In the beginning

Two months ago my son was born.  He is our first child and in the frenzied preparation for his arrival my wife and I fretted about all sorts of things.  Would he be healthy?  He is.  Would he sleep?  He does.  Would we sleep?  I do...

It's amazing what you worry about in the months leading up to the baby's arrival, and as we added more toys, stuffed animals, and play things to our inventory of supplies I started focusing--obsessing--over one strange little detail.  So many things geared toward babies are representations of the wild, natural world.

Chew toys are shaped like giraffes, books are filled with drawings of all manner of creatures.  Even my son's playtime mat--a little square blanket with two arches overhead, from which hang various characters to watch and bat at, that we nicknamed "Rainforest Cafe"--looks like a cozy little forest environment, although comically inaccurate.  It has leaves, bugs, and monkeys from jungle, toucans from South America, a giraffe from the African savanna, and a koala from Australia.

As we collected all of these animal-themed items to explain to our new baby the wonders of the natural world, I started getting a sick feeling about how or when I would have to explain to him that this fantastic, bio-diverse world he's being introduced to is in terrible peril.

A few months before he came we took my two young nephews to the Field Museum of Natural History for their birthdays.  One of my favorite museums as a child, because of all the wonderful animals on display, now devotes almost equal space and time to educating about our current role in Earth's sixth mass-extinction event as to the thousands (millions?) of animals that were captured, killed, and stuffed to make up its exhibits.

In this context, I am perhaps most concerned about the future of our coral reefs.  As a child I learned to snorkel on a vacation to Maui and I remember the reefs being pristine, colorful, and teaming with life.  Last year my family returned to Hawaii and I'm sure I could notice a distinct difference even over just 20 years.  There seemed to be fewer fish, the coral and reef structures seemed brown and white, where I remembered them as neon purples and yellows and greens.

As the wild coral reefs of the world slip away from us, I am grasping at a way to introduce the incredible biodiversity and beauty of these ecosystems to my son, while imparting the importance of our roles--his and mine--in being better stewards of the natural world.  I also want to be able to help frame the message for him as one of hope and responsibility.  As a child, I was traumatized by documentaries, museums, and books that spent 90% of their time and real estate devoted to amazing natural phenomena and the final 10% to an onslaught of horrify statistics and images of how everything I'd just seen was being destroyed.  I want a way to help balance the messages to my son in a hopeful and dutiful way so that he grows up to have a deep love, respect, and genuine concern for the natural world so that he might devote some part of his life to remedying the mistakes his parents' and grandparents' generations have made.

To this end, I have decided that the best way to introduce these intertwined themes of responsibility, stewardship, and appreciation are through the maintenance and care of a small reef aquarium in our home.

When I was in high school, I spent years cultivating two salt water fish/reef tanks and I gained so much from the experience.  I made great personal relationships with the guys at my local fish store, I bonded with my mother and father on many Saturdays spent working on the tanks, and I gained a true love and appreciation for marine ecosystems.  I am excited to share this experience with my son as he grows from an interested (I hope) observer, into an active participant and eventual caretaker of the mini reef.  This blog is my attempt to record the effort for his memory and mine, and for the enjoyment of anyone who wishes to follow along on the journey.  Thanks for reading!