I live in beautiful unincorporated Southwest St. Louis County, close to the Meramec River, and nestled between two small river towns. This area is composed of rolling woods with enough room for the indigenous critters to frolic and thrive. I thrive here too, still enraptured by places to explore and the secluded small streams and ponds with cattails and frogs and squiggly things that dance in the water. An additional bonus is the old barn in ruins that cries out history and adventure to my 12 year-old self that is buried deep, but very much alive, in this “adult” body that on most days is involved in loftier pursuits.
On a recent evening driving home just about dusk, my eyes were attracted by movement in a run off retention basin close to my subdivision. It was almost dark, but the shape was obviously a bird, a big bird. Big enough to be out of sync with the neighborhood woodpeckers, finches and cardinals. Fatigue and darkness kept my body from stopping to explore, but my mind couldn’t wait and went on with out me. My thoughts raced back to a recent report on NPR that discussed an exotic wild bird release program, which woke up the curious 12 year-old explorer that (almost) peacefully coexists next to the responsible adult part of my brain. Using my best adult deductive reasoning skills to identify this critter was difficult, and my adventurer12 year-old persona kept telling me to turn around and explore the mysterious visitor to our neighborhood.
Upon entering the house, I approached my wife who was quietly reading in her overstuffed chair, kissed her hello and gushed,
“Guess what I just saw!”
“What?” she said smiling her Mona Lisa smile, looking up from her book, steeling herself for yet another epiphany from my intrusive alter ego. She wasn’t disappointed. As I started to respond, that pesky 12 year old ran to my speech-processing center and blurted out,
“I just saw a bird as big as a Volkswagen; I think it was a condor!”
“A condor? That’s unusual,” she said grinning and turning back to her book.
“It could happen,” I continued, “some Young Turk condor not listening to his elders, probably flew too high and got caught in the jet stream and pushed to Missouri!” I said this confidently and proudly knowing that I was being sabotaged by my 12 year-old adventurer who probably didn’t take into account the sum total of the world’s population of condors is a tad less than 200, most of whom are safe and sound in captivity. My wife looked up again, smiled and shook her head slowly, pointed to the stove and said,
“Dinner’s ready.”
A couple of days later, after subconsciously processing this condor incident, it dawned on my adult brain that the mysterious visitor was one of the local wild turkeys who frequently show up in our neighborhood, reassuring us all that peaceful coexistence is still possible, even in this construction crazy, knock-down-all-the-trees-and-build-houses phase that my area seems to be experiencing. Nevertheless, even a wild turkey is an adventure, not something that you see everyday, and certainly enough to keep my 12-year-old spirit happy.
Recently, as my wife and I were out on our deck admiring the sunset, one of our more spectacular local residents, a great blue heron, flew high overhead, slowly, quietly and magnificently, after feeding in one of the marshy areas close to the house, heading towards the nights nesting place. Pointing to the sky I turned to my wife and said,
“Look dear, a pterodactyl!” as I smiled and touched her hand.
“Probably here to visit the condor” she said giving my arm a squeeze, letting me know that my 12 year-old alter ego is safe, and he can say anything to her.
I relish the days he shows up, knowing with that part of me I can still find excitement and adventure in the ordinary things in life. I remain hopeful that this fast paced world that surrounds us all stops sometimes to allow us to feel a youngster’s rush of adventure and excitement by using our imagination rather than someone else’s idea of what should entertain us. We can still see this imagination in action with the many children who have just opened holiday presents, still absorbed with pretending the boxes they came in are really secret hideaways.
My wife looks forward to my alter ego showing up as well; it gives her stories to affectionately tell people about her crazy husband, and it allows us to be playful together. When I mention 12 year-old things to her, she’s had enough experience with me now that she just goes with the flow, and never once has she told me to “grow up.” Growing up is important, but not at the risk of losing fun and meaningful interactions with life and being able to share them with the ones you love.