As my boys and I took an early evening stroll through our woods, the spring flowers and leaf buds signaled spring had arrived. The April sun warmed our steps through the crunchy leaf litter as we searched for trash. They had both learned about Earth Day at school and were eager to take care of the planet and pick up any trash that had blown into the woods. Our mindset was on searching out what did not belong.
The emerging beauty surrounding us made them both point out flowers and plants to me as we walked. Bees needed the spring flowers so we stepped lightly. Wildlife needed the tender buds so we made sure not to break any leaves or branches. With a stick for a sword, they bravely protected me from monsters. It warmed my heart.
Some trash could be seen from far off as bright plastic colors clashed with the earth tones of the leaf litter from winter past. Some scraps of styrofoam were a little less pronounced so we had to look carefully and not miss a scrap. But as we reached the furthest point of our journey, a small item, very well hidden, caught my oldest son's eye.
Bringing it over to me, his voice was full of suprise. At first glance, I didn't understand what he had found.
"Mom, look at this!" He said. "I think it's a ball." In his hand was a circular ball of tangled strings. His brother was wandering off the path, but came back to look.
"Eewww." He said in a long drawn out little voice. Dutifully, I held my bag out to him so he could drop the trash in with the rest. But his hand hesitated and he looked at me.
"Mom, it is growing moss!" He continued, as if I wasn't holding the trash bag out to him. I paused and, telling his little brother to wait up, took a second look at the garbage in his hand. Somewhere along the way, a ball had lost its cover and had sat in the leaves so long that it had begun growing a tuft of moss on one side. Even after enduring the harsh winter, the moss thrived in the quiet solitude of the woods.
I was surprised that the ball's cover had somehow come off but the inner strings were not unraveling. It was so oddly intact and covered with the green blush of growth that I could only think of one thing.
"You know what the Japanese would call this?" I asked. He shook his head. "Kokedama."
"Cocoa, that's funny." His little brother said as we walked on.
"What's that mean?" My oldest asked.
"It might sound silly, but the Japanese enjoy creating balls of moss to grow just like a houseplant. They wrap moss around a ball with string. Sometimes they add a plant." We examined it as we walked. Instead of breaking down the ball to destroy it outright, Nature had softened the strings and planted the tiniest moss plants to reclaim the surface in a thoughtful way.
"I wonder how long it's been out here like this." He said. It was hard to say because sometimes we found very old artifacts in our woods and sometimes the elements were able to consume things in a season. We remarked further about how cool that the inside of a ball was such that it was able to keep moss alive. My youngest was surprised that a ball could be full of string because he never knew string could bounce. We laughed together in the late afternoon sunshine.
"People work hard to make something like this on purpose. And here, you found one just waiting for you naturally." I marveled. He smiled and finally gave a motion as if to relinquish it to the trash bag.
"No!" I stopped him. He met my gaze.
"It survived a lot to somehow be here in our woods and change from a ball to a kokedama. We should keep it and see if we can help it grow."
"Trash doesn't grow, Mommy." My little one said.
"This isn't trash anymore, though." I said. "Nature changed it into... something new."
"Do you think the moss will grow more?" My oldest said, cradling his new treasure in his hand. I cocked my head.
"We will have to do some research on how to help it, but yeah, I think we can get it to grow better."
As we strolled along, I couldn't believe how our walk had produced such a fun find. Most kids couldn't even be bothered to pick up trash, let alone look at something and see it for something more. Nature hadn't tried to destroy the ball, so it just didn't feel right for us to do so either. Now my son had stumbled upon it and the thought of now having a natural kokedama was exciting.
Meeting back up with my husband, we told him of all the trash we cleaned up. My youngest was excited to show that he had carried the bag so very far. Then my oldest spoke up.
"And look, we accidentally found a Japanese kokedama growing moss, too!" He held up the ball and smiled. "Mom says people keep them like plants." Cocking his head, he wasn't so sure, but didn't dismiss the idea.
"Accidentally found it?" my husband asked with a chuckle. "Were you not supposed to find it?"
"I think he was meant to find it," I replied, watching my son cradle the ball like something fragile yet alive. "He has a gift for seeing what others might overlook."
Later, at home, we placed the mossy ball in a saucer, misting it gently. He tried to explain to his little brother that it was like a real Japanese kokedama. Little brother asked how the ball got to our house from Japan. It made his older brother wonder what the balls first life had been like. Had it been a gift to a pet? Had a child lost his baseball? Had it rolled across the street and down into the creek? Had a the neighbor's dog lost it? It was no longer just an object; it had become a story, a family mystery.
Looking at it nestled among my succulents and houseplants, I found myself reflecting on how easily we dismiss what seems broken or lost. Yet here was proof that given time, care, and the right conditions, even a discarded ball could become something beautiful. It reminded me of the way small acts — like picking up trash or stopping to marvel at moss — can connect us, not just to nature, but to each other.
Nature’s forgiveness, I thought, along with the gift of our own, is often a gift we forget to appreciate.
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