Alleyways

 “...most of us (naturalists) were born with something inside of us, a drive, a stress, a burning, usually inconvenient and annoyingly insatiable curiosity”.  - Matthew Ignoffo

Me in 1983

I think it’s safe to assume that most naturalists got their start as a consequence of living in or near nature.  Many of my like-minded friends come from places afar - the low deserts of Arizona, the boreal forests of northern Michigan, the piney sandhills of South Carolina, the coastal rainforests of the Pacific Northwest, or even the leafy western suburbs of Chicago.  Of course, not everyone from those parts of the country develop deep, lifelong connections with nature; only a select few are drawn in from an early age, forever rejecting a blissfully ignorant lifestyle - one steeped in materialism, vanity, and self-serving*.  In the rat race that is American society, it’s easy to get caught up in stupid meaningless things like celebrity wealth (back in the day we called it “catching the vapors" - thanks Biz Markie), or having more things or bigger things or faster things than the other people.  I can go on and on with this topic but at the risk of derailing the entire subject I’ll touch on a bit of irony in my life that I think is worth exploring.

Before I ever set foot in nature, the extent of my outdoor experience revolved around my backyard and my alley on the northwest side of Chicago.  If you’ve never lived in a place with alleys, let me give you a little bit of background.  An alley of course is essentially a narrow access road to your garage.  Most of the time, they are free of traffic and they make excellent basketball courts, hockey rinks, or even baseball diamonds.  You can really let loose on a bicycle and if you’re so inclined you can even fashion a little (or big) ramp out of salvaged wood. 

The city of Chicago does not plow alleys during the winter, so the snow can really pack down and get slippery - all the better to sled on.  During the summer, the mixture of gravel, sand, and bits of broken glass make for a satisfying crunch sound underfoot.  Alleys are often weedy, neglected places - miniature jungles lush with exotic plants that smell bad when broken or that produce seeds that stick to your socks.  You can pass the time by removing the stringy “skin” from some of the branches or even make spears.  Sometimes you can hide in the more substantial patches of weeds.  Comes in handy at times.

On garbage day, hold your nose.  On a hot summer day, garbage cans (they used to be metal cans a la Oscar the Grouch’s abode but now are plastic “carts”) overflowing with uneaten food scraps, stale beer, and dog shit will repel even the most intrepid souls.  But once the herd of lumbering garbage trucks completes its route, the alleys are as good as new again.  If it’s late summer, you might find grasshoppers living in the concrete prairies.  The big ones are quick and hard to catch but you might be capable of gathering a plastic ice cream tub full of the young nymphs (make sure to provide a bed of grass for them for the duration of their captive lives).  Check the old discarded piles of concrete rubble.  If you carefully dissect them you might find baby garter snakes in there.  And if you’re really lucky you might find the momma.

At night, the alleys are alive with mammalian diversity rivaling any natural area.  The racoons - “trash pandas” as they are lovingly referred to - are mainstays, as are the seemingly dimwitted opossums and the sly skunks.  Rats dart across the alley so fast that if you blink you can miss them.  The rats are big but never as big as many claim; cat-sized rats are about as common as six-foot garter snakes.  Alongside the twitchy rats are the mice that probably outnumber the rats 10:1.  Both are mangy in appearance but resourceful.  They can eke out an existence living off of pet waste while spending their days in the sewers or wedged in cracks in garage foundations.

Somehow, I was born from this environment and eventually dedicated much of my life to the pursuit of nature.  How can that be?  What might the connection be between Chicago’s crumbling corridors and nature far beyond? 

I think it’s sheer curiosity.  Being curious about your surroundings, gaining an intimate understanding of the world around you and applying it to your own existence.  As an adult in my forties now, I still approach life the same way.  I make sure to stop frequently to observe the minute details in the web of life, as beautiful or as terrifying as they may be.  And I try to bestow that curiosity to my daughter (although she is naturally curious) because too many people live for the next day, unable to keep up with what others possess, distracted by the media appealing to fear, and clueless to Earth’s dire state.

Well, this post was sort of all over the place, I’ll admit.  Join me next time when I discuss nature vs nurture, stoicism, and cognitive bias for dummies.

My older sisters and a friend circa 1983

*YES, I am guilty of being materialistic, vain, and self serving at times.  I am aware.  I’m a glowing example of imperfection but I am always striving for improvement.  We’ll see how that goes.