One second he was gleefully jumping in a puddle, and the next he was standing there crying because he was tired of walking. Until another puddle caught his eye and lured him back to jumping and laughing again. This brief, yet very emotional, walk with a three year old the other day reminded me of a saying I heard last fall whilst assisting Playful Mindset with an outdoor play grief support group for caregivers and children who'd lost a loved one:

The gaping mouth, open wide with intrigue and anticipation. The eyes transfixed, yearning for what comes next. The one, or more than one, who interrupts to ask questions. Often, "Is this real??" Many assume storytelling is meant for children. Those imaginative tales with talking animals and scenes that defy what we accept as "real." I can't help but wonder if storytelling lands so well with children, not because it is meant for them, but because they are more skilled at listening. Perhaps their ability to receive the power, the magic, the meaning in stories surpasses our own?

This morning I witnessed something both simple and profound. A young boy turned over a log and found a worm. Now that doesn't sound all that profound, you might say. But there is much more to this story of course... Moments before the worm was unearthed from its muddy home, the boy (just shy of 3 years old) had been lying on the ground with his face buried in his hands in utter despair. Usually happy most of the time, he was finding this particularly morning of goodbyes with his parents difficult. He'd told me this before face planting, and was even able to express that he was uncomfortable feeling this sadness. "I want to be happy. But I'm not happy," he sulked.

What if being outside didn't equate surviving? What if it meant resourcing? What if instead of being scary and overwhelming, it actually felt like home and safety? I see a whole lot of invitations and talk around 'surviving in the outdoors', or activities that are around protecting yourself; or knowing how to handle being out there. But what if you went out there just to be? What if nature was your therapy? What if by stepping out, you were to thrive instead of survive?

Note: Potentially triggering content. Mention of PTSD and mental health struggles."Maya fell down!" a child yelled.I turned around and just a few metres behind me was Maya on the ground, next to the table under a tree we'd set up with watercolours for painting. Beside her was an upturned chair.She must have been doing that thing that kids do where they tilt their chair back to balance on two of the legs. That's a universal thing children do, right? Well, Maya had lost her balance and fallen off the chair.I immediately went over to check on her and could see no injuries. Her fall had been a short one onto semi-soft soil with a low risk for injuries. But she was mildly shaking, breathing shallowly, and had a glazed look over her eyes.

Reading Growing a Forest School from the roots up was like having the privilege of sitting around the fire with a group of knowledgeable and experienced Forest School leaders and trainers I look up to (and some of whom I know personally!). I could hear their voices while reading their words, sense their passion and wisdom, and feel their encouragement to pursue this important work even as I sit reading it thousands of miles away in my home in Canada.

A child in your care (who's not your own), whether it be a Forest School program or similar says, "I'm bored." What's your reaction? And I don't mean what do you say in response. I mean what do you feel in your body when you hear that? For me, there's a default reaction which I have to talk myself out of before responding. It can range from a punch in the gut, blaming myself for not providing an environment that's entertaining enough, to anxiety at the thought, "What if they go home and tell that to their parents?!" Especially if it's a program that charges parents directly, it can almost feel like I'm not doing my job right.

This piece of writing by Rachel landed in my inbox the other day (I'm a subscriber and you can be too) and I couldn't help but reply almost immediately saying, "Thank you for saying this!" and proceeded to ask if I could share it on my blog. Rachel kindly said yes, and so here it is. I've also added a few of my thoughts on the topic as an addition at the end. Okay, now over to Rachel...

“If we are to teach real peace in this world, and if we are to carry on a real war against war, we shall have to begin with the children." -Mahatma Gandhi We all know the headlines of fear and worry facing our children: bullies, school shootings, apathy, and disagreement. But our current responses—overprotecting our kids by keeping them in a nurturing bubble or overreacting by punishing them in advance with zero-tolerance policies and metal detectors—only worsen the problem. Our children are neither potential victims nor perpetrators and instead, they are born perfect, whole and complete and can be agents for positive change. In other words, we need to prepare our young people to be peacemakers. Not holding-hands-and-singing-songs peacemaking (although lovely), but the crucial work of compassion, coming together to solve problems and taking risks to assist others.

Forest Days is a program that Blue Hill Heritage Trust piloted at the public Surry Elementary School for the 2019-2020 school year. We are working with Kindergarten and First Grade for 1-2 hours every week all year long, building resilience in changing weather and relationships with each other and the natural world.

Personal post. Trigger warning: Pregnancy loss.

I could see him shaking. His fists were clenched and his jaws clamped so tightly that the muscles were visible in the contour of his cheeks. He reminded me of a kettle over a fire when it's just about to boil over.