I lived the first six years of my life in a two level terraced house (like a townhouse) in a mostly gray town in Central Scotland. Perhaps the gray is a quirk of my memory coming from early photos in black and white – regardless, the two small strips of dirt running down the sides of the paving stone path that led from the paved patio to the paved driveway could not in any stretch of the imagination be called a garden; there surely wasn’t much space for growing anything green. This was the scene of my early formative years and my introduction to nature. But I’ve found that when it comes to childhood a little nature goes a long way.
I don’t know for sure that I ever dug my fingers in the dirt and pulled out an earthworm to taste, but it certainly seems likely. In that narrow strip of dirt grew spring bulbs like snowdrops and crocus and low-growing annuals: cheerful blue and yellow pansies and white Alyssum. My mom was fond of flowers. We planted nasturtium seeds and I marveled at the green, growing shoots which sprouted into masses of orange and yellow blooms, attracting bees and hoverflies. These experiences were like one grain of sugar placed on the tongue, only enough to whet my appetite. Surely there was something more.
On visits to my grandparent’s garden I learned of the marvel that vegetables come from the ground. Rows of potatoes, carrots and onions were terraced alongside the short, sloping path which led down to the ‘green’. My grandfather’s pride and joy, a bed of leeks, received tender, loving care. I longed to step up close and examine the leeks in their individually made mini caves, but any attempt to put a foot inside the carefully fluffed up soil would compact the dirt, leave a tell-tale footprint, and lead to a sharp reprimand. This was nature not meant for me to explore. Grandpa’s rockery was also off-limits. What a temptation! Nice big rocks make great stepping stones to jump between. When no adult was watching it was too hard to resist. The berries from the twin rowan trees on either side of the house path were the one thing I could play with freely, provided I kept them out my mouth. I was just as fascinated by them as the droves of birds who came to eat them in the fall. And in the spring we’d find eggs and baby birds nesting in the hedge around the garden. What joy! If only I could have studied them at length. Alas, I was told that little birds need to be brought food by their parents and I would just be in the way.
My other grandma had a garden too. A mysterious place – green, growing, stuff hidden behind a tall fence, accessed through a tall, locked gate, and a locked shed; a refuge surrounded by the tarmac of street, and a truck-infested construction supply yard. I guess it hardly counted as a garden. Overgrown with a straggly mix of weeds and perfumed sweet peas, paving stones lost among the tangles, it was absolutely fascinating! If only I’d been left there free to explore. Who needs rows of well tended vegetables when you can be out hunting for surprises amongst a cornucopia of insect haunts. If I spent 10 minutes in that garden it was worth a year amongst the carrots and potatoes.
I believe that not everyone is drawn to nature in the same way. Take one kid outside and they seek to throw sticks, or climb a tree. Another wants to make mud pies and serve friends or family with a tea party. A third wants to collect and sort rocks and leaves. If only the born naturalist is thrilled by wild things tangled up together in untamed spaces, then surely I’m a naturalist. Growing up in a gray town in Central Scotland wasn’t an auspicious introduction to nature, but when it comes to nature, sometimes a little bit can go a long way.
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“A little bit can go a long way” – I know just what you mean.
When I was a child, I spent a lot of time at my nanny’s house. Her backyard was overgrown with weeds, and I loved to tramp through the wet grass. She loved squirrels and always kept a big bag of walnuts on hand – we would sit on her front porch and the squirrels would come right up to get their nuts.
My Grandpa’s garden was also a favorite place. He was Italian, and had a marvelous garden of raised beds with tomatoes and peppers, and I would lie under the tomato plants with his dog, Lady. Sigh. Thank you for reminding me of these things.
Laura, thank YOU for sharing. Great memories! It seems this is what childhood should be made of rather than TV and video games.