Ode to Learning Locally and Globally

From the time I was 10, my family lived on a 10-acre mostly wooded property, three miles by gravel road outside a town of 350 people. In our garden, we grew the usual range of vegetables, herbs and fruits, but played with new crops each year, from peanuts to currants. I could tell the difference between the various pepper starts and developed an educated palate that could easily distinguish between the flavors of a Hood strawberry versus a Shuksan or Northwest.

Being a farm kid came naturally to me, and when I wasn't in the garden, I was in the woods. I taught kids at camp how to recognize the star-shaped tip of the salal berry and sample the delicious nectar obtained by scraping the root of the licorice fern. I knew my cones and mosses, and a high school field biology class (and a summer spent hoeing the weeds in vast onion fields) taught me about the native plants in the area.

During college, I spent a year traveling through Asia. I was drawn to the produce markets and the rice paddies and felt a kinship with the bent-over women in the fields. In Nepal, I studied the flora and fauna of the Himalayas and stayed with a talented gardener on the seashore in Cornwall during the final month of my trip.

After college, I moved to northern rural Japan where I taught English for several years. I lived in a small community and loved spending weekends exploring the meadows and forests in the area. My neighbor had a huge garden in which she grew things new to me — soybeans and even mushrooms on a long row of wooden tree branches. We shared tips and I learned about the delicious wild mountain vegetables that were such a delicacy.

My next stage of life gave me a wonderful opportunity to live in a small Oregon town while raising four young daughters. My husband and I lived five blocks from Main Street, where we owned a couple of small retail businesses. My girls knew the shopkeepers by name. We played a key role in the community, and my daughters understood the benefits of living in a place in which it was possible to work together in order to create a fun neighborhood event or raise money for a worthy cause.

Later, we lived in suburbia, where we had a dramatically different experience. Some of our neighbors had lived in their homes for 25 years without meeting the families in the houses four doors down. There were plenty of grassy parks and manicured yards, but few natural places open to anyone who wanted to explore them. The only stores in the area were two strip malls and big-box retailers. There were no front porches from which to greet passing neighbors. Most people spent their time on the decks and in their private backyards.

I missed chatting with neighbors. I missed vegetable gardens. I missed having a community. I could go on a two-hour walk without ever passing someone on the sidewalk.

Now, we live in Buenos Aires, Argentina. It's a city of nearly 13 million people, and we live in the heart of it. I can enjoy stately parks full of old trees and a fascinating botanical garden just a few blocks away. There's a produce vendor across the street who sells all kinds of fresh vegetables and fruits in season. I am learning about the native plants and the growing season, and getting to know the people on my block. I do occasionally long to dig in the dirt, but I feel a connection to the land, the climate and the people.

I have spent the last few years giving my daughters a chance to live abroad and learn more about themselves and the world. I just devoted a year to writing a book that promotes the idea of giving our children meaningful periods of time spent living in other countries.

But during the last few weeks of this book tour, I've come to recognize and appreciate the local education I received in Oregon and the sense of place that was instilled in me through those hours in the garden, the woods and the neighborhoods of my youth. Children need a sense of place. They need to know where food comes from — a farmer's market or their own vegetable garden. We must give them an appreciation for nature that goes beyond freshly-mowed lawns and crowded beaches. 

It's becoming more difficult to give kids a chance to hike in the forests, muck about in ponds and run through meadows, but it's imperative that we show them the bounty of the earth and teach them their responsibility in protecting it.

Although I'm an evangelist for getting kids out into the world, I am equally passionate about ensuring that children know where they are from, that they have roots into the land. As parents, we can give kids enriching opportunities to learn locally and globally and teach them how to dig into their community — no matter where in the world it might be.

Being global means having a deep awareness of the world and the ability to see it from various perspectives. Sometimes it means coming back home and growing deep roots. Other times, it means moving abroad and planting oneself in a whole new place. 

In every case, it means bringing the appreciation of a sense of place wherever you go and connecting with others in order to enrich each other. When we raise global localists, the world becomes a greener, more compassionate place.