to, hoping they will last forever, or become something great; but sometimes the tide comes in and things get washed away. Just like that.

2) When things get washed away, for better or worse, a blank slate remains—and, fortunately, you still have all you need to rebuild, as long as you have the drive to do so.

3) Appreciate the process, find reward in the work itself. (And maybe take a picture to remember it by.)

I hope Henry connected on some level with those lessons as well.

The Bird and the Bug

Today it was hot. Just.Plain.Hot. There’s a reason the word hot has only three letters—one syllable is really all you’ve got the energy to utter under these conditions. This day felt like the kind of hot where, if it were acceptable, you’d stay in your underwear all day long and exaggerate your suffering like a modern-day Scarlett O’Hara while fanning yourself in front of an open refrigerator.

Needless to say, this family does not handle heat all that well. Our cheeks get red, we get cranky, our eyes glaze over and we get a tad bit dazed and confused—I’m pretty sure Henry and I had a long and involved discussion about the value of the Creamsicle. But neither of us is to blame. No one’s brain works properly above 90 degrees.

As I stood watering the window boxes (and periodically spraying one or the both of us with the cold water from the hose) I came to the conclusion we had to get somewhere cool—fast. We finished our work, raced upstairs and woke Sadie from her nap. The left side of her head was a mess of wet curls where she had sweated through her sleep, her sweet face pressed against her pink crib sheet like a grilled cheese sandwich. She was so hot that when I held her up to the air blowing from her window unit, she shuddered with the sudden blast of cool.

Three glasses of iced water later, we were in the car, though. We opted for the trails at Maudslay where we'd hoped the trees would shade us; and maybe trap some rogue breezes in their leafy arms just for us. But with the still intense heat, Sadie moved slowly and we made it only as far as the yellow fields just beyond the stone fence. Henry was happy to collect sticks; Sadie her rocks. And when we finally sat to rest our sorry selves in the grass, we were fortunate enough to catch sight of something kind of amazing. Over the field, there were dozens of birds darting and dipping through the air like sea gulls on the ocean. Catching bugs.

Judging by the population of friendly insects sharing time with us yards away under the trees, I assume the buzzing and bopping of the summer bugs in the tall grass was beyond plentiful. Henry and Sadie moved to the edge of the field, mesmerized by the birds and their dinner dance, their black bodies moving powerfully and with determination against the periwinkle summer sky. Although it reminded me of my first experience with bats on a twilight evening in Athens, Ohio … I eventually joined the kids, each of us hovering ourselves on the frame of this painting before us. I leaned down and sat with Sadie, who loves birds so much that every time one came near, her chest would visibly rise with excitement.

Most of the time, the birds were too far away to see in detail so Henry and I made our own sound effects. A swoosh with the capture of the bugs, and a buzz to effect the sound of the escapees. Our sounds became actions. Sadie and I were the bugs, running from Henry and his giant wings. And when he’d catch me, I’d get to be the bird and he would buzz and jump away. It was your basic game of tag, but with an extra dose of creativity. We made the game so elaborate that whether bird or bug, it was pure fun to take on the characteristics of something other than ourselves.

It was still hot out, of course. There were not nearly enough rogue breezes to provide genuine relief. But we did have a good time. And for an hour we forgot how hot we really were.

Still … next time we head out in the heat it’ll be early, and it’ll be the beach. Because today the heat was the bird, and we were the bugs. For sure.

The Nature Effect is for Grown-Ups, Too

There exists a vital characteristic of human nature that compels us to continually seek balance in our lives—an equilibrium instinct, if you will. As soon as we feel ourselves getting too immersed in work, hobby, or habit, we can sense our lives becoming slightly out of tune; and we pause to ask ourselves how we can restore harmony. We don’t always attain balance, however, and that feeling of being on the heavy side of the see-saw, unable to push up, leads to all sorts of unhealthy things: sleeplessness, moodiness, depression, and anxiety—even physical illness.

As society moves ever-faster toward a high-tech, hyper-connected, instant-gratification existence, it’s no surprise to hear the inner voice in all of us calling out for a simpler, slower way of life. The Nature Movement is part of that. And for good reason. Nature brings us peace and healing, a true respite from "the real world."

I liken the nature effect to traveling on an airplane by myself (bear with me on this). For me, an admitted do-it-all, yes-person (like most moms), the moment the plane takes off is very relaxing for me because suddenly there is nothing I can do on that plane but sit and stare out the window, maybe listen to some music. I can close my eyes and almost see the words on the to-do list break apart into letters and float away, because I am trapped 34,000 feet above where those tasks reside, and I can’t tackle a single one of them even if I wanted to. It’s forced down time. Of course, I don’t fly too often so this treasured bit of time is certainly not enough to restore balance.

What I’ve found on our recent journeys, however, is that being in a quiet place outdoors has this same effect on me. The difference is that I can make it happen, not by force, but whenever I need it, and wherever I am. Quite frankly, that’s the wonderful part about it. I have found a place, accessible any time, where my body and mind willingly and graciously submit to letting go. Just yesterday, I found myself trapped up in thought and worry to the point I was feeling overwhelmed. I had the luxury of alone time, so I stood up, put on my shoes, grabbed my camera and just started walking around town. I felt the sun. I breathed the air. Surveyed the summer clouds. And, then I ended up taking photos of random flowers and window boxes around town—just going street-to-street and stopping whenever I felt inspired by the colors or the arrangement or the contrast of the flowers against peeling wooden siding. It was instant-gratification and I didn’t even need a password to access it. When I came home, if my spirit could have texted me, it would have said THX : ).

We all have busy lives. And inevitably into those already hectic lives hard times will fall. Some long-lasting, some we have no real control over. Those can be highly challenging and confusing times when we will look anywhere and everywhere for answers, yet they still do not come. Logging into the computer for distraction, solution or solace is something I think we can agree is not always the answer, sometimes it’s just more chatter for an already taxed mind. But re-engaging the part of us that connects organically with the quiet and harmony of the natural world is a possible answer, and we must make time for it.

It is my hope that the nature effect will be a tool for my children, as it has proven to be for me, that they will carry with them as they grow up into a world that will be vastly different from the one we grew up in, and that our parents grew up in. The only way to do that is to commit to exposing them to nature and to allow them to cultivate their own personal relationships with it ... and to be an example of the effect in action. We need to show them that a search engine does not hold all the answers they seek, and how could it? We are individuals, and the wondrous thing about nature is that we connect with it in individual ways and we, therefore, find in it truly personalized healing and balance.

I'm about to begin reading Richard Louv's latest book, "The Nature Principle," to explore the many ways we can all benefit from what he calls Vitamin-N. I hope you will read it along with me. 

Everyday Nature: 4 Simple Ways to Get Your Daily Dose

As part of the Mud Pie Mission, we’ve been trying to fit in a minimum of 30 “nature minutes” every day. It’s summer, so this goal seems pretty attainable, right? Well, as it turns out, it’s not always so easy to come by 30 free minutes—especially if you think about preparing for an outing plus getting to and from your destination. Ask any busy mom or dad and they’ll tell you … some days the idea of scheduling an additional 30 minutes of anything is near impossible. Even with the break from school, there are still hours spent at work, medical appointments, the gym, errands, play dates, church, family dinner, reading time, summer classes/camps, organized sports, transportation, baths—the list is endless. Every once in a while, all of the above happen in a single day and it’s a small miracle if the dishes get clean. Knowing this all too well, I had to get creative. Here are four ways we’ve managed to meet our goal:

1. Garden Together

This summer, I made it a priority to involve the kids in caring for the yard. Henry is five, so it’s easy for him to take on tasks like weeding and watering. Sadie, who is far too young for real responsibility, still enjoys filling her playhouse pots with water and dumping them on the plants, plucking flowers and playing in the landscaping rocks while we work. It’s important that they witness the commitment to and routine of yard work, but the value of this particular daily chore is much greater. When we head out to deadhead the flowers, water, and weed, it gives us a chance to connect with nature directly, to watch the changes that occur, to see how our actions affect the success or failure of the garden, and to talk about what we see. We’ve watched our bushes go from naked to green to flowering, met new bugs, and tasted our own herbs all in just minutes a day.

2. Dine Among the Elements

Kids thrill at the idea of doing something outside that they normally do inside. When the weather cooperates, it’s actually convenient to throw together a quick picnic dinner out of fridge leftovers or pick up take out, and then lay a blanket down at a favorite park, the beach or right in the back yard. There’s no hot stove adding to the oppressive summer heat, no floors or countertops to clean, no constant reminders to sit still or mind manners … just time to enjoy being under a blue sky with the people you love most and sharing a meal. It’s almost like the food tastes better outside, too. The kids eat more, they laugh more, and they run around and get some exercise afterward. One time, we ended a very busy day with a twilight picnic dinner at Maudslay under a giant tree. Sadie tried to feed grapes to the ants and Henry used a stick to pick up our trash. Thirty minutes became an hour. And as we headed back to the car, bellies full and spirits calmed after a hectic day, we said hello to a family of six (four teens), with their own picnic basket in tow. I hoped that would be us some day; and I knew in that moment a tradition was born.

3. Spy the Sky from Inside

Sometimes nature itself prevents us from getting outside. One afternoon, right as we were about to go on a walk, a thunderstorm hit. It was already 4:30 p.m. and I knew we would miss our window of nature-time for the day. While I was feeling discouraged, the kids had glued themselves to the front window, watching the yellowing sky, the shuddering trees and the leaves and branches that raced down our brick sidewalk in the wind. Instead of flipping on PBS or playing a board game, we pulled up chairs, drank chocolate milk and watched the show from the window. The yellow sky turned dark as night, thunder roared, rain drove against the window like nails. It was awesome. Better than TV. We even turned off the lights in the dining room so everything beyond the window illuminated in the flashes of lightning. We were with nature, but dry and safe, too. The best part? It’s a perfect excuse to snuggle together. Even without a storm, it’s fun to pull open the blinds, turn out the lights and watch the moon or the stars before bed; or greet a new day by letting in the light of the sun, surveying the clouds and guessing the weather for the day.

4. Get Crafty, Naturally

Here’s one final tip I’ve incorporated throughout the Mission. Every time we’ve walked the trails or combed the beach, we’ve collected things. We have everything in the house right now from sticks and dried flowers, to pine cones and shells. I keep them in a box in the kitchen. Sometimes while I’m cooking dinner or cleaning up from breakfast, I’ll pull out the box along with some glue, paper, scissors, markers, paint, etc. While Sadie plays with the treasures, rediscovering their textures or pushing them in her doll stroller, Henry will create collages, paint rocks, build gadgets or retell the story of a particular item and how/where we’d found it. What I like about this activity is that it brings creativity and nature together in a totally unstructured way. I try not to suggest what to do or not do with the treasures because it’s more fun to watch what they’ll do. Henry once got out the Play-Doh and made imprints by rolling the pine cones and poking the sticks in the dough, creating all sort of cool designs. Sadie followed suit. I just stood by watching from the corner of my eye, chopping a green pepper and smiling … while Mother Nature provided a canvas for their imaginations.

If you’ve got quick and easy ways to achieve 30 minutes of nature each day, please comment and share your ideas. We’d love to hear them!