Learning to Love It

9/26/06 – 10/2/06
By C. Zaitz

I’m taking a class called Environmental Interpretation. It’s like learning to be a guide at a park. We tramp around in the wet, dark woods of the Henry Ford Estate looking at plants, seeds, and berries. I consider myself an 8 on a scale of 1-10 for people who are curious about everything. The only reason I'm not a 9 or 10 is because of plants, seeds and berries. My challenge to myself is to see the beauty in ragweed, the artistry of a thistle and the genius of the black walnut. When I see a black walnut, all I can think of is how, as kids, we would collect black walnuts from the big trees in our yard and carefully place them in rows on the road. Bud the Driver would come lumbering down the street in the big yellow School Bus and run over the nuts with the giant bus tires. The squishy, popping sound delighted us, and the smelly, greasy black streak they made in the road created a glorious, terrible mess. Our hands were green and smelled like black walnuts for days. It was kid heaven.

Because of that experience, I always chuckle when I see a black walnut. But I don’t have any pleasant associations with ragweed or thistle. I don’t get a brain tickle when I think of marching through the wet grass to see it. I think about astronomy and how some people mentally yawn at the very thought of learning about the sky. The folks who are super-enthusiastic about plants must feel the same way I do about the stars. I find it hard to believe, but it must be true. Look how they get giddy talking about endozoochory seed dispersal. (That’s when a bird eats seeds and “disperses” them on your car.) Do I get that giddy when I talk about hydrostatic equilibrium, or the delicate balance in a star between gravity and radiation pressure? Egads, I believe I do!

On our latest march in the woods, we had the good fortune for the rain to stop long enough to see a lovely red-orange sunset in the west, paired with a Barbie-pink rainbow in the east. The sky was raging with color, the perfect antidote for my cold, wet soul. I’m a sky person. We all have our predilections, our tendency toward liking some things over others. I guess the key is to keep an open mind about subjects that don’t necessarily grab our fancy. Once I decided to enjoy the tramp, I was delighted by the wild orange impatiens, otherwise known as “touch me nots,” who’s spring-loaded seed pods exploded at a mere touch. I loved watching the huge heron glide over the pond in that glorious sunset, and marveled at the bats circling overhead in the enveloping dusk. I knew their little bat hearts were singing; there were so many mosquitoes, they could fill their bellies simply flying with their mouths open.

There was no chance of a moon or stars that evening. It was much too cloudy, but I imagined my friend Luna sailing high above us, and all the stars winking at me from behind the strato-nimbus curtain. I knew they’d still be there when I have more time to spend with them. Meanwhile I’m learning an important lesson: we can find things that interest us in just about everything if we are open to it. It’s a good lesson to learn.


Until next week, my friends, enjoy the view!