Snapshots in Nature

Photo courtesy of Henry Aiello.

Thanks to new technology, taking beautiful photos is easier than it has ever been before. An iPhone, for example, can take pictures that are as high-quality as a Canon Rebel. And with an array of photo editing tools available for free online—like pixlr.com—each of us can become an expert photographer. I love taking photos of my children and of nature, just like many people do. And because it’s so simple to create something amazing these days, I am addicted to photography.

It’s also an excuse to get outside. Scanning the landscape for artistic images occurring naturally outdoors, and then snapping them in the perfect light, from the perfect angle, is a calming activity for me. Plus, it's creative. Even though each of us has the tools to produce flawless photos, it doesn't mean we're all producing the same thing. We each still see things in different ways, which means the way we take personal photos and the subjects we choose for personal photos allow us to express our unique selves and the varied ways each of us sees the world.

Children are no different. In fact, they see the world with fresh, innocent and curious eyes—through the same eyes we all once saw the world, but that time and life have changed in us. That’s why I love to hand the camera over to Henry and watch him as he walks through the woods, taking photos. I like to see what he is drawn to, and hear the way he talks about why he wants to capture a certain image in a certain way.

Henry loves to take close-up shots (another reason why I turn him toward nature and away from candid shots of mom, for example), and he has an eye for finding and photographing intricate textures found in nature like the mossy, peeling bark of an old tree, or the slick green gloss of a brand new leaf. And he loves to take pictures through the trees, where the branches become spider webs crisscrossing blue sky.

Photography is an activity that combines Henry’s love for technology with the peacefulness of the outdoors—and introduces him to the notion that art is more than just drawing or painting (something he struggles with in school). With photography, he feels free to create an image and he feels less confined by commanding his brain to tell his hand to draw the perfect set of eyes on a self-portrait, for example. Those skills are extremely important, but when something like art or music is a struggle there is the threat that a child will turn away from it completely because it’s too challenging or they feel they cannot master it. Of course, they do need to know that it’s the daily practice and, quite frankly, the struggle that helps improve any skill, but he also needs to know there are other ways to express creativity that might come more easily. For Henry, it’s pictures of nature (and making videos of himself singing “You Might Think” by the Cars, but that's a whole other blog).

Lastly, in regard to nature photography, I always try and take a picture of the kids in the same place outside, but at different times of the year. For us, we tend to take shots near a favorite tree at Maudslay State Park. In some photos the tree is full of green, in others it is bare. The tree changes a little every time, and as we continue the tradition, the children will change as well. Someday, I hope we will have an album full of these photos and they will become a flip-book of all the many points in time we stood in the same spot.

When we return home from our photo excursions, we feel like true naturalists, uploading our photos and reviewing them, choosing which ones to edit and save. Family photos taken this way have become less of a practice in “Aw, Mom. Do I have to smile?” (where the result is two scrunched up faces forcing painful-looking smiles) and more of an experience that we really enjoy—where the smiles and laughs are 100% natural.

Life and Limb

Go climb a tree. I mean that in a nice way. Go climb a tree, and pay attention to what happens to your body.

From the moment you tighten your fingers around the first tree branch and attempt to pull your own weight, you send an APB to your entire body. Every muscle must prepare to work, every system must engage. Resistance would be futile. All parts must focus and communicate to protect the whole and meet a common goal. As deliberate as it sounds, something about climbing comes naturally to us as humans. It’s one of our survival instincts.

By the time we feel the gentle pressure of a tree limb pushing back against the soles of our feet, our arms already know to reach for the next branch. Our eyes move up and around taking snapshots through the web of boughs so they can send the images back to our brains, where plans are calculated to keep us safe, but ever-climbing.

The first time Henry tried to climb a tree he was just shy of five years old, and my motherly instinct told me to stop him. Safety is a great concern for any parent, of course. Young children, especially, are just beginning to learn safety rules. They hardly have the real world experience to understand the importance of being mindful. Risk-taking is more fun, anyway, and it's a typical childhood characteristic—I had a fondness for walking on monkey bars (even with a broken elbow). For a child with ADHD, their signature distractibility and impulsiveness only adds to the concern when it comes to things like bike-riding or crossing a busy parking lot. Still, I could see in Henry’s eyes that he was determined to climb that tree. Instead of playing the mom card, I walked over to the giant pine, at the edge of one his favorite playgrounds, and just kept watch. I watched him pull his 37-lb. body upward, carefully selecting the safest branches, steadying his feet from time to time to take a break and evaluate the situation. All around us children played, yet somehow Henry was able to drown out the shouts and screams and attend to the task at hand.

When he got about nine or so feet high, I felt it was high enough. Just as I was about to say so, Henry stopped climbing on his own. He sat down and wrapped his legs around a fat branch, scooted himself backward until his tailbone was touching the tree trunk. Then, he leaned forward and laid his belly down on the branch. His cheek rested there, too. He dropped his arms and let them dangle in the open air. Then, he met my eyes and smiled down at me with a sweet, prideful grin.

He stayed there in silence for about two minutes until another little boy ran up and started a climb of his own. Henry pushed himself up, turned and carefully shimmied back down the tree. When he reached the bottom, I told him I though he was a born tree climber and gave him a high five. Then, he ran off, shouting again with his friends. It had all ended just as suddenly as it had begun. But I knew he had been revitalized by his experience. You see, in the same way that we are hard-wired to know how to climb, climbing itself is deeply gratifying.

It combines a wealth of the things we need to sustain our spirit: thrill of adventure, pride of facing a new challenge, satisfaction in hard work, and of course, a sense of accomplishment. In the end, it also provides peace of mind and new perspective. For those who climb regularly—whether trees or mountain-sides—you already know the secret. Climbing is a way we can access all the enriching sensations we crave in a more immediate way than we are able to in our daily lives and challenges. To have a healthy way to feel these things whenever we want to is important. It reminds us we can feel them, and when we look at life like a big giant tree, we get the sense that if we stay the course and get to the top of our personal climbs, it will be all the more rewarding. Just like a great view from a tree top.

For a child who struggles with attention to the point he is frustrated when he cannot complete things—tree climbing is a reminder that the ability to focus exists in him and that he will find a way to access it and control it at school, just the same we he does when he climbs ... that he already has what he needs to get where he wants to go. Nowadays, Henry climbs all the time, whenever he can. And it’s one of my favorite things to watch. I imagine us climbing together one day—sweating our way up some big old mountain out West where we can hang out on the side of a cliff and talk about that very first climb of his.

But for now, climbing belongs to him.

Sticks and Stones

Henry finds a favorite stick every time we go outside. Sometimes it is short and stubby, sometimes long and skinny. Sometimes it is five sticks in one. Every once in a while, it still has pine needles on it. Sometimes the stick becomes his walking stick, other times his sword. Typically, though, it’s a tool to dig in the dirt or skewer dead leaves like shish-kebab.

Sadie has followed suit, but her preference is rocks. She’ll lug around a heavy rock that, from a toddler-perspective, could accurately be described as a boulder. Or, she’ll stuff her pockets with smooth and round stones, or metallic rocks that shine like baubles in the sun.

I have picture upon picture capturing their many finds. I like to look back and see all the discoveries they have made and think about why they were drawn to that particular stick, or stone. But yesterday, as we sat alongside the Salisbury Rail Trail and rolled rocks and sticks down one of the path-side promontories of stone to see whose rock could “win,” I got to thinking about something entirely different. It was an old saying I remember hearing as a child (probably sung in between rounds of “Red Rover," too): Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. I got to thinking about whether or not that statement was still true today, and about the impact of bullying. Before I get to that, though, I need to lay some groundwork with another Henry vignette.

Henry moves at his own pace, not because he’s necessarily meticulous (sometimes so), but because he is systematic. To achieve what he needs to achieve, he often (not always) has to follow an exact series of steps to do so. That means that on his way to breakfast in the morning, he is compelled to grab his purple car—the one that makes lots of noise when he drives it—and push it along the floor, on his hands and knees from the family room, to his place at the kitchen table, where he parks it, and is ready to eat. Before he crosses the street to get on the bus, he likes to kick the same dirt pile he kicks every morning and watch the dusty air puff up and land on his shoes. The processes he goes through bring him comfort, perhaps, or maybe they give him time to prepare his body and mind for a shift in activity. But they do slow him down a bit (let’s just say the morning routine is not my favorite part of the day). In his mind, though, he is going just as fast as he can—for Henry. I have to support that (why are we all in such a hurry anyway?!), but I also have to give him a dose of reality sometimes (because the world won’t always wait) and set a timer for him, for example, which is just one of the modifications we’ve become accustomed to at our house.

Unfortunately, this means he sometimes gets a little teasing at school. I remember one story he told with eyes full of tears about how a friend at school told him he’s “too slow” and he “holds up the line,” when walking back from lunch/gym class/art, etc. Henry explained to me in a defending voice that he was fast in line and that his friend was wrong (in essence, “Mom, I am doing my best!”). As a parent, I am just now beginning to try and interpret social situations that confuse or hurt him. A whole new layer of parenting is awakened when peers begin to express when they view someone or someone’s behavior as different from themselves or from the group. We suddenly become guides to understanding human nature, and I doubt any of us would claim to be an expert on that subject. All children will experience teasing situations and feelings whether or not they have been diagnosed with a developmental delay, ADHD or Autism. And every time we are privy to those situations and feelings, our hearts will hurt right along with theirs. I don’t have any definitive answers for it, because I know each situation will be unique and will therefore require a different pair of “kid gloves.”

For me, it’s about considering all the factors first: how Henry is feeling (angry, sad, frustrated, all of the above), his opinion of the situation, his opinion of the friend involved (does he consider them a “friend,” for example), what my objective brain tells me about the situation, and what my subjective emotions tell me. Not only that, but I need to consider things like context, like how he is understanding the language he has heard and how he’s processed the social cues that accompanied the language—to make sure he has “read” the message accurately. Finally, I need to balance the important notion of “standing up for yourself” with how to be compassionate (sometimes kids just say every thought they have, for instance, without intention to hurt). I am Henry’s mom, so if I err (and I will), I will err on the side of Henry and what’s best for him. At the same time, I want him to understand social situations and to give him tools to evaluate them before he allows them to affect his confidence. I’m grateful he shares things with me now, and that I can help dissect things for him. But that might not always be the case. And in some cases, neither of us will be able to validate why someone has opted to spread negativity.

With the way “bullying” has been amplified by technology, I think it’s a valid concern. I’m no professional. I’m no expert. But I know that the Internet, social networking and texting are a dangerous arsenal when it comes to bullying and teasing. Growing up is a challenge rife with emotion and hormonal ups and downs as it is—urges of all kinds are difficult to manage. When something like anger or jealousy arises now, though, it’s so easy to pick up the phone and text or pluck out a nasty status update on Facebook and get those feelings out, as opposed to taking cool down time or “sleeping on it,” and coming up with a better plan. That’s why parents today are faced with a supreme call to action. We need an arsenal of prevention that is stronger than technology. We need to pay more attention, give more attention, educate ourselves, and educate our children when it comes to bullying. I am generally soft-hearted when it comes to human nature—and having not encountered extreme bullying, other than through the media— my inclination is to figure out a way to provide love and security for my children and all the children in their circle, to build a sense of community and compassionate—even in the wake of difficult feelings or tricky social situations. I don’t know how to do that, but I know it will be in the forefront of my mind from now until my children are probably 30 years old. I can’t protect them from hurt feelings or the times when they will feel left out, or under-appreciated. Those are things every one of us will feel time and again throughout life. And they are natural. But I can parent to create compassion and teach advocacy for self and others who are being teased or bullied, and I can work to be part of something that encourages positive reaction and pro-action, and crisis management that is respectful, healthy and fair. I can help educate youth on the value of difference, instead of the fear of it. That’s all I know right now. My children are young, but I don’t think it’s too early to be thinking about this topic; because our children are older than we were at their age.

I am eager to watch the new documentary, “Bully,” and expand my knowledge of this problem. The film shows the dangerous side of bullying and how when it’s left unchecked or not taken seriously, becomes an epidemic and not just youthful indiscretion—and has lasting, harmful effects. I am a novice, but a novice who is prepared to take on the challenge and become an expert. You can check out the film site here: http://thebullyproject.com/.

For the record, Henry won the stone-rolling competition. And he congratulated Sadie on doing a good job.