Remember in that old "Seinfeld" episode, when George Costanza and his father kept yelling for "Serenity Now!!!"? It's amazing how many times I think of that episode while I'm trying to come up with new activities for the kids--especially while they're busy practicing their favorite go-to activities: whining and teasing.
We've been experiencing a lot of record-heat days this summer in Northern New Jersey, so what's a cabin-feverish family to do on a Saturday afternoon when the temperature is hovering around the 95-degree mark? Go outside, of course! "Ugh," you say? We had our doubts, too, but found a surprisingly peaceful and cool respite in the form of the Frelinghuysen Arboretum. Located in Morris Plains, NJ, the Arboretum comprises 127 acres of woodlands, meadows, and gardens, with a Colonial Revival mansion at its center.
Thanks to all of the blissfully shaded areas, the kids got a chance to run around the garden paths and burn off some pent-up energy...
They also had time to stop and smell the flowers. There are thousands of them...
Almost all of the trees and plants are labeled, so you know what you're looking at. (See those little black signs in the middleground below? Most of the signs are bigger--don't worry.)
The kids' favorite part of the Arboretum was the Rock Labyrinth. When we read the map before heading off to it, I have to admit that I'd been picturing a maze with Stonehenge-size boulders, but the kids were happy with the labyrinth just the way it is...
While they spent a good half hour chasing each other around the labyrinth, I wandered around the grounds and found this bucolic scene:
The Jane Austen fan in me was picturing Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley coming around the bend on horseback, on their way to visit the Bennet sisters.
I've also become strangely obsessed with studying the bark of trees. I can't believe it took me 'til my forties to really look at all of the colors and textures, the nooks and crannies, in tree bark...
I know, I know...I'm such a nerdy tree-hugger!
Anyway, it was a lovely afternoon.
You can enjoy the Frelinghuysen Arboretum for free, but it's nice if you donate a few dollars at the Visitors' Center. Be generous and consider it a thank-you to the Arboretum for a refreshing interlude on an otherwise sweltering day. "Serenity Now," indeed.
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During the first year of our school's green program, my son carried this L.L. Bean lunchbox to school. It was great for holding food containers and a thermos in place, and it's easily washable. But we found that it was just too bulky for my son's already-stuffed backpack. (The poor kid is not The Incredible Hulk.) However, this lunchbox is super-durable and well-made (it just seems like it will last for the next 50 years, easily), so my husband happily adopted it for his work lunches. I'll give it an A-.
After determining that the L.L. Bean lunchbox was too bulky for our son's backpack, we chose this Fuel Lunchbag. It has a secure velcro closure and a much slimmer, triangular design. Ta-da! No more near-hernias for our little guy, trying to carry his backpack! It's well-made, very affordable, and works exactly the way it should (keeping lunch items in place without weighing down the user). We recently bought another one so we can use both of them for the children's camp lunches. Both of them are still going strong, even after the massive backpack/lunchbox pile-up at camp (that pile is scary, let me tell you!). I'll give the Fuel Lunch Bag a solid A.
For school, my daughter has been using this adorable lunch bag, although hers has a pink floral design. It's made of organic cotton, easily washable with a sponge (or it can go through the washing machine on the delicate cycle if needed, for a rare wash-out), and is super lightweight. It can't hold a lot of items, though, due to its slim design, so it's more appropriate for young children (our daughter is five). Best of all (for her), she thinks of it as more of a "purse." (Yep, she's a girly-girl.) It's lasted for two years with no wear and tear yet, so I'll give it an A.
If I'm giving the Fuel and Mimi the Sardine Lunchbags an A, why am I going to try out...PlanetBox?
Quite frankly, I'm growing a bit weary of all the little containers that need to go into the kids' lunchboxes (or in this case, lunch bags). They take up space in the cupboard and don't hold up forever in the dishwasher (see Part 2 of the Green Lunchbox series). I'm sorry, but I just don't have the time or patience to hand-wash all of the little containers every night to preserve their closures. I need to streamline the mornings as well as the cabinet space. So, enter the PlanetBox, which my friend Mike D. (no relation to the Beastie Boys) forwarded to me when he heard that I had a green blog. Turns out that his wife, Robin, was looking for some green lunchbox options for their son before he starts kindergarten, and she came across PlanetBox.
Aside from being able to pack everything in one big bento-style lunchbox (and stick it in the dishwasher at night), one of the things I like best about PlanetBox really has very little to do with the container itself: It comes with a lengthy list of food suggestions to fill it up. I don't know about you, but I can get in a rut when I make lunches for the kids. Part of it is their high level of fussiness (I think my daughter is currently down to two vegetables that she will eat), but most of it is that I'm in a rush in the mornings and I'm just not that inspired with brand-new, super-delicious, highly creative lunch ideas that would make Martha Stewart weep in shame. More often than not, it's a bagel, some veggies or fruit, and a granola bar. I know: pathetic. So thank you, PlanetBox, for the multitude of easy suggestions.
Anyway, I'm putting in my two orders for the PlanetBox. (The kids are excited to choose their magnets which adhere to the outside--you can do that at the PlanetBox website.) I'll let you know how it stacks up, once it gets some mileage.
In closing the Green Lunchbox Series, I'll leave you with this food for thought: There will be those mornings when you won't be able to pack a 100% green lunch. You might discover that your kid's thermos has finally started leaking and you need to retire it and get a new one. Or you forgot to turn on the dishwasher last night, and now there are no clean little containers available. Take a deep breath, and let it go. The green path isn't always a smooth one. There are bumps along the way. The key is sticking with it until it's smooth again, testing out what works for you, and sharing the successes and the setbacks with the rest of us, who are just bumbling along, trying our best to be our greenest.
Have you used an eco-friendly lunchbox or lunchbag that worked--or didn't? Kindly share it with us in the Comments section below.
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2012 by Joy Sussman/JoyfullyGreen.com. All rights reserved. Text digitally fingerprinted and protected by MyFreeCopyright.com. Site licensed by Creative Commons.
Now that we've tackled thermoses and reusable water bottles in Part 1 of the Green Lunchbox Series (and thank you very much for your helpful comments!), let's delve further into the lunchbox and see what works and what doesn't work for reusable containers.
First of all, why not just pack your kids' lunches in a bunch of disposable plastic baggies and be done with it? They're quick and simple, so what's the problem? Well, to answer that question, I came across some sobering research from Ian Thomson, who founded Ocean Crusaders in June 2010 after setting the world record for the fastest solo circumnavigation of Australia. Thomson is on a personal crusade to educate the world about the issues our oceans are facing. If you think all of that plastic cannot possibly amount to much, the North Pacific Garbage Patch might help you view it differently. Says Thomson, "Plastic is like diamonds--it lasts forever." It may take just seconds to throw a few snacks into some plastic baggies, but the hard, cold fact is that all of those plastic baggies will be lurking around the planet for eons. Thomson writes: "It can take between 20-1,000 years for a plastic bag to break up...into smaller pieces. They don’t break down and those that do, break down into polymers and toxic chemicals." (OceanCrusaders.org) All of that plastic garbage kills marine life and clogs up our oceans. It's clearly time to forego the disposable plastic baggies and pack a more responsible lunch. So...onto the Road Test!
Our family started out with these reusable plastic containers. With all four sides having a latch that's easy for small children to open and close, they seem like a winner. They stack nicely together in the cabinet, so they don't take up a lot of room and they're easy to find (the lids lock right into the bases). However, even though they can go in the top rack of a dishwasher (I don't want to hand-wash all of these little containers every night), this seriously compromises their longevity. After a few months, the latches can weaken. I'll give these containers a B+.
Next, we found the Kinetic Go Green containers. They take up more room in the cabinet because they don't click together like the Rubbermaid containers. However, they hold up longer in the dishwasher than the Rubbermaid containers (from one to two years with everyday use), so I'm giving them an A-.
Next, it was onto Farberware. Realizing that these types of containers just cannot be used for more than a couple of years if you use them every day (see above two examples), Farberware is biodegradable and recyclable. Major green points for that. They get an A.
We've also used these stainless steel containers. We love that they're not made of plastic, but they are relatively bulky and can get heavy in a lunchbox (depending on what's in them), so we went right back to using the Farberware. Still, for durability, construction, and ease of use for the dishwasher, I'll give these a B.
Even though I've found reasonably good food storage containers, I'm making a concerted effort to seriously cut down on plastics in our house--even the reusable, recyclable ones--so this school year, we're going to be exploring those little, washable packets made of cloth, with velcro closures. Our school's Green Team is currently in the research stage of exploring a fundraiser with reusable cloth packets, so for now, I'll leave you with this example: LunchSkins. But there are many more brands available. I'll keep you posted on how those work out in the future.
As with Part 1 of this series, if you have a green lunchbox product that has worked for you (or one that hasn't), please leave a comment below with the details.
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2012 by Joy Sussman/JoyfullyGreen.com. All rights reserved. Text digitally fingerprinted and protected by MyFreeCopyright.com. Site licensed by Creative Commons.
Right about now, smack-dab in the middle of summer, it begins: Lunchbox Anxiety.
As the founder and chair of our school's green team for going on three years now, I'm supposed to be the point-person for the parents, the "expert" (yikes!), on which lunchbox items are reliable. Which ones won't leak all over everything, including your child's book report that he spent two weeks trying to scrawl out in straight lines, in between building semi-recognizable Lego projects and fencing with his little sister using Tinker Toy sticks, before being caught in the act and told to get back to writing his book report.
For the third year running, I'll need to get up in front of an auditorium full of parents (some enthusiastic, some skeptical) at Back-to-School Night in September, and ask them to join our school's green mission (if they haven't already), by packing eco-friendly lunches for their children. It's a request that comes with a lot of responsibility. Understandably, parents don't want to waste their precious time in their already-hectic mornings, packing a lunchbox with reusable items that fail the road-test--or rather, the bus-test. Sure, they get that it's important to reduce the amount of garbage that winds up in the cafeteria trash cans, and later, in landfills, and they know that they should help their children understand the ecological reasons why their lunch the next afternoon shouldn't wind up lasting for the next two hundred or so years. But packing a lunch can't turn into a mega-hassle for the parents, either.
So what works? Reusable lunchbox items are a BIG category, so I'm breaking it down into bite-sized posts. First, we'll tackle...
Leak-Proof Thermoses and Reusable Water Bottles
Two years ago, our school's green team researched and priced out A LOT of thermoses and water bottles for a fundraiser, but we had a big problem. Our students range from nursery-school age to eighth graders, so parents have vastly different needs and wants for their children's drink containers. Straws are helpful for younger children, but they're hard to clean. (I've found that pipe cleaners work for this purpose, but that isn't exactly hassle-free.) Twist-off caps are fine for the older kids, but the younger ones often don't have the muscle-power to open them, so that puts an extra burden on the teachers. Flip-tops are convenient, but they can flip open in a backpack on the bus (thereby ruining that book report I mentioned earlier). Thermoses that hold 18 oz. or more of liquid are too heavy for the little ones, but small thermoses are going to dehydrate the older kids unless they make multiple trips to the drinking fountain, and the teachers don't like that. You get the gist. We couldn't agree on one or two perfect thermoses for our student body, so we ended up recommending to parents that they pack their own choice of thermos, and opted for a green fundraiser that had nothing to do with lunchtime. (Sand bead bracelets from Darfur, available from Koru Fundraising. It was a HUGE hit and sold out in record-time.)
This 12 oz. thermos is available with so many different characters on it (mostly Disney, it seems), your child could probably waste a solid hour just trying to choose a design. My daughter used it from ages 3 to 4, and my son used it from ages 6 to 7. It's totally easy for them to control--there's a push button right on the lid, which opens it up for the straw. Then they can hear when it's closed tightly, because it snaps firmly. I've found that this thermos has a lifespan of about one to two years. Not bad, but you never know when exactly is the day that it's going to decide to leak. Also, it has a straw component that needs pretty thorough cleaning. But thanks to ease of use for young kids and pretty good durability, I'll give it a B+. Get it anyway if your child can't get enough of the "cool characters." It's still a hundred times better than juiceboxes, which hang around in landfills for a couple of hundred years. That's the kind of durability you DON'T want.
This is a more durable version of the Funtainer. It's stainless steel, with only two designs--blue or pink. It's also slightly smaller--10 oz. versus 12 oz. Some kids might find it "baby-ish" due to its smaller size, but that's really a personal matter. I've found that it lasts about two years before leaking. Again, this has a straw component that needs cleaning. For ease of use and improved durabilty, I'll give it an A-.
This 16 oz. bottle is just plain cool. You feel like a magician when you use it. Fill it up with water, give it a firm "thwack!" on the cap, and turn it upside down. Presto! No leaking. There is no variety of designs except for a couple of color choices, but it looks sleek and futuristic. So far, after two years, this water bottle is still going strong for us. The key is to train your kids how to use it properly--it's all in the "thwack!" Might be too difficult for really little children, but it works fine for mine. Added bonuses: No straws to clean, and you can clearly see inside of it. I'll give it an A.
This BPA-free bottle works quite well for our children, although now we're back to the straw components that need cleaning, plus an additional bite valve. Comes in lots of colors and designs, and hasn't leaked for two years running. I'll give it an A-.
Big points that this container is made from aluminum instead of plastic. It's super-durable and comes in many designs. However, the top won't be easy for the youngest children to twist off and twist on again securely to prevent leaks, and even though there's no straw to clean, it's hard to see inside it, so you never know what exactly is lurking in there. They sell separate cleaning brushes for it, though. My son has just started to use this (age 8); my daughter (age 5) still needs assistance with it. More big points for really keeping drinks cold due to the metal. My husband and I use it more than the kids, though, so I'll give it a B+.
Which thermoses and water bottles have worked for you? Which haven't? Please leave a comment and let us know. When it comes to the never-ending search for the reusable (and reliable!) drink container, we're all in this together!
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2012 by Joy Sussman/JoyfullyGreen.com. All rights reserved. Text digitally fingerprinted and protected by MyFreeCopyright.com. Site licensed by Creative Commons.
Many years ago, when I was proud to call myself a "pop culture vulture" and was interested in the latest gossip and minutiae about every "celebrity" who had at least 15 minutes of fame--I think we're talking the late 80's/early 90's here--I was watching "The Arsenio Hall Show" and Demi Moore was the first guest. Arsenio was leaning toward her, thoroughly captivated and enraptured, as she told him and all the world about how much she absolutely loved to clean out her ears with Q-Tips.
That's right: I'm still bitter that I have brain cells dedicated to knowing this fact about her.
But my point is that it's very easy to get swept up into the great swirl of utterly useless garbage that's being circulated on television and now, the Internet.
Not too long ago--we're talking about maybe two years ago here--I used to begin my day by chomping down my breakfast, barely noticing what exactly I was stuffing into my mouth, as I stared like a zombie at the computer, scanning the latest incendiary headlines, clicking through the categories at The Huffington Post, and generally, riling myself up about things that shouldn't really matter in my own personal, grand scheme of things.
Then, one spring day, I decided to take my breakfast out to our back porch. Instead of staring at a computer screen, I found myself gazing at this:
You can probably guess how things have turned out.
I find it so much more restorative to begin the day with a view of the back yard, simply listening to birds chirping and seeing chipmunks running around like little maniacs, looking for their own breakfasts. Just as when I was growing up (see the post entitled "Beyond the Back Yard: The Roots of a Green Life), we have a view of a forest now, and I'm tremendously grateful for that.
After breakfast, I poke around our greenhouse for a bit, to see what needs watering and what could use a little trim. I take a tour of the yard and see what's in bloom. I try to really focus on things, because it's quite amazing how much I can miss if I'm not really looking. For example, I might see the blur of a pink flower, but if I look closer, I see this:
Just like in the Dr. Seuss book, Horton Hears a Who!, I've come to realize that there are all of these little microsystems at work that I never noticed before, and all of these little details to see, if I only open my eyes and look for them.
For three seasons out of the year, I try to spend as many mealtimes as possible out on the porch, and if the weather isn't good, then I eat indoors with a view of the back yard. I've found that my children somehow argue less when they're outdoors. Once they're done eating, they find things to play with on the porch, or they go out into the back yard for a little exploring, or they want to play in the driveway with some chalk or their bikes.
Richard Louv, in his insightful book entitledLast Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children From Nature-Deficit Disorder, includes some key studies about how important it is to have a view of nature, to really engage with our environment, and how essential it is to be able to disconnect from technology on a regular basis--and that doesn't just pertain to children.
I wouldn't be honest if I said that I never check The Huffington Post anymore, or that I'm immune to reading tidbits about the TomKat divorce (because...just wow!), but I try to allot the time to it that it deserves. Minimal. There's a whole wide world out there, and I want to be more mindful about what I'm focusing on.
Remember how in the movie American Beauty, the teenager at the end is seeing the wonder and artfulness in a plastic bag dancing around in the wind? Well, from a green standpoint, I wouldn't say that I'd be particulary thrilled to see a plastic bag blowing around loose, but I could see the point: looking for the beauty in the everyday. If you walk around with a camera, you start to change your perspective about what makes a good picture. You notice more. You appreciate more. Even the littlest things can hold your interest. And that can change your Big Picture about what's important to you and what you should be focusing on. That's different for each person, but I'm betting--for most people, anyway--it will have nothing at all to do with Q-Tips.
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In my "previous life" in public relations, I was attending a trade show and came upon a booth with an elderly woman displaying some handmade photo albums and scrapbooks for sale. Another booth visitor was chatting with her and it came up in the course of their conversation that it was the 5th birthday of the craftswoman's grandson.
"Oh, how nice! What are you getting him?" asked the other booth visitor.
"I don't give gifts. I give experiences," answered the craftswoman. She went on to explain that as she was getting on in years, the thing she really wanted to give her grandchildren was her time.
"They might really enjoy a new video game for a couple of months, or a new teddy bear to go with their already enormous collection of stuffed animals, but I want to give them memories of our fun times together that they can always hold on to." She talked about taking her grandchildren for day trips into New York City, where they would go to a special restaurant for lunch and then see a Broadway play together. Or she might take them to a national park for a picnic. Or the circus. Or invite them for a weekend sleepover at her house on the lake, complete with their favorite home-cooked meals and late-night movies. I left the booth thinking, "What lucky grandchildren!"
My friend, Cheryl, has inspired me in many ways, but one of the most important ways was her idea of birthday party gifts. Her son, Jonah, is 8 years old (the same age as my son, Zachary--they're the best of friends), and ever since Jonah was five, he and his parents have gotten together before his birthday to choose a charity for donations, in lieu of gifts from the party guests. One year, they collected money for the Ronald McDonald House in Philadelphia, which helps families with seriously ill children to stay together in a warm, loving place (as opposed to a hotel) while the sick child undergoes treatment at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia or other local medical facilities. For two years, they collected money for The Fresh Air Fund, which helps inner-city kids enjoy camp in the countryside that they otherwise would not be able to afford. Everybody wins with this idea: the party host and guests can learn about the charity; the parents don't have to shop for a gift; the birthday boy or girl can feel a real sense of accomplishment and leadership in raising funds for a charity; and of course, the charity itself benefits.
My own children are very...hmmm, how shall we say it?..."gift-oriented." So, two years ago, as we were leaving for Jonah's birthday party, Zachary said, "Wait--aren't we forgetting Jonah's present?"
"Nope," I said. "Jonah is collecting money for a charity instead." I filled him in on all the details. Zachary was quiet for a few moments, turning over this strange, new concept in his head. Then he said, "I want to do that, too!" We made an agreement that he could still get a special gift from his mom and dad, but the party guests could bring donations. Well, Jonah's birthday is in summer, and Zachary's birthday is in winter, so I have to admit that I fully expected him to change his tune once his birthday rolled around.
He didn't. As we were planning out his party, Zachary said, "Remember, Mom, I don't want gifts. I want to raise money for Eleventh Hour Rescue." Eleventh Hour Rescue is a local organization that saves animals from being euthanized at over-crowded shelters, and then adopts them out to loving families. We got our own beautiful dog, Delilah, from Eleventh Hour, so this was a cause particularly close to Zachary's heart.
At the birthday party, Zachary collected the donations in a big envelope with Delilah's photograph on it. We raised over $500 (it was two classes full of kids!), and Zachary beamed with pride on the way home. For me, another real perk of this gift-giving concept was not having to drive home a van full of toys that we really don't need!
Zachary wanted to write his own letter to deliver to Eleventh Hour, but he wanted it to look very "business-y," so we sat at the computer and he dictated to me what he wanted to say:
February 12, 2010
TO: Eleventh Hour Rescue
My name is Zachary. I just turned 7 and for my birthday party, I did not want presents. I wanted money donations so that no animals would be killed and I really hope that you can make a lot of animals have their lives saved. Thank you for saving our dog and for bringing her up to New Jersey. She was named "Olivia" in Georgia, and then named "Vidalia" by you guys, but I didn't like the onion name, so now we decided her name is "Delilah." We love her so much and I love playing with her. She is a lovable dog and she has a new special place in my heart.
Enclosed: $529.00 plus photo of Delilah
*********************************
We wanted to hand-deliver the donations to Eleventh Hour, and as we were driving up to their building, their van was just arriving with a brand-new load of puppies from Georgia that they had saved from being euthanized. What exquisite timing!
"Look who you've helped save, Zachary!" I said to him as we looked at all of the adorable puppies being carried into the Eleventh Hour facility. They were yipping and barking at each other, tails wagging, tongues hanging out.
As we drove away, Zachary looked back at all of the puppies still being carried inside and said, "I want to collect money for Eleventh Hour for all of my birthdays...until I'm 99 years old!"
I guess when he turns 100, he's entitled to a few new toys.
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2012 by Joy Sussman/JoyfullyGreen.com. All rights reserved. Photos and
text digitally fingerprinted and protected by MyFreeCopyright.com. Site licensed by Creative Commons.
If you've had a relatively happy childhood, I think that in adulthood, you're always trying to recreate or recapture the happy moments, and revisit the special places of your youth--if you can. For my husband, who grew up sailing with his family just north of New York City, he's still at his happiest when he's out on the water, and if he can't be out on the water, he's reading sailing magazines to relax after a long day at work. My own childhood, although also happy, gave me a very different view of peacefulness and personal bliss. Instead of the water, it was the woods.
I grew up in a small town in Connecticut, on a quiet cul-de-sac called Willow Lane--even though there wasn't a single willow tree in sight. Our neighborhood had no shortage of other trees, though, as all of the houses on the north side of the street had the woods to border their back yards, a sprawling range of trees that ran for miles and miles.
My bedroom window faced the forest. Each night, before climbing into my canopy bed, I would stand on my ladybug stool and peer out into the woods. In summer, my nose pressed up against the screen, I could see the little flashes of fireflies, travelling in drunken, weaving patterns around and about the trees. I'd fall asleep to the sound of peepfrogs and wake up to the first bird songs of morning.
About a hundred feet into the woods, just off the well-worn path, was a boulder the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, with the words MAGIC ROCK painted in white capital letters on its side. No one knew who had painted the words, but everyone knew the wishing procedure: Stand atop the boulder, slowly turn around three times, and make a wish--only one wish per forest visit, and no wishing on the way back out!
My sister, eight years my senior, introduced me to the forest. Each December, she would drive me in a wheelbarrow deep into the snowy woods, where we would select the perfect miniature Christmas tree for her bedroom. Carefully, she would dig around its roots, and we would plop the whole package, soil and all, into the wheelbarrow. Later that night, the little tree would sit in a bucket on her desk, bedecked in our homemade garlands of popcorn and cranberries, with a simple strand of white lights. After the holidays, my sister would transplant the tree to our back yard, at the very border of the woods. By the time she went off to college, there were five fir trees on the border of our yard.
In spring, when my sister returned from college, she took me into the forest again. The ground was soft underfoot, and the trees were in full bloom. Kneeling on the bank of a stream, we scooped out frog eggs, pasty-white jelly masses with black dots for centers. We carried them home in beach pails to study, and in a short time, the eggs separated and sprouted long, wiggly tails. Then it was back to the stream again, to send the tadpoles on their way.
In my sister's absence, my father became my guide to the woods. Although he tended three gardens in our own yard (two for flowers, one for herbs), he took it upon himself to be a caretaker of the forest. I accompanied him on his missions: clearing piles of leaves from the dirt paths, weeding out fallen trees, and with our bare hands, scooping out cold mud and twigs from a blocked brook until the water ran freely again.
On weekends, bright and early, my father and I would head out into the forest, followed at a great distance by our cat, Snoopy, whom I suppose was trying to maintain an air of feline independence. Snoopy never got within fifty feet of us, but then again, he never ventured off on his own path, either. We'd stop every now and then to make sure he was following, and he'd stop and pretend that he wasn't.
On our journeys through the woods, my father would point out different plants and trees, insects and animals. Over the fallen tree--an impromptu bridge across the first pond on our journey--past birch ("white bark) and mountain laurel ("white blossoms"), we'd make our way past thickets and tangles. Skirting poison ivy ("leaves of three, let them be") and the hawthorn bush ("needles sharp enough for sewing"), we'd at last come to the meadow.
Crouching amidst the tall grass and wildflowers ("Shh...not a sound"), we would almost always be witnesses to something extraordinary: a jackrabbit bounding about, as if on springs; a garter snake basking on a rock ("he won't hurt you"); a pheasant strutting cockily, looking for its lunch; a stately stag--despite its size, so shy and soft; a Native American arrowhead to take home in my pocket; the Big Old Oak, with its trunk so fat, it would take five children to encircle it with their arms.
As I got older (about ten or so), I got bolder, braving the forest on my own. A latchkey kid, I'd make secret trips into the woods when no one was at home. Once, startled by the sound of people a short distance away, I broke into a run and caught my leg on a jagged branch. Blood pulsed from the deep gash, but there was no time to stop. At home, I put on thick bandages and told my mom it was a gym class injury. I still have the scar, a slight, dotted line up my left shin.
On another secret solo visit, undaunted by the leg injury, I brought along my father's binoculars and hiked out to the farthest pond. Panning the scene at the opposite bank, I spied nothing new with my enlarged vision. Then I saw it--my heart jumped. It was my own first name, carved large and deep on a thick tree trunk. Preoccupied with conjuring up neighborhood suspects, I lost my footing on a mossy rock, catching myself just before taking an unexpected dip in the pond. That's when I heard it--a single, horrible "plop." The binoculars had broken free from the shoulder strap and had sunk to the bottom of the pond.
That night after dinner, my mother went to her studio to paint, while my father went to the living room to immerse himself in a book. I tiptoed in, trying not to shiver.
"Dad?" I whispered. He looked up over his eyeglasses. "Remember how you always say that I can tell you anything?"
"Yes?" He shut his book and looked immediately serious. "What's the matter?"
"And remember how you said you'd always love me, no matter what I did?"
"Yes, yes! Joy, please, what is it?"
I confessed the whole sordid tale, then braced myself to hear my punishment. But my dad didn't yell--he sighed in relief! The binoculars weren't that important, he told me; it was my safety that concerned him. He told me firmly not to go into the woods alone again.
Together, the next day, we retraced my journey, and I brought him to the sound of The Plop. With a long tree branch, he poked and prodded around the bottom of the pond. Then he tapped at something. With one long, careful lift, he raised the branch. The renegade binoculars emerged from the water, dripping with mud and covered with leaves.
After the binoculars were professionally cleaned, my father gave them to me to keep, for future forest trips--together.
The winter I turned eleven, I still didn't know how to ice skate. All of my friends were twirling and leaping on the town lake, but I was too embarrassed to learn to skate in public. One early Saturday morning, with my sister's old skates tied together and slung over my shoulder, I followed my dad to the Binocular Pond. He threw a large rock at its center. It thumped and skidded to a stop. "Safe to skate." After we laced up our clunky, impossible skates, he held both of my hands and glided backwards, and I clumsily trudged forwards and sideways on the blades. Around and around we went. He'd free me and I'd falter. Finally, exhausted from all the legwork, I rested on a rock while my father etched smooth, grand figure eights on the ice, not one sound except for his skates, clicking and wooshing across its surface. Snow had carpeted the forest with white velvet and the trees wore a hundred million twinkling diamonds, glittering from every branch. When morning melted into afternoon, we headed home for lunch. I didn't master skating that January, but I will never forget that day's perfection.
Although in our hearts, the forest was "ours," it didn't really belong to us at all. By the time I was in college, the woods in its entirety was sold to developers. The summer after my senior year of college, when I went home to my parents' house, I looked out the window of my childhood bedroom, only to see the single line of trees, a mere screen between our yard and the new yard behind ours. On the very edge of our property, where the woods once began, I could see the little ring of rocks that marked the burial site of Snoopy the cat. The grave was shaded by my sister's five "miniature" Christmas trees, by then so tall, they dwarfed our house.
But the forest is gone now; all of it, gone. Magic Rock, the tadpole stream, the wildflower meadow, Binocular Pond. In their places are new landmarks. Swing-sets and swimming pools, circular driveways, three-car garages, front yards and back yards, houses and more houses. For miles and miles.
It was many years ago that we sold our house. My parents have long since passed away. My sister and I live on opposite ends of the United States. Much time has passed; many things have changed. But when I close my eyes at the end of a long day, it's the old woods at Willow Lane that I'm picturing. I'm at the very edge of it, and I'm starting down the dirt path, following my dad, just as I drift off to sleep.
Dedicated to my father, Charles Johnson (1924-2002), who lived a green life long before it was the popular thing to do, and perfected the art of kindness.
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Alison Inches: I Can Save the Earth!: One Little Monster Learns to Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle (Little Green Books) "One little monster learns to reduce, reuse, and recycle." That's all good, of course, but my own children laugh out loud every time they read how Max the Little Monster (before his attitude adjustment) clogs up the toilet with too much toilet paper, yelling "Hungry Toilet!" Kids...they just love the potty humor. Made from 100% recycled paper.
Julia Rawlinson: Fletcher and the Falling Leaves This book is incredibly sweet. A sensitive, little fox named Fletcher cannot understand what is happening to his beloved tree at the onset of autumn, and he tries everything in his power to keep the leaves on the tree. When he wakes up one winter morning to find his tree covered in dazzlingly beautiful snow crystals, it chokes me up every time. Although it's not about saving the earth, the book is a lovely tribute to nature and its seasons.
Diane Muldrow: We Planted a Tree I love how this relatively new book (published in 2010) is charmingly illustrated in the same style as those Little Golden Books from the 1960's. In simple prose, the book explains what happens when you plant a tree and watch it grow, while enjoying the benefits of fruit, shade, budding flowers, and cleaner air.
Dr. Seuss: The Lorax (Classic Seuss) This book is a classic for a reason. As I was reading it for the first time to my children, I could see the shock and sadness on their faces when the very first Truffula Tree was chopped down. Unlike the progression of The Curious Garden (see below), things just keep getting worse--all in the name of "progress." It ends with a powerful message: "UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not." Great for generating conversations with young children about caring for and protecting natural resources. Printed on recycled paper.
Peter Brown: The Curious Garden First, I have to admit it: As a mom, I'm *slightly* bothered that a little boy is walking around a creepy city all by himself, and "stumbles upon a dark stairwell" which he decides to head up. However, this book is simply magical, so I'll chalk it up to "willing suspension of disbelief" and let it go. With each page, as Liam grows from a novice gardener into a Green Thumb Extraordinaire, the dreary city in which everybody stays inside becomes a green utopia that everybody enjoys. Liam helps the whole city to bloom, and changes the mindsets of its citizens, simply by taking the first steps and sticking to his mission--without any preaching whatsoever. My favorite parts are the multiple spreads with no words at all, which depict how the gray, dirty city is growing greener and cleaner with the passage of time, thanks to our hero. Printed on recycled paper.
Lewis Blackwell: The Life & Love of Trees Hands-down, this is my favorite photography book of all time. The collection of photographs, from close-ups of leaves to forest vistas, is simply breath-taking. It sits on my coffee table at home, and whenever I need a breather, it's there for me with its exquisite portraits of trees, accompanied by some poetic food for thought. I do find it odd that this, of all books, wasn't printed on recycled paper, but perhaps the publisher felt the photographic quality would be diminished? In any case, I forgive the transgression, because this book is a heart-breakingly beautiful ode to trees.
Richard Louv: Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children From Nature-Deficit Disorder I feel like I grew up with Richard Louv. His childhood was so similar to mine, with a neighborhood full of children all outside, playing together, and exploring from morning until our parents called us home for dinner (and then back outside again after we ate). Louv makes some very compelling arguments for limiting technology and reintroducing your children to the powerful, healing effects of nature.
Henry D. Thoreau: Walden: A Fully Annotated Edition Like many other Americans, I read this book in high school English class, but it means much more to me now, as an adult. Living in our "More! More! More!" society, it's always a good reminder that you can, indeed, exist quite happily with just the basics. I chose this edition for the interesting annotations, but also because the cover photograph of a small house in the woods is so tranquil, simple, and pretty--it sits on my coffee table to inspire me.
Ed Begley Jr.: Living Like Ed: A Guide to the Eco-Friendly Life Ed Begley, Jr. is a pioneer in the green movement (he's been eco-conscious since 1970), and he's one of my heroes. I can't live exactly like Ed (which I'll detail in another blog post in the future), but I love his approach: "You don't climb Mount Everest in a single day." He groups all of his suggestions into "Easy Changes" (which he calls "the low-hanging fruit"), "Not-So-Big Changes" and "Big Changes" (in which the biggest pay-offs require some up-front investments). You can pick and choose what you want to try. Have I mentioned that Ed is one of my heroes? Printed on 100% post-consumer recycled paper.
