Nature

Pound of Dirt

Jeanna GLeave a comment

Grandma says to eat a pound of dirt a year to be healthy. I ate my pound today, so I should be good until next November, right? I was out doing more yardwork than I had done all year. I blew leaves, raked, mowed. My dog likes to play fetch, so there are now dirt paths she takes to chase down her ball in my yard. When I was blowing leaves, I also blew a lot of dirt. There were clouds of dust and dirt swirling around me. By the time I was done, I literally had dirt coming out my nose. I went to the sink for some water, but decided to rinse out my mouth first when I felt grit on my teeth. When I wiped the drops of water from around my mouth, I could feel the dirt slide across my cheek. It was time for a shower. When I took off my socks, I thought I had gotten a tan, but then I realized it was a dirt line. I stared at the streams of dirt flowing down the center of the tub and felt pride. I hadn’t been that dirty in awhile.

I used to be dirty all the time when I was a kid. We’d roll down hills, jump in puddles, climb trees, stomp through creeks. In soccer, we knew we didn’t play hard enough if our socks weren’t covered in mud and grass stains by the final whistle. Kids don’t seem to be getting that dirty anymore.

My tween daughter is all about the beauty products these days. What’s trending? I need it. Well, honey, guess what? I just used this dirt and sweat exfoliant, and it works great! And it’s free! Add a little fresh air and sunshine, and your face will glow like mine!

Come on kids! Stop looking at sunset photos and playing games on your tech devices. Get outside. Find your own fun. Appreciate nature in 3-D. Eat some dirt. It’s good for you!

What Are You Staring At?

Jeanna G3 Comments

Back in the day, if you caught someone staring, you’d say, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer!” Now no one looks at each other, and all we do is take pictures. Like thousands of pictures. And I bet 90% of them are of the most mundane things!

In the grocery store the other day, my daughter was taking pictures of the shelves of pickles. I asked her, “Are you afraid you’ll forget this moment? Do you need this documentation for later reference?” She rolled her eyes. “It’s aesthetic, mom.” Aesthetic? I’ll show you aesthetic, child.

The next morning I dragged her out of bed and drove her to a state park. We hiked several miles through the woods to a waterfall. We sat and stared at the flowing water. I interrupted the serenity of the moment and said to her, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

I got a side-eye, but then she whipped out her phone and started taking countless pictures of our natural surroundings. Then, on the hike back to the car, she stared at all the photos she took, and tripped over several tree roots in the process.

Staring is often considered rude, but I say stare away. Stare at the clouds changing shapes. Stare at the ocean waves rolling in. Stare at the sun rays filtering through the canopy of rustling leaves. Stare at the hummingbird hovering over the feeder. Stare at the face of your loved ones. Stare at the moon and the twinkling stars. Stare at a field of wildflowers dancing in harmony. Stare at a horde of fireflies putting on a light show. And once your eyes get tired, take a picture so it’ll last longer.

Stargazing

Jeanna GLeave a comment

It’s that amazing time of year when the Perseids make their luminous entrance into our atmosphere. Last night, my daughter and I lay side-by-side on a blanket in the grass, surrounded by friends, and stared at the sky, trying not to blink, willing stars to shoot, fall, and dazzle. We were in the same spot where she saw her first shooting star, figuring it must be good luck.

Her first was actually one of the Geminids. Earlier that summer, on a beach vacation in Ocean Isle, I had seen at least two shooting stars, and one glamorous falling star over the ocean. She missed them all. When the Geminids came around that December, we were determined to see her first fiery streak of space debris together. So we sat in our car, wrapped in blankets, staring off towards its namesake constellation. After an hour, we were about to give up, when a brilliant light streaked across the horizon. When we both inhaled sharply together, I knew she’d seen it. Magic.

My high school sweetheart and I used to stargaze all the time. We actually sought out fields and rock ledges and water edges on which to sit and marvel at the sky, and sometimes at the twinkling in each other’s eyes.

At summer camp when I was about 10 years old, closing ceremony took place in the evening. I’m not sure if the timing was planned because they knew there would be a meteor shower, or if the light show was a happy coincidence. Either way, the giant bonfire paled in comparison to the celestial fireworks I witnessed that night.

A couple of years earlier, I went on an elementary school field trip to the planetarium for a star show. Hearing the narrator tell short stories about the constellations while highlighting them across the giant domed ceiling whetted my appetite for making astronomy a hobby.

At an even younger age, I remember being in the old Suburban with my family, when my dad pulled the car over alongside a field and told us to get out. It was that night that I learned about the Big Dipper and the North Star. The sky was big that night, and all of the stars were awake. I fell in love with stars in that awe-inspiring moment. Perhaps by fate, my first constellation was also my high school mascot: The Bear, and our yearbook is titled, “Ursa.”

Last night, a few Perseids made an appearance at our Star Party. I love that my daughter and I will always have shared experiences like this to cherish. I hope that I am paying it forward by stirring up in her a curiosity about the stars. I hope that she also feels moved while being still, grounded while staring into the expanse of the heavens, and filled with faith that something amazing is about to happen.