A Sense of Place blogpost#2

There’s a picture of me and my dad on my dresser. I must be about one in it, and he’s visibly younger. We’re in the middle of a field, and he’s carrying me. I’m in some sort of backpack/stroller thing meant to carry babies on hikes. It's either Spring or Summer. I'm wearing a baseball cap and my dad is wearing dorky sunglasses. Bright yellow flowers are in the background. It's a good picture.

While I don't remember it being taken, I remember plenty of experiences like it. I spent the early years of my life in Manassas, a suburb southwest of here by about 45 minutes. The distance from DC is definitely noticeable. Neighborhoods feel more open. The distinction between suburb and nature is less distinct. Concrete turns to grass without anyone noticing. Nature felt less distinct than it can in more urban places.

I remember following my siblings to go pick blackberries. We didn't have to go that far. We cut through a neighbor's yard and followed a trail blazed path. I was always too afraid to try eating them, but I liked tagging along anyway. We had plenty of similar adventures. Always being able to explore and experience nature, but never actually leaving our suburb.

I think that's essentially the relationship I have with nature today too. Being able to move between nature and suburbs with little effort. While I would say I feel fairly comfortable in nature, I'm in no means untouched by biophobia. The ease of transition between settings doesn't come from an understanding and appreciation of both suburb and nature, but rather from an unhealthy combining of the two. The fine line between nature and civilization has become blurred to me, in a way that makes it hard for me to completely appreciate either one.

While I’m happy with my comfortableness in nature, I fear that it may just be derived from a misunderstanding of it, which would limit the potential of a meaningful connection with it.

Me and my dad on a hike.