Touch

Today at the program we had at the library – yes, another one – there were live specimens of a turtle, a corn snake, a bearded dragon (largish lizard), and an alligator. The program was called Scales & Tales, and was presented by the Chewonki Foundation, whose proclaimed mission is to “foster an appreciation of the natural world and of working in community with others.” Both noble goals. The place started as a boy’s summer camp is 1915, still has camp sessions for both boys and girls, but also offers a four-month Maine Coast Semester for high school students, wilderness trips, and outreach programs to schools and libraries, such as the one that came to us today.

Early on a little girl raised her hand and asked the question, “Can we pet the animals?” Doug, our presenter, said that was a very good question, but the answer was no. Why? Because these weren’t really pets; they were “wild” animals. Admittedly they lived in captivity – either as the result of injury, that made it impossible for them to fend for themselves in the wild, or as the result of having been kept as pets (sometimes illegally) and then either abandoned or delivered to the animal rescue arm of Chewonki. They, too, lacked the skills to survive in the wild.

“But they aren’t like your pet dog or cat,” Doug said.

The little girl’s question got me to thinking. We do all want to pet – to touch – animals. I experienced the same thing early this past summer, when I drove out to the farm of the library’s former technical support guy. Bill had sent out email invitations far and wide, inviting people to visit the farm he and his wife have lived on and built up over 20 years. His wife, who is a potter, has a “pottery barn” there. And the couple run a bed and breakfast there as well. In other words, like many Mainers, they do a number of things to survive (note that Bill also has a fulltime job at the Bath Ironworks).

There were two reasons I decided to make the drive out to Windsor. One, it was an excursion, something to do, that would be essentially free, not counting a little gas. And two, the invitation mentioned their sheep, with two new lambs, and their Belted Galloway cattle. The latter are black with a wide white stripe around their middle (the “belt”), which has led to their being referred to as “Oreo cattle.” I have found these animals visually fascinating ever since I first encountered a field of them several years ago. And the idea of seeing new little lambs delighted me.

The cattle proved to be something of a disappointment, as the herd was down to a mere two, who were sitting down in the mud surrounded by flies, but the little lambs were properly adorable. And I wanted to touch them. I asked Bill if I might, indeed, pet one, and he said sure, but at my very slight touch the little one skittered away. None the less, I’d had enough of a feel to know that that curly fleece was rough and wiry, not soft, the way it looks.

But our desire to touch is not limited to animals. There are all those signs at art and other kinds of museums telling us Do Not Touch, because of our penchant to do exactly that. Almost anything that interests us, intrigues us, we want to touch. And I wonder: why is that? Is it that something in us tells us if we touch a thing we will know more about it? Or is it that touching a thing brings us closer to it, makes us feel connected to it? I think of lovers touching, parents touching their children and vice versa. I suppose it could be argued that there are different kinds of touching – wanting to touch a turtle or an alligator might represent the former impulse, wanting to touch a loved one, the latter. But still, we want to feel a thing beneath our finger tips; it is not enough just to see it. What we feel commun-icates with our brain through our nervous system, and we then know more than we did before – what it feels like – and feel more than we did before – pleasure, excitement, horror, disgust, whatever.

So, hooray for the too-often-overlooked tactile sense.