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I believe in respecting the environment. I made an effort to “be green” before it was fashionable, thanks in large part to my moving to Switzerland, where being respectful of the environment is a way of life.

As a result, for many years now I have had fairly green habits. (Late disclaimer: this post features the word “green” in fairly large amounts. If that bothers you, well… suck it up.) I recycle, I use no chemicals in the house, I buy mostly organic, don’t eat much red meat, I donate rather than discard items that we no longer need but are still usable, etc. I even considered using cloth diapers, but since that would be setting myself up for failure I opted for g-Diapers instead.

I believe in protecting the environment. I believe nature is beautiful (for the most part) and should be respected. But that’s only one side of my relationship with nature – the other side is nothing to wax poetic about. And that is obvious to anyone who spends any length of time with me in the great outdoors.

I have no green thumb, plants seem to go suicidal around me. Which is to say that even in the rare instance that I remember to water them etc, they still don’t fare very well. Thank goodness my husband seems to have the green thumb I lack in addition to his own, or we’d never have any plants in this house.

I like spending time outdoors. Sort of. I like to be out in the sun (yeah, yeah, with SPF and not between 11am and 2pm), hear the birds, look at the trees and flowers, walk along the lake and maybe feed the ducklings. But that’s more or less where my comfort level ends. I am not a nature girl. I do not like digging or getting dirty, I do not like the idea of “sleeping under the stars” because to me it spells creepy-crawly stuff, and I do not, by any means, love “all of God’s creatures”. When I see a spider, my first instinct isnt to let it crawl over my hand and let it out the window (though I will sometimes use a sheet of paper and a cup). I don’t even feel the need to touch the pets in people’s houses, though I do like dogs (other people’s mostly).

I have to confess it is a little disturbing to me that many people get so comfortable with their pets that they kiss them on the snout, let them sleep in their bed, even let them eat from their plate or (gag) use their toilet. It’s all a little gross to me.

So, well, I guess I’m not one with nature. You might even say I prefer a long-distance relationship. I mean, it’s not that I would like to live in a place with no green, all concrete and all, but really, access to a nice park will do it for me. And if I had to choose between the country side and the city, it’s always the city. Only because of the fact that I have kids I go for the suburbs (a discussion for another day).

I tried. When Sarah was 1 year old, we moved to a house in the countryside (and unfortunately stayed for 5 years). It was only 25 minutes outside of Zurich, but it was really the countryside. Out there, we could afford a nice house, on the large side, with its own backyard and several bathrooms and a basement as big as our entire apartment had been. It was part of a newly built community of perfect white row houses, with a huge underground garage and a big playground out front, including a construction which turned out to be a shed for bicycles which was also, incidentally, as big as our previous apartment had been (and not shed-looking at all).

Sarah at 5, climbing a tree.

It was so beautiful in spring and summer! I’d go for jogs by the river, play outside with Sarah, take her on long walks, often passing by a nearby farm to feed the animals (yeah –I told you it was the countryside). Then September came. It got foggy, rainy, grey, muddy. Let’s all say it together: 1…2…3: “YUCK”.

It was no longer fun to go outside – it wasn’t even that pretty, without the flowers and the sun and stuff. There was nothing to do, and the walk to the train station to go into Zurich was not fun in the cold and humidity. It was so depressing. I kept wondering why I ever moved there. And then summer came, and I decided it wasn’t so bad. And then fall came again, and I wanted to kill myself. Except I didn’t think it would be necessary, as I was pretty sure I would eventually die of boredom.

Long story short: I’m not a country gal. Unfortunately my husband is, so we often have the discussion about where to live when we are ready to buy a house. We haven’t reached an agreement yet. But if I can hear cows while in my backyard, it’s likely to end up in the “no way in hell” column.

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