The Prejudice of Knowing

It was a pleasant day so we had our doors open. When whether permits, we like to connect our indoors with the outdoors. The fresh, moving air, the bird song and insect buzz, the scent of plants, of dirt, of moisture. When I step onto the patio for an al fresco lunch, the food, under the sky and trees, tastes better. After the cold, winter months, it cheers me to experience the feeling of continuity between these fundamental spheres of modern human existence. 

I'd just taken a seat on the sofa with a book when a bird, a Northern mocking bird, crossed over from the outside and into my living room, slamming headlong into a window on the opposite side of the room. The sound was sickening. Then it did it again, then again, its wings flapping as wildly as my own heart. It didn't understand an environment of walls and ceilings and was especially panicked by the concept of windows, against which it continued to hurl itself.

These mocking birds are my favorite local fauna. They sit on the top branches, effortlessly singing their multitudinous song, sounding like a dozen different birds in one. Sometimes they imitate, and improve, the honk of a car horn or the twitter of a smartphone. In early spring, the males sing continuously, while periodically launching themselves upward, briefly flashing their distinctive black and white markings in what I assume is a mating display. They fiercely protect their nests, fearlessly chasing away the much larger crows and ravens, sometimes teaming up with their mates in a choreography of defense.

Outdoors, in their natural habitat, these birds know exactly what they are doing. They need nothing from me except to be left alone. They let me know this by dive bombing me, the way they do the ravens, should I get too close for comfort. 

As I rose from the sofa to help the trapped bird, it made a dash for a smaller set of clearstory windows above some bookshelves where it redoubled its hopeless efforts as it sought to escape both the house and me. I didn't want it to injure itself, so I stopped where I was. Thankfully, it paused, not perched but rather lying flat, its yellow eyes on me, panting, hurt. Inches away, through the glass, was its natural habitat, but here, in my home, was hostile territory.

Other species have dens or hives or other indoor spaces, usually used for sleeping, hiding out from harsh weather, and protecting the young from predators, but they tend to live their lives outdoors. This was true for most of human existence as well, and remains true in parts of the world, but for many of us, even those of us who enjoy the kinds of moderate climates in which Northern mocking birds thrive, spend most of our lives behind walls and under ceilings.

Back in the 1980's, in response to increasing anxiety and depression, the Japanese Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry, and Fisheries, invented the term shinrin-yoku, which translates as "forest bathing" or "absorbing the forest atmosphere." The idea is simply to spend time in nature. The practice has been found to lower blood pressure, heart rate, and the level of harmful hormones, like cortisol, which our bodies produce when under stress. It can lead to increased feelings of well-being and happiness. So effective is this treatment for the ailments of modern life, that doctors from around the world are now prescribing it for their patients.

The interesting part is you don't need a forest to do it. You don't need a beach or a bush or a desert in order to get the benefits. We are finding that just 10-20 minutes a day outdoors, wherever you are, increases well-being and happiness while reducing stress. Spending time outdoors is linked to increased concentration, focus, and memory. Perhaps natural spaces are an even better tonic, but what this tells me is that it's spending all that time indoors, not just a deficit of nature, that is harming us.

Every preschool teacher knows that young children cheer when told it's time to go outside. Inspired by Dr. Peter Gray, I've often polled children as to whether they would rather be inside or outside and at least 90 percent of them enthusiastically choose outside. And no wonder, they feel better when outdoors, and when we feel better, everything is better. These studies also suggest that the more time we spend outdoors, the greater the benefits.

I'm not saying that we don't need to spend time in natural spaces, but simply that many of us allow our inability to easily access natural spaces to prevent us from taking ourselves and the children in our lives outdoors.

Just as that mocking bird knew it needed to be outside, so to do young children. So do all of us if we're honest. One of our most widespread and destructive prejudices is that we tend to define "knowing" as a purely cognitive function. This allows us to dismiss the knowledge of birds and babies and nature, and is why we feel we need to do all that scientific research in order to "prove" what the rest of the planet's living things know about inside and outside in the center of their beings. It's this, I think, that most disconnects us from nature: this prejudice of knowing.

I backed away from the panicked mocking bird, circling around in a way I hoped was non-threatening to open the window nearest where it lay hurt and panting. I then went around the other way, leaving the room altogether in the hope that it would calm itself enough to discover the way out I'd provided it. I returned 30 minutes later to find it in the same condition. I'm no bird psychologist, but I took its immobility as a sign it had given up, that it was depressed and waiting to die within these horrible walls and confounding ceilings. 

So I moved slowly to the kitchen where I fetched a broom and, slowly, slowly walked toward the bird. It eyed me, it panted, but it didn't move. As I raised the broom to where it lay on the top of the bookshelves, it renewed its frantic efforts to break through the windows. As gently as I could, I pushed the bird away from its hopeless position and off the top of the shelves toward the open window. The bird fell, but before it hit the floor, it spread its wings, those stunning black and white markings on full display, and flew out the door like it was escaping hell.

It knew, in its bird soul, that outdoors was where it belonged.

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Hi, I'm Teacher Tom and this is my podcast! If you're an early childhood educator, parent of preschoolers, or otherwise have young children in your life, I think you'll find my conversations with early childhood experts and thought-leaders useful, inspiring, and eye-opening. You might even come away transformed by the ideas and perspectives we share. Please give us a listen. You can find Teacher Tom's Podcast on the Mirasee FM Podcast Network or anywhere you download your podcasts.

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