My woods...
In a nutshell, the town is trying to clear-cut most of Baker Woods (the woods behind my house in Darien), and I've been too- I'm not sure what. I guess afraid that if I think about it too much I'll go completely over some emotional edge. Anyway, it's time for me to write the paper because I've got to at least let them know that I have a perspective. Comment and tell me what you're thinking.
Draft of letter to the editor on the woods:
It’s time to write to you about Baker Woods. It’s been flickering in and out on the edge of my consciousness, but I haven’t said a thing. I guess I just didn’t want to deal with all the emotions I feel hearing about this, but I can’t put it off any longer. I guess a lot of people don’t think about woods the way I don’t think about stores I don’t shop in. I know that they’re there, sort of, but they don’t make a difference to me. If someone bulldozed The Gap I wouldn’t even know it had happened. The woods do make a difference to me. Growing up I was in the woods nearly every single day. This is immaterial to most people: they weren’t with me. When I look at the world, however, there is always a film of trees in my vision. Every day my imagination created worlds for me. I got exercise for my body wandering around and building forts, but mostly I exercised my mind. When I say that I’ve spent more time there than anyone else, it’s because I didn’t see anyone else there as much as me. Now I’ve moved. I’m away from the trees, and I feel oddly enclosed on streets unbordered by forest. It’s hard to think without trees. Woods are safe- they’re a place where you can sort yourself out and stay human (ironic that jack-in-the-pulpits and baby bunnies can make you human). They were my woods- my own personal treasure, but perhaps that was the problem. Those woods are amazing- they look like a fairyland in the spring when the little white flowers burst out. Their potential for learning, exploring, imagining, thinking, and being is boundless, but I never worked to share my treasure. I never thought to suggest benches or a picnic spot to make them more accessible. I never even brought the Girl Scout Troops I worked with out to see them. I never told the children sledding in Baker Park that just within the entrance was a skating pond, if they cared to clear the snow off the ice. Now I’m sick with all the “I never”s that have left my forest undefended. Can I ask you just to explore? Is it too late to tell you that this is the place you were looking for to draw, photograph, journal, and think. This is the place where your children were meant to find Tarabithia and Narnia and Middle Earth. Right here. No one ever asked me, “Hey is it okay if we destroy the single most important aspect of your childhood?” Why should they? People do not usually think that way. There’s a reason they don’t think that way of course- it’s because they haven’t spent enough time walking in the woods.
Draft of letter to the editor on the woods:
It’s time to write to you about Baker Woods. It’s been flickering in and out on the edge of my consciousness, but I haven’t said a thing. I guess I just didn’t want to deal with all the emotions I feel hearing about this, but I can’t put it off any longer. I guess a lot of people don’t think about woods the way I don’t think about stores I don’t shop in. I know that they’re there, sort of, but they don’t make a difference to me. If someone bulldozed The Gap I wouldn’t even know it had happened. The woods do make a difference to me. Growing up I was in the woods nearly every single day. This is immaterial to most people: they weren’t with me. When I look at the world, however, there is always a film of trees in my vision. Every day my imagination created worlds for me. I got exercise for my body wandering around and building forts, but mostly I exercised my mind. When I say that I’ve spent more time there than anyone else, it’s because I didn’t see anyone else there as much as me. Now I’ve moved. I’m away from the trees, and I feel oddly enclosed on streets unbordered by forest. It’s hard to think without trees. Woods are safe- they’re a place where you can sort yourself out and stay human (ironic that jack-in-the-pulpits and baby bunnies can make you human). They were my woods- my own personal treasure, but perhaps that was the problem. Those woods are amazing- they look like a fairyland in the spring when the little white flowers burst out. Their potential for learning, exploring, imagining, thinking, and being is boundless, but I never worked to share my treasure. I never thought to suggest benches or a picnic spot to make them more accessible. I never even brought the Girl Scout Troops I worked with out to see them. I never told the children sledding in Baker Park that just within the entrance was a skating pond, if they cared to clear the snow off the ice. Now I’m sick with all the “I never”s that have left my forest undefended. Can I ask you just to explore? Is it too late to tell you that this is the place you were looking for to draw, photograph, journal, and think. This is the place where your children were meant to find Tarabithia and Narnia and Middle Earth. Right here. No one ever asked me, “Hey is it okay if we destroy the single most important aspect of your childhood?” Why should they? People do not usually think that way. There’s a reason they don’t think that way of course- it’s because they haven’t spent enough time walking in the woods.