Caveat Emptor! This isn't Conrad Cortellini, but guest-writer, Bob Sander. I've no "green" pedigree in architecture -- or any other field. I'm a storyteller by profession. When Conrad suggested I pen some words I was grateful for the opportunity -- but it's certainly a challenge. His musings are inspirational, wise and witty. So be warned:

I am empty-handed -- save for a story or two. And here's the first:

Two friends were walking in Manhattan. One lived in the city. The other was his guest. Amid the din of activity and traffic, the visitor said to his friend:

"I hear a cricket."

"Impossible. Too much noise."

His friend cocked his head and slowly approached a potted plant in front of a hotel. Pulling back the lower limbs, he revealed - a cricket, musical legs working away.

"Amazing! How did you hear that?"

"It was nothing. Anyone could do it. Watch."

To illustrate, he pulled a couple coins from his pocket and threw them into the air. When they struck pavement, a dozen people stopped and turned their heads toward the spot.

"You see? Anyone can hear it. But it all depends on what you're listening for."

I follow this by asking: Can our kids hear the cricket? And if not, will Green buildings, vehicles or transit networks matter -- if they're not bequeathed to a generation that values them?

Simply put, envisioning Green hard-scape is easy compared to instilling an interior ethic that harmonizes nature with the soul. If doing just that was once an organic part of growing up American -- something acquired in daily life - that is no longer a blanket assumption.

As a kid, I had access to a nearby scrub woods. All it had were trees, ravines, grape vines to swing on and a creek with frogs and salamanders and snakes -- and once a 30 lb. snapping turtle that I caught and thoughtfully stored in my mother's bathtub (for which indiscretion I received Holy Hell). No adult was on hand during our forays, no play equipment, no outdoor classes. Therefore the woods had absolutely nothing to teach us of any value -- except a deep and abiding connection to the natural world and a sense that this was a place to come for pleasure and meaning. It's where and how I learned to 'hear the cricket.' If such a relationship as that little woods afforded is more the exception than the rule for many kids today, what takes its place? Countless hours spent indoors.

A recent book by Richard Louv, Last Child In The Woods, is subtitled: 'Saving Our Children From Nature Deficit Disorder.' Louv made up that term to describe what investigators perceive as a condition in which children fail to develop a connection to the natural world -- and suffer for it physically as well as psychologically. But is this kids' fault?

Consider, says Louv:

*Places to connect with nature near where kids live are disappearing fast (like my woods, whose trees were bulldozed for condos named after them). The cheap money that's made suburban development irresistible has proceeded with scant regard for a Green remnant or buffer.

*Largely-adult order has been imposed on kids' outdoor activities (think organized sports versus unstructured play; housing covenants which view a kid-built tree house as illegal).

*Fear of lawsuits, strangers or other perceived threats cause well-meaning parents to send subtle messages to children about the nature of the outdoor world.

*A tidal wave of media is designed to absorb children's time and attention (and parents' money) with product advertising, electronic gaming, etc.

Is it surprising that a child quoted in Louv's book said he preferred to play indoors because "that's where all the electrical outlets are?"

One thing the book examines is the number of effects of the 'nature deficit' that fade when the outdoors is a part of kids' lives again. Not nature in the abstract -- exotic animals in far-away places. No, kids need 'dirty-finger-nail' knowledge from their place, our place, the local sphere we all inhabit. They need to get out and walk and play in it. The back yard comes first, then the neighborhood, then wider gyres. Frequent forays of curiosity and discovery in the outdoors become foundational. A whole life attitude can rest solidly there. But the places have to be there. The forays have to happen.

We adults can preserve spaces, help see that time in nature happens. We can make sure safety is observed -- but finally, these experiences still beg for an unmediated, kids-only quality.

Let's bring green transport, housing and energy systems into being. But let's also be prescient enough to look "around the (generational) corner". A Green Ethic must come early if it is to come at all. It's an imperative we can't answer by building or inventing but rather by remembering, respecting, and modeling. Then we'll all hear the cricket.