I just finished reading Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature Deficit Disorder. This isn’t a review. It’s a reaction to what I’ve read. If you’re looking for reviews Amazon has close to a hundred of them (the majority of which are 5 stars).

Wow. This book, despite the fact that I have no children, was able to put words to feelings I’ve had for years. If anything it’s given me a vernacular for the scrambled feelings, pings, and thoughts that dance in my brain during short moments of clarity on the issue.

The heart of the book is a sincere concern about the disconnect North Americans have with nature. This disconnect is, according to the author, causing a whole host of development issues for children and is generally just a bad thing. This, for me, rang true.

As I do not have children the ringing true was, obviously, about my own development and feelings. I’m sure that when I have a child (I can hear all that know me gasping), the book will become all the more potent.

I am of the last generation of children to grow up outdoors. I don’t mean that I played in the backyard a lot, everyone does that, I hope. I literally spent more hours outside than I did inside. My backyard, until I was seven, was a vacant wooded lot beside my house. The kids on the block ran free. We explored every inch of the neighborhood. We knew the culverts and storm drains. We knew the crooks and cranny of most of the trees. We played hard.

When I was seven my family purchased a resort on the north shore of Prince Edward Island. It was in the “country”. While for two months the community was swarmed with tourists, the other 10 months it was deserted. It is here that I learned to truly roam, to explore, and to have adventures. My adventures knew no bounds. The ocean to the north, endless woods to the south, farmers fields to the east and west. A golf course nearby for good measure.

I built tree houses of legendary proportions that would now require a building permit. I hopped on moving icebergs. I hunted. I played war. I built forts. I dug holes. I found pets. I lost pets. I got dirty. I swam to get clean. I wandered with no agenda. I knew bird calls. I knew plants. I knew dozens upon dozens of acres of land intimately. I had a dog, a real boy’s dog. One that would get dirty, chase squirrels, and pull sleds.

Today, as a 29, soon to be 30, year old man I know no land intimately and I have a rabbit. I cannot tell a weed from a flower and I haven’t dug a hole for no good reason in as long as I can remember. I have not built a fort recently. Deep down, where we keep our fear of spiders and the dark, I can sense the disconnect. I can sense the longing to know nature again.

For me this disconnect with nature manifests itself in a few distinct ways: I get restless, I feel scattered, I find it very difficult to focus, and I find it hard to muster up a sense of fulfilment with my life, to name a few. How do I know it’s not something else? Because when I’m out in nature, really out in nature, it all melts away.

For me, other than once a year, nature is a spectator sport. I watch it through my windows, windshield, and computer screen. Nature is something I look at from a far rather than submerge myself in. That, while sometimes fun to do, is about as helpful as watching people exercise. Nature is something that needs to envelop you, is bigger than you, and involves all of yours senses.

Ironically I’m more intellectually involved with the environment than I ever have been. I believe this is true for most of us. We all know about the shrinking rainforests, the warming atmosphere, the shrinking ice-caps and the endangered species. We know it but we don’t feel it. We are there in mind and spirit but not in body. If we keep it up the environment doesn’t stand a chance. No one fights for something they aren’t emotionally attached to.

For the last five years, since my 21 days in the woods, I’ve made a point of going on some sort of outdoor/wilderness outing each summer season. While they are amazing adventures they are a lot like binge drinking. A few friends and I go, submerse ourselves in total seclusion for a few days, then emerge to eat too much and exaggerate what happened. For my mental health it would be akin to taking an entire course of antibiotics in one dose. Or, eating a tree full of oranges before an Atlantic crossing to fight off the scurvy. It’s not effective as long term treatment.

I’ve realized that interacting with nature, for me, needs to be an intentional dally activity. So, I’m embarking on a 30 Day nature challenge. Each day I will strive to have a meaningful and real interaction with nature. This doesn’t need to be be wilderness. I can be in my backyard or along the side of the street. I’ll aim to photograph this interaction, or a representation of it, and document it here.

You’re invited to follow along.