Watching your kids’ interests evolve as they grow up is a fascinating anthropological experience. During her journey through childhood our daughter, Mathilde, made pit stops at many of the usual little-girl areas of interest (fairies, figurines, horses, dress-up costumes). But how these things shaped her adolescent fanaticism for foreign language, violin, and track-and-field is hard to say. As a small boy growing up in the country, it stands to reason that our son, Charles, went through phases of being obsessed with climbing trees, flying kites, and fishing. Less conventional were his passions for crocheting scarves and, when he was about nine, seeing a real live moose—an obsession finally assuaged by a family trip to Maine in the middle of winter during which no moose were spotted, but we all learned a thing or two about frostbite.
Then there was Lego—the longest-lasting of Charles’ interests (so far). For years, when there was nothing else to divert his attention he would default to landscaping the house floors with brightly-colored miniature towns bristling with castles, towers and bridges, that made a daytime visit into his personal space feel like a voyage into Gulliver’s Travels; and all barefooted nighttime excursions potentially hazardous. Then one day (halfway through construction of a technically complex Lego helicopter, actually) it was all over. Charles was done with Lego. Now, looking at the huge chest of Lego bricks gathering dust in the corner of his room, a dad could get a little bit wistful—until he remembers the sensation of treading on the crenellated battlements of a Lego castle in the middle of the night. While it’d probably be weird if fourteen-year-old Charles were still mad about Lego and moose, the logical part of my brain might have assumed that the things nine-year-old Charles was into meant he would grow up keen on engineering and big game hunting—neither of which interests him remotely. To every thing there is a season. What does one do with abandoned Lego, anyway?
But what about us grownups? Are the hobbies and pastimes to which we devote our precious middle-aged leisure time the product of nature, nurture, or a combination of circumstance and necessity? In the twenty-ish years we’ve lived in the house built by her great-great-grandparents, my wife has become an obsessive and accomplished gardener. This could be hereditary or environmental—since her ancestors were apparently fanatical gardeners. Or perhaps it’s self-preservation, since the vegetation that surrounds the house might swallow it up if we turn our backs for long. But twenty-five years ago, the blonde-haired, black-clad hipster-girl I fell for in Ireland showed far more interest in Guinness than gardens. Then she came home; perhaps this is what the ghost of Great-Grandmother Irene has been whispering in her ear about for twenty-five years.
These days, left to my own devices I find I spend most of my leisure time cooking, tending to my chickens, and reattaching the bits that fall off our hundred-year-old-house. As much as I enjoy these pastimes I can’t really see how a kid who loved fishing and building model airplanes grows up to become passionate about poultry and plumbing projects. Is this what everyone living in an old house miles from the nearest take-out pizza joint is doing for fun? Or am I just getting weird in my middle age?
What got me thinking about this was the extraordinary stories of single-minded determination that this “People and Their Passions” issue has allowed us to tell. Whether it’s Beth James and Rolando Sanchez, who devote themselves to growing and milling superlative quality Louisiana rice; Olivia Savoie’s dedication to ghostwriting the life stories of her subjects; or John Dahmer’s single-minded determination to save South Louisiana’s last stand of virgin old-growth cypress trees from loggers’ saws, the people you’ll meet here are driven by passions that not only bring fulfillment and achievement to their own lives, but positively impact those around them, too. We hope you enjoy getting to know them as much as we have. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find the inspiration for your next passion project in their stories. Clearly I need a new hobby, but at least when I get too old for home maintenance projects, Charles will be able to teach me how to crochet a scarf.
—James Fox-Smith, publisher
This article originally appeared in the February 2019 issue. Subscribe to our print edition here.
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