One thing I have come to love about Pittsburgh is the ability to retreat into nature while remaining in the city. On Saturday, my boyfriend and I walked from my apartment building on Murray Avenue to Frick Park's entrance on Beechwood Blvd, into vast fields and open sky. I thought the newly cut grass would be screaming with bugs, but we laid there relatively undisturbed. We kicked the soccer ball around for awhile (soccer is a passion for both of us), and then laid in the sun. There was a singular dandelion in front of me, maybe the only one that survived the mower's blade on this hillside. Speaking of dandelion's, I began reading Nancy Gift's A Weed by Any Other Name, and I came across the passage Laura formerly mentioned in class. Gift paraphrased Richard Louv: "he reminds us that immersing oursevles in wild spaces fosters creativity, the sense of place, and the confidence that we need as adults" (xii). For me, wild speaks to thinking outside of the box. It is not, or should not always be assigned negative connotations. Paying attention to everything that grows around us can certainly maintain a knowledge of place, history, origin and heritage of a plant and/or person. Confidence is an intriguing concept, but I agree that plants instill confidence. I ponder my childhood: I remember planting pumpkins when I was a child in a plot in my neighbor's yard. Perhaps we stopped doing this because of age and other activities, but doing so had fostered not only the growth of a living thing, but human relationships as well, including my parents, siblings, and neighbor. Since then, I feel that I have lost the ability to grow a thing, that confidence, and also the space and permission; we barely speak to our neighbor anymore. Planting a living thing teaches responsibility, nurturing, hard work and respect for the environment.
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