Musings From the Mud Room

There’s a condition affecting our kids today.   While many researchers are diligently working to find a cure for horrible diseases such as cancer, diabetes and other illnesses, there evidently was someone who yearned for the desire to coin a new ailment called “Nature Deficit Disorder.”  No kidding.   If you search the term on the web, over 440,000 results can be found.   I suggest we don’t spend too much time or research on finding a cure.   The cure is really quite simple:  GO OUTSIDE!   

This may be a column written more from a mother’s perspective than a farmer’s viewpoint, but by living on a farm we do have a certain advantage with the outdoor factor.    Regardless of the weather or season, life on a livestock and grain farm requires a certain amount of time outside.   Growing up, I was fortunate to have a large yard surrounded in part by woods.   I would spend endless hours exploring the woods and playing in the yard.  Often, my mom had to call me to come in the house (my mom was definitely not an outdoors person!).    My dad instilled the yard work bug in me, and a general love for the outdoors was something I possessed as long as I can remember.     When Dillon came along, I had a new “partner in crime” to pursue my passion of animals, the outdoors and mild adventure.    From exploring Pap’s woods to monthly visits to the Fort Wayne Children’s Zoo and unsuccessful fishing ventures at Chain O’ Lakes State Park, Dillon and I have spent many hours outside the house.   The farm provides endless opportunities to engage with nature, and a variety of learning opportunities abound in our own backyard.   At the ripe age of eight, Dillon can identify more bird calls and insects than anyone in his family, and he has the great ability to distinguish between cattle, pig and duck poop.  

I always love the opportunity to share the farm with those who may never have experienced farm life.  I was in their shoes once, and I craved the chance to hold a baby pig or pet a newborn calf.   Bringing our farm life to others hopefully gives people one antidote in the cure for nature deficit disorder.  Unfortunately, with the increased need for biosecurity and the ugly rise of H1N1, the days of taking pigs into the classroom may be over.   It is simply a measure to keep our pigs safe, since people can make pigs sick.   I still encourage people at any chance to come out to the farm and share a bit of the ag outdoors with us.   Even the most mundane tasks (i.e. rock picking), provide a breath of fresh air.

If you don’t live on a farm or out in the country, that’s no excuse to stay inside.   For the past two summers, I have spent more time outside than I thought possible with Dillon working on one thing:  his garden.  What started with an overabundance of potatoes when he was four has grown into a full-fledged business for the young entrepreneur.    It all started innocently enough.  One day, he took my extra potatoes, loaded them in his John Deere wagon and proceeded to tell me he was going to sell them to people driving by the house.  Being an overprotective parent, I made him stay right up by the garage (hey, he was only four).   He then added cans of lemonade and soda to the wagon, saying any customer would get a free drink.    I watched him as he sat there for an hour.  Yes, my four-year old actually sat there for an hour.  With no customers.  Panic set in, so I called his grandparents and our good neighbor Mick Long and begged for a sale.    They gladly helped out, and word spread to several other neighbors who cheerfully supported the young boy’s effort.    From then on, he was hooked.    Fast-forward to this year, when we planted about an acre of pumpkins, tomatoes, green beans, sweet corn and more.    Just as spending time outside can cure nature deficit disorder, I will warn that spending too much time together can also result in a need for conflict management.  There were many times as I was outside with Dillon in “the patch” that I swore we would never do this again.   But then I watch him wait on his customers at the Farmer’s Market, and I smile as he discovers funky gourds and big pumpkins in the field.   Early this fall while we were picking in the patch, I heard Dillon carrying on a conversation with something.  By the tone of his voice (well, hi there little guy – what are you doing?), I figured he happened upon yet another stray cat.  I made my way over to the John Deere gator where we were loading our harvest, only to find Dillon bent over by the dashboard having a lighthearted conversation with a praying mantis.  The insect was an intense listener, cocking his head from side to side and occasionally raising his stick-like legs in animated applause.   At that moment, I was so grateful for our farm, Dillon’s produce efforts and the opportunity to be outside at every given chance.

It doesn’t have to be nature on a grand scale.  It could be one little cucumber plant or a simple walk through Morsches Park.   No exotic vacations are needed.  Nature is right here in our own backyard.    For some time, Dillon and I have found a certain fascination with the sandhill cranes that dot our farm fields this time of year.  To us, sandhill cranes are exotic, with their signature call and captivating appearance.   Last year at about this time, Dillon and I took off after school and headed west to the Pulaski Fish and Wildlife area.   It seemed like it took forever to get there, and gas was not cheap.   When we arrived, we followed a short path through the woods and came out to a clearing with a large viewing platform.   There were about two dozen other people who had joined us to watch the sight of the sandhill cranes.   At first, there weren’t many cranes, but our boredom was lessened by two sparring bucks out amidst the birds.   As dusk fell, more deer appeared, and then it happened:  from every possible direction, sandhill cranes flew across the sky and landed right before us.  They called to one another and did their famous dance.    We stood in absolute awe.    At that point, the long drive and gas prices were forgotten.  The couple beside us said they come every year and although there weren’t as many birds as in years past, there was still plenty.   On the other side of us stood a wildlife photographer who let Dillon view the birds through a lense that was as big as a small child.   Although we hated to leave, darkness was chasing us and we needed to make the drive back to Whitley County.   For much of the way home, we drove in silence.   At one point, Dillon said “Mom, that was really cool.”   He never mentioned too much more about it, until just recently when he reminded me of our adventure and said how much he enjoyed it.  It brought a smile to my face.

So I challenge you to put down the cell phone, log off Facebook, turn off the TV, and head outside.   In my 14 years of living in Indiana, I have gone without cable TV or a dish offering 101 channels.   Often, we are too busy on the farm to turn on the “boob tube,” as my mom used to call it.   And when we do, I must admit I’m an avid fan of PBS.  Yes, I love Facebook, surfing the web and I’ve even learned to text, but there is a time and place for everything.  There are certainly times when I can think of at least a dozen other things I “need” or “want” to do other than drive Dillon to the field so he can ride in the combine, toss some football or check things out in the garden.   But, I put those other “things” aside knowing they will get done.  For now, I’m making sure my son will never, ever suffer from Nature Deficit Disorder.