Charlotte Mason writes about “the force of public opinion in the home” in reference to the creepy-crawlies that make me cringe:
Some children are born naturalists, with a bent inherited, perhaps, from an unknown ancestor; but every child has a natural interest in the living things about him which it is the business of his parents to encourage; for, but few children are equal to holding their own in the face of public opinion; and if they see that the things which interest them are indifferent or disgusting to you, their pleasure in them vanishes, and that chapter in the book of Nature is closed to them. (Vol. 1, p58)
She is absolutely right, and I try to keep this passage front of mind every time we’re outside.
She continues with the story of a particular naturalist:
It is likely that the Natural History of Selborne would never have been written had it not been that the naturalist’s father used to take his boys on daily foraging expeditions, when not a moving or growing thing, not a pebble nor a boulder within miles of Selborne, escaped their eager examination. Audubon, the American ornithologist, is another instance of the effect of this kind of early training. “When I had hardly learned to walk,” he says, “and to articulate those first words always so endearing to parents, the productions of Nature that lay spread all around were constantly pointed out to me . . . My father generally accompanied my steps, procured birds and flowers for me, and pointed out the elegant movements of the former, the beauty and softness of their plumage, the manifestations of their pleasure, or their sense of danger, and the always perfect forms and splendid attire of the latter. He would speak of the departure and return of the birds with the season, describe their haunts, and, more wonderful than all, their change of livery, thus exciting me to study them, and to raise my mind towards their great Creator.” (Vol. 1, p58-59)
I distinctly remember being a “miniature naturalist” as a kid, not afraid of any creepy crawlies (except for a memorable encounter with a scorpion). But at some point, that changed. When did I become afraid of nature? When did I start withdrawing in disgust from a worm? I can’t answer that, but I would bet it had a lot to do with the reactions of adults around me and what they valued instead (the indoors).
So I do my best to breathe deeply and smile when we encounter bugs and worms outside. I purposely point out to the toddler any bugs I notice so we can observe them. I’m not perfect, and I’m still stiff about it, and I still jump. But I’m working on it. It can be done. I loved these things once, and I intellectually know they’re nothing to be afraid of, so surely I can get back to that state again with the help of some enthusiastic companions?
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