Curiosity and Love
By Kate Morgan Reade
I have a penchant for transporting myself deep within nature.
The world is in such a mad rush, and we have deadlines and obligations. But it is at our peril that we deny ourselves nature by passing it by.
The best therapy opens every sense to the abundance of gifts surrounding us every day, regardless of location. Even in a city, there are interesting plants bravely forcing their way through cracks in human hardscape, and intrepid birds chirping somewhere. Even a sandwich can conjure connection if one leans into lettuce: how does the leaf structure support its growth, is it bitter or sweet, juicy or dry, crisp or listless, and why? Whether leaning against a tree to read, taking coffee outside, or looking at the varied plants along a highway, there are worlds to explore everywhere.
Yesterday, while waiting at a red light near an urban interstate on-ramp, I noticed the most beautiful natural display of grasses and wildflowers not three feet away. The textures were mixed, and colors ranged from bright yellow and purple blooms to soft yellow-green plumes of wild grasses. Regardless of location and without fail, when I pause to really look, I always come away with a deeper respect for and feeling of being allied with nature.
I love walking with young children outdoors, because when they are not pulling us forward to the playground, they compel us to slow down to allow their short little legs to keep pace. In adjusting to their stride, there is delight in stopping to watch ants busily crawling in and out of cracks in the sidewalk. As often as circumstances permit, I recommend sitting down on warm pavement—with or without children (although with is more fun)—as a superior entertainment to any other spectator sport. What kind of ants are these? What does their colony look like under the pavement? What happens when it rains? What are they doing?
Taking a picture for a later guidebook search is an option (or a disciplined ID search on the spot, if it returns a quick answer and not an endless rabbit hole that distracts from the moment). My friend Sue Clancy would doubtless recommend carrying a sketch book, which reminds me to set one by the door for just such occurrences. I think if youcan draw a stick figure, you can draw an ant. Alternatively—if not additionally—notes on color and location, the shininess of a beetle, or kind of tree a bird was spotted in are all helpful details for later investigation.
One day, as my then four-year-old and I walked the long country driveway to the mailbox, she tugged me over to a tree stump off to the side. “Momma, look at these! This must be where Dr. Seuss gets ideas for his drawings.” There was moss, fungus, and British Soldier Lichen in a merry pastiche of textures and colors. Of course, the mention of such a fascinating name led to a barrage of questions starting with: “Why are they called that? What is Britain? Where is it? Why did they wear red? Do they still wear red? What is a revolution? Are we friends now? What kind of plants are lichen? What makes them red? Can we eat them? What do you mean they break down rocks??”
Twenty minutes later, she was still focusing intently on the tree stump, noticing how green the moss was, continuing the string of questions without pausing: “How can it be so green when the stump and ground are so dry? Oh, Momma, look at that beetle! I wonder where she’s going? Do you think her family lives far from here? Is she scouting for food? Do beetles have strict feelings about their ‘temmitory’?”
The dry pine needles on the ground absorbed the summer-sun heat, filling our tree stump party with a resiny fragrance that never fails to return me to my own childhood. I close my eyes and I am four years old, asking my own endless questions, in awe and wonder at being in and of nature.
“As children, we are very sensitive to nature’s beauty, finding miracles and interesting things everywhere. As we grow up, we tend to forget how beautiful and magnificent the world is. There is magic and wonder for eyes who know how to look with curiosity and love.” ~ Ansel Adams
About Kate
I really like words. I am a verbihund, dictionary diver, Thesaurus Rex, portmanteau meddler, metaphor intermingler, and shameless purveyor of verbal roguery. I dig etymological excavations, literary device devilry, and logophilic levity in the investigation of all things interesting. And bad puns. Always with the puns. Follow me on Substack at the Verbihund Cafe.
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