As I grow older I am seeing just how true this is. You may not believe it, but once upon a time I was a bad ass, chain saw-wielding, botany loving, environmentalist who slept outside on the full moon regardless of the season or what city or field I found myself in. I could tell the difference between a hemlock, spruce, or douglas fir by its silhouette on the horizon. Â I would define the places I lived by their watershed and understood well their boundaries and influences. Â I only ate organic food and I never drove my car unless I absolutely had to.
Things have changed since then. As the autumn deepens into winter, I find myself thinking about how my life seems to have its own seasons, mirroring those of nature. The time I describe above was like the fullness of summer. I was out exploring the big, wide world, sipping on the nectar of experience wherever I could find its sweetness. Mingling with the wildlife, wild and free. The time just after that- these past 10 years since then- has been an autumnal experience. It’s been a time of nest building, growing a family, and creating community. I’ve lived my life in smaller circles, orbiting around my den and small children. I am more cautious and disciplined in my actions, planting seeds and nurturing the production of food and various experiences to feed us all as we grow up and out of our infancy together.
Now, as I sit and feel the cold wind on my cheeks, I consider what’s next. The winter season is an opportunity to reflect and consider what I want to bring with me into the light as the days lengthen and the season grows warm again. I consider how things have changed since that summer many years ago.
Yesterday, while transporting a group of boisterous third graders on a field trip we found ourselves in a debate about what types of trees were on either side of the road. Â With confidence I knew that the one on the left was a spruce, but the other I did not know. Â Douglas Fir or Hemlock? Â The trees have not changed, but somehow I do not know them anymore. Â I notice that I can’t tell you what phase the moon is in either. Â I can only tell you that it’s waxing because my son is studying astronomy this week at school. And, when the moon waxes to its fullest next week you will not find me sleeping in my backyard to feel its warm glow on my face throughout the night. I know I live in the French Broad River Basin, but I’m not sure where its headwaters are or exactly how this old, old river runs north then west before it makes its way out to sea. I drive my car every day. Â Sometimes I drive up to the Ingles just four blocks away and I don’t even feel badly about it.
To be completely honest, I notice these changes and I DO feel a bit sad about it.  I miss my intimate relationship with nature and I don’t love her any less. The truth is that the circumstances of my life have changed so much that I don’t have the same opportunities to nurture my connection to nature as I used to. Now, rather than listening to bird calls and counting pistils and stamens on the wildflowers while I am in the woods, I am running fast to get my exercise in between football practice and dinnertime.  My ears are usually filled with music from my ipod and I’m moving too quickly to notice a penstemon in bloom.  On a bike ride in the woods, I am so focused encouraging my son to use his strong little legs to peddle his bike up to the ridge that I barely notice the babble of the creek. I’m doing the laundry while my husband is building the fence.  We divide the chores up between us so that it can all get done and I find that I don’t often choose to be the one wielding the chain saw, I’d rather tend the garden and make strawberry jam.
In turn, I’m a little less confident with using a chain saw than I used to be.  Botanical nomenclature of the southeast is an area where I have some growth.  It is true, if you don’t use it you lose it.  But is it really lost?  Maybe not. I still know how to sharpen a chain if I need to.  I know how to use a field guide to identify a tree and step outside and look up at the sky to view the moon. I still know how to ride a bike. This wintery chill inspires me to stop feeling sad about how things have changed. Rather, to recognize them as part of the cycle of seasons in my life. As the seasons have changed, so have my priorities. And that’s okay. The wild, free nature of my summertime self is still inside of me, just matured a bit. I may have lost my ability to quickly identify the difference between the tracks of a raccoon and a possum, but I’ve learned how to make a mean batch of apple sauce. I’ve grown into my role as mama to two beautiful and wild life-loving boys.
My kids are getting older now. They are learning to camp and fish. They have their own sleeping bags and love to sleep outside under the moon. They can ride bikes, help with chores, and even, sometimes, be silent long enough to hear the birds sing their songs.  This spring, as the days become warmer and longer, perhaps I’ll get a chance to do some of those things I used to do. But this time, I’ll have my boys by my side.  Rather than focusing on what’s been lost, I’m excited to see what can be found.
