Memories of Earth

For The Beauty of the Earth: A Christian Vision for Creation Care, by Steven Bouma-Prediger. (Baker Academic Press)
progress: 31/187

Welcome to the new Book #5 (see my last post). As gardening season approaches, this book seems a good fit. I am routinely amazed and often disturbed by the variety of views amongst Christians with regard to all things environmental/ecological, and the anger, suspision and general passion of one kind or another that arises when the topic is broached. Conspiracy theories abound. Spirituality is called into question. Because I know godly men and women at multiple ends of the spectrum(s), I have realised my need for more information before taking a personal stance. Hopefully this book will be a start in the right direction.

At the beginning of his first chapter, Bouma-Prediger asks the question: "What do you remember from your childhood about the earth?" It seems as good a place as any to start back into writing after my month-long hiatus.

I remember water and sun. The saltiness of the ocean and the chalky residiue of salt on my skin after a swim. Sand, infinite and beautiful, I found to be made up of many colours and shapes upon closer inspection. I remember the buoyancy of my body in the ocean, the light dappling through and sparkling on the white sand below me, the hot sun baking my back as my I snorkeled in and along the reefs. The fish were extreme in every way: colour, shape and size. There were starfish, sea cucumbers, spiny urchins, hermit crabs and the dreaded jellyfish.

The world was magical in its offer of endless possibilities. I was an explorer, trekking through the tangled boonies of Okinawa, the hillside rainforest of Hawaii, the vine-clogged woods of Maryland. I was a hunter, eyes to the ground as I searched for seashells, sand dollars and glass balls along the shores of the Pacific ocean. Once, we saw an old washing machine and a piano, dumped on an otherwise pristine stretch of beach in Japan, and I was at the same time confused as to who would do such a thing, and curious to take a closer look.

The world was powerful. The waves had the power to crush me. There was a current off the coast of Oahu, I was told, that could carry you all the way to another island - dead, of course. In my old neighbourhood in Annapolis, Maryland, there had been a restaurant that had slid off the edge of the eroding cliffs and crashed onto the shore of the Chesapeake Bay below. It was a favourite exploring spot with my friends. That, and the abandoned pool down the road from my house, complete with baby-pool-turned-swamp, which was in the process of being completely reclaimed by nature.

The world was just plain weird at times, which was my childlike way of saying it was wonderful. The black, lumpy, bumpy, spiky swaths of dried lava at Kilauea Volcano Park in Hawaii transported me to another planet. A late-night boat ride at the just the right time of the year left a glowing path of baby jellyfish in our wake on the Chesapeake Bay. There was a funny little plant in Okinawa that closed up its tiny leaves when I touched it. Venus flytraps ate bugs! And fireflies, the most magical of all, transformed the giant oaks and elms of my nighttime walks around the neighbourhood into something ethereal and dreamy.

I loved animals of all kinds and had my share of pets over the years: hamsters, gerbils, guinea pigs, a cat, a dog, rabbits, fish, and birds. I used to capture green, red and yellow box turtles as temporary pets, until they made their way out of their enclosures and back into the woods. I chased down crawdads and tadpoles in the creek by my house. Bugs I viewed with less openness (except for every child's favourites, the butterfly and dragonfly): I remember the horror of seing a harmless but intimidating banana spider the size of an adult's outstretched hand, making its way toward me on the road as I walked to the bus stop for my first day of school. I was so convinced he was going to get me that I ran back home. Hawaii exposed me to the likes of five-inch-long centipedes, flying cockroaches and numerous large spiders. I remember hearing about a girl in my neighbourhood in California who pulled the wings off of ladybugs and that fact alone made her a horrible person in my mind.

As I think about it, the realm of nature was a major character in my childhood. Being a kid who moved around a lot and struggled at times to fit in socially, the natural world was a place I felt comfortable and at home. The familiar crack of a coconut dropping to the ground outside my window every couple of nights kept me company in Hawaii. The howling wind was a tangible presence as I walked. The sparkling ocean was my playmate, inviting me in. Animals of all kinds were my close companions and the gracious receivers of my awkward gestures of love. Even the more dangerous aspects of nature (thunderstorms, sharks, remoteness, etc) generally struck awe in me rather than fear. In ways I am still struggling to understand, nature has played a significant role in shaping who I've become.

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