From seed to sprout...

I like to say that I have always had an interest in, if not an unerring passion for, the environment. Of course, "always" is a stretch--asking at what age children become the person they will be for the rest of their lives is like ignoring the concept the dynamic person altogether. I do recall several events in my sixth year of schooling that strike me as pivotal in shaping my passion for our planet.

Certainly the value of a parent's efforts to raise and nurture a child cannot be understated here--my parents were clean, thrifty folks who always recycled, even hoarded scrap metal. My dad was resourceful, my mom creative, and it was their example I followed. However, I remember a particular teacher from school who was very passionate herself, and whose dedication to my learning I consider to be pivotal in shaping my eco-conscious into what it is today.

In sixth grade I cried alot. I was in my second year as a student in the gifted program. I made straight A's, and few but good friends. I was becoming truly self-aware. I assume it scared my parents, my frequent bouts of deep sadness. Likely they thought the bullies were at it again, and to be honest, for a time I wasn't quite sure why I would cry.

My favorite class by far was my gifted class, my favorite place the classroom itself, which was unique in that it was situated in a small, plain, white trailer at the edge of the play yard. There were two other trailers nearby but I never knew what they were for--ours was super-special. A computer (rare in those days) blinked and blipped in the corner, our favorite quiz bowl games at hand on 5-inch floppies. We had board games, trivia, puzzles, and of course, chess.

But class was not all games. Our teacher, bless her heart for I cannot remember her name no matter how hard I try, utilized as many resources as she could to teach us about the world around us. We learned economics, politics, and ecology. We learned through videos, interactive lessons, computer programs, games, and field trips.

Those trips were the most influential of my young life. We went to gather trash on the beach, we walked through the marshes of the Low Country, and back at our trailer we staged oil spills on a miniature scale, pouring over our aluminum baking pans in teams, trying to come up with new clean up techniques.

Becoming aware of the local ecology and hearing the warnings and seeing the damage already done, I cried. The bullies and the stress associated with school were the same, they were constants, and after so many years, they were barely worth my notice. But as I became aware of the natural world around me, I cried. When I recognized this awareness as the source of my sadness, I stopped crying, and started listening. And thinking.

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