Getting down with the UK Flora and Fauna
So, James and I were walking in the park the other day. I was explaining some photography principles to him because he wants to learn how to take good pictures of Abdul on his new camera.
We stopped in front of a large patch of wild white flowers at the base of a tree and I talked about composition. I explained that, if I were taking a picture of Abdul there, I’d have her walk into the middle of the tall white flowers and then face toward me with the sun behind her.
Which is when James pointed something out to me. The flowers were pretty and all, but there were loads of stinging nettles mixed in there, too. If Abdul walked in there, I’d have a very grumpy, stingy child on my hands.
Here’s the problem: I’m not from these parts. If you asked what berries Abdul could eat or not in New Jersey, or what poison ivy or poison oak looked like, I could show you. But nettles? Not a clue.
That’s the problem with raising a child in a country where I didn’t grow up. I don’t know the rules of nature around here. I’m sure I’ll learn, but it’s a bit like understanding roundabouts. It took me a long time and, even now, I sometimes get confused about who has got the right-of-way.
I’m just thankful I didn’t move to Australia, where everything has been created to eat you or kill you. However, when Abdul does get stung by nettles because mommy didn’t see them, it will give me a great opportunity to teach her another British Law of Nature: the stiff upper lip.