There has been a lot of attention over the past decade to a phenomena labeled “nature deficit disorder.” It is the idea that children are spending less and less time outdoors, more and more time indoors interacting with electronic devices (hmmm….) and that this has implications for their emotional and physical health.
I tend to agree. I have been one that is attracted to the outdoors. For example, I love to camp. I don’t like not having access to a hot shower for five minutes in the morning, but some of the feelings I get after three days of camping (it takes me that long to “detox”) are purification, peace, connection with my surroundings, and understanding. Maybe one can get that in expensive hotel rooms with a spa, but I can’t afford that. Being in dirt is a great alternative in terms of results.
I used to work with an African-American woman who came to work each day as if dressed for a fashion show. She wore high heals, ornate earrings, and had long nails which she had manicured professionally weekly. She was also overweight, but didn’t seem to mind it. She flaunted her body. Every summer we had a barbecue for clients at the health clinic where we worked. It was held in a city park behind our building. We took turns barbecuing while taking care of needs back at the office. On one occasion where our times overlapped, I remember her looking around at the big trees and commenting, “This is nice.” She didn’t say this in an off-hand way, but like she meant it. Ms. Fashionista was moved and I realized that nature can touch all kinds of people.
More interestingly to me is the phenomena that people are not comfortable being around nature. I remember taking a walk in a park with another friend of mine through some Madrone trees. Madrone trees shed bark and I was pulling off some of them. The bark was very thin, like paper. Pulling on the bark was mildly therapeutic because it made me feel like I was releasing the tree from its harness to reveal more of the soft, beautiful bark underneath.
“Stop it,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
I don’t remember the precise reason she gave, but it made her very uncomfortable that I was interacting with nature in such a way. From my point of view, the tree was shedding bark anyway, so why not help it along? I offered her the bark in my hand, but she didn’t even want to touch it. And she is from Montana! Coming from a city that has more residents than the entire state of Montana, I thought people from big nature states were naturally close to nature. Befriending her made me realize that just because you live in a state that sounds synonymous with nature doesn’t mean you actually interact with it.
It is important to me that Polina grow up not only feeling comfortable around nature, but having her own relationship with it. I consider being in nature to be the absence of cars, people, buildings and electrical poles. It is vital to my soul. The experience of it resides in my imagination and it’s where I seek solace even when I am away from it. However, I am terrible when it comes to naming things in nature. I know a few plants, but I can’t distinguish a Douglas from a Fir tree, and I live in the Pacific Northwest. Naming it hasn’t been as important as feeling it. I live up in the clouds that way.
I know nothing about the soil, except that it needs water, maybe some lime and compost. I’ve never actually grown anything myself, but I have maintained established plants in my home for several years. That is one of the things I am working on as we work on our home. My mother grew tomatoes and lettuce on our balcony in the apartment we lived in. I didn’t take an interest then, preferring to eat the produce instead. But now, in middle age, I do have an interest.
The week before Memorial Day, Polina and I went camping in the same spot we went 20 months earlier. We had our time together and our time side by side, each enjoying nature in our own way. Except for a flip phone and an occasional internet check in at the local library, we were without electronic disturbances. Here are some pictures from the trip, along with some flashbacks.
Ferry Ride to campsite.Beach next to our campsite.Throwing rocks into the water.Carrying water in May 2015.Carrying water in September 2013.Inside our tent in May 2015.Inside our tent in September 2013.Next to our tent in May 2015.Polina next to our tent in September 2013, wearing the same pants.Looking at a heron.
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Our Sunday began as any ordinary day. My daughter woke me up at 7:45 am. I gave her a bath and we went through our normal routine to get ready for the day. I made breakfast, washed the dishes, and did three loads of laundry. At 11 am, my friend from Russia skyped me. The previous day was May 9, “Den Pobedy” or Victory Day, which is a huge holiday over there. I congratulated him on the defeat of Hitler.
“We couldn’t have won the war without you,” I said.
Because there is no Mother’s Day holiday in Russia, I didn’t receive any recognition. At that moment, I had a thought: “what is more important, the defeat of Hitler or Mother’s Day?” I sided with Hitler’s defeat, and it made me feel slightly better.
While I was doing my chores, Peter worked on his car. We had planned to take a trip to Big Four Mountain. He changed the oil, cleaned the air filter, replaced the brake and power steering fluids and added transmission fluid. Frankly, he did stuff I don’t know how to do, so I’m grateful that one of us knows how to do these things. He thanked me for the breakfast, and when he saw me skyping with my friend, asked if we could skype with his mother.
“Aha,” I thought. “He is going to mention Mother’s Day.”
Once we connected, he took my laptop to the backyard to show her our blooming rhododendrons.
I decided to take a shower. How could he remember his own mother and not wish me a Happy Mother’s Day?
Cliff at Big Four Mountain
The ride to Big Four Mountain was uneventful. There was no mention of Mother’s Day. We passed some landmarks that reminded me of a time several years ago when Pete and I rode in on his motorcycle. We got off at a spot and Pete insisted I ride his motorcycle by myself on a portion of the road leading to the park. I didn’t even have a license to ride a motorcycle, nor was I comfortable with the weight of his bike. He was so insistent, I caved in, and I hated him for it the whole time. I was never so happy to reach the halfway point and turn around. I was happy I pulled back into the parking lot alive.
We were getting closer to the park entrance and there was still no mention of Mother’s Day.
Pete had been talking about visiting Big Four Mountain for several weeks now. Our weekends have been busy, but I decided to accommodate his wishes.
He never even asked me what I wanted to do for Mother’s Day.
Big Four Mountain range
By the time we got to the park, the thoughts in my head put me into a bad mood. The plan was to have a picnic together before walking to the ice caves. When he opened my side of the door, I told him I wanted to rest in the car.
He responded, “I need your help carrying the supplies.”
He only needs me to carry the supplies.
Pete took Polina to have a picnic.
Great, they’re having a picnic without me on Mother’s Day. Just my luck.
When Pete came back and asked again what was wrong, this time, I told him directly. To my surprise, he apologized, said he has been self-absorbed recently, and wished me a Happy Mother’s Day. He said he had intended to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day at the picnic.
And just like that, the weight was lifted. The day was salvaged and we had one of the best days of our lives this year. Since we got a later start, there were fewer people at the ice caves, and we had the entire picnic area to ourselves on the way back. (He told me he just hung out with Polina and that they hadn’t eaten without me.) We watched a robin look for worms, some small black birds (sparrows? starlings?) zig zag in the air looking for insects, and on the way out of the park, several deer jump across the road. It was a lovely evening.
We still have some challenges ahead of us and are by no means out of the woods, but I am so grateful we were able to have a nice day and spend quality time together as a family.
Here are some pictures from our trip.
Every journey begins with a single step. The start of our trip.Interacting with nature.
Polina preferred walking on rocks at every opportunity.Our family together.The ice cave. There used to be several but this is the only one left on the trail. The ice cave used to be closer to the rock we are sitting on.The path back.
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I just came back from a 10 day camping trip with Polina. Some people raised their eyebrows and discouraged me from going, and to be honest, I didn’t know whether it would work. I told my husband that if it didn’t work out, I would be coming home.
We were scheduled to arrive the day after Labor Day at a campsite in Spencer Spit State Park on Lopez Island. To get there, it’s about a two hour drive to Anacortes to catch a ferry to the island. I started packing the day before. I was confident we would have a good start the day we were to leave. Oh, how things went arye.
Polina didn’t want me to get ready. She wanted me to hold her. I knew this because every time I picked her up, she stopped crying, but when I put her down to get some business done, she cried.
We managed to get some breakfast in, but we weren’t able to leave by mid-morning as I envisioned. I had a hard time taking a shower with Polina standing by the child safety gate, crying.
I tried to put her down for a nap, but she wasn’t having any of it.
I couldn’t finish washing dishes. I couldn’t finish packing my and her clothes (the camping gear was already in the car). Theoretically, I could have continued to let her cry, but I COULDN’T do it.
What the heck. Let’s have lunch then. Better to save money and eat at home. We ate lunch. Afterward, Polina continued to be a handful. I was beginning to lose it.
No, let’s me be honest. I did lose it.
I was really looking to get away. I have gone to Spencer Spit almost every year for the last eight years. Camping calms me. If I don’t get out of the city, I start to feel antsy. It had been 15 months since my last getaway. I was overdue, and I felt it. I felt desperate.
I don’t remember my words to Polina exactly, but it was something to the effect, “What is it?! We have to go to the ferry! I spend all day with you, every day, for the last year. Why can’t you cooperate?!”
Infused in that plea was a tone of desperation because I wanted to go. I needed to get away, and this little being wasn’t cooperating. I hate losing it. It makes me feel like crap.
I emailed my husband. “Please call me,” I wrote in the subject title. He called a few minutes later.
“I can’t get out of the house,” I cried, exasperated. “She won’t let me get out of the house.”
As always, he is more practical in these situations, because he’s not the one experiencing this frustration that, after a year, has penetrated my core. He offered to help me when he got home from work. I knew that would make my departure really, really late. His message to me was that whenever I got there, I got there.
I did finally get out of the house, with all my stuff, at 3:30 in the afternoon. Plenty of time to catch a ferry at 6. The ride up was uneventful. I was happy to be on the road. My mind was beginning to prepare for my vacation. Anytime I get out of the city I feel lighter and my problems are in the rear view mirror.
I got to the ferry terminal around 6 and was shocked to learn that the next ferry leaves at nine o’clock! I figured I might have to wait, but with the evening commute, I didn’t think the next ferry would be in three hours. I know, I know, I should have checked the schedule. Hey, I was just trying to pack our clothes and get out of the house. I didn’t know what I would do with a one year old at the ferry dock for three hours. I could have left and come back later, but then I wasn’t guaranteed a spot on the ferry. I decided to stick it out. I had come this far, I wasn’t going back.
I called Pete and left him a message at home with the latest development. I needed options in case it was too dark and too cold to set up a tent that night. When Pete called back, I asked if he could investigate places to stay on the island. (I don’t have a smartphone.)
He called back saying he made a reservation for a room for $99.
“$99!” I exclaimed.
I couldn’t see myself (yes, myself, this was going to be my bill) paying that much money to stay one night, even if it was going to be dark and cold by the time I got there.
“Cancel it.” I said. He did, and I hoped I made the right decision.
I watched Polina walk around the café at the ferry, along the parked cars at the dock, and in the small park nearby. She had way more energy than me. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Three hours passed and, miraculously, we both made it. The sun had set by the time we drove onto the ferry. It was beginning to get dark outside, and when we disembarked about a half hour later, it was pitch black dark. (See the picture below.) Polina, at this point, was tired. It was 10 pm, her usual bedtime, and I still had to drive to the campsite and set up a tent. This was a walk-in campsite. That is, the campsite is about 100 feet from your car. No other site was available for any considerable length of time. At this point, I was thinking, “What was I thinking?”
Here is how it looked on the ferry landing as we arrived on the Lopez Island.
I felt myself shift into survival mode. This was going to happen. I drove to the campsite. It took me several loops around the campsite to even find my site. It was so dark I couldn’t see the numbers. A woman in her car at one of the campsites (that wasn’t a walk-in) was looking at a map. Since I was the only car driving around, and around, I hoped she didn’t find that creepy. I did find my site and got out of the car. The sky was clear and I could see the stars clearly. I put Polina inside my ergo and got to work. I could carry more without my flashlight, so after I found my campsite with my flashlight, successive trips I returned without one. Polina clung to me tightly. That was a good thing. It was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of me. If I had let her go, I wouldn’t have been able to see her.
Polina didn’t want me to let her go even as I was setting up the tent, so I did things with her in the ergo or with one hand if she protested being in there. She wouldn’t let me inflate the mattresses, but I did put the sleeping bags and blankets down. I set a lantern on a picnic table for light, but made trips back and forth in the dark with Polina. There was no one next to me. I’m glad I wasn’t afraid of the dark or scary monsters, although I did think about it. In my younger days, I would have been afraid.
With the tent set up, there was one final obstacle. When I went inside the tent to lay Polina down, she would start crying, and a campsite is no place for crying. The sound pierces through the night. “Oh no, Oh no, Oh no” I thought to myself. I picked her up and stood vertically, and she stopped and began falling asleep in my arms.
I was tired myself and couldn’t stand there all night. And it was cold. After a couple more unsuccessful tries laying her down inside the tent, I prayed. And then it worked. I lay her down next to me and she was able to stop crying to latch on to my breast, and then she fell asleep. A feeling of relief swept over me. I was able to extricate my breast from her mouth without waking her up. I called Pete and told him that the tent was set up and I was okay. I lay down next to her and drifted off.
The next day I finished unpacking. I had a couple days to myself, since I arrived at the start of the week, before it would get busy with weekend campers. We went down to the spit, went to the main town center at Lopez Village, went to Fisherman’s Wharf and watched a wedding rehearsal. It was nice to be away, but I didn’t have the same relaxation that I had in previous years when I went by myself for two reasons: 1) I had a one year old to watch out for and 2) I hadn’t worked in the past year, so I didn’t have the stress of a crazy boss or pressured work environment. Nevertheless, it was good to be back to reconnect with the people I know and make new friends. I’m sad to say that it felt like I had more heartfelt conversations with people during my 10-day stay on Lopez than I had in a year living in a major metropolitan city.
Pete made a surprise visit on Saturday. “You don’t think I would miss my girl’s first camping trip, do you?” He videotaped as he walked up behind me. I was so shocked to see him I don’t think I could see anything for a minute. When the realization sunk in, I was overcome with joy, and I wanted him to stay longer. Unfortunately, because he has to use a CPAP, camping is not an option for him. We had a great time walking on Otis Perkins beach together, looking at the scenery at a preserve nearby, and then going down to Spencer Spit. I missed the strawberries this year at Crowfoot farm. The harvest ends September 1. Usually I would pick and eat pints and pints of strawberries, but not this time. I did get a chance to talk to the owners, Eric and Elf (Eleanor), which was nice.
I like the idea of going camping every year with my daughter. I never had any annual events with my mother. I spent summers by myself, either at camp, at a swimming pool, and in my teenage years, being a hermit in our condominium. Except for two summers spent at a swimming pool, it wasn’t a happy life. I don’t want that for my daughter. I want my daughter to like me and for us to have a bond, not at all what I experienced with my mother. After visiting the San Juans almost every year for a decade, I don’t know whether I will go to the same place again next year. There is something comforting about the familiar, but I would also like to see other places. My main priority is safety and convenience (particularly with a baby/toddler). Lopez Island has the perfect combination of natural beauty and contemporary convenience, so it will be hard to match.
I love this picture of Polina by our tent. The pants are now capri pants on her.Picture inside our tent. To my surprise, Polina wasn’t afraid being inside the tent.We had to carry our own water to the campsite. Here is Polina helping to carry empty gallon containers to the well.
