This was my final exam for freshman english at the local community college...it's my answer to the prompt: What does the phrase "getting back to nature" mean to you? Is it a place or a process?

I remember going on camping trips as a child with my parents and their friends. I loved those trips. I loved running through the woods all day, eating whatever and whenever I wanted, be it hotdogs or potato chips. While we were in the woods, my mother would never say, "Eat your vegetables," or "Don’t inhale it!" like she did at home. I remember sitting around a huge fire at night, listening to my father and his friends talking. One phrase I remember hearing a lot was "We should get back to nature like this more often." Thinking back, I understand that they were talking less about being surrounded by those vast and wonderful trees, and more about what they did at these trips. They’d speak quietly with each other about this or that book they’d read, go on long hikes, and quietly prepare the best meal they could. I remember going on long walks through the trees with my father. He would pause every few feet and take a picture. Then he’d pull me aside and tell me about the plant he’d just photographed or something about the park or lake we were in. Back then, I never wondered where he got this information, and how he always seemed to know everything I asked. Now I know that he’d grab one of those brochures you can get at the park entrance, and read it while my compatriots and I were running through those woods, screaming to each other and probably disturbing everyone for miles around with our noise. Now I know that those books on plants and birds that my father would always be reading at home actually taught him about those strange and wonderful creatures of the woods. But I didn’t know that then. I just knew that walks with my father always awarded me fascinating trivia I could tell my friends.

I remember watching my mother and my father’s friend’s wives carefully spicing this pot of beans, or mixing that sauce to soak the stew meat they’d brought in. I never wondered then how they knew how to take such simple fare, and turn it into a creamy and delicious stew. I just knew my mother would carefully measure out this spice, or that salt. I never wondered how she knew what spices would add the flavor she wanted, or why she would let the pot simmer for hours before letting us sample it. Now I know about her recipe book, and about the countless stews and meats she’d made before. But I didn’t know then, I just knew that the meals available at home never tasted half as good as what she’d make while we were in the woods.

I remember sitting about the fire at night, listening to the adults talk. About every fifteen minutes, someone would get up and adjust the logs, or add some small branches to the bottom. The conversations my parents and their friends had would wander from story to story, often returning to something hours after I thought they’d changed the subject. I remember hearing about everything from chaos theory to a joke about a man who hunted with a dog. I didn’t know then about the books they read, or about how this funny story about my father’s childhood and growing up with some of these people related to such abstract concepts. I just knew that their stories made me laugh, or think, and that they were far more exciting than anything the television at home produced.

I remember going on camping trips as a child and hearing about how such trips helped you "get back to nature." Back then, I thought my parents were talking about the woods, the animals, and the lake. I didn’t realize then that they were talking about the joy of teaching a child and seeing the wonder in my eyes. I never guessed how my mother loved nurturing and adding to a meal to make it the best that it could be. I never understood that the long talks near the fire were about how the woods made my parents feel. I never once imagined that my parents were teaching me that learning doesn’t stop when you leave school, and to understand the beauty I saw all around me. Now, I know these things. Not through any great insight of my own, but because this is what my parents taught me, all those years ago. I know now that "getting back to nature" has nothing to do with the woods, or the lake I loved to go swimming in, but rather that it was a way to learn and to see the world as I never had before. Because this is what my parents taught me.