Written by: Liberty Miller | Lifestyle Editor
I grew up country. I’m not talking suburban outskirts country, but rather an unincorporated town, population four hundred and twelve, hay bales on the side of the road kind of country. The kind that someone would have to go out of their way to get to.
Yet, it was within that capsule of limited population and small-town idealism that I got to see the wonder of simplistic living in my backyard. I didn’t grow up with technology, so my days were spent flipping through paperback books, playing outside with my sister and dad and finding any part of the earth to mess with outside.
We foraged for mushrooms and wild blackberries, or put on big rubber boots and stomped in the mud. We stared up at the sky, rode four-wheelers out in the large, unoccupied field in our backyard and climbed a huge tree with my dad, who built platforms for us to sit down and take in the expansive view of the meadow.
When I got into middle school, all of a sudden, phones and tablets were introduced to my world. I met people who spent their childhood behind a computer monitor, or playing on concrete sidewalks or “fake playgrounds,” as I like to call them. Who on earth would need to build all that when you could have trees and dirt piles and slug kickin’ in your backyard?
My classmates in middle and high school told me that it was shameful to have a country home, embarrassing to have grown up without using Snapchat or playing video games, and I was young, so I believed them.
When COVID-19 forced everyone back into their homes, I suddenly had the opportunity to travel back in time and revisit my childhood. I stayed at home, and I spent time outside where my old friends, the flowers, the grass and the sunlight were. I could forage for berries, lay in the dirt and spend time in the home that I was once ashamed of. It was then that I realized — there is no life more fulfilling than this.
I felt horribly, deeply saddened by those who didn’t grow up the way I did — the people who spent their time trapped in concrete jungles, surrounded by asphalt and car engines and Xbox systems — and, frankly, it just didn’t seem like the right way to live. I was mad that at some point in my life, I was envious of the people who lived the way they did.
As I grew up, I saw more of the world. Perhaps the most eye-opening experience for me was traveling to Hartford/New Haven, Connecticut. When I arrived there, the sky was the wrong shade of blue. It was pale, tinted with a sickly yellow, and I felt unsettled. I figured out a short while later that it was air pollution. I looked around and all I saw was concrete and pollution — a dulled out life. I knew that I wouldn’t be happy living there. It felt suffocating.
My belief system after COVID had only been reinforced after seeing city life in different areas of the US, and I had come to the very important conclusion that the world feels best where it is untouched. We, as human beings, have destroyed, pillaged and burned the earth. We have buried it in cement, poisoned it with exhaust, littered it with plastics and oils and ruined a very large portion of what used to be, in my opinion, something precious.
But the inherent need for us as human beings to connect with the earth cannot be ignored. We are one with the world and we cannot exist in a society where Mother Nature is being plundered for profit and reshaped at the cost of our rivers, mountains, trees and fields.
What I would encourage everyone to do, at least, in the most serious way possible — touch grass. Go drive to the coast and stare at the ocean, or lay down in the dirt, take vegetables from a nearby crop and run away like a Hobbit. Whatever inspires us to traverse outside of the house, outside of the city and into the natural world, existing as designed.
As I sit here writing this article, I know a large portion of readers are not the biggest fans of country music. But Keith Urban sang something that I remember every so often because it used to play on the radio as I spent my childhood running around in the great outdoors:
“I’m gonna kick off my shoes and run in bare feet. Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet. Goin’ back to the well, gonna visit old friends. And feed my soul where the blacktop ends.”
Contact the author at howllifestyle@wou.edu
