Why do we love zoos?

My dad and I got into a bit of a discussion about zoos the other day via email (or text? I don't actually remember). He's an optimistic idealist who wants them to be able to live in their natural habitats, while I pointed out that many species we enjoy at the zoo would be extinct if not for the selected breeding programs many zoos have. He then asked why we couldn't just breed a whole bunch of them and release them into the wild... My dad, ever the optimist.

Not the point of this though.

He sent me this article today from the New York Times Online, titled "Why We Love Zoos" - and after reading it, I wanted to share.

"Why do we flock to them? It’s not just a pleasant outing with family or friends, or to introduce children (whose lives are a cavalcade of animal images) to real animals, though those are still big reasons. I think people are also drawn to a special stripe of innocence they hope to find there.

Though not a natural world by any means, more like a collection of living dioramas, a zoo exists in its own time zone, somewhere between the seasonal sense of animals and our madly ticking watch time. The relatively quiet, parklike setting offers an oasis in the crowded, noisy, stressful, morally ambiguous world where humans tend to congregate. The random gibbering and roaring, cackling and hooting, yowling and grunting strike ancient chords in us, a feral harmony that intrigues and lulls.

Smells create a subtle olfactory landscape that stirs us: from the sweet drops that male elephants dribble from glands near their eyes in mating season to the scent signposts of lions, hyenas and other animals. Just as dancers have body memory, we have wilderness memory."

What I find more interesting about this, is that a large number of zoo visitors are adults without children in tow- much like J and I. It's a place to go, relax and just enjoy. Of course, there are the ever-present obnoxious children, normally being chased by the as-if-not-more-than-annoying-parents. Sadly, people like that are everywhere. 

I have to say, I agree, though. The sounds striking an ancient cord within us, the smells bringing back a memory we can't quite place- very similar to that of a wild thunderstorm- the calming effect they bring to many people. Of course, I think thunderstorms are a little different in that (a) some people are terrified of them (I don't know anyone terrified of the zoo) and (b) it seems to be the raw power or chaos of storms that is most calming. I don't know if I find zoos chaotic (not talking about the visitors, I mean the zoo itself).

Now, I must find another zoo to visit. My inner cave-woman is not quite satiated yet.

Heretical Soapbox

I may be ostracized for this, but it must be said.

Today is a day of mourning and remembrance for the United States of America. We are nostalgic, we shed a single tear for those who lost their lives or become a close knit community of humans for a day or two and then life continues.  We are sad because someone dared attack us. Someone picked on us! We are offended. How dare they. US! U.S. However it spells out in your head as you read it.

Did you know though, that children in other countries fear for their very lives as they go outside to play after school? A toy left in the play yard may not be quite as innocent as it may seem. They wonder if getting on the bus to go to their cousin's or see their friend may be the one targeted today.

Why don't we remember them? Why do we think that because someone dared hurt our people that we are any more important, that our lives are worth anymore than theirs?

It's because we are America. We are the world power.

But guess what.

We are also human. We also suffer. In fact, it wouldn't hurt us to be forced to face a day or two like those around the world do. It may help with the realization that our ethnocentrism has turned us into a large, loudmouthed, theoretical "I dare you" to those who don't like us.

Oh wait. You were aware that there are people out there that don't like us, right?

It's been 10 years.

Yeah, it was tragic. Yeah, it was horrifying.

But wake up. Get over it. Shit happens to all of us- all over the place. It's part of life. And we are not immune just because we are "the shit."

Even Rome fell.

The difficulty of defining yourself

I have been asked time and time again to describe myself to various people. My answer is generally an "I don't know!" or a "None of your damn business" depending on the one posing the question. So, of course, when I was pointed to this from a friend whose writing talent I admire, I had to see what would happen.

Enjoy.

I am from Spanish moss hanging from ancient Live Oak trees, from old school Mac computers and the small corner store.

 

I am from the once-upon-a-movie set, rooms filled with ghosts, and a bit of good ol' Southern charm thrown in with thick, Confederate Jasmine scented summer nights.  

 

I am from the cat tails, azaela bushes, and the sound of rain dancing across the lake, the elephant ears, gardenias and old orange groves.

 

I am from red velvet cake on Christmas Eve and a heart far too willing to care, from Wiseman and Parker and Bruggeman. 

 

I am from the martyr and survivor.

 

From be yourself and be more like them.

 

I am from beautifully decorated, stuffy pews. The do-what-we-say and don't think for yourself.

I'm from Winter Park and the Mayflower, frozen strawberries on a hot summer night and pecan pies as Fall rolls in.

 

From the outspoken baby telling her aunt to not sing, the spaghetti in her curls, and the tying of a June bug to your finger on a summer evening. 

 

I am from lonely box in the closet, the other realm where things disappear, and the once-upon-a-times that recall them from so long ago.

I am from pieces, gathered out of lives never meant to touch. I am from experiences, ghosts never meant to be created.

I am, simply, myself.