Earthing.  The philosophy that the best way to reconnect with the earth and with the self is to walk barefoot, to root your body physically within the soil and the ground below you.  Up until recently, I didn't realize there was a name for being a bare-foot baby.  Mostly because, my cousins and I could have wrote the book on earthing as kids!  That's something my children got from me.  

I can close my eyes, focus in, and remember... remember the river mud between my toes.  Remember the hard, dusty South Dakota ground.  Remember my great-aunt and grandma telling us to "watch out for cactus!" as we set off on another adventure.  Every summer I had a week or so, here and there, with my cousins in central South Dakota. We were wild-haired (ok, ok that was me.. I loathed a hair brush), tanned skinned, freckled, dirty wildlings. We spent hours outside. We spent hours at the river. We spent hours exploring every inch of the place we could. Most of it, we spent exploring barefoot. 

At the time, we had no idea it was beneficial.  We had no idea we were recentering, filling our bodies with the earth's nutrients, or finding our balance in this place.  As an adult looking back, we did all of those things.  We recentered through play. Through make-believe.  Through hours in the tree house my "uncle" Joe built. Through hours in the river, and playing at her shore. We noticed all of her creatures. We loved all of her creatures. Fish, toads, frogs (yes, even the one put on my back!), tadpoles, salamanders, water bugs.  They all had a place in the grand scheme. They all had a purpose, not unlike us. We had a place.  We were meant to be there--barefoot in old play clothes by the water.  We were meant to be free. We were made to be wild. We were meant to be children of the earth under an endless sky.  

When I look at my children running barefoot across our yard (after yelling "EEEKKK!! Watch out for dog poop!!") I am taken back. I miss you, cousins. My first best friends. The boys who dared me to be as wild and free as them.  I let my children be barefoot. Be daring. Be societal rule breakers. Be muddy. Be dirty. Be one with the earth under and endless sky. Be blown by the wind. Be imaginative and adventurous. Be barrier breakers. Be lovers of earth and art and play. Because in watching them play, I am taken back; like an outsider looking in watching us play. Just like me, my daughter begs her brother to hold her hand, just like I did to my cousins so many years ago; and, begrudgingly, he holds her had and pulls her along, just like my cousins did so many years ago.

  Someday, our children will run barefoot through those same open spaces in South Dakota, and I know they will be just fine. We were.  They will feel the ultimate sense of freedom. The ultimate sense of oneness with the earth. With the ground. With the river. And, as children, they will learn and see the intricate and beautiful connection between all of them.  They may be small, but they will be fearless albeit a bit dirtied from hours in river water.