BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE – Boys Alone In the Wilderness

We were barely old enough to go out on dates. Gangly little brats still getting used to our hairy armpits and manly voices. Yet there we were about to embark on one of the greatest adventures of our lives.

I and a couple of my 15-year-old classmates had attended summer camps whose focus was on canoeing and camping. With that modest experience under our belts—and with our parents’ astonishing faith in our abilities and judgement—we planned and executed an eight-day canoe trip in northern Minnesota’s Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW). (They did require us to take an industrial-grade first aid class, learning how to deal with the kind of medical challenges most likely to come up on a trip like ours—think broken limbs, knife or hatchet wounds, hypothermia, etc.)

Back, l. to r.: Charlie McMillan, Gordon Brown, Jeff Willius. Front: John McMahon, Todd Otis, Rob Linsmayer

In fact, we were so young that our parents had to drive us the six hours north to our put-in point, and then come back for us a week and a day later. It was a little like having your parents drive you to a movie with a girlfriend, but somehow we knew that this girlfriend (the wilderness) would make it well worth the embarrassment.

I’ll never forget the mix of exultation and dread I felt as the six of us stood there at that landing, our two canoes and gear piled beside us, and watched those two sensible station wagons drive away.

   While the less-impulsive among us weighed the 
   risks and benefits of such an idea, the decision 
   was made.

ON A WISH AND A DARE
There were countless great moments during this, the first of many self-guided, self-outfitted BWCAW canoe trips I would take: lying down after supper on rocks still warm from the afternoon sun and smoking one of my ill-gotten Lucky Strikes; swimming in cold, crystal-clear Kekekabik Lake where we could see fish swimming among the rocks 15 feet below us; providing dinner for the whole crew with a huge pike I caught. But the greatest of the many tales told about this trip is that of our all-night paddle.

One late afternoon, we’d stopped paddling for the day at a wonderful campsite featuring one of the rocky BWCAW’s rare sand beaches. Before tackling the many chores of setting up camp, we took time to let off some steam, staging a mini-“Olympics” along the sandy stretch, with races, broad-jumping, shot-put, discus and javelin events.

I don’t remember whose idea it was, but someone pointed out that tomorrow’s leg of our route wouldn’t involve any portages—unusual in the BWCAW’s intricate web of waterways all interconnected by them. What if, he asked, instead of pitching camp that night, we just keep going? Besides the opportunity for portage-free cruising, another boy added, it promised to be a perfect night for paddling since it had been warm, clear and nearly calm all afternoon.

While the less-impulsive among us weighed the risks and benefits of such an idea, the decision was made.

We threw together an easy dinner from one of our pre-packaged bags of dehydrated ingredients. Over cups of cowboy coffee,* we played “Name That Jingle,” one of us humming or whistling one note at a time of a popular product jingle, and seeing who could guess the brand first.

     I got this strange and wonderful feeling, 
     like how a child might feel entering a deep, 
     dark forest alone, without a path.

By nine, after sunset, our exuberance had started to fade with what was left of daylight. In its place a quiet resolve settled over us. We washed our dinnerware and started loading up the canoes. I got this strange and wonderful feeling, like how a child might feel entering a deep, dark forest alone, without a path.

Flashlights in hand, we put our heads together over the map, once again reviewing our route and setting down a few rules—staying together, how to switch paddling positions, what to do if the weather changed. Finally, after drawing straws (actually sticks) for the two duffer positions,** we stepped in and shoved off into the darkness.

ABOVE ALL, WONDER
As we paddled off, still there was not a cloud in the sky, just a sea of stars and a half moon about to settle into the silhouetted tree line of the far shore.

Once the moon had set, it was is if someone turned up a rheostat on the stars. And the Milky Way—it shone as none of us had ever seen before, stretching across the vast blackness like a shimmering pathway for all those characters conjured in the stars by the Mesopotamians and Greeks 3,000 years ago.

And then, as if that weren’t enough to dazzle a bunch of hot-shot teenage boys, the Northern Lights came on. Like the broad strokes of a cosmic watercolorist, they splashed across the northern half of the night sky, the blues and greens running in vertical streaks before absorbing into the pitch-black canvas.

PHOTO: Jerry MagnuM Porsbjer

For nearly half an hour we drifted silently, spellbound by the incredible spectacle. I lay back onto the small stern deck of my canoe and soaked it all in. Never before, and never since, have I witnessed such a display of Aurora Borealis.

The next hour or so settled into the quiet rhythms of paddling. Dip… pull… feather… swing… dip… The liquid sounds, the mild exertion, the gentle surge and glide—all made for a fine meditation. For the rest of the night, as boys will, we told tall tales, sang camp songs, and challenged and ribbed each other at the slightest vulnerability. We also tried to scare the piss out of each other.

NIGHT HOWLS
I don’t know who started it, but word was that one of the FBI’s ten most-wanted fugitives*** had last been seen up here heading into the Boundary Waters. You know how it goes; we all contributed to the absurdity of the fabrication, yet not one of us, even as we upped the ante, could help but tune in to every sound, every shadow, in the deep woods along the shore.

It started getting cold. Those of us paddling managed to keep warm enough, but my buddy, Gordon, duffing just in front of me, had to wrangle his sleeping bag out of his pack and bundled up in the scant space between gunwales, thwarts and stowed gear. (The plan had been to rotate paddlers as the night went on, but, as it turned out, we never saw a place to safely pull into shore for the change.)

As the chill gradually penetrated, Gordon’s blissful snoring just five feet in front of me began to wear thin. Don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t that I envied his sleeping, all snug as a bug like that—I hate duffing, and was glad I hadn’t drawn the short stick—but that snoring...

By about five AM, shivering wracked my body. I put on all the clothes I could dig out of the nearest pack. I paddled harder, trying to keep my arms pressed to my sides to preserve my core body temperature the best I could. I put a fishing line out, hoping that fighting a fish might warm me up...or at least take my mind off of my misery. And still I shuddered. There was nothing for it but to wait for sunrise…and listen to Gordon.

For what seemed like hours we eyed the spreading glow in the eastern sky. A light fog forming over the relatively warm water, though beautiful, only seemed to deepen the chill. And then, finally, a spark of light ignited the treetops, then grew to a ball of fire. As the mist burned off we felt the full effect of the sun’s blessing percolate through our sweatshirts and reach our anxious, goose-bumped skin.

PHOTO: Chris Huber, Daily Republic

As if in celebration of the moment, the fishing rod I’d been trolling with suddenly bent over to the water. Barely able to feel the handle, I reeled in a gorgeous, two-pound smallmouth bass, its golden-bronze sides lit, as if from within, by that precious early sunlight.

I lifted my rod, swung it around and carefully lowered the dripping fish down right to the cacophonous opening of Gordon’s sleeping bag, where it flopped its wet, slimy way right in next to his head.

                                                      //---//---//---//

A Maryland couple has been charged with child neglect for allowing their ten- and six-year-olds to walk home alone from the neighborhood park.

I hold these memories all the dearer in a world, an era, in which human beings’ connections with Nature seem as endangered as the many rare species disappearing on our generation’s watch. In the six decades since my adventure, the circumference around home within which a child is allowed to roam freely, without parental control, has shrunk from miles, to blocks, to yards. Recently, a Maryland couple has been charged with child neglect for allowing their ten- and six-year-olds to walk home alone from the neighborhood park.

Rewind to 1960, an age when, in general, parents had a pretty good handle on raising kids right. And yet, when it came to the out-of-doors, they understood and valued the positive effects it had on children. They understood that, in light of all the benefits, the risks were relatively small. And today, as hard as the sensationalist media, the video game industry and a legal liability industry gone amok try to convince us otherwise, statistics say those risks (of injury, abduction, even getting lost) are no greater than they were back then. 

Now, all that being said, would I allow my own 15-year-old son or daughter to go on an eight-day, unguided canoe trip into the wilderness, some 300 miles from home and miles from any help? To be honest, I’m not sure.

But I’m immensely grateful for the faith our parents placed in me and my buddies. They trusted us, and they trusted in Nature not to throw more at us than we could handle. I only hope I was effusive enough in thanking them for this while they were alive.

                                                      //---//---//---//

* Cowboy coffee is made by just adding an approximate measure of ground coffee to a pot of boiling water, removing it from the heat, waiting until the grounds settle to the bottom, and then carefully pouring the finished brew so as not to disturb the grounds. Its enjoyment hinges on one’s appreciation of occasionally having to chew one’s coffee.

** Considering the optimal efficiency of portaging canoes and gear from lake to lake in one pass, the ideal numbers for a BWCAW canoe trip are two canoes and six paddlers—four of them paddling at any one time; the other two duffing (sitting in the bottom of the canoe along with the stowed gear).

*** Our point of reference at the time would have been someone like James O’Kasick, who, with his two brothers, had just dominated local news with their murderous exploits and partial demise at the hands of police after a dramatic manhunt. (Two of them were shot and killed by police; James tried to take his own life, but survived.)

THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN – A Grown Son Seen Anew

My son, Jeff, is 42. He lives about 1,200 miles away, and I haven’t seen him but
for our two or three brief visits a year since his mother and I divorced when he
was four.

Despite my considerable failings as a father, Jeff has grown up to be a smart, creative, principled, loving man. He’s had his share of disappointments and heartaches, but he’s carved out a life that works for him. And, while I may not agree with all the decisions he’s made, I respect them…and him.

          Suddenly, this big, six-foot-two, 42-
          year-old man shrank before my eyes.

When we’re together, as we were for a few days this past week, it’s hard to remember that Jeff is my son. Sure, we share memories from his childhood; I teach him whatever I know that he's still interested in learning; I ask about his life, and offer advice and support when he needs it.

But usually it seems we treat each other more as peers than as father and son. Lots of good-natured give and take—joking, challenging, comparing tastes, the occasional boast.

This visit has been an especially rewarding one. For a quiet man who generally keeps to himself, he seemed to truly appreciate me and all his aunts, uncles and cousins gathered to celebrate Independence Day as a family. And I enjoyed him…
a lot.

WHERE’S THE TIME GONE?
Yesterday, I drove Jeff to the airport. We hugged, exchanged I love yous and said good-bye. Then he turned and walked toward the terminal doors. Suddenly, this big, six-foot-two, 42-year-old man shrank before my eyes. All I could see was him as a three-year-old.

My throat tightened and the emotion welled up. At that moment, I saw in him all the beauty, innocence and vulnerability I find in my three-year-old grandson, but which I thought I’d long since lost with Jeff. To be honest, I’m not sure I ever felt quite that same chemistry of tenderness and awe, even when he was that little kid, when he—and I for that matter—needed it most.

      Isn’t that something we all dream of: 
      turning back the clock in every way 
      but for our knowledge?

We parents always seem to learn these lessons too late. During our kids’ tender youth, we’re so overwhelmed with the enormity of our responsibility and so underwhelmed with our own competence and emotional stability that we’re barely holding it together, much less exuding pure patience and love.

Sadly, none of us ever gets a do-over on those parts of parenting we botched as twenty-somethings. Or do we?

REDEMPTION
I realize Jeff will never again be three. But he will be forty-three, and, give or take a few decades, isn't that as good an age as any to start seeing anew that pure, precious, child-like heart and soul I know still reside at his core? And perhaps be more like the father I wish I’d been so long ago?

This is something I guess all parents—and eventually our progeny—learn: that at some deep, internal level we continue to see them as little children, no matter what their age.

After all, my son is still my son, and I am still his father. God willing, I have some time to know and appreciate him as if I were new to the game—but with the added perspective, patience and wisdom only 40 years can bring. (Isn’t that what we all dream of: being able to turn back the clock in every way but for our knowledge?)

        Try, if you can, picturing them as 
        small, sweet and innocent once again.

My little epiphany has been a blessing, even though it comes late, during the slow, certain ebb of my life. My guess is that many fathers who divorced when their kids were very young never get that chance; some may not recognize it when they do.

Has your relationship with a grown child—or anyone for that matter—grown old? Do you find yourself keeping just a little distance between you, or perhaps taking him or her for granted, because you're both adults? Try, if you can, picturing them as small, sweet and innocent once again. Because deep inside, under all those layers life's woes have heaped on them, they still are...we all still are.

It's not like your time together is suddenly going to transform to true magic. But the way you feel about them just might. If they notice something's different, let's just let the reason be our little secret.

THE ART & SCIENCE OF FOOD – A Memorial Day Salute – PART 2

A HAPPY, THOUGHTFUL MEMORIAL DAY TO ALL!
As we enjoy the first of America's great patriotic, all-consuming, over- consuming summer holidays, I thought a few words about  the wonders of 
food might be fitting.

It makes me sad to see how many people seem to approach eating as just one more necessary chore. Do you simply consume your food, or do you experience it?

THE GREAT GRILLED CHEESE AND HOT DOG SCAM
When I was a kid, no one ever gave me the choice of whether or not to eat my vegetables. Mom knew what was good for us, and, except for the occasional bootlegged candy bar or soda, we ate and drank what she served. Balanced meals and a sense of food adventure were part of our family culture.

Today, though, I have to marvel at the little co-dependencies I see played out in so many American families. Parents start their enabling by asking their kids what they want to eat. Are you kidding me? Their kids—having picked up the no-vegetables! mantra from friends and/or media—inevitably make poor choices.

Worse yet, some parents don’t even ask; they just assume their kids won’t eat anything that’s really good for them, and then fulfill their own prophecy. This little scam is then reinforced by the kids’ friends and their parents, and restaurants, which assume the only thing a kid’s ever going to want is a grilled cheese or a hot dog. And we wring our hands about the epidemic of childhood obesity!

Parents just assume their kids won’t eat anything that’s really good for them, and then fulfill their own prophecy.

Just today I saw a TV commercial in which a young mother's standing in her kitchen, pondering a sort of holographic version of the nutritional food groups pyramid. She blithely dismisses every item on the chart that's green, saying something like, "No way my kids are gonna eat these things!" The solution she and the sponsor propose: one of those engineered nutritional drinks originally prescribed for kids temporarily unable to eat solid food. So, if you can't beat 'em, fool 'em!

How sad that kids—with lots of help from all the wrong places—are losing touch with real food! For this wonder seeker, the saddest part of this is seeing them robbed of their natural sense of adventure.

Decide for yourself what your kids should eat ... then leave them with just one choice: eat this or starve.

What can we do to reclaim wonder-full eating for our kids and grandkids? Probably the single best approach: turn off the TV. Decide for yourself what your kids should eat—maybe offering a couple of healthy options—and then leave them with just one choice: eat this or starve.

Short of that draconian measure, my daughter has a smart policy with her headstrong four-year-old: the "no thank you" bite. When the little girl balks at eating something, she must eat at least one bite before she's excused from the table. Then there's always the good old dessert come-on. (I knew there was a logical raison d'etre for dessert!)

"As a child my family's menu consisted of two choices: 
take it or leave it." ~ BUDDY HACKETT

RUDE AWAKENING – Saved by Intuition

"The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift." ALBERT EINSTEIN

To a veteran observer of Nature, seeing the invisible is no oxymoron. It happens all the time. You know something’s there because you can see or hear or smell its effects on stuff that’s around it. A branch breaks, potential prey scatters, a leaf’s folded over in just a certain way.

In those instances, there’s really no trick to it; you’re still just calling on your five basic physical senses, albeit asking a bit more of them. But there are other ways to sense, ways not so easy to explain.

      

This is new ground for most of us, a place where the physical becomes irrelevant, and where the rational and irrational begin to collide. It’s the realm of intuition and its inseparable companion, faith.

You know that feeling you get when you just sense that someone’s looking at you? Or those “little voices” that occasionally tell you to do something you weren’t even aware needed doing?

Call it what you want; dismiss it if you must. But I believe intuition is one of many credible ways of knowing. I accept it for the mysterious gift it is, one I hope to understand better, and one which already has proven quite real for me.

       She was sitting on the floor, hands 
       to her neck, fighting for every breath.

BOLT UPRIGHT
Can you really know about something even though there’s no rational way you could have known it?

Many years ago, my kids—then about five and six years old—were staying with me for the summer. Since my apartment was pretty small, I’d arranged for us to house sit the beautiful, sprawling, modern home of a couple of University of Minnesota astronomy professors while they traveled.

I took the master bedroom, while the kids—well, you know kids—they slept in bedrooms as far away from me as possible, on the lower level of what you might call the guest wing of the house.

             

I’m not a light sleeper, but one night at about 3:00 AM I suddenly sat straight up in bed and knew something wasn’t right. I listened hard for a few seconds and heard nothing. I could easily have dismissed the event as a bad dream or a quirk of being in a strange house, but the feeling was too insistent.

Still just half awake, I hurried across the living room, downstairs, past Jeff's room and right to Amanda’s room. She was sitting on the floor, hands to her neck, her face beet red. Fighting for every breath, she looked terrified.

         It’s tough to separate the whims 
         from the wants from the warnings.

Long story short: I called 911; the ambulance came; the paramedics slapped an oxygen mask on Amanda; and away we sped—lights, siren and all—to Regions Hospital. By then, her breathing was back to normal. The ER doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with her and sent us home.

We’ll never know what would have happened that night if I hadn’t felt drawn to Amanda’s room. Did my instinct and a little oxygen save her life? Or might the only consequence have been that she and I ended up with a great story to share? Either way, I’m so grateful I was able to feel that little disturbance in the universe that night and decided not to ignore it.

      

SELECTIVE LISTENING
Our little voices come to us in many forms and in many tones, from the dire warning I experienced with Amanda, to the quiet inner counsel one might hear about a new relationship, to the much-needed encouragement we sense when a risk just feels like the right thing to do.

In fact, if you’re like me so many little threads of intuition lace through your mind that it’s tough to separate the whims from the wants from the warnings. How do you know which of your little voices to heed or not heed?

I suppose, in the end, the guidance we receive from our various muses is not so different from the advice offered us by people. We learn, by experience, that some can be trusted, some we file away for future reference, and others we politely acknowledge and then wholeheartedly ignore.

SCREEN-BOUND KIDS – The "Missing" Generation - Part 2

PART 2 (continued from 3/9 post)

So kids are screen-bound; what's wrong with that?

NATURE DEFICIT DISORDER
Research* is just beginning to document the effects of screen addiction—  specifically from children's growing detachment from Nature. So far, studies suggest that it's manifesting in wide-ranging ways: physically, mentally, emotionally, socially and spiritually.

           

Richard Louv, in his groundbreaking book Last Child In the Woods, makes an eloquent case for why the phenomenon merits the sweeping moniker, Nature Deficit Disorder. It's a condition which, if left untreated, will surely have profound implications for our country and for the world.

WHY SHOULD WE CARE?
•  Kids who regularly spend time outdoors (especially before adolescence) are more likely to develop positive attitudes towards the environment as adults—something our planet desperately needs if we are to tackle the daunting environmental challenges facing this generation. To protect Nature, decision-makers and voters have to care about it, and to care about it, they must know it and know it well.

•  Just as the United States is beginning to grapple with the out-of-control costs of health care, an epidemic of childhood obesity is weighing down even the best of solutions. This is a complex challenge, one that has to do with more than just poor nutrition choices. But, of the many factors contributing to the problem, the most obvious is sheer inactivity; watching a screen and tapping one's fingers burn almost no calories.

 

Children's ability to communicate with clarity 
and nuance is evaporating.

•  Spending time outdoors affords other physical and developmental advantages too. Among them are capacities involving spacial relationships, principles of physics, empathy with other living things, a healthy sense of self, problem solving, socialization...well, you get the idea.

•  Children's ability to communicate with clarity and nuance is evaporating. In an environment of sped-up, dumbed-down messages—few if any of them exchanged face to face—too many parents and educators seem to be conceding, perhaps unwittingly, that colorful, evocative language, facial expression and body language no longer matter in how we relate to one another.

       

• Finally, in an area too often given short shrift in the children-and-nature discussion—one close to my heart—Nature Deficit Disorder is leaving a generation of children starving for the even the most essential, least controversial of spiritual experiences, those involving wonder, awe and gratitude. While kids might feel some emotions from things they see on a screen, those emotions are very unlikely to include wonder and gratitude.

So let's not confuse a declaration that something is "awesome" with the kind of experience Nature can provide. To truly experience any kind of beyond-the-self awareness, young people have to look up and witness something bigger, faster, more beautiful than anything a two- or a six-inch screen—even one packing umpteen thousand pixels—can ever begin to render.

      

WHAT TO DO
So, what to do.

• First, we, as parents and grandparents, can take a more active role in determining what our young people are reading, watching and doing on their screens. The wisest approach will acknowledge that kids, especially teenagers, value peer acceptance more than their parents could possibly understand. We did when we were young and so will generations to come.

So let them use their technology to stay in touch and have fun. But set limits. Provide appealing alternatives. One example is to schedule unplugged, outdoor family time—Nature walks, camping trips, picnics, or just sitting on the deck or porch and seeing how many small natural wonders each person can spot.

(You can find more ideas for screen-free activities at the websites of many children-, family-, and health-focused organizations, including the Mayo Clinic, the Sierra Club and the American Academy of Pediatrics.

Take a closer look at the many myths about how dangerous it is to let kids play outdoors.

• Maybe you can strike a deal: for every hour they spend outside, without any kind of screen, they get to spend another hour web-surfing, texting or gaming.

• Set an example. It's not that kids don't want to enjoy Nature; it's that they've never learned how to do it. Show them. Prime their inherent curiosity by pointing out small wonders and expressing the joys of curiosity, wonder, awe and gratitude.

• Take a closer look at the many myths about how dangerous it is to let kids play outdoors. Instead of listening to the media's self-serving, overwrought, negative slant, do your own research. Louv's Last Child In the Woods is a wonderful place to start, offering more balanced, realistic assessments of risk—and the statistics to back them up.

• Get involved in promoting the integration of unplugged, outdoor activities for kids throughout the community—in their schools and churches, in municipal parks and recreation programming, in health care protocols, and in cultural organizations like museums, orchestras and zoos. And let your elected representatives know why these priorities matter to you and your community.

• Finally, be ready for the push-back. One of kids' main jobs in growing up is to begin finding their own reality, even if that conflicts with that of their parents. Be strong; know what you're talking about; present a united front with other adults in your family; form alliances and share information with other parents in your neighborhood.

• And remember, any normal child will watch you like a hawk to see if you practice what you preach. Be ready to take a long, hard look at your own inattentiveness to the real world. What you object to in your kids' media usage may be the same thing you do every day under the guise of managing your own business, household and social life.

It's a matter of will—rational and moral will, personal and political will.

WE CAN DO THIS!
What a fortunate childhood I had! I didn't realize then what a blessing it was that I could be outdoors most of the time. I just took it for granted; I think my parents did too. Today, though, far fewer kids enjoy that kind of daily connection with Nature...and that troubles and saddens me.

We know many of the causes and symptoms of Nature Deficit Disorder, and we know a number of effective treatments. So it's a matter of will—rational and moral will, personal and political will. As with any societal ill, the movement to reclaim our screen-bound children's Nature health begins with people, one person at a time. Are you ready to be one of them?

* Much of the research on screen addiction is documented on the website of Louv's Children and Nature Network (link: http://www.childrenandnature.org/research/volumes/C106/106)

ARE YOU ON SOMETHING? – Coming Home To the Here and Now

MOM, CAN I GO INSIDE AND PLAY?
Ask kids where's their favorite place to play, and you may be as troubled as I am by the answer. More and more, they're saying that place is indoors. Say what? With the astounding variety of places to go, things to discover and adventures to be had in Nature, why on this precious earth would a child prefer to play inside? The kids' answer: because that's where the electrical chargers are.

  Depriving a child of a close relationship with 
  Nature is as unthinkable as depriving that child 
  of proper nutrition.

It was a conversation like this with a young boy that motivated Richard Louv to write his best-selling Last Child in the Woods – Saving Our Children from Nature Deficit Disorder. The book makes a compelling case: that depriving a child of a close relationship with Nature is as unthinkable as depriving that child of proper nutrition.

I'm so grateful that I grew up when being outdoors was more fun than anything else, when "social media" meant playing, sharing real-life adventures and talking face to face. My "friends" were really friends, because we actually did stuff together; they were my classmates, my teammates, perhaps my co-conspirators in some kind of prank.

We knew fresh air, water, sun and soil first-hand. We were aware that we shared our world with lots of other growing, breathing organisms. Hell, we even loved being outside in the winter!

These experiences shaped my friendships, and they also made me friends with Nature. I watched her, waited for her, suffered at her whim, but more than anything, I learned from her. She taught me patience, resourcefulness and creativity. She introduced me to awe.

YOU'RE EITHER ON, OR YOU'RE OUT OF IT!
These days it seems everyone's on something—on line, on Twitter or Facebook,
on their iPad or iPhone. And, since these indulgences barely require one to lift a finger, this means we spend way too much time on something else: our asses.

              

It's not just about separation from Nature, though that's certainly a key symptom of this "on" addiction. It's also the loss of real, first-hand interaction with other human beings. Getting "together" through social media, despite the allure of its sheer ease, is like knowing someone solely on the basis of your conversation through a thick wall. Other than knowing each other is paying attention, not much gets through.

          Am I the only one who senses a 
          kind of lonely desperation here?

Now, I'm not living in a cave; I realize that much of value happens through social media. (Think the $29 million in texted donations the American Red Cross raised in short order a few years back for Haiti earthquake relief, or the occasional bloodless overthrow of a corporate or political tyrant powered by the social media.) Still, kids in general aren't involved in such causes; the vast majority of them are "on something" for far less weighty reasons.

For hundreds of millions of Facebook and Twitter users, it's not about helping; it's not about information; it's not even about anything seriously resembling communication. No, nowadays its about connection, not as in sharing something of meaning, but as in connection for connection's sake, connection worn like a badge. Hey, look, I have so many "friends" or "likers." For what? Is anything of consequence actually being done? Am I the only one who senses a kind of lonely desperation in trading the wonders of (real) Nature for this?

A LITTLE CONSPIRACY
It's not that the technology and media are unhealthy in and of themselves; it's the degree of their use, the sheer volume of time the average devotee spends every day on utterly meaningless pursuits.

Parents know, somewhere in their gut, that too much texting, Snap-Chatting and playing Star Wars or Grand Theft Auto – version umpteen—not to mention exposure to the cesspool of reality television—is not good for their kids. But, as with junk food, there's a little conspiracy at work. This time, the connivance involves the parents, who convince themselves that Jill and Jimmy derive some social or educational benefit, or, truth be told, simply welcome the distraction; teachers, who let kids convince them they can multi-task; the media, with its slick marketing machine; highly-cultivated peer pressure; and, of course, the sheer sexiness of the technology.

I figure there are some people out here who still enjoy reading more than 140 characters at a time.

Of course, all of this is happening on the watch of parents, who are not only failing to set limits, but are, themselves, becoming addicted to the same pastimes.

You must have known the disclaimer would come: I can't rail against all this technology and the social media revolution without admitting my own hypocrisy. The "on" generation epitomizes the sped-up, dumbed-down world I decry. Yet, to spread my message, I find myself using the very machines and media I so despise. I'm on just about everything. Okay, I admit, it's fun. It really is.

In feeble defense I can say, first of all, that I think many blogs, including my own, have substance. What's more, I've not yet fallen for the "sound bite" approach to my message. I figure there have to be some people out here who still enjoy more than looking at a picture or two, or reading more than 140 characters at a time.

Let's resolve to nudge a child outdoors and introduce
her or him to curiosity, discovery and wonder. These companions, with no agenda except just being, will
never "unfriend" them.