{ Morning Forest Walk About.
I wrote this after a my walk, It came with a strong childhood memory. That I could not shake, so I wrote about it.}
The Zoo.
And other childhood wonders, that perhaps should not exist.
As a kid, my two favorite places to visit were the zoo and the science museum. I had a few other obsessions: space flight and radio. Yet the one that left the strongest emotional response was the zoo.
Even at 4 or 5, I remember thinking this zoo is a prison. Watching the elephants, tigers, and gorillas brought both wonder and a deeply profound sadness. I did not understand this sadness. I could not look away.
Natural history books and magazines did not seem to have this effect. I dived into them. Filling my library check-outs with hundreds of full-color reports from the field. Glossy fold-outs of the African grasslands and the underwater photographs that the new SCUBA tech brought us.
Then the “New-Zoo” movement took hold. Gone were the cages, the steep moats, and the thick glass. Now the big cats could run, the primates could climb, and the fish had huge tanks. Now older, I went to a few, riding around in a small vehicle. Or walking underground to stare up at a kelp forest. The great sadness was still there, just covered up and removed a bit. I did not return.
Now that I am an old man living very close to the natural world (a hundred meters from my front door and I am deep into a Douglas Fir Forest), I think back to that boy who would pour over natural history magazines. Looking for wonder, and something else, a primitive connection to the natural world. And I understand his sadness.
Zoos are a mistake. A category error. Nature cannot be captured. There is more wonder to behold in your backyard than ever displayed at a zoo.
I wrote this after a my walk, It came with a strong childhood memory. That I could not shake, so I wrote about it.}
The Zoo.
And other childhood wonders, that perhaps should not exist.
As a kid, my two favorite places to visit were the zoo and the science museum. I had a few other obsessions: space flight and radio. Yet the one that left the strongest emotional response was the zoo.
Even at 4 or 5, I remember thinking this zoo is a prison. Watching the elephants, tigers, and gorillas brought both wonder and a deeply profound sadness. I did not understand this sadness. I could not look away.
Natural history books and magazines did not seem to have this effect. I dived into them. Filling my library check-outs with hundreds of full-color reports from the field. Glossy fold-outs of the African grasslands and the underwater photographs that the new SCUBA tech brought us.
Then the “New-Zoo” movement took hold. Gone were the cages, the steep moats, and the thick glass. Now the big cats could run, the primates could climb, and the fish had huge tanks. Now older, I went to a few, riding around in a small vehicle. Or walking underground to stare up at a kelp forest. The great sadness was still there, just covered up and removed a bit. I did not return.
Now that I am an old man living very close to the natural world (a hundred meters from my front door and I am deep into a Douglas Fir Forest), I think back to that boy who would pour over natural history magazines. Looking for wonder, and something else, a primitive connection to the natural world. And I understand his sadness.
Zoos are a mistake. A category error. Nature cannot be captured. There is more wonder to behold in your backyard than ever displayed at a zoo.