By Geri L. Dreiling
“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time”
― T. S. Eliot, Selected Essays
Once upon a long time ago, when I was a kid growing up in Kansas, one of my favorite things to do was to go exploring. I'd head outside with my sister. We didn't know exactly where we were going. We had no idea what we might find. There was no formal agenda. We just hoped that we might stumble upon something surprising.
We'd trek through our backyard -- and the yards of all of our neighbors. In those days, there were no fences separating the homes. One backyard blended with all of the others, creating a massive field dotted with trees and ringed on the outer perimeter by houses.
As explorers, we discovered a variety of treasures: A broken bird's egg, the color of Tiffany blue, with a ragged gash down the middle. We witnessed nature's drama when we encountered a baby bird, out of its protective nest and flailing alone on the ground. We never knew if it would figure out how to fly before a predator pounced.