Returning to Your Own Backyard
This poem, the first and last in Walter de la Mare’s Come Hither—a remarkable anthology containing an abundance of fine English verse, surprises us. (Some might even find the contents of the basket a bit disappointing: “All that for flowers?”) The poem telescopes in and out, but the focus remains the simple basket of flowers—“sweet flowers,” to be exact. The particularity of an object resting in a basket on a bed in a room in a house in a yard in a street in a town in a city in the kingdom demands our attention; the poem calls it “the key of the kingdom.” Within the broad scope of the entire realm, the item that unlocks the kingdom is, by comparison, rather small, one might almost say intimate but also insignificant. Likewise, one element of “returning to the land” (a movement that could be overwhelming to consider as a practical program) might perhaps begin with something on a more manageable scale: a return to one’s own backyard and even the flowers there.
All too often, we tend to neglect what is right in front of us, imagining that the real object of greatness lies elsewhere. In fact, it may exist right beyond our door, and if so, might that not offer a beginning that suits us? If we leap in the car or board a plane to visit some spectacular sight (something one might do from time to time) but remain ignorant strangers in the place we live, doesn’t that seem a bit backward? Becoming familiar with “this litel spot of erthe” where we actually “live and move and have our being” most of the time seems like a first step in recovering a proper connection to the land.
I live in a small town, and my yard is not too big. And yet it abounds with marvels. I am not certain it could ever be exhausted. Cardinals and robins (and many others) come to the feeders, and they usher in the dawn with their chorus that begins before light appears in the east. Trees punctuate the space—two kinds of oak, three species of maple, mulberry, locust and catalpa—along with a handful of fruit trees (apple, pear, and cherry). Opossum, bats, raccoons, cottontails, red fox, and even deer are close at hand.
It’s not enough to know the names of these creatures or even to see and hear them. The greater thing, after becoming aware of their presence, is to understand something of how they make the place their home alongside us and how these things interact with each other, forming an interdependent web of life—the totality that surrounds our houses and our daily lives, of which we are a part. Despite the walls that shelter us, with their furnaces, air conditioners, electric lights, and indoor plumbing, we do not function independently of that world just over the threshold. It does not require much to see how much of our man-made world is directed toward the realities of heat and cold, sunshine and rain, light and darkness. One huge step in living out the realities of human life begins with a simple recognition of the truths that Aldo Leopold captured: “There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm. One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery, and the other that heat comes from the furnace.” Somewhere, at the end of the thread that is forced air and meat on a styrofoam tray are soil, sun, rain, plants, and animals. It is inescapable.
Here are some practical suggestions to help us along the way to seeing and living things as they are:
1. Choose a spot where you can go and sit, watch, listen, smell, touch and maybe even taste. Go there at different times of the day and night, in all weathers. Learn at a visceral level the world God made, in the rhythm of sun and moon, stars and seasons, flowering and falling. Life is there; you only need show up and be still, be receptive. Everything that is IS because it participates in God’s own being, and He preserves it in existence. If you do not have much of a yard, that is no impediment. You simply need to be outside. In a pinch, a window or plants in a pot can offer a start.
2. Put up some bird feeders and get acquainted with the birds. Some of them might be passing through or nesting there for only a part of the year; some species—some individual birds—may be more or less permanent residents. Pay attention to their size and shape, their colors and markings. Try and recognize their songs and calls—at first, by simply spending time watching them and listening. Look for patterns. If they suddenly become silent or fly for cover, look to see if you can discover why. (One of the best books here is Jon Young’s What the Robin Knows.) Some will typically be on the ground, others higher in the trees. Notice the way they fly. Different species behave differently. While on the ground, some walk; others hop. Birds have always been mysterious creatures. They inhabit the air a good part of the time, free of the earth. Their sounds add a great deal of beauty to the world. Do not be content lumping them all together as mere “birds.”
3. Plant some flowers. Make a garden in spring and see it through to harvest. Cultivate a tiny orchard. Grow some berries. Even on this scale, a person can experience the pleasure in the economy of picking things you have assisted nature in growing and then enjoying them as additions to your table. Before a child broaches the complexities of something like photosynthesis, he ought to have a long, protracted experience of leaves and flowers, colors and smells. Taking time to sit by a plant and draw it forces one to notice the details of what is there. When we plant something, tend it, and watch it grow, we may actually be rooting ourselves.
4. Let the kids loose in the yard and immediate neighborhood, or better yet, go with them. Make a game of seeing what signs of life can be found. There are trails and tracks and scat and evidence of feeding in ditches and alleys and little clumps of brush. Explore vacant lots and stands of trees at the end of the road. Do not make this too structured or didactic. Play and exploration are essential. Feathers can be taken home; a little collection of treasures begun. Maybe give them a little notebook and a pencil to sketch and record observations. I assure you that you will be surprised to discover what is going on close by. One day, in winter, I was amazed in parting a little stand of tall grass in a ditch at the edge of the yard to find tunnels and chambers, little seeds and other evidence of abundant life. One naturalist has called suburban and even urban landscapes “the forgotten wilderness.” Honing this awareness at home will later enrich occasional treks to parks and forests.
5. Clear a bit of dirt or build a small sandbox. Bait it in the evenings (peanut butter on a stick in the ground works well) and then check it again the next morning and throughout the day. If you are blessed with tracks, sketch them or make plaster casts of them. Bare spots in roads, after a rain, or edges near water may offer the thrill of tracks. Learn the ways animals move and imitate them. See if you can relate these movements to patterns on the ground in the tracks. Notice your own tracks. Drink in the mysteries. (Recently a friend found a skull and some other bones and hair in a ditch while mowing. What followed was a great deal of close observation, questioning, and even comparing the skull and its teeth to the family cat. Like Sherlock Holmes, she eventually determined that she had the remnants of a raccoon, probably hit by a car and then subject to decomposition. It was like playing detective.) Snow will help tremendously in tracking when it falls. Follow trails and you may discover where animals come and go. On one occasion, the pristine tracks of a red fox in my neighbor’s snow-covered yard led to a culvert, from which weeks later emerged young who crossed the road to scamper in our front yard.
6. Pets and other small animals can teach much, while adding to family life. An examination of your cat’s paws will show why the overall shape of feline tracks is circular (about even in length and width), while Lassie’s feet will teach that the greater length than width of canines leaves an oval-shaped track. Watching the habits of even domestic animals is rich in instruction and wonder. Cats stalk, and one can see stealth in action by watching. The anatomy of dogs and cats teaches much about the lives of those animals. Size and prominence of noses, ears, and eyes on particular mammals reflect how they survive. Animal husbandry on a small scale is yet another area to explore. Depending on your situation, there might even be room for a few chickens or rabbits in your backyard—more opportunities for learning and wholesome food for your table.
7. If you are fortunate enough not to have many streetlights where you live, begin with the stars and constellations you can view overhead at night. H.A. Rey has some very helpful books to help you find your way. Pay more attention to the weather, even sitting on your porch. Notice the clouds and changing weather. Orient yourself in relation to landmarks at hand by practicing a birds-eye view of your neighborhood. It can be fun to ask people which way is north and about prevailing weather patterns. Tristan Gooley has written several books on “natural navigation” that offer tremendous insights.
8. Insects can be found everywhere. Read the writings of one of the greatest scientists, J. Henri Fabre, the “Homer of the Insect World.” Fabre practiced his observation skills in what he called “the laboratory of the open field,” and his insights from a couple of acres in rocky Provence filled the world.
9. As time goes on, you might begin a small collection of books and field guides to assist—but never replace—your time outdoors. Some authors, like Ernest Thompson Seton and Jean Craighead George wrote some marvelous books that help foster understanding of the natural world.
Much more could be suggested, but this short list will keep you occupied for years and guide you on the journey to becoming more aware and knowledgeable. Awareness is key throughout. Asking questions helps kindle desire to know. We can never know what we do not notice. All you need to do is go outside. Simplicity truly is best. Do not worry that you have to know the names of everything and have an encyclopedic knowledge at instant recall. Knowledge will come, but exposure comes first. Knowers first observe; they have to know what is there, recognize patterns and differences. Genus and species follow suit in time.
Decades ago, in a botany class taught by Professor P. V. Wells at the University of Kansas, we spent every class outside, learning the scientific and common names for the trees and shrubs on campus. We traipsed around with our field guides, and Professor Wells took us from plant to plant. As we noted leaves and bark and bud scars and other things, he told us interesting facts and stories about each plant in front of us. What a shame it would have been to spend four years walking past “green stuff” without being properly introduced.
Sacred Scripture is filled with wise things to say on even this subject. “Consider the lilies of the field.” “I know all the birds of the air.” “He has numbered all the stars and called them by name.” “My father is a farmer.” “My beloved is an enclosed garden.” “Speak to the earth and it will answer you.” Somewhere (I believe it is one of Willa Cather’s novels), Pascal is quoted: “Man was both lost and found in a garden”—Eden and Gethsemane. And de la Mare’s “Key of the Kingdom” ought to remind us of Our Savior’s admonition that “unless you become as little children, you will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” Fitting perhaps that the Doctor of the Little Way of Spiritual Childhood is also called The Little Flower. Surely one aspect of this childhood is an unceasing wonder in the face of God’s creation. “This is the Key of the Kingdom / Of the Kingdom this is the Key.” Like God Himself, it is right where we are.
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