Ash, beech, acorn, conker and catkin have all been chopped. Pasted into the Oxford Junior Dictionary instead are cut and paste, chatroom and broadband.
It would be hard to find a more striking example of our alienation from the natural world, and how we are denying children a relationship with wild things. This is not, however, a war of words.
Margaret Atwood, Robert Macfarlane and other writers have written to Oxford University Press in protest over the loss of nature from the lexicon of childhood. But they are not saying that cut and paste should be chopped in favour of the beech. Instead, they argue that we should teach technology to future generations as well as passing on the precise and beautiful ways in which we name and describe species beyond our own. A dandelion becomes invisible and unimportant if we are allowed to forget its name. Its world, and ours, is tragically diminished.
We can argue back and forth all day about the relative merits of confining ourselves to the human world or the natural world beyond us. Rather than choosing iPads over frogs or Twitter over the lonely song of a robin in January, I hope we can still enrich ourselves with both. As a parent of young children, I’m interested in the practical ways we can reforge our bonds with nature, given the constraints of modern life.
For those who assume that catkins are somehow irrelevant to our lives today, I’d point out that all human life is ultimately sustained by other species on the planet, and we need to understand some of this life if we as a species are to survive. Beyond such utilitarian appeals (which many conservationists perhaps unwisely rely on), our souls require a glimmer of the beauty and succour of the natural world. There’s a growing body of scientific research showing how the natural world – from birdsong to green spaces – benefits physical and mental health. Sceptics should try a short experiment: lock themselves in a room without natural light and surf the internet for eight hours. Then spend eight hours walking on a beach, and compare states of mind at the end of each experience.
Oxford University Press may have joined mainstream educators and the other purveyors of neoliberal capitalism in assuming that nature must be abandoned to the nagging demands of technology but how can we make space for nature in children’s lives? I dislike prescriptive lists so here are five suggestions and hopefully we can share further ideas in the discussion below.
Create opportunities for unstructured play outdoors
Many parents hope to schedule nature into their children’s lives a bit like piano or sports lessons. That’s better than nothing but it’s probably preferable to provide opportunities for unstructured or child-led play outdoors. We don’t need to lecture children about nature; just stand back and let them explore. It’s not a city/country thing either: I’ve lived in both and finding arenas for play was easier in a city where we found an amazing overgrown cemetery. Hide-and-seek, scooting, finding secret dens, climbing trees or even graves (if their occupants were long-dead and no longer tended), blackberrying, poking mushrooms, collecting chestnuts – the possibilities really were endless.
Bring back the nature table and go collecting
Some schools do have them but could parent power create more? Nature can be an inspiring and interesting part of the curriculum in art, science, English and geography. The tactile pleasures of real conkers or catkins is ideal but these could be augmented by virtual tables of photographs and videos gathered in the wild. One of the joys of collecting wild stuff is that it appeals to both boys and girls, and sating my three-year-old daughter’s hoarding instinct with sticks and conkers also reduces the depressing churn of plastic toys through my household.
Take up a natural passion yourself
Before children reach that age when a parent’s pastime is a deserved object of ridicule, they are often delighted to spend time with a parent mucking about outdoors: I followed my dad into the world of butterflies (which I kept well hidden from mates at school) but there are plenty of more child-credible pursuits that can forge bonds with nature: rock-climbing, surfing, birding, canoeing, cycling, photography, sketching, mushrooming, gardening or camping.
Go to the beach
No one lives more than 70 miles – a couple of hours on a train or in a car – from the beach in Britain. Our beaches are a de facto national park, the ultimate adventure playground, the best-value soft-play park invented. My toddlers never fail to enjoy themselves when coaxed on to the beach in all seasons. And they always go to sleep on the drive home. One overlooked benefit of wild play is a selfish parental one: children are so much more relaxed/amenable/exhausted after time outdoors than if they spend a restless day inside.
Join a charity or local green group for ideas, open days and other activities.
The National Trust is increasingly proactive in offering ideas and activities for children through its natural childhood campaign. The county wildlife trusts provide dozens of (cheap or free) activities for children to play and learn outdoors, as does the RSPB and Butterfly Conservation. Project Wildthing is a growing group of individuals and organisations interested in providing natural opportunities for children inspired by David Bond’s influential documentary on how we might “sell” nature to children.
I refuse to be depressed by the (hopefully temporary) absence of ash and conker from the Oxford Junior Dictionary. It reflects the priorities of its compilers more than the reality of a child’s world. Gorse, ivy and pasture are ubiquitous in Britain, and still part of many childhoods. In an era where technology has freed us from a grinding reliance on physical work in the countryside, we are better placed than at any time in history to celebrate nature as a source of joy and wellbeing, as well as respecting the right of wild things to survive and thrive beyond any relationship with us.
