I remember a time when kids were free to wander. I would vanish from my parents’ world for many hours on end, sometimes crossing the state line or boating across a major river. I discovered nature in this way, which I recognized to be the main thing about life. I mapped the world to the visible horizon and extended the quest by bicycle, accompanied by my brother and pals. We named the spots on our world map Fern Forest; Newt Place; Big Swamp; Far Field; Yogi Flats; Picnic Rock; and Toad Place.

Captivated as we were by the physical, visual, olfactory, auditory and tactile pleasures of woods and waters, our grabbing for it knew no restraint. We lacked guidance. If we could catch an amphibian, reptile, mammal or bird, we caught it and added it to our growing menagerie. A caught fish would most likely end up breaded and pan-fried. We were profligate in our love — not to be recommended. What we needed was a conservation ethic. Our acquisitiveness reflected the untutored run-amok mayhem that had lately pillaged the continent. We eventually grew sensitive to the limits of nature’s resilience. Like some reformed hunters, we became conservation-minded.

Immersing ourselves in the elements occasionally brought rashes and bites while teaching us to evaluate risks. But, in our group, there were no broken bones and no drownings, only increasing revelations. We were most confident and secure when on our own, outside in the woods. The wild was the device with which we took our measure.

The wild has a vocabulary. Taxonomy, the science of naming the natural world, is a way of apprehending its mystery. It is literally a way of classifying it. How useful to have names for things! Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus systematized a hierarchical classification system for organisms. From the lineage of Linnaeus sprung a plethora of guidebooks with pictures, descriptions, range maps and dimensions. Readers now had easy access to help understand volumes about our environment and its dynamics. Evocative language by authors steeped in the natural world transforms observation into art. The multitude of such writers includes Walt Whitman; John Muir; Henry David Thoreau; Mary Oliver; William Wordsworth; Jean-Henri Fabre; E.O. Wilson; Rachel Carson; David Attenborough; Carl Safina; and Peter Matthiessen. For in-depth local articles, Bay Nature Magazine is highly recommended.

Direct experience of the outdoors can be made easy by signing on to any of the birding group outings arranged by the Marin Audubon Society. Marin Audubon Society has a Junior Birdwatchers section on its website.

Refugia Marin is a group seeking volunteers to help restore native vegetation around our county. The project aims to boost biodiversity and foster environmental stewardship.Books, films and documentaries such as the “Nature” series on PBS all provide additional insights. What I like to think of as books in three dimensions are natural history museums. We have the Oakland Museum of California’s Gallery of California Natural Sciences and the California Academy of Sciences.

San Francisco’s California Academy of Sciences, founded in 1853 as a research institution, moved to Golden Gate Park in 1916 to occupy the North American Hall of Birds and Mammals. In 2008, the California Academy of Sciences was rebuilt, achieving two LEED platinum ratings from the U.S. Green Building Council for the design and construction process and for sustainability of day-to-day operations. The reconceived institution was in tune with evolving concepts in museum design. There would be more interactive displays and technological gadgetry.

But if something was gained in this reimagining, something very important was lost. The great North American Hall of Birds and Mammals, that inspiring introduction for generations of children to the wonders of our continent, had been mothballed. A child’s curiosity could be ignited in no better way than to enter this enchanted cathedral of natural history. The hushed grandeur of the great room set a mood of anticipation and possibility. Lighted side chapels housed wonderful mounts of animals and their habitats faithfully reproduced by master technicians and artists.

The place was redolent of the age of exploration, when, in the 19th century, the terrestrial wilderness of Planet Earth was relatively intact. But among conservationists, there was anxiety that North America’s wildlife was fast being wiped out. There was a rush to procure token specimens for display to the public. The animals on exhibit had died, in part, to interest the public in the preservation of their wild populations.

These magnificent animals, presented in the beautiful dioramas with the illusion of their dynamism restored and their huge scale intact, loomed closer than they ever would out in the wilderness. Kodiak bears, bison, barren-ground caribou, woodland caribou, Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep, pronghorn, gray wolves, moose, elk, polar bears and wolverines together proclaimed, “This is North America.”

Museum displays like this made a near-magical impact on my own young imagination. In viewing the dioramas at the American Museum of Natural History in New York, I imagined that one day I might be an artist skilled enough to paint the realistic backdrops which adorned them. Just as powerfully, I became acquainted with the varied landscapes of North America depicted in them, home to animals adapted to these specific habitat requirements. I was becoming familiar with my patrimony — my homeland. If patriotism can be seen in a positive light, it must boil down to an affinity for the natural land and its inhabitants. Not many years later, I made a point to explore many of these places on foot. It became a lifelong pilgrimage.

An artist, whose paintings are held in many museum collections, Marin resident Jeffrey Long has backpacked the mountains of the West and hosts the blog Konocti Post. His art can be seen at Jeffreylongstudio.com. He can be reached at jefflong@jefflong.com.