The kids have a phrase they use these days: “Touch grass.” This Internet idiom means just what you’d think: Get offline and go outside to interact with the real world.
Probably, every generation has had their own variation of the same sentiment, because deep down, as humans, we intrinsically know the importance of connecting with the tangible. Real life happens outside of our phones, our computers, and other devices. But as our reliance on technology increases, so does the weight and urgency of actually following through with this two-word appeal.
When we step outside, press our feet into spongey grass or soft sand, let our lungs expand with fresh air, feel the sun or rain soaking into our skin, cross paths with all manners of wildlife, or sit embalmed in the comforting shade of our favorite tree, we’re reminded of what’s truly important in life. Fake vaults of cryptocurrency, the pressures of consumerism enticing us to purchase more than we could ever need, the counterfeit capital of influencer culture—none of it is real, unless we allow it to be and conform to its pressure.
But clean water, fresh air, the mountains, the beaches and estuaries, the wetlands, the fields used to grow food and tend to livestock, those are real. We have everything we need to survive and thrive within the ecosystems that support us on the Oregon Coast. They are here, openly embracing us and offering us life—real life.
That’s why we’re emphatically invested in their conservation. By preserving and stewarding them, we better enable them to last, continuing to function in the perfect ways that they inherently do.
However, there’s another element that seems to be wrapped into the “touch grass” concept, and that is the mandate—or maybe invitation—to go spend time with people face to face. Empathy seems to rely on it. Certainly, there has always been conflict and division and tension among people, and likely there always will be. But all the ways we’ve concocted to artificially interact with one another don’t seem to help the problem at all.
Relationships are almost always complex and tender. They require attention and nurturing. And that’s true of all types of relationships: between family members, friends, lovers, and even just community members—people who share a place, like the Oregon Coast, and love it equally while also relying on it for their individual well-being. And that gentle care, maintenance, and nurturing happens best when it takes place in person.
I’m reminded of a scene from my favorite show, Fleabag, where the main protagonist laments, half joking, that, “Most people are…[crap].” And a wise, irreverent, fabulous older woman replies, “People are all we’ve got.” It seems pretty simple and straightforward, but when you take time to ruminate on that truth, it’s also a bit sobering, and wonderful, and terrifying, all at once. Honestly, there are moments where I still find myself struggling in limbo between the two attitudes: People can be awful, and people are our most valuable reality.
Either way, it’s 100 percent true: People are all we’ve got. We desperately need people. Not just our family members (biological or chosen), friends, and other loved ones. We also need the people who work and live in our shared communities, cities, and states, contributing to the society we rely on in many substantial ways. And people are exquisite, and frustrating, and alluring, and flawed. But we only get to see their many marvelous layers when we are with them, in the same place, sharing the same experience.
That’s why I love our Together in Nature program. It gets to the heart of both principles that seem intertwined in the “touch grass” idiom: the importance of interacting with nature, as well as interacting with people in an authentic, tangible way.
Throughout the year, we invite our community members to a wide variety of free walks and hikes, presentations, stewardship events, and other activities on our conserved lands and by the sea along the incredibly precious Cape Falcon Marine Reserve. This year’s Together in Nature program has probably been the most robust since the COVID-19 pandemic. We’ve included a variety of our well-known and beloved offerings, as well as incorporating new activities, such as a nature-journaling series and different art workshops.
Since adopting the Cape Falcon Marine Reserve program, we’ve enjoyed doing numerous activities at the beaches adjacent to the reserve, as well as Oswald West State Park. Some are focused on promoting camaraderie and simply savoring fellowship in nature, such as hikes and tide-pooling adventures. Others incorporate a community science aspect, such as our sea star surveys, marine debris surveys, and annual monthlong bioblitz.
I had the pleasure of tagging along for a morning outing as part of the bioblitz in August. Our little group traversed the northern portion of Neahkahnie Beach by Manzanita, making ecological observations and documenting them for identification by scientists around the world. These observations contribute to a treasure-trove of data that can give us a better understanding of our natural environment and inform important decision-making in the area.
And on that overcast morning, as we mingled in the fog, I had a very distinct “people are all we’ve got” moment. Upon finding something neat or interesting, the participating individuals would call one another over, generously sharing their experience, trading tidbits of knowledge, and collectively embracing the wonders of the natural world. Sometimes it was a little shorebird scuttling away from the incoming tide, or a giant green anemone letting its tendrils ripple in the shallow waters, or even just a cool marking in the sand left behind by a tiny, unseen creature.
Some of the participants knew each other well, others were new, a collection of strangers and acquaintances. But it didn’t matter. In those moments, we were unified in accomplishing a singular task while also drawing delight from each other’s company. We were out “touching grass,” or rather “touching sand,” together. No filters, no photoshopping, no performing. The unadulterated excitement and joy emanated off each individual, coalescing into something truly palpable.
Honestly, what could be better? How could you possibly hope to replace that feeling with any online alternative?
That’s not to say that digital platforms have no place in our 21st society. They can support emergency communications, disseminate critical information that the public needs to know, and help keep us connected to loved ones around the country or across the world. You’re even reading this rambling muse of mine online.
But there is no substitute for the relationships built when we are actually together—or better yet, together in nature. We get a taste for who people are as their real, raw, unfiltered self, in all their multifaceted glory, and can delve deeper. We can feel rejuvenated and realigned with what’s most important, what actually endures. We can nurture empathy for others and also express our own thoughts, feelings, opinions, and truths, hopefully then finding the necessary ways to share this life together and collectively care for our world.
And it all starts by doing one simple thing: touching grass (…or sand).
From NCLC Communications Manager Katherine Lacaze, with love to you all, my people…
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