I remember going for walks with my mother, at no greater than four years of age, perhaps only three; and being taught things about the plants and animals around me. She taught me about Poison Ivy: what it looked like, where it grew, how to avoid it.
Cardinal, Blue Jay, Robin and Woodpecker, their colors, songs and how they walked on the trunk of the tree, or hopped from branch to branch.
The little Golden Guides rested near the kitchen window, to look up the bird of the hour, or go along on our walks and identify a tree by its bark, after the leaves had fallen.
I know every patch of Poison Ivy in Greenbelt today, and it is astonishing to me that there are adults in America today who cannot identify it. Didn't their Mommies love them?
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