I am not a parent. I have no desire to be, sorry Mom. At the age of 46 this seems a reasonable stance. I am also a PhD student and therefore tend to be on the selfish side of life when it comes to my time. However, the combination of age and lifelong learning has helped me start to appreciate the lessons and perspective children can unknowingly place in your lap.

I spent the Martin Luther King holiday with two of my best friends, their 5 and three-quarter year old daughter and nine year-old son, in Olympia, Washington. I have not spent much time in the Northwestern United States. The threat of fog mixed with rain, everyday, has scared me away. Such is the narrow mindedness of someone who lives in Boulder, Colorado where less than 300 days of sun a year would classify as depressing. However, my desire to catch up with friends rendered geographic threats unimportant.

My PhD research on habitat fragmentation and its impacts on ant communities in Eucalyptus forests takes place in Australia. Notwithstanding the 14 hour plane ride and a distinct change in dialect, I know I have arrived in Australia because the air cradles the sweet smells of eucalyptus and each morning is met with the symphony of Sulfur-crested cockatoos (Cacatua galerita) and the Australian magpies (Gymnorhina tibicen). My arrival in the Northwest was no less distinctive. The forests surrounding Olympia gifted me the soft aroma of moss on cedars and fern infused understory supported by rich, dark soil. It was a greeting to cherish.

The arrival at home, after the hour drive from SEA/TAC, was something to remember also. “Hello, Jeffie!” from Cole and a leaping, all encompassing hug from Eleanor signaled the beginning of new friendships. Over the course of the next four days I played witness to the vicissitudes of youth, and the attempts at even-keeled parental navigation through one day liking chicken and the next day hating it, he is on my side of the car, and she is pointing her finger at me. These ebbs were accompanied by the flow of peaceful interaction, including impressive displays of reading, discussions about who founded Rhode Island, and detailed analysis of proper Valentine Day card design.

During one of our outings we visited Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge (www.fws.gov/Niaqually/). For the first time in my life I was actually able to pick out bald eagles. I caught myself looking up, smiling, and being fully rooted to the ground amidst the undergrowth. I was, at this very moment, hit with an overwhelming sense of three dimensionality. The day before I had been engulfed in the smells from a new landscape and on this day, I was standing on that same ground, craning my neck to look at two bald eagles sitting observantly in a pine tree. My experience with the children had been similar in many respects. The texture and topography children bring to the world is one to be celebrated and embraced. Nature, too, offers us this dynamic interaction. Natural topography is sometimes steep and unwelcoming, unexpected, daunting. At other times gently rolling, rewarding, informative.
It struck me, that perhaps I have replaced one with the other, children with nature. I still do not want children but I am thankful that Cole and Eleanor expanded my appreciation of the world around me.