Richard Louv was born in 1949, a card-carrying member of the baby
boomer generation. He has been a
newspaper reporter, syndicated columnist, and author of nine books. The father of two sons, his writing often
covered issues of family life. Over the
years, he interviewed thousands of parents, children, and social science experts. Working on the front lines of American
culture, he became increasingly aware that the children of boomers were moving
down a path far different from their parents.
“They are the first daycare generation, the first
post-sexual-revolution generation, the first generation to grow up in the
electronic bubble, the first for whom nature is often an abstraction rather
than a reality,” he says. A fourth grader
shocked him when he announced, “I like to play indoors better, ’cause that’s
where all the electrical outlets are.”
Louv came to understand that boomers were probably “the last generation
of Americans to share an intimate, familial attachment to the land and water.” This inspired him to write Last Child in the Woods.
He imagined three phases in American culture. The first frontier started with the European
invasion of North America. Wave after
wave of settlers exterminated natives, destroyed forests, and created
farms. In the 1790 census, nearly 4
million were counted. By 1890, we had
exploded to 63 million, and the wild frontier was gone. The era of free land for homesteaders had ended.
The second frontier spanned from 1890 to 1990. America was urbanizing, and life in
industrial cities was noisy, stinky, and chaotic. It was an era of dust storms, robber barons,
the great depression, and two world wars.
Folks took pleasant imaginary voyages to “the good old days” of rugged
pioneers, cowboys, Indians, and little houses on the prairie.
In 1990, there were 248 million of us, and the government
ended its tradition of taking annual surveys of farm residents. Most small farmers had sold out and moved to
town. The third frontier was born — computers,
cell phones, video games, and a cornucopia of other excesses.
In the first frontier, most Americans spent their lives in
direct contact with the natural world, working hard to survive. In the second frontier, for many Americans, the
relationship with nature evolved into something like romantic attachment. The third frontier became an era of electronic
detachment from nature, digital space aliens.
“Not that long ago, the sound track of a young person’s days
and nights was composed largely of the notes of nature. Most people were raised on the land, worked
the land, and were often buried on the same land. The relationship was direct. Today, the life of the senses is, literally,
electrified.” Childhood has shifted from
loving streams to loving screens.
Louv was born into an America of 151 million. As I write, it’s 324 million. In his lifetime, lots and lots of fields and
forests have been erased by vast swarms of nature-devouring consumers. The pleasant rural countrysides where many
boomers grew up have been replaced by rumbling six-lane thoroughfares lined
with malls, burger joints, convenience stores, suburban sprawl, and homeless
camps.
He once interviewed a fifth-grade girl for whom nature
remained precious. She adored her sacred
grove, a place of peace, sweet air, and freedom. It had a creek and waterfall. She went there almost every day. “And then they just cut the woods down. It was like they cut down a part of me.” Adults tend to speak fondly of nature, but their
actions display a remarkable disinterest in defending it. Children clearly understand the unspoken
message. Progress is sacred. Don’t make a fuss. It reminds me of Victor Frankenstein, the mad
scientist who created a monster that nobody could control.
Like many boomers, Louv spent much of his youth playing
outdoors without supervision. This had
been the norm for all children everywhere — throughout all human history —
until now. Today’s poor kids have been
herded indoors, where they get fat and depressed. Stepping outdoors is simply too
dangerous. The nightly news is a
constant horror show of psychopaths, gushing blood, and crazy politicians. All kids are issued cell phones so that paranoid
“helicopter parents” can know where they are at every moment.
Tree houses and tree climbing have been banned. Fishing ponds are now off-limits. Dangerous merry-go-rounds, swing sets, and
basketball courts disappeared from playgrounds, and “No Running” signs are
multiplying. Large flocks of personal
injury lawyers soar overhead, waiting for a child to get hurt. With breathtaking speed, they dive into
courthouses and file huge lawsuits.
Liability insurance rates are skyrocketing, and many
communities are working hard to eliminate the menace of outdoor play. Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts are selling off
wilderness camps, because insurance is too expensive. Parents no longer expect scouting
organizations to nurture healthy relationships with nature. They prefer safe indoor activities, where
kids can learn about technology or weight loss.
Public education has become obsessed with boosting test
scores. Consequently, “nearly 40 percent
of American elementary schools either eliminated, or were considering
eliminating recess.” Playgrounds are a
waste of precious time. As kids get
older, nature loses its wonder. Many unlucky
kids live in homes where TV is on most of the time.
Louv mentioned a program for children with AIDS. Kids who had never been out of their urban
jungle were taken to a camp in the mountains.
One night, a nine-year old girl had to go to the bathroom. Stepping outdoors, she gasped! She had never seen the stars before. Wow!
On the third frontier, most teens will not effortlessly glide
from high school graduation to living wage jobs. Ten-year olds worry about college. Parents now expect their kids to be
high-achievers, tightly focused on success and careers — more computer time and
study time, and little or no time for unstructured play. Fanatical young achievers are determined to race
up the golden ladder to Trump Valhalla and live in infamy.
Under relentless pressure to perform, kids who stumble
contemplate suicide. A stunning number
of children are now gobbling antidepressants.
Obesity rates for American adults are skyrocketing, and rates for
children are growing faster. In
communities isolated from nature, cultural autism is on the rise — reduced
senses, feelings of isolation, attention fixated on glowing screens. We are losing direct experience of the world,
living like burned out zoo animals.
This is a crisis. Louv
is famous for coining the term Nature Deficit Disorder (NDD), a serious physical,
emotional, and mental health issue. It
is curable. Being close to nature boosts
a child’s attention span and self-confidence.
It fosters creative play. Contact
with nature seems to be as important as good nutrition and adequate sleep. We desperately need a movement to leave no
child indoors.
Schools have been herding the kids down the dead end path of
technology, status seeking, and high impact living. The young are well aware of overpopulation,
deforestation, mass extinction, climate change, and so on. What can they do? The wonderland of glowing screens can provide
hours of escape from their anger, despair, and powerlessness.
Louv blasts readers with a fire hose of full strength
hopium. His recommendations range from simple
commonsense strategies to soaring flights of magical thinking. Meanwhile, around the clock, Mother Culture shouts
at the herd. “Fear not! Everything is under control! Shop like there’s no tomorrow! The best is yet to come!”
I’ve spent decades trying to understand reality, a lonely
path. I have come to accept it, in the
fullness of its darkness. Being present
in reality is not fatal. On the other
hand, denial, disconnection, and nonstop rage are soul killing and crazy making.
Louv introduces respectable suburban
consumers to nature connection lite. Jon
Young goes further, encouraging dirty, sweaty, full strength, howling at
the moon nature connection. He says, “The
future belongs to those who are deeply connected to nature.” I agree.
Louv, Richard, Last
Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder,
Algonquin Books, Chapel Hill, 2008.
1 comment:
I’ve spent decades trying to understand reality, a lonely path.
What a beautiful, sad and I guess true phrase.
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