Real space or MySpace

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

By Brooke Williams

I spent last Thursday and Friday in Washington D.C. at the National Forum on Children and Nature. This forum is the latest action in response to Richard Louv’s ground-breaking book, “Last Child in the Woods: Saving our Children from Nature Deficit Disorder.”

While the book (and the millions of hours of debate and conversation it inspired) clearly outlines the problems resulting from fewer and fewer children getting outside, the forum was created by the Conservation Fund to encourage projects that show promise in reversing this trend.

The forum was made up of leaders representing the broadest possible spectrum of disciplines: architects, developers, social scientists, educators, gardeners, nutritionists, biologists and anthropologists. (Jack Shea and Doug Wachob from the Teton Science Schools were there.)

Staying indoors in front of their computers glued to MySpace, Facebook or one I just found out about – Second Life (where participants can create their ideal albeit virtual life in case their first life isn’t turning out the way they want) is making our children more obese, more hyperactive, less able to concentrate, etc.

This generation of children may be the first in modern times to have a shorter average life span than their parents.

If kids don’t go outside, they won’t learn to love nature, which is the first step toward wanting to conserve it. Environmentalists are worried about who will lead the movement in the future if today’s kids don’t care.

This subject has had me wondering about my own history. I was a Boy Scout, but a bad one. In fact I hated scouting. Louv talks about a child needing “unstructured” time in nature. Scouting is all about structure.

My love of nature began with the field behind my house. If you’ve been to R.E.I. in Salt Lake City, you’ve probably driven by it – west of the two reservoirs off of I-215, just north of 33rd South.

It seemed huge by kid standards, a place where people dumped their grass clippings and construction waste. In terms of scenic beauty and wildness, it wasn’t much but it was all I needed. I’m sure my mother didn’t think twice about our spending every summer day in that field. If she worried at all, it was a small price to pay to have us out of her hair and on our own. For me, Tetanus shots, sprained ankles, and the regular bites and stings were the cost of freedom.

I remember an abandoned road grader, waist-high tumbleweeds and billions of grasshoppers that we caught and tortured shamelessly. I could draw a map of it right now, each detail with a dozen stories attached to it – some real, many imagined.

I remember the musty smell inside our best hut (a deep hole covered by discarded plywood, a plastic tarp and dirt); the giant spiders and lizards we considered our pets; the Easter chicks and gold fish we buried there. I remember the colors and the heat and how exploring the “uncharted” north east corner was an all-day commitment. Most of all I remember when I walked through the gate at the back of my yard, I was entering my own unique world.

A lot has changed since those summers in the early sixties. Today, mothers are afraid to let their kids roam all day alone. And most of the fields are gone, turned into shopping centers or subdivisions. What are kids supposed to do today for that “unstructured” time in nature in today’s society? Assuming we find them those safe fields, can real space hope to replace MySpace?

The National Forum on Children and Nature seems to be the necessary step for answering these questions. I’ll keep you posted.

I’ll be going back to that field the next time I’m in Salt Lake. It will be a pilgrimage, of sorts. I don’t expect it to be how I remember it, but something happened there that led me here to the Tetons and the work I’m doing now. Maybe I’ll learn what it was.
Email me any ideas you might have to help children get back to nature. brooke@muriecenter.org
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