(family hike in Maine, from left to right. Seated: me, cousin Jen, & my mother. Standing and tireless: my brother Will. Seated: cousin Danny, cousin Chris, and aunt Perrin)
What is more important to nurture in a child than a sense of wonder? My siblings and my sense of wonder was strongly nurtured by our parents. I cherish memories of our family canoe and camping trips, of carefully whittling a spoon from driftwood using my treasured swiss army knife, of successfully navigating rapids, of cross-country skiing up a difficult hill.
The bridge running to the front door of my childhood home. The house sits up on stilts and most of its walls are glass doors. The sound of the crickets, the rain on the roof, and the happy chirping of birds are all much louder here. The morning sun shines through the curtains and lights up the entire house.
(Bleeding Hearts in my mother’s garden)
As a child I was utterly entranced by tiny toad and salamander fingers. And nothing can replace the wonder of the first handful of jellied pollywogs, the first taste of birch tree sapling bark, and the discovery of a patch of tiny woodland flowers.
(Lily of the Valley in my mother’s garden)