Postcards from West Chester

After a happily uneventful 875-mile road trip across New York’s I-90, around Cleveland and then down I-71 through middle Ohio, we arrived safely and in good spirits to my hometown of West Chester, Ohio, a mini-metropolis outside Cincinnati where super stores and chain restaurants now outnumber the cows that provided the backdrop of my youth. But some things here will never change, like the free feeling I get cruising up and down the peaks and valleys of Tylersville Road with my windows down and music blasting (special thanks to Rewind 94.9 for playing Gin Blossoms and Joan Jett at the exact right moment for my psyche).

So far, I’d describe our stay as hot. Whether it’s June or August, we always seem to bring with us a string of 90-degree days and humidity. But if it weren’t that way, it wouldn’t feel like home. These are summers I remember—skin always shining with a thin layer of sweat, and huge puffy clouds that drift across blue sky as slowly as glaciers.

Without the beach down the street, the kids will cool off under the sprinkler and in the backyard pool surrounded by spacious sun-speckled green lawns on all sides, and silent swarms of harmless muggy-weather bugs that stick to their skin as they frolic. It’s different in a delicious way, probably because these kinds of days are closer to the summer days I knew growing up. What’s even more fun, though, is coming home and discovering new pockets of nature together.

A couple days ago we scouted out a playground off Yankee Road called Dudley Park, which seemed to be newly rebuilt. From beneath the shade of full grown trees, we hardly noticed the warming day. Friendly waves of wind found us, too, and provided the peace of perfect temperature. It was really only hot in the direct sun at the swings, but the heat gave us a good reason to swing higher and harder to fan ourselves.

It was at that moment—when Henry and I were competing to see who could get high enough to look over the top of the swing-top first—that we noticed the tiny pond hidden by a hill, only yards away. We dragged our heels in the woodchips and came to a halt, then headed over to take a look.

At the edge of the pond we found about twenty dragonflies darting about, eager to include us in their game of hide and seek. Some were midnight black and as big as my fist, with wings so fast they were near invisible; others were the color of sunset and the size of my pinky finger, dancing by with a friendlier flutter and seemingly saying hello. Our favorites, though, were a threesome of iridescent blue and green mid-sized dragonflies that flew in unison as they explored the rocks and tall grass along the bank. We were fearless and so were they and we shared the space together peacefully.

Eventually, Henry bored of the show and tore out a handful of long grass then tossed it into the pond in a heap. Who doesn’t love just ripping out a bunch of grass? The wind on the water combined with the ripple-effect of a manmade current (probably to help prevent scores of mosquitoes) carried the blades in all directions. Henry started pointing out letter shapes he saw in the crisscrosses of grass. This is something I really love about Henry—he’s very visual. He can make connections between shapes and images that astound me. From the time he was two, he was able to see images in things like bathtub bubbles and oil spots in the parking lot—from guitars to car emblems. We had fun trying to find the whole alphabet.

From there, we started talking about what makes things float. Naturally, we got to talking about boats. I challenged him to find things to create a boat without any glue, tape, paper, etc. Between you and me, I was not even sure we could, but it sounded fun to try. We collected tiny pebbles, flowers, grass, sticks, twigs, leaves and more. It took a few attempts before we engineered the perfect boat for this particular pond—made of a giant green leaf and gently bent lightweight twigs. Our tiny boat, manned by a small white flower, made it all the way to the opposite bank before succumbing to the water. We cheered!

Even better was sitting together and watching it all, just snuggled side-by-side in silence, fingers crossed and waiting for the satisfaction of accomplishment. For Henry—and all children—small wins like this are enormously powerful. To him, we conquered something impossible, plus had a great time experimenting. Our trip to The Cone that night was well earned. Here’s hoping for a few more perfect days like this one. Wish you were here!

The Sitting Spot

If you’re a regular reader of my blog, you know that one of my recurring themes is the importance of using nature as a means to disengage from the world, exhale and reenergize the spirit—probably because it is what has been most effective for my children and me as we make our way through the ups and downs of life.

But we’re no different from anyone else. Each one of us wakes in the morning to a superhuman list of to-dos, and each one of us goes to sleep at night with a swirl of worries, thoughts and future to-dos spinning in our heads. Right now in 2012, we’re expected to be open 24 hours and ready to respond immediately to not only the priority needs of our families and friends (which is a given), but also to the needs of our jobs, communities, church families, interest groups and even Groupon deals. The impact of this way of life is that our brains are too full—sometimes of important things, yes; but often of just nonsense. If it weren’t for the excess of meaningless information I choose to expose myself to via Facebook, television and the Internet, I might never worry myself over some of the things that are likely a huge waste of energy. Of course, the more we know and understand, the better we are—but I’m not sure any part of me is benefitting from the flood of oddball studies directing me on how best to live (often proven wrong by a new study months later), or from crazy-maker websites like WebMD, or from anything related to “reality” TV or entertainment “news” for that matter, and most certainly not from the hundreds of mommy philosophies out there. There’s so much to filter through all the time, and everything presented gains support through Likes and comments or celebrity stamps of approval, which makes it even harder to discern what really matters to me as I define who I am. (And so completes my essay on why Facebook needs a Dislike button.)

Seriously, though, I find myself missing the days in the not-so-distant past when it was easier for me to quiet my personal world and regroup. It was easier partly because face-to-face was where meaningful interaction took place, because the nightly news was only 30 minutes long and was indeed mostly news, and because the work day really ended when you left the office. Newspaper was king, and books were the number one great escape. If any interpersonal conflicts occurred, they would be dealt with upon the next face-to-face interaction—or perhaps with a phone call the following day, maybe a personal visit if something needed more immediate attention. Still, time and critical distance existed, which was healthy because reasonable thought prevailed more readily, especially in the case of heated matters. Urgent meant urgent. Today, everything seems to be flagged as urgent. Matthew McConaughy getting married would not be “breaking news” in the traditional sense, or even an above the fold story. Everything seems to be important; but in reality most things are not. 

The way we communicate has changed and the way we receive information and the amount of information we receive has muddled our perceptions of what’s supposed to be important, but it’s still up to us to maintain a sense of what should and should not matter in each of our personal lives. It’s up to us to break free from the self-imposed pressure to be always available, and likewise it is up to us to say no to the impossible ideals of best self put forth by the media. Most importantly it’s up to us to unplug and take the time to know our true selves and our values so we can make educated decisions about when to tune out and when to tune in—to be able to decipher and then stand beside what aligns with our values, and what really doesn’t: what hinders you on your path, and what helps you. It sounds like common sense, but the truth is we all get caught up and confused sometimes. We’re still adapting to this new way of life, getting to know the pros and cons.

It’s not always easy to make the time to get to know ourselves and to remind ourselves of who we are and who we want to be in the lives we have been given. But it remains important. I recently discovered an idea that I’ve been wanting to share, which is the exercise of sitting in nature in the same spot for a given amount of time—if not each day, then each week—where you can invite peace and clarity back into your life as practice. It’s called a sitting spot, and I read about it following a post on a fellow nature-lover’s Facebook page no less (this was something I knew I should tune in to!). The sitting spot is something Native Americans have practiced for a long time. We don’t all have access to the view from the top of an awesome mountain as we eat we our Nature Valley bar, but the beauty of the sitting spot is that it can be anywhere. Maybe your sitting spot could be that great view of the sunrise at the end of your daily run. Or, a hidden bench in the park tucked between fragrant, flowering bushes. Maybe it could be underneath a favorite tree in your backyard. Chances are you probably already know right where it would be. In fact, you might inadvertently find yourself there quite often already. My advice is to go to that place where you feel a connection and engage in something akin to meditation. If you’re diligent, this spot will become a home, a safe place, where the sounds and smells of nature soothe you and the view gently washes away your worries and allows you to spend quality time with you.

I hope you will share your stories about your sitting spot here or on the MPM Facebook page. More than that, though, I hope the sitting spot becomes a tool in your arsenal as you battle the demands of your busy lives and develop ways to protect yourself from the bombardment of information out there. The sitting spot might just help you to simplify your world in other ways, too, even if only in perception.