My sister is an orthotic practitioner who makes and sells braces for all manner of woes (including my fractured leg from February). Anyway, part of some braces require making molds, and for feet, the mold is cast from a box of very expensive foam that contours to the footsies.
The reason I mention this is the memory of my sister explaining the foam to me. While describing the process of making a mold, my sis opened the box containing the very expensive purple foam in front of me. While she continued to explain the process, I did what I usually do to something in front of me - I poked it.
Needless to say, I *almost* ruined a $45 box of what turned out to be very soft foam, now permanently indented from my little pointer finger. If I was a normal person, I would have let my sister finish explaining the purpose of the foam, and read any warnings on the box before considering actually touching it.
I'm not normal.
I wanted to, no, NEEDED to touch it, to affirm for myself what it was. I've always been like that. If it is possible for me to experience something for myself, I tend to do it. My mother says I have to do things 'my way', even if that isn't the best or easiest way. I learned to 'listen' to teachers, experts, sure, but if and when given my way, I ignore their voices at first.
In regards to natural exploration, I go for the experience, and later find out all the reasons I shouldn't have - rattlesnakes, rapids, poison plants or pissed off land owners. But when given the opportunity to be somewhere I haven't, see something new, I HAVE to get at it and use my own 5 senses to find what something truly 'is'. Often my desire for adventure overrides my desire for being perfectly safe or keeping within social bounds. This leads me to be very alert and learn a lot from my current surroundings, while being a tad oblivious to my current position. The information gained though, the experience, has always proven worth more than the possible danger or social repercussions.
Backyard, early 1990's - I was small, small enough that our Great Dane mixed mutt's shoulders were just a little below my own with both of us standing. On this one day, another foot of snow had fallen on top of the 2 or 3 feet of snow already on the ground. I started making my way down the hill, trusty dog at my side. Good thing, because within 2 minutes, I had fallen into a deep pile of snow. Arms flailing, feet unable to find purchase, I had my first memory of fear. I couldn't get up, couldn't bend right with all the layers of insulation, and I was just far enough away from the house my yells wouldn't get me immediate help. However, I took a breath, quit thrashing, and called out to what was near me.
Lucky, that self-less animal, bounded through the snow and stood next to me, and I was able to wrap my stubby arms around the dog's hips, who then worked her way forward, pulling me up to my feet again. This little drama played out 3 or 4 more times as I worked my way back up the hill. Once inside the house, my face was red and stiff with cold, my snow suit containing as much snow inside as out. Lucky shook herself, water droplets of melted snow flying through the air and dotting the entryway rug. It was the first time I didn't have to rely on my parents to come to my aid. And I felt good.
Gooseberry Falls, mid 1990's - Things may be different now, but when I went, they didn't rope any areas off. They let people's common sense control where they went in the area, so naturally, I found myself walking on the slick stones at the top of the waterfalls, staring down at all the tiny people playing in the basins carved from the rushing water. Later, my sister and I climbed the cliff side, trying to get to a cave. The cave, sadly, turned out to be just a divot in cliff side, but mom took pictures and upon looking at them, I realized how high we had climbed. No gear, no padded drop. Mom considered what we were doing, decided us capable of it, and let us attempt it. Not something that is proclaimed as good parenting anymore, with everything from social services to TV ads saying we need to protect our kids from everything.
Duluth, early 2000's - At a campsite in Duluth when I was 16, 2 friends and I went for a walk. We came across a sheer rock wall, raising like the craggy back of an ancient monster pushing out of the ground. I convinced my friend to climb up and over it, to see what was on the other side. Halfway up, my one friend ran out of handholds, so I scampered down and held tight while she used my shoulder for a stepping stone. Seeing her continue her way up, I looked to my left, and saw a 10 year old girl in full mountain climbing gear - helmet, harness, her belaying father holding the ropes. Her eyes were wide and awed, possibly at the lithe farm girls scaling the rock, possibly at our stupidity. I waved at her, and continued climbing. Later, I realized we probably climbed 60 feet off the ground. Yes, an accident would have had us hurting. But, when you consider some people die slipping in their kitchen.
So yes, over the years I've been chased by cows, dogs, hawks, barn swallows and other animals on my quests I've been near trampled by deer while sleeping on a hillside, heard the shake of a rattlesnake climbing a rocky cliff, and dug in antique trash piles a midst poison ivy roots. I managed to live this long, in part because of my parents expectations that I would, and in part because of the brand of common sense they instilled in me. Instead of knowing the dangers and avoiding them, which is the stale and common place method, my parents taught me to learn of dangers and deal with things if and when they occurred. Instead of being told which paths to avoid to miss the prickly ash on the horse trails, my sister and I learned to walk low, dealing with the occasional scrapes, and Mom dealt with the torn holes and rips in clothing. Scrapes are proof you're trying. Torn clothing is proof you pushed through. We could have avoided those paths, but then we'd never have seen the places they led.
And with that, I digress with my reminiscent thoughts. Nature is a beautiful thing, and kids need to experience it with all their senses. Being in nature should never be a lesson of boundaries and limits. It should be a study of cause and effect, a real world determination of if something is worth it. All of this culminates in a child as their common sense, not just memorized lists of things not to do. When applied to the world, this inborn common sense creates a strong person capable of not just learning, but determining for themselves true cost and true value.
It also instills the need to poke things.
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