There is a plaque on the column outside that reads: “Speak to the earth and it shall teach thee.” I read it almost every day. Morning mug, yoga, evening tea — it is just there, part of the ritual. And over the years, I have found it to be true in ways I did not expect.
Bits of it have shown up in other places on this blog — moments I’ve touched on about my place in nature. Happy Earth Day. Today felt like the right day to revisit it.
Let Me Establish Something First
I am an outdoor girl. We have RV’d across more than 30 states. Zip lining, check. I love snowmobiling and showing up for the adventure; whatever it is. I am what I call country adjacent—I can hang and I have range.
What I have always been particular about is the line between outside and inside. I do not let outside come in. I have had this standard for a long time and I stand by it.
Case in point: before I had children I had two small dogs —Belvedere and Malachi. I loved those dogs. They were in the bed—on top of the covers—and on the furniture. I bathed them weekly, groomed them regularly, and brushed their teeth. Because the line was never about being uptight. If something was going to be in my space, it was going to be clean. That is just who I am.
So when I tell you I stepped in dog poop barefoot on the stairs of my own house, understand the weight of that. This was about twenty years ago and I am still traumatized. There were three dogs at the time—my two and my parents’ dog. That moment has never left me. I wear house slippers in the house to this day. They walk on the concrete, to the mailbox, in dry grass. They do not go into public.
I Grew Up Near the Lake, But Left That Part Behind
My dad was outdoorsy. He had a boat. We spent time at different lakes, went bike riding around the water, fished at ponds and creeks. I was the kid racing down the street with no shoes on, feet on hot pavement, completely unbothered.
At some point that fell away. Life got more inside. More structured. I didn’t notice how far I’d gotten from that kid until I started going back outside—and not to do anything. Just to be there.
It was the patio. The yoga that requires bare feet, so the shoes come off — and then the session ends and they just don’t go back on. The kids come out, life happens, and at some point you look down and realize you’ve been out there barefoot the whole time without giving it a second thought.
Was it the tea? The rhythm of the evening? The yoga itself? Birds in the morning, the sounds the night makes as the season shifts? Probably all of it. Probably none of it in isolation. I just noticed I felt calm. More than calm. Returned to something.
For the last four or five years, that wind-down on the back patio has been a near-nightly ritual. I have written about it before. Tea, yoga, evening air. What I have been observing from the patio has become something I look forward to—the sounds changing as the seasons turn, the pollinators that show up, the hummingbirds, the backyard ecosystem that exists back there quietly whether I am paying attention or not. The grass has been seeded before with basil and other herbs. Since Luther has been around, the possums and the snakes have mostly moved on. But the life is there. The earth does not wait for an invitation to do what it does.
One of the Best Things About Having Kids
One of the best things about having children is that they reintroduce you to your inner kid. You watch them and you remember something.
My kids are country. Shoes are optional. Around the house, outside playing, in the yard—they are free. In public, in businesses, they must act like they have some home training. But in their natural habitat, they are fully untethered and I love that for them.
They have not learned to overthink being in the dirt. I intend to keep it that way. We talk about littering constantly. I consider it one of the most trifling, lazy things a person can do—especially because there is almost always a trash can within arm’s reach. The earth gives so much and someone just drops their fast food bag on it. My kids know better.
Pole to Pole and What It Did to Me
We just finished Pole to Pole a documentary with Will Smith, and it did something to me. What stayed with me most was watching the people—in remote, far-flung corners of the earth—and how they live in relationship to one another and the land. What they have might look minimal from the outside, but they do not appear sad or without. They appear connected. In tune. Conscious of the relationship between themselves and the earth in a way that most of us have completely lost.
To do something like that one day is a dream I am putting out loud. But even from the couch, the message was clear: the earth gives constantly. It is generous. And we owe it our care.
We recycle. We try. It is not everything, but it is something and something is where it starts.
I love a tree. Genuinely. Have you ever hugged a Giant Sequoia? Nothing unsettles me quite like driving past a field that was full of them last month and is now cleared for a new subdivision where they plant little starter trees that will take decades to become what was taken down in a day.
The tree in our backyard—I watch it through the seasons. I look forward to what it is doing. That tree has become part of how I mark the year.
What’s Growing Back There
I have written about not being a gardner. No green thumb, no illusions about it. But the mosquitoes on the back patio pushed me to do something. Lavender and marigolds are supposed to help, and I spend enough time out there that I need a solution during the spring and summer. I watch Grantie get into the big garden and thought—I can at least do this much. So I planted on the patio: lavender, marigolds, mint, rosemary, and sunflowers, because the kids are sunflower people and that was non-negotiable.
That was the full extent of my motivation. And yet, watching things come up from seeds is simple amazement for me. I walk the garden, checking on them, admiring Grantie’s progress. I notice them.
Granite’s garden is a whole other level. It has been a couple of years—travel, injuries, life—but she is back in it this season and it is coming along. What makes it even better is what goes into it: juice pulp, egg shells, banana peels, vegetable scraps from our kitchen. She calls it her elixir. Almost nothing gets wasted. It goes back into the ground and becomes what feeds the next thing. I used some for my patio seeds and it is working like a charm.
Grantie’s garden will get its own post—it deserves the space. Consider this the introduction.
The Zoo, the Parks, and Something Bigger Than Us
Today I am at the zoo with Aliah for a field trip. I know people have complicated feelings about zoos, and I understand that. What I want for my kids in those spaces—and especially in the national parks—is the sense that we share this planet. The ecosystem is bigger than us. We are part of it, not the center.
Think about the beaver. Built to dam. It does exactly what it was designed to do, takes nothing more than it needs, and works in complete harmony with everything around it. There is a whole curriculum in that animal if you are willing to pay attention.
That is what I want to stay with them. The earth has been calling me back slowly, in the way the best things happen. And I keep showing up.
BTW: “Treat the earth well: it was not given to you by your parents, it was loaned to you by your children.” – Native American Proverb
Go touch some grass. Intentionally. Are you an indoor or outdoor person — or somewhere in between?
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