The Beginnings Go Back  to 1971

When I was growing up in the Forties, we played outside all the time, except when it was raining. We played in the weeds in a vacant lot. We played under the hollyhocks that grew next to a fence. Sometimes we helped our father gather tomatoes from his Victory Garden.

But we stayed away from the wormy fruit that fell from the peach tree in the backyard.

I was about eight years old then, so I didn’t understand that our playing in weeds and flowers, picking tomatoes, even my disgust with wormy peaches, were my first ties to the land. After I discovered the Nancy Drew mysteries, I put my outdoor play-days behind me and dived into the world of books.

We moved to a house with a garden and I couldn’t tell a pansy from a petunia, and I didn’t care. Years later my weeds and flowers, and especially that peach tree, would be scrubbed by the dramatic expansion of LaGuardia Airport.

Fast forward a quarter century and those ties to the land would be revived in an unexpected way.

Bob and I were raising a family in Long Island suburbia, and my strongest connection to the land at that time consisted of moving a sprinkler around our expansive front lawn in a fruitless effort to keep it green in summer. Vacant lots were disappearing, we bought tomatoes from the big supermarket, and nobody tolerated trees with worms; they had them sprayed.

But 1971 became a watershed year for me. We traveled cross country and my life took on a new focus.

My book, Coast to Coast 1971  A Young Family Celebrates America  is the story of a fantastic camping trip our family of six took cross-country and what we learned about this great land, its origins, its natural history, and its people. It sparked deep ties to the land in me that could not be ignored and it gave the children a chance to connect with a spacious land.

 

It was a magical time, that six-week vacation back in the 1970s when life was simple and straightforward. Novice campers, we did not know quite what to expect as we cruised lonely roads across mountains and deserts out west without cell phones, laptops, and on-demand weather forecasts.

It was a time when a junkyard, not a Google map, would tell us we were approaching a small town with a single gas station.

We would camp in canyon and valley, in forest and desert, next to a cinder cone and in a cornfield, and we would discover the infinite stories the land can tell if you are willing to listen.

National parks told stories of the land in pamphlets you could purchase for twenty-five cents or so. Reading them and tracing the contours of the land whetted my appetite for learning more.

We spent so much time outdoors, we all became enthusiastic explorers. Seeing, touching, listening, we discovered America’s lands much as a blind man comes to know a person’s face by caressing with his hands, except we were feeling pebbles under our toes.

 

We heard the voices of America, too. And those voices slipped quietly into our memories. I had taken for granted the everyday people who were at the heart of competence and grace in American society until our freewheeling travel hit bumps.

When we needed help, there was always someone who took the time to banish our cares. Smartphones today could not replace the warmth of these wonderful folks who never failed to wish us a good time half a century ago.

Along the way, we discovered the tumultuous history of the taming of the land. Some of it was raw, made palatable by western movies and popular television programs, and all of it represented changes to the environment.

The four children were young, ages nine, seven, and twins four years old, but they reveled in being outdoors and connecting with nature in their own ways. They rode the camper’s upper bunk, and we, the Truck Driver and the Map Girl, rode the cab.

Happy Hooligans we called them. Their antics added spice to the trip, though we never quite knew what they were up to, as they quickly forged bonds that made them experts at outwitting their parents.

I was immersed in the glories of the West, yet I knew none of the mysteries of the woodlands and beaches of the island I lived on. I came home determined to learn about the treasures in my backyard. then share that enthusiasm with anyone who would listen.

When we moved to North Carolina I immersed myself in coastal issues and became an advocate for clean water. With others, I formed an environmental association and worked on a federal/state call to galvanize citizens into protecting the health of eastern Carolina sounds.

And, down the homestretch, as a Master Gardener, I combined my knowledge of ecosystems and soils with my knowledge of native and near native plants and shared this with the public.

As we raced across those miles half a century ago, we could not imagine a future with technology and development that would dramatically alter the land and our lives. Our memories of this simpler America were unexpected gifts that seeped into my bones and changed my life.

Those walks out west, exploring with our children, campfire talks by rangers, and the dramatic landscapes carved by time and elements never left me. Their inspiration has given me guidance during hours of observing and following the intricate dances of nature in my garden.

Coast to Coast 1971  A Young Family Celebrates America is available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle.