There’s a beautiful image of life in Henry David Thoreau’s Wild Apples, a long and circuitous essay that describes his intimate relations with that particular fruit. Wild. What we might call feral. The domesticated fruit is not his subject.
Wild apples first evolved in central Asia, somewhere in the mountains of Kazakhstan. Their journey across Asia and Europe, and into the Americas, is irrevocably tied to the history of peoples. In the states, apples were carried westward by Johnny Appleseed and other farmers and pioneers – colonizers, people and plant alike. It’s a story rife with conflict, at its core an ever-present tangle between domesticity and wilderness.
Neither prevails, and this is Thoreau’s subject. Like alley cats or urban coyotes, he describes a tree, a survivor, neither native nor foreign. Spread by seed, apples have a genetic diversity that far exceeds the cultivated variety. Clones produced by grafting, cultivated apples like red delicious reliably produce the same apple. But plant one in the ground and you’re liable to get a fruit ranging in size from a marble to a fist, from sour to sweet to unpalatable.
Apples carry their own knowledge, and it’s right there in the seed. Left behind in some classic Armageddon scenario, apple trees will survive by reverting to their wild type. Biology is like this. Domestication is a brief loan we’ve taken out against entropy, an unstoppable force which always calls in its debts.
The wild apple in Thoreau’s account is planted not by farmers but by birds or raccoons. It grows like a tiny seedling, till it’s nipped off by grazing cattle or elk. Again, it throws up its shoot. Early plants didn’t have leaves. They were only stems. All plants retain this knowledge, this structure. A smidge of green on a stalk is all it takes to survive.
And survive it does. In the following year, the seedling throws up another stalk – because its roots are sound. In the second year, it’s sheared off once again by passing ruminants. And survives. Another year passes, the plant becomes wider, throwing sidelong branches that, year after year, build more of a thorny hedge than a tree. As the woody stems become thicker and ever-increasing obstacles to roaming teeth, the center of this plant, now some decades old, produces an inner growth that cannot be reached by elongated necks.
The trunk is born. After several more decades, the hedge becomes a tree, filling the atmosphere in that particular location with leafy branches that drink in the sun and rain apples, the living seed, upon the earth.
What captured me in Thoreau’s description is its resilience. A 150-year-old apple tree, a wild apple tree, is a monument to tenacity. Not the tenacity of a seasoned warrior, but that of an infant. The wisdom inherent in life, all life, that knows how to be soft and humble, and wail. We so commonly see adults or bull elk with towering antlers as symbols of power and strength. The fragility of youth, and the tenacity it takes to be little – this is the root of strength in every adult body. It’s a passage we all undertake. Every person. Every species.
Being secure and proud in a mature body, with coarse limbs and sinews – anybody can do this. That’s the easy work in life. The real heroes are the folks who, eyeing something precious and new, tolerate the nibbles and stabs from passing grazers and persevere to build something of lasting value. It’s the early growth, the soft and tender work of staying alive, that every project, every person, every plant and animal has to go through. If there is merit to be earned, it is there, not upon the latter stages when courage is a trifle.
I’m facing something like this in my life. In my work with children and families, something nascent and fresh is blooming in me. I feel the seed of something precious, and if you’ve ever watched me grow – through Off Grid Kids, How to Tell Stories to Children, or the Juniper School – then you may recognize the tenacity it’s taken me to get where I am.
In drawing this analogy, I’m being a little selfish. So I take a moment to touch the earth. So much of what I yearn for in life is small people living small happy lives with their children, families, and neighbors. I believe this is important for the planet right now – cultivating little, happy joys that feed people and make life burst with a richness that allows us to remain simple in our ways.
I’ve enjoyed teaching and learning with my gaggle of kids, but I never wanted it to be a protected niche for my community or children. I’ve always had the entire planet in mind. I want millions of happy and bright children. Our cultures, religions, and nations are in dire need of people with healthy emotions and bodies that can weather some of the challenges looming right now in the present. They’re already here.
Technology is great. Diplomacy is breathtaking. Education is wonderful. But what we’re facing as a planet and as a people can no longer be met or healed by acquiring more of these things. We need more less. More space for bears, fish, and bugs. We need people who are so emotionally met and well fed that they don’t need to travel to get away from it all. They don’t require much arguing or getting their way. They’re so comfortable in their own skin that they don’t mind if other people don’t understand them or don’t validate how they’re feeling. Because they already know. They know how to listen – to themselves and others. They know how to be patient, loving, kind. Not because they’re doormats, but because the life and love inside of them is full.
When a person has this inside them, they become self-directed, self-educated. They can acquire technology and materials as they need. Or not. They are excellent learners. Excellent friends. They’re romantic and sweet. Powerful. Graceful. And they arise in every neighborhood, class, and ethnicity.
We all know this, but we’re struggling to produce people and children with this tenacity. Walk through almost any neighborhood and you’re likely to find children and families who are looking for more. And for good reason! Our hearts so often go unrecognized and empty.
It becomes very hard to not have a marshmallow when the day was boring or embittered. If Mom or Dad, or friend and neighbor, never played with us, or spoke to us in kind and loving ways, how can we resist if somebody comes down the road with a bag of sweets? And there are BIG sweets on the planet today. And if other kids are getting theirs, we usually want to get ours too – so it’s fair.
We greatly need people who feel seen – by Mom and Dad, by friend and neighbor – so they can opt out of the marshmallow without too much fuss. Not because we can’t have marshmallows, but because we’re content that a few got theirs and others didn’t. It actually wasn’t fair. But we’re so whole inside that we don’t waste the next hour feeling bad about it. We like that people enjoyed themselves. We like our own enjoyment too.
Every person is born with this capacity, but they can’t do it when they feel invisible, unseen, or unmet. There are plenty of folks who lack food and sustenance in life, and these people deserve our care and attention. But there are millions of us today who have all our basic needs met, yet go unseen. Theirs is an emotional debt that is constantly grasping for a marshmallow, anything, to feel whole.
I want a simple integrity for my daughter. I want it for my students. I want it for myself, my friends, and neighbors. But when I really think about it (and I do), I find this isn’t enough. Without millions of people like this, none of the challenges we face today can be met with anything even resembling balance and integrity.
I’m a little apple tree. I’ve hedged out the worst of the nibblers. I’ve kept myself and my community alive, not merely because of me (that’s absurd), but it’s fair to say I’ve done my work to build joy and connection in kids and families. I threw myself headlong into that proving ground, and today I have dozens of families behind me, thousands of readers, a book in 21 languages, and people all over the world who are keen on what I do. I want to make good on that.
These things are hard for me to say. I like being a little guy. I don’t like things that smack of pride or conceit. But I’m facing a hard fact, which is that in order to bring my gifts and work into the world – and beyond my little clan of families in the mountains – I need to shed some humility. Because sometimes it’s false humility.
I am good at what I do. I see children and people. I meet them. I help them see themselves, and shine. It’s hard for me to acknowledge myself like this, to really take it in, but in order to foster the people and world that I deeply believe we need – I have to start owning it.
I hope you’ll understand what I’m saying. Over the next few months, I’m going to expand my efforts – here on Substack, in Taos, and on other platforms and ways. I want to help people, especially children and families, build connection. But to do what I am hoping to do, I will have to make mistakes, lose readership, and occasionally look dumb, even selfish. You’re probably going to have to watch me fall on my face – several times. I hope that you will give me the chance to do that, because if you’ve read or followed me, or just spent time with me in the forest, I think you’ll know what I’m getting at. I often set out on paths unknown, then bushwack my way to get where I’m going. Along the way, I’m able support kids and families in diverse ways.
As I set out on this new direction, it’s not going to be helpful to pretend like I’m not good at this. In order for me to share the gifts that I have (and I do have them) I have to start acting like I myself am a gift, something of real and precious value.
Does that make sense? It makes sense to me. But it’s a real conflict too. If you’re familiar with How to Tell Stories to Children, you may recall that the essence of that book is not about me or my stories. It’s about you and yours. It’s about connection. It’s about parents and teachers and people of all walks of life stepping into their own power – the power of connection and care. The very thing that bridges hearts and builds trust. Stories do that, because they share our voice, our inner light, and our time with one another. The price tag? Nothing. This personal connection is so vital.
The core of my gift in life lies not in teaching, storytelling, math, or geekery, but in connection. Helping kids, parents, families, and all people find easy, inexpensive ways to joyfully connect – I truly believe this is my service to the world.
I’m writing this to say that I accept that work, that challenge. I accept my gifts. Thank you. I won’t squander them. I will try to hold them honorably, not to aggrandize myself, and to remain steadfast in my part to foster a network of resilient and wild humans who have the tenacity to spend their days calmly loving each other.
I don’t fear being nipped and grazed in the process. I’m willing to feel stupid or misunderstood, to have people laugh at me or roll their eyes. I’m willing to have my errors put in my face. I’ll pick myself up, I’ll rectify mistakes, and I’ll continue sharing this work into the world, because I feel it all the way down to the root of my soul.
If you can help me move in this direction, please do. Thanks to each of you who understand what I’m after. Every one of us that stands up and becomes ferocious and alive is another light for others to measure themselves against. Good luck, and I mean it. It’s going to take a lot of us.
Practical Items
If you understand this message and how I work with children, families, and community – thank you. Here is what to expect in the coming months.
Storytelling in the Park – Saturday June 7 @ 10:30 at Kit Carson Park in Taos. I am creating a regular outdoor storytelling event to support parents and kids who want to have fun in nature and develop storytelling skills of their own. Please pass the word around. I will do this throughout the summer and into the fall. Saturdays in Kit Carson Park at 10:30. More details soon.
Playwriting & Theatrical Storytelling – June 9-11 at Wildflower Playhouse. Cost is $220. 10AM-3PM. This will be a watershed moment, a chance for children and adults to engage in a story of their creation and see it come to life. If you understand how I work with story, the healing and silliness and playfulness – this is not to be missed. It will be a community gathering of story, and not just for kids, but for creative voices of all ages. Please share the word with kids and adults who might be interested. Email joe.seph.sarosy@gmail.com for info and registration. In all likelihood, I will craft this into a regular meetup where we can explore developing stories, write, laugh, and explore in a variety of creative and wild ways. Expect an online version in time. If you are interested in supporting a scholarship fund for this event so that I can offer it at reduced cost to families – please send me an email.
Cross-generational learning. I have been working with children for 10 years, but I am converting my efforts towards classes and events for people of all ages. I dislike the way our culture isolates children (and us) in peer groups and ages. We desperately need people who can listen and engage across cultures and generations. I am deeply interested in non-hierarchical learning structures, where children benefit from loving adults, and adults benefit from courageous and inspired children. This is a model I’m going to bring into many formats.
Local Email List. I am creating a separate email list for Taos folks interested in upcoming local events like storytelling, plays, and the kinds of community activities you know me to host. Send a message to joe.seph.sarosy@gmail.com if you want to be included. Substack will remain a wider public newsletter, and this separate list will be less-frequent and event-focused. You can subscribe to both.
Social and Other Media. I will be experimenting with Substack, Facebook, video, writing, and other platforms and resources. Expect to see that unfold here. I recently returned to Facebook after a long absence. You’ll find me posting short messages and photos there most days. It helps to hit the “follow” button to stay connected.
Frequency and Diversity of Expression. Expect to see more frequent and event-focused messages from me. This newsletter is very long, so that long-time readers and supporters can get a big picture. I will be refining and narrowing what I’m sharing over the next months.
Help Me Connect. I’m looking for connections with like-minded people, podcasters, writers, teachers, elders, and other lovely renegades. I’m ready to speak about what I’m doing and my creative process with children, families, story, nature, parenting, teaching, and families. If you can connect me with other creative folks and resources, please do.
Upcoming Collaboration. I expect to collaborate at times with my partner Rachel Halder, a somatic trauma resolution practitioner who helps folk find safety in love, sex, and relationship/attachment dynamics. I’m particularly interested in fostering a conversation with her and others about how parents can safely explore and model positive views on sex and relationships with their kids, a topic many of us are scared of, lacked in our own childhood, and feel confused about.
Paid Subscription. By the end of this summer, I plan to convert Substack to a fully paid subscription ($5/mo). I’m doing this because I need to build a business and platform in order to offer my time and services to the kids and families who need it. I will be clear about this transition, and it will be your choice to opt in or not. Those of you who already support my work – thank you! With your help, we’re bringing radical and eye-opening change into the world. In addition to writing and speaking about teaching and parenting, I will be offering videos and tools for connection, online calls, and other ways to connect on diverse and sometimes difficult topics related to children, learning, and growth. My independence is what allows me to speak and teach in the way that I do, and you’re helping make that happen. Thank you!
Homeschool Connection in Taos. Look for this towards the end of summer. I’d like to see Taos have a shared resource for folks seeking alternative learning environments in Taos. I’ve been doing this for 9 years with a small group of children and families. It’s been a delight, and there’s much we can learn from one another. I’m connected with the VELA Education Fund, which is doing this work nationally and at the state level (unfortunately for us, mostly in Albuquerque). Let’s connect!
Eldergarten. Look for this mid-summer. Modelled on forest kindergarten practices, I plan to offer outdoor play opportunities for adults who understand the creative and emotional impact of silliness, dirt, and embodied story. Play is something we all benefit from, but too many of us “grow out of it.” I’m going to grow us back in. I’m literally a professional goof, one who knows how to listen, slow down, care, and shift. This is a healing the earth deeply needs. We need less professionalism and more playtime. More compassion, safe exploration, and trust. Join us!
Feminine Wisdom & Equality. I want to be ultra-clear that my work stems from a place of deep respect and listening to women of all ages in my life. Similar to the cross-pollination of generations, I believe our culture and planet need more of us, and men in particular, who stand in their ferocity and strength while honoring strong women. I do. I kick and bite. And when I mess up, I listen.
Respect for All. Parenting and teaching topics have a tendency to immediately put people on edge, as if there’s a right or wrong way to do it. This is an unfortunate and unnecessary distraction. I believe in what I do as a father and teacher, but I want to be clear that I don’t tolerate superior, holier-than-thou BS in myself or anybody else. We’re all exactly where we’re at, and the competition we bring to moments is unhelpful and divisive. I care about people who disagree with me and make dissimilar choices. I’m interested in meeting everyone, eating crow when I need to, and finding connection throughout experiences both joyful and tense. We can do this together.
Teaching is My Main Gig. I’m a teacher, and that takes 90% of my creative energy. I’m committed to my students, and I have about 1-2 years of teaching left with them before they fledge into high school. What I’m describing in this message is major, but it will occur as a slow and occasionally sporadic shift over the next two years. I am in the sandbox right now, creating a resource and structure that I can move into full time when I’m done teaching.
Off Grid Kids. I’m reclaiming this name. I wrote Off Grid Kids over the course of 3 years when my daughter was three to six years old (ten years ago!). That work led me to How to Tell Stories to Children, the Juniper School, and now this newsletter. I loved Off Grid Kids. I’m taking it back.
Plug Me In. To do what I am setting out to do, I need people, resources, and connections. Teach me. Support me. Put me in touch with folks who understand what I’m doing. Help me find people and outlets. Speak harshly with me and tell me what I’m doing wrong. Or right. Help me craft this effort into a dynamic resource that is of true benefit. Many of you already do, and I’m outstandingly grateful.
Share. This. Newsletter. Please.
Yes to everything you wrote!
I resonate with your insight that excessive humility can compromise our gifts and rob the world of our contributions. Thanks for shining, Joe, and inviting the rest of us to do so. Onward!
Joe; I like your comment that if we’re well fed and happy; we don’t need to travel to get away. I’ve tried to do that; not hop in the car for temporary pleasure; whether it’s fly fishing in Wisconsin or to take a hike. Thoreau was a proponent of finding happiness in your own backyard. For most of human history people didn’t travel further than 5 or 10 miles from home. Tikkun olam.