I think about what we are all going through right now, and I wonder what would help. I bet we could make a list, right? One of the things on such a list might be mindfulness. It offers a way of seeing things with fresh eyes and a deep way of experiencing the beauty and wonder around us. Also, it is a practice that involves letting go of our restless intensity and fostering patience and acceptance. It is associated with trust, compassion, empathy and kindness. Those are qualities that are not just in short supply but are being discouraged by some people in the mistaken idea that they are weak.
Sunday afternoon, March 23rd, I led a group in a mindfulness-based walk through part of the Spring Creek Forest Preserve in Garland. It was a good day to see things with fresh eyes and let go of some restlessness. The day was warm with low puffy clouds and that feeling – a sort of “softness” – that comes on more humid days in spring. The walk was a follow-up to a talk I had given for the Preservation Society for Spring Creek Forest about three weeks before, talking about mindfulness in nature.
The Spring Creek Forest
In the talk, I described mindfulness as a special way of paying attention to our experience in the present moment and accepting whatever that experience brings. I said that it is a meditation technique that can be practiced on a walk in the woods, informally. That’s what we would do on the 23rd. We would take a walk without our usual activities of taking photos and uploading them to iNaturalist or chatting, or being lost in thought.
At the beginning of the walk, the fifteen or so people gathered and I mentioned some of the basics of mindfulness, including some of the qualities and emotions that tend to emerge from the practice. One of those is stillness, which does not mean you would sit still all the time. Instead, it is a lack of restlessness, impatience, and wanting the next thing. It is a sense of quiet and calm, even while you are walking. And a related quality – patience, allowing things to come about in their own time and accepting that things take time. Not that we cannot or should not act to bring things about, but we don’t need to struggle against the timetable if it is different than we would prefer.
There are times when I am restless or impatient, but when I am able to have that sense of stillness and patience, it is very freeing. And it is not hard to imagine how our lives would be better if all of us experienced more of those things.
Instead of going first to names and categories, we can stay with the basal leaves, tall erect stems, and beautiful yellow flowers for a moment.Later we can consider if it should be called a groundsel.
During the walk we talked about “beginner’s mind,” when we experience something as if for the first time, with the vividness and newness that can happen at such times. The more we are in the present moment, the more we step away from past experiences and preconceptions about what is in front of us. We see something with the mind of a beginner.
Mindfulness is also associated with compassion and empathy. Imagine the compassion that would result if everyone put aside more of their judgment about bad or good, lazy, malicious, and so on. We quickly think of people in this context, but we’ll keep it in the realm of nature for a moment. Perhaps there is a copperhead in the woods, and we know that this snake is venomous and capable of sending us to the hospital. With that sense of stillness and patience, we watch it from several feet away, noticing the beautiful earth tones with shades of reddish-orange. The snake remains perfectly still in our presence (unless we get too close or step on it) and is non-aggressive. We might know that the snake’s venom is primarily an adaptation for subduing the animals it eats. I think we would see the copperhead as something to be respected and even appreciated, while being very careful around it. Our compassion would mean we would not want it to suffer by starving or being defenseless, just as we do not want to suffer if we accidentally touched it and were bitten.
At a place where the trail reached the creek, we stopped and spent a couple of minutes with eyes closed or looking down so that our other senses would be more prominent. People later commented about listening to the sound of water flowing in the creek and the songs of birds in the woods. There was also the feeling of sun and a light breeze on our skin. We talked about the smell of spring, even though our vocabularies struggle to describe what we are sensing, the new green growth and what one person labeled as “herbaceous” (like the small plants emerging from the woodland floor). Noticing such things, along with touch and the sensations coming from how we are supported by the earth as we sit, walk, or stand, made our time richer.
Crow poison with a native violet growing beneath it
There is a lot more, but you should go and experience it for yourself. Emerging from the woods into a pocket prairie with butterflies, the beehive in a hollow tree, the leaves of trout lilies with their speckled or spattered appearance, and the scattered expanse of the small, white flowers of crow poison dotting the forest floor. If you go, take a little time for stillness and for being in the present moment.
For about three years I’ve been publishing a short, free publication that is like a letter. At least that’s my intention – an informal, even personal style like a letter. My original idea was to write to older kids who like nature and like to read. I started out on a December day at Fort Worth Nature Center & Refuge, seeing wasps, turtles, egrets, and talking about leaves. I wrote:
Do you know what a hundred tons of leaves smells like, laying on the ground? (I’m not really sure if it was a hundred tons, or even a ton, but they covered the ground everywhere I looked.) In my walk, the smell was really strong in a spot between two little hills where the air stays still. Now sometimes when people say that a smell is “really strong,” it’s a polite way of saying it stinks. That’s not what I mean. I loved that smell, but I don’t have good words to describe it. The leaves fall and they break down and return to the soil. That smell is leaves turning into soil.
That was the first issue of Letters to Nature Kids, and I kept writing, at least several times a year. I tried to bring the reader along on my walks, or talk about nature journaling or coming to terms with things like fears of spiders. Another goal was to not talk down to kids, and while I don’t get technical or in-depth in the letter, I do think there’s an appeal for adults as well.
I’ve experimented with something called Letters From the Woods, something taken essentially from my nature journal so that it is a letter written “from” the woods or prairies. I hope to come back to that.
But the latest I’ve written is a letter not just to nature kids but to nature folks. I hope you will download this March, 2025 issue and give it a try. Pass it around if you know someone who might like it. And if you have any thoughts about it that you would like to share, please do send me an email. Writers often get little feedback; we send something out there, and hopefully some folks read it, and hopefully it lands in a good place for them. But how wonderful it would be to have a bit of dialogue about it! If you are inclined to reply, please do (use the email address at the end of the letter or the contact form from the Lives in Nature website). Thanks!
Yesterday afternoon there was water, fossils, clams, and Elijah’s creative mythology of tiny people living at the creek, riding mosquitofish, cultivating moss, and using leaves as currency. Elijah and I have a five year history – on and off – of discovery and play in this place.
I wrote about it on Rain Lilies (at Substack – the link should take you there), where I have been writing about children and nature.
I had to go to the woods today. Among my frequent visits to those places, some are for spiritual and psychological first aid. Today was a day like that.
Cardinals like this male were singing throughout the preserve
Here at Sheri Capehart Nature Preserve, I can sit on the ridge and look down into the brown and gray woods, still in those colors for a while before the leaves appear. There are some glimpses of green, bits of juniper seen through oak branches, and patches of moss at the base of tree trunks. And there is a flash of reddish feathers from a female northern cardinal.
Yes, there is traffic noise and a barking dog somewhere, but it feels quiet and there is a stillness to the dormant woods, here at the edge of spring. I needed this respite. Not a respite from my home, except that home is where the news arrives. Home is where I get sucked into the Internet, with stories from the world: destruction, corruption, and bullying. Here, I don’t allow the news to appear on my phone, which is used only for photos or checking the Merlin app to identify some unseen bird.
The sun is at my back and a butterfly dances by. Mosses and lichens growing on the stones of the ridge provide endless color, life, and art. And there is the stillness that hardly seems able to be found in the city.
Butterflies agree that spring is ready to arrive. On the trail from the ridge to the boulders, a fritillary glides in toward me on rigid orange wings. It sails on past, wings now flapping to carry it up to the treetops. Nearby, a pair of butterflies suddenly appear and spiral up in their fluttering flight, above the crown of the nearest tree. When I reach the boulders, a pair of sulfurs chase each other down the path. The fluttering, erratic flight of butterflies might make us think they cannot control their flight very well, but have you noticed how often they can weave among obstacles without hitting them? That erratic flight seems to be a gift, an ability to make quick turns and maneuvers that help them escape predators.
The historic 200-year-old post oak referred to as the Caddo oak
I walk around the preserve, past the historic Caddo oak, seeing many more butterflies and hearing a number of bird species: Carolina wrens, tufted titmice, a chickadee or two, an eastern phoebe, and many northern cardinals. I see a red-tailed hawk overhead, soaring and then turning on powerful wings.
A slightly fuzzy photo of the red-tailed hawk
Arriving near the north pond, I think about how much data we have about the benefits of mindfulness and time spent in nature. There is the reduction in stress, the cardiovascular benefits, an immunologic boost, reduction in depressive rumination, and increases in empathy among other gifts. Those things make time in the woods not some privileged escape or ignorance of the troubles of the world. It is a sort of refueling for the work that lies ahead. It is restorative – a little like sleep – and so it should not be undervalued.
Blanchard’s cricket frog at the pond’s edgeA young red-eared slider, basking
It is now 77F in the shade. Down at the north pond, life is in full swing. red-eared sliders swimming or pulling out and basking in sunshine. Cricket frogs jumping into the water as I get too close to them. All that is needed is the emergence of dragonflies, and the pond will seem complete. I walk back to the car after nearly two hours of walking, sitting, and noticing things in a world that seems so different from the big events of the wider world. It has been a small but important restoration.
What do we do when we take a walk in the woods? On a winter walk, seeing the nearly black, rough bark on the trunk of a blackjack oak and the paler, warty trunks of hackberries? Crossing a creek and looking at sudden tiny swirls at the water’s surface, where groups of mosquitofish dart away from our shadow. On sunny days when we stop and look upward toward the songs of small birds – titmice and chickadees flitting from one tree limb to the next. What we do is notice what is around us. Chances are that we pause for a little and soak in the experience, trying to get a good look and a good listen.
What should we call that kind of noticing? Being tuned in to the land and sky, the animals we find, the plants and trees, is the sort of thing that naturalists do. A naturalist is someone who pays attention to all those things and wants to understand how it all works together. So if you are doing that, we might say you’re using a naturalist’s attention.
We don’t always use our attention that way. Sometimes we could jog along the trail with ear buds in, listening to music or a podcast. Or we could walk through trees and grasses with a friend, talking about each other’s lives and getting “lost” in conversation. That’s a different experience. It can be great, but it is different than what we experience with a naturalist’s attention to our surroundings.
I think I learned to use a naturalist’s attention long ago as I looked for reptiles and amphibians and learned about how things work in nature, predators and prey, and also species that return used up bodies to the soil, the choreography of the seasons, and so on. As the years have passed, my preferred way of being in nature emphasizes quiet and stillness. I don’t necessarily mean lack of movement; for me, stillness is a quality of mind. I could be sitting or I might be walking along, but with luck I can have that quality of stillness as I move.
Mindfulness
I began to learn more about mindfulness and then to practice and write about it (for example, in Mindfulness in Texas Nature). When practiced in nature, mindfulness is very similar to what I’ve described as a naturalist’s attention. Mindfulness involves being aware of and paying attention to whatever is happening here and now, and doing so without judgment. We do not try to push anything out of awareness or notice only what we consider good; instead of trying to control our experience, we accept it as it is.
This attention to what we are experiencing includes both external and internal experience. What happens internally includes, of course, thoughts and emotions, and we cannot “empty our minds” of all thoughts. The human brain generates lots of thoughts, and during mindfulness practice we notice and then let them go. We stay in the present moment by not letting them take hold of us and lead us into distraction. If I’m sitting in the woods and something occurs to me about an appointment tomorrow, I can notice that I’m having a thought and then bring myself back to where I am sitting among the trees. I will probably need to do that multiple times. When a person is just beginning mindfulness practice, they do this over and over again, and that is normal. With more experience, those thoughts may be less persistent.
People often think of mindfulness meditation as something that occurs while seated on a cushion in some quiet room. That is one way to practice mindfulness, but it also can be practiced while sitting in nature or while moving about – with that quality of stillness I mentioned earlier. The important things include staying in the present, aware of our experience. We try not to wind up spending our time on autopilot, lost in thoughts (or conversation).
An important strategy in mindfulness practice is paying attention to our breathing. The breath is always there, always available as a part of our experience in this moment. Focusing our awareness on each breath in and each breath out is a way of anchoring ourselves in the present. If we begin in this way for a few minutes, then we can shift our attention to everything else, such as clouds, water, the feel of the ground under our feet, and so on. When our minds begin to wander, we can bring our attention back to our breathing which anchors us in the present moment.
Typically, this breath awareness meditation involves breathing in a natural and comfortable way, noticing every sensation of air in our nostrils and throat, the expansion of our chest and abdomen. The in-breath fills our awareness with a cool rush of air through our nostrils and the expansion of our lungs. We might let our attention center on how our abdomen expands or any of the other sensations. Then with the out-breath we feel our abdomen and chest contract and the slightly warmed air leaving our nostrils. And every time our mind brings up other things, we take note of it with patience and the understanding that this is perfectly normal, and return our attention to our breath.
When we do this during an outing in nature, after focusing on breathing for a short time, we can move the focus of our attention outside ourselves to what is nearby. We notice sounds, smells and sights around us and then see what we notice further away. When our mind wanders, we gently bring it back to what is happening right now. If it will help, we can return to focusing on our breathing for a while.
The significance of this in a world in crisis
Most of us look around and we see a society in crisis. We look for what we can do to resist the destruction that threatens us, and our days can be full of watching, waiting, and worrying. I believe that we should remain engaged and informed and try to make things better, and yet if we become overwhelmed, we cannot do much good. It will help if we find time to be immersed in good things – people and places we love.
In his book, Peace is Every Step, the Zen master and mindfulness teacher Thich Nhat Hanh says that we should learn to ask, “What’s not wrong?”
There are so many elements in the world and within our bodies, feelings, perceptions, and consciousness that are wholesome, refreshing, and healing. If we block ourselves, if we stay in the prison of our sorrow, we will not be in touch with these healing elements. (p. 77)
We need these healing elements, even as we stay engaged in a world that needs our voices right now. We must not forget to visit what is not wrong, what we love, and what gives our lives meaning. We need each other, and that includes the other than human lives we find in nature. For me, being absorbed in the sound, sight, smell, and feel of the world around me, with attention focused on a spider’s web, sunlight filtered through leaves, the call and answer of nearby crows, and the color of a small cluster of mushrooms, is a lifeline. I think such things are lifelines for many of us.
A lot of parents hope that their kids will enjoy being outside and maybe even become “nature kids” – the kids that love the trees, water, grasses, bugs or birds, and may have familiar and beloved places in nature. Some other parents have kids who, on their own, have become interested in nature and love getting out. Such parents may be willing to support their child’s interest. I screwed up my first attempts, but have better ideas now that I’d like to tell you about.
Elijah, holding a green anole
Like many other parents, I hoped my son would enjoy being in nature and even be a partner with me in exploring the woods and creeks. All these years later, I understand some things better than I did then. What is wonderful to me may not be attractive or interesting to someone else. To share an experience or a place with someone, it is important to be tuned in to how they will experience it. These ideas will seem obvious to you, and thirty years ago those ideas – put into those words – would have been obvious to me, too. But sometimes I was blind to their meaning.
So here’s what I did that may have sunk any chances of my raising a nature kid. When he was five, I took my son to the creek that meant so much to me when I was growing up. He rode on my shoulders through the tall grass, and then we walked the limestone creek bed where water trickled and gathered in pools. I turned over a piece of wood to find a couple of plain-bellied water snakes hiding beneath. They are harmless, so I grabbed for them and caught one.
For someone with a serious interest in field herpetology, “harmless” means “this snake is going to bite you if you pick it up, but there is no venom and it only leaves scratches.” Others might not necessarily agree that “harmless” is the right word, but there it is. Geoffrey was not thinking the snake was harmless as it repeatedly bit my arm and drew blood. I got control of the snake’s movement and it stopped thrashing, and Geoff’s eyes were wide with fear. I was clueless enough to offer to let him touch the snake somewhere away from its head.
“No-o-o-o-o-o,” was the answer.
I hadn’t bothered to ask if he wanted to find a snake, and then had not paid attention to how he was responding when I did find one. I was very mis-attuned to my son and too focused on what was a wonderful experience for me and thus I thought surely would be for him. Geoff tells me that he would not have become a nature kid regardless, but I’m sure this experience did not help.
Maybe if I had talked with him before our walk to see what he would like to get out of it, or at least prepared him for how it might go if we found a snake. And maybe if he shrank back as I discussed it, I would know that it’s better to just walk around the creek and not look for snakes this time. You would think that my Master’s degree in psychology would have told me this.
At a later point in my career, I was trained in parent-child attachment relationships and a program called the “Circle of Security,” a way for parents to pursue attuned, secure attachment with their children. The “circle” is a graphic that shows us as the secure base from which the child goes out to explore and grow but also comes back in for reconnection and help.
Sarah, examining a pine cone at LBJ National Grasslands
Having a secure relationship with someone means we work to be reliable partners for each other, whether we’re a parent with a child, two close friends, or a married couple. We try to respond to each other’s emotional cues and act in the other person’s best interest, and when we screw up, we try to fix it. We can take delight in each other without being overly controlling, but we can also step in and be protective when needed. We wish we could succeed at this all of the time but we never perfect it. There are mistakes in the relationship from time to time, and what counts is how we repair it. The cycle of rupture and repair can strengthen relationships in ways that perfection probably could not.
Early research on attachment involved mothers and babies or very young children, but the themes follow us into adulthood. Our relationships, how we trust others, how we maintain (or don’t maintain) boundaries with others, and how we handle conflicts, tend to reflect to one degree or another how those early relationships worked. And so these ideas are very relevant to our parenting of school-aged children and beyond.
Much of the Circle of Security approach seems relevant to encouraging children to spend time in nature. We surely don’t want to make it a battle, as if to say, “You’re going to march right out there and hang out with the birds, or you’re grounded!” I don’t think it works out well to make it a chore, a sort of outdoor homework in which we say, “Stop having fun, it’s time for nature; and remember, there will be a quiz afterward.” No one would really say that, but you know what I mean.
So what can happen when we take children to the prairies and woodlands? We can support their exploration while watching over them, staying closer when they’re younger and giving them more independence and space when they are older. We can give help when it is needed and genuinely wanted, and also enjoy the experience with them. With Lilly’s earliest walks in the woods, I stayed very close but I generally followed her lead. When she stopped to play in the sand of the trail, I stopped with her. I’ve taken older kids who also wanted to play in soft sand, and I’m happy to stay nearby and watch that happen. Once I joined an elementary school-age girl who was throwing a few small branches and sticks into a pond and describing the results, in one case creating a small wave in the water “like an angel’s wing.”
Lilly on a walk in the woods
In Circle of Security terms, these are things that happen on the top half of the circle, when the child is playing under our watchful eye and sometimes needing us to delight in what they are doing. It doesn’t all have to be free play; we can and should offer ideas and help. We can engage kids in some structured activities or games while in nature. But it helps if some of that time in nature involves following the child’s lead, and if our time in nature feels like something that we create together.
Kelby shares a moment of discovery with her kids
What about the bottom half of the Circle of Security? That’s when the child needs to return to you for support, to take out that splinter or reassure them that the bee that’s buzzing around isn’t trying to attack. Or maybe when the younger child falls apart in frustration or the older child has a conflict with another child. It might be when she or he is getting near some place that could be dangerous, and we have to step in and set limits. In Circle of Security terms, it’s when the child needs us to welcome them, protect them or comfort them, and help them manage overwhelming feelings.
There are always hazards of some sort. Not long ago I stopped Lilly just before she walked into a patch of cactus. I took a group of people on a walk at sunset at LBJ National Grasslands (no young children on that walk). Copperheads are fairly common there, and I prepare folks accordingly and would set limits on risky things like walking around barefoot at such times. Coyotes began to yip and howl in the darkness, and a little reassurance was needed for one of the participants. These are all moments that occur on the bottom half of that circle, in which the other person wants to reconnect or needs help or limit-setting.
The helpful phrase that the program taught us was, “Always be bigger, stronger, wiser, and kind.” We are bigger and stronger in the protective sense – with four-year-old Lilly I will hold her hand as we cross an elevated walkway and would not let her fall. With young children it is also protective when, if necessary, we pick them up and move to a safer or quieter area in the middle of a tantrum. We also aim to be wiser in the sense that we decide when we can follow their lead and when it is necessary to step in and assume control. It takes wisdom and self-awareness to avoid using our strength just to “show them who’s boss.” And kindness is that crucial ingredient that can make the bigger and stronger part not frightening and (at least sometimes) not escalate emotions into a fight.
Taking kids out into nature needs the right blend of following the child’s lead, offering ideas, and making the outing a working partnership between adult and child. It also requires judgment and protectiveness on our part. If we can be a secure base for children, as described in the Circle of Security, and remember to be bigger, stronger, wiser, and kind, we will all benefit.
The weather lately is kind of a roller coaster. We’ve had some snow and ice, and last weekend the temperature out in the woods where I sat was 87 degrees. Maybe some wild weather is par for the course for North Texas, but as I wrote to nature kids, a warming climate makes it hard for the plants and animals to show up at the right times. What if flowers bloom before some of the pollinators arrive? What if some species become active but something they rely on for food, or nesting, or other critical function isn’t ready?
So I introduce the word phenology and the ideas behind it, not a lengthy discussion but just something to think about while enjoying a few unusually warm days in winter. Letters to Nature Kids is intended for older kids, teens, and adults, too. It’s a free download on the “Letters” page.
I published this post at Rainlilies.substack.com but wanted to make sure you could see it here.
I want to lead one or more groups for older children, walking through our woods and prairies, finding wonder, and feeling at home among trees and grasses. I have taken parents and children on walks like that, and I often lead groups of adults out into one or two of our nearby nature preserves. What is the attraction, for me and more importantly for the kids, in doing such a thing? Is there some benefit other than learning a couple of facts? And will kids want to go along on such walks?
Some of you will have read one or more of Richard Louv’s books (Last Child in the Woods and The Nature Principle are the ones I’m familiar with). If so, these questions and their possible answers are not new to you. Louv came up with the phrase “nature deficit disorder,” not as an actual diagnosis but as a way of talking about how children used to spend more time in nature and would benefit from doing that again now. I agree wholeheartedly.
I’ll offer myself as an example, and maybe I’m representative of how a lot of kids might benefit. In the 1960s, on most days during summer break I was at the creek or at a museum in Fort Worth. My parents took me to the museum for their “Natural History Club” because I had developed an interest in snakes. From there I was introduced to the creek and its harmless water snakes, ribbon snakes, turtles, frogs, bluegill sunfish … and the list could go on. I got acquainted with armadillos, spotted skunks, crayfish, and copperheads, with friendly guidance (and hands-off supervision with those copperheads) from John Preston and then Rick Pratt at the museum.
At the creek
And so I was outside in nature somewhere quite a bit, either on field trips with the museum or with friends in some nearby place. After a time, I felt most at home in the prairies, woods, and wetlands of North Texas. My home with my family was fine; I was not escaping from anything. It’s just that being outside in nature was familiar and felt safe and free with something new and fascinating around each bend in the trail. I knew how to wade or swim, where was safe to climb up a hillside and not fall, and how to investigate a hollow log or rock ledge without getting bitten or stung.
In other words, I became physically competent in those places, developed problem-solving and creative skills, experienced wonder, and had a few homes away from home that I could always count on, regardless of the ups and downs of school and society. Do those things seem important? They meant the world to me.
Some people would say that the world has changed so much that those experiences are now unworkable and maybe dangerous. And it is true that in the last fifty years, kids’ freedom to explore neighborhoods and parks on their own has been restricted by loving parents guarding against malignant strangers, traffic, and any number of hazards. Richard Louv makes the case, with logic and statistics, that we have overreacted. Others agree with him, but even if we wanted to return to the way it used to be, we’re not sure how much to ease up and still be responsible parents.
And so I would like to see kids have some supervised time in nature in which exploration and discovery can take place in a small group. It would not be freewheeling like some of my days at the creek, but more like the museum outings in which an adult could not only offer some guardrails but also help interpret and explain what we were finding among the trees, grasses, and ponds.
Texas spiny lizard on an oak tree
A growing number of studies have explored how time in nature benefits our bodies and minds. Many of them document lowered blood pressure and other cardiovascular benefits. Some show decreases in the stress hormone cortisol, and some document boosts to the immune system. Another gift from nature concerns how our attention systems can be restored. One group of researchers emphasizes how our executive attention, keeping us on task and dealing with multitasking, can become exhausted in today’s world. The kinds of experiences we have in nature turn out to be very good at letting that part of our attention system recover.
Further benefits have been documented in mood and stress. After walks in nature, people often experience improved mood and less ruminative thoughts (the angry, guilty, or shame-based thoughts that can get stuck in an endless loop). Anxiety may be diminished.
Such benefits are needed by a lot of our kids. A 2023 survey of kids in grades 9-12 showed 39.7% of those children with persistent sadness and hopelessness, and 20.4% had seriously considered suicide (this was a CDC study you can find here). That is, on average, one in five kids in those grades at some point thinking in a serious way about killing themselves. Another study found that between 2016 and 2020, there was an increase in anxiety and depression among kids up to age 17, as well as decreases in exercise and in the emotional well-being of parents. Those unfortunate trends with the children were occurring before the Covid pandemic began (this was in a JAMA Pediatrics study you can see here).
The benefits of nature are there for anyone, and may be especially helpful for those who struggle with stress, anxiety, or a number of other issues. I’m not suggesting it is a cure-all, and it’s no substitute for therapy when the issues are severe, but it can make a difference.
The walks I would like to lead for older kids, just like the other walks I currently lead, would not be offered as therapy. Their purpose would be to make a healthy life richer and fuller, and to make health challenges less likely.
Would kids want to go on such walks? To some extent it depends on kids’ comfort level when out in some place that is a little bit wild, and whether the walk includes fascination and active discovery. A lot would depend on children’s interests, preferences, and temperament. I’ll explore that question below.
Is Nature Boring?
After writing about my interest in taking older kids on nature walks, I said I wanted to follow up on was whether kids (or adults) would stay engaged and interested, or might they become bored. How do people maintain their interest and stay “present” to what nature offers? Let’s start by considering what nature does give to anyone who notices.
Every place in nature offers multiple levels of beauty and fascination, whether in the delicate, concentric rings of a shelf fungus, the color and structure of flowers, the call of a bird, or the flowing, muscular movement of a snake moving among rocks and fallen branches. Being fully present means noticing as much as we can and not being distracted by external things that can wait. When we bring knowledge and understanding to what we are experiencing, we may know that the fungus is helping return wood to the soil and that the color and shape of flowers is to attract pollinators like bees, wasps, and flies. One thing connects to another and another, and there is so much to imagine and think about.
Equally important, we can wonder about things that we don’t yet know. How can the snake coordinate movements to push forward and not just thrash around? Can all those pollinating insects see the flower’s color (and maybe some of the light spectrum that we cannot see, like ultraviolet)? Later, we look for answers that will add to our understanding.
Our adaptable brain
Does spending time in nature sound like a good idea except that it would be hard to stay focused and not get bored? If so, you (or your kids) would not be alone. We are a society of multitaskers and screen-watchers. We live at a time when working two jobs (just two?) may be necessary and our phones are with us everywhere we go. And our brain adapts to our habits and activities. If we live a life of constant input and multitasking, that builds a brain that expects it and even wants it.
Imagine all those neurons firing in response to rapidly shifting stimuli and a flood of information. And here’s an insight from neurology and psychology: “Neurons that fire together, wire together.” The parts of the brain that get lots of use become stronger, while areas that are not used a great deal have fewer connections. If our brain is wired for high stimulation, then in quieter times we may feel bored and restless, as if there’s not enough going on.
If you would like to be able to slow down when you are in the woods or at the pond, there is some good news – the brain can change in the other direction, too. The brain has the ability, called “brain plasticity,” to rewire itself in response to patterns of stimulation and activity. There are limits to this plasticity, but to some degree, our restlessness might begin to decrease if we practice being still and noticing things while in nature. A good strategy is to start small and easy, and find ways to make it enjoyable to notice things. Sometimes games like nature-based scavenger hunts may give kids or adults a structure for focusing on nature.
Attention
To talk about boredom we need to talk about what seems like its opposite – paying attention. When we notice something, choosing that thing to look at or listen to and letting everything else become background, we are paying attention to it. We may shift our attention often or we might stick with it for a while if we have a long enough attention span. There is some reason to think our attention spans are becoming shorter. I wonder if that is related to the fast-paced, multitasking lives I referred to above.
We can think of paying attention as a skill which develops during childhood. For example, by kindergarten age, most children can sit through fifteen minutes of circle time or listen to a couple of picture books, and by grades 4 or 5, they can usually spend between 30 and 60 minutes in homework (as reported in Dawson & Guare’s Smart but Scattered, 2009, Guilford). It is up to us to meet the child where s/he is for age and ability, and to encourage the child in a positive way.
Does it take effort to pay attention? Yes. Researchers describe two types of attention – one that requires effort to direct our attention and shut out distractions, sometimes called “executive attention,” and another that seems to respond pretty effortlessly to some things that are inherently interesting or attractive. Stephen Kaplan and his colleagues say that our executive or directed attention becomes exhausted and needs opportunities for recovery. Their research says that nature can play a role in this. What we experience among trees, water, sunsets, and such things offer what Kaplan calls “soft fascination.” That uses a kind of attention that is not particularly effortful and does not trigger the executive attention system to concentrate on something to the exclusion of other things.
Boredom
“Bored” can mean different things at different times. Sometimes “I’m bored” is what we say when we would like things to move faster in a more interesting way. At other times “bored” is probably about our preference for something different – “what’s going on is not what I wanted.” Boredom is a signal that we are not finding what is in front of us to be meaningful, and so we need to either change our surroundings or else see if we can discover meaning in our surroundings.
Sometimes a feeling of boredom is about brain chemistry. When we see something we like, or hear something interesting on television, or successfully respond to a challenge, our brain gets a little bit of dopamine, which feels good. If nothing is happening, maybe nothing is stimulating the release of this “feel good” neurotransmitter. Since dopamine is linked to pleasure and reward, when it gets low we may feel like nothing is fun, things seem gray and blah. At its worst, when we are stuck in boredom our mood may become depressed or irritable, we become impatient, and we might also feel slowed and drained of energy.
Is there anything at all good in being bored? Maybe. If we can respond to boredom by finding something meaningful and useful in our situation, we become better at coping with boredom. Lacking something to do may be a helpful trigger for us to learn to be flexible and creative. And that would suggest that we should not always rescue children from boredom. Maybe we can support them in finding other ways to respond to the surroundings that currently seem boring.
Temperament
Each person is a little different when it comes to their need for stimulation and activity. Some are more restless and become bored more easily than others. These qualities are, to one extent or another, part of who we are over the years. One person may be more adaptable while someone else is more rigid. We all know people who are outgoing and comfortable with some risk, just as we know people who are more inhibited and cautious. These things are part of our temperament. And so it’s not surprising that some people find it easier to sit quietly and take in their surroundings, while others seem to need shifting, high-energy stimulation or else they become bored.
Even these relatively stable traits can shift when the person is motivated and regularly engages in practices that can bring about change. A person who is ordinarily restless can become more comfortably still and quiet, at least to some extent. To work on this, it is best to start by choosing easier and shorter activities with lots of points of interest. If a parent tries to enforce more challenging activities as a required lesson, hoping the child will somehow shift from uncomfortable compliance to joyful engagement, they are likely to be disappointed. We have to start by meeting them where they are.
Emotions and trauma
A history of trauma, anxiety or depression sometimes makes it harder to be quiet and contemplative in nature. Being in a new place and simply taking in the experience might feel unsafe, like waiting for something to happen. Sometimes people feel that constant distractions help shut out troubling thoughts, and if they get quiet it opens the door to let all those worries and memories in. Such discomfort can also change with practice and time, but each person has to decide what their tolerance is and what support they need in order to venture into what might seem like unsafe territory.
In situations such as those, there is a need to consider whether psychotherapy can help. In my earlier post I mentioned that time in nature is very often helpful for depression and anxiety, but not necessarily a substitute for therapy. A person for whom trauma, depression, or anxiety are issues could think about how to create enough safety for nature to be the comfortable and secure refuge that it can be. Maybe it’s taking someone along for quiet companionship, or maybe it’s choosing the right spot, weather, and time of day.
The bottom line
Every person has a different level of comfort, interest, and motivation to do things that are quiet and involve paying attention. The capacity to pay attention (vs. experience boredom) changes with age and development, and it also varies according to the person’s inborn temperament. These things can change to one degree or another, especially if the person is motivated and they experience some success and enjoyment when they work on it.
Time spent in nature can help recharge our attentional abilities as well as lower stress, anxiety, and depression. However, it is important to respect a person’s interests and capabilities. I never want to take any child or adult on a walk if they don’t want to go or the demands of the walk will be higher than their ability to benefit from it.
I would like very much to hear your thoughts about this. Maybe you’re a parent or relative, or maybe you’re a kid with a point of view about what you like or do not like about nature. You can reply to this post and tell us what you think!
Our lives have taken a dark turn, bringing a foreboding that cannot be wished away with reassuring words. Our physical safety, health, economic security, community integrity, and the already unstable environment are threatened. As we work on the practical issues of taking care of ourselves and resisting what is coming, we may want to reach beyond ourselves for some sort of transcendence, to be part of something bigger and better than the mess we find ourselves in.
I’m not recommending that we check out and abandon the work that must be done to resist the oligarchy and the bullies and enablers that now constitute most of our government. I hope we will stand up against that which is wrong, support organizations and communities that remain committed to truth and democracy, and embody what we want to see around us (such as compassion, humility, and integrity). I will still visit the woods and prairies and try to be open to experiences of transcendence and spiritual renewal, but I also hope to do those other things.
How do we find strength and keep from getting swallowed up by what we are facing? One honest answer is “I don’t know,” but I’m thinking that it will involve reaching beyond our worries and things we use for distraction. And if we reach into the part of life that we refer to as “spiritual,” would we find strength or would we struggle too much with all the baggage that the word carries? Hopefully we could resolve the issues about religion and control that many of us think of first when that word comes up. Various religions have hijacked spirituality and confined it to the “right” beliefs, orthodoxy in our practices, and condemnation of others. A great deal of cruelty and killing have resulted, and many of us want no part in that.
But some do. For example, we hear about Christian Nationalism and those who want to rule in the name of Christianity. I’ll single out Christianity, knowing that the other Abrahamic religions could be part of this discussion, too. I have been dismayed to hear reports of self-identified “Christians” disavowing the Sermon on the Mount (including “blessed are the merciful” and “blessed are the peacemakers”) as being irrelevant now and too weak. It is revolting that the “Rod of Iron Ministries” venerates the AR-15 and has a compound in Texas preparing for war with the rest of us.
At the opposite end of the spectrum is the Episcopal Diocese of Washington (DC), where Bishop Mariann Budde spoke directly to Trump at a prayer service yesterday, saying:
“I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared. There are gay, lesbian, transgender children, Democratic, Republican, independent families — some who fear for their lives” … “I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away.”
Trump later asserted that she was “nasty” (another “nasty woman”) and should apologize. Given his penchant for revenge, I would say she was courageous. And her words were consistent with the teachings of Jesus – for anyone interested in exploring what he actually taught about love and compassion, I highly recommend Wendell Berry’s Blessed Are the Peacemakers, in which he pulled together the New Testament statements attributed to Jesus concerning these topics. In the Introduction, Berry said that Christianity was fashionable in the U.S., but “It seems to have remarkably little to do with the things that Jesus Christ actually taught.”
But back to the broader topic of spirituality. Definitions of “spirituality” include references to the sacred, to transcendence, reverence, awe, and seeking meaning and purpose, and being in the right relationship with everything that is. My source for these can be found at a webpage at the National Center for Cultural Competence.
If I look for experiences and activities that go beyond me as an individual human, that connect with something meaningful and enduring, perhaps I will be shielded a little bit from the hurts of the world even while staying engaged with that world. It might be finding and sharing beauty and harmony, responding to the needs of others, or participating in religious beliefs that are not a mask for power and greed. It might be understanding that I can be a part of a love that is bigger than individual people and even inclusive of all lives. Such spirituality might provide a sort of sanctuary, in the sense of a place of refuge and safety.
This post is also at “Rain Lilies,” a Substack that I started when I considered leaving the WordPress platform. While it was sitting unused but not deleted, my friend Dresden Graff (read what he writes at “Human and Learning” over there) recommended me to his readers. And that spurred me to write about Lilly’s and my walks in nature. I’m getting my thoughts together to possibly write a new book, this one for families of kids. I would talk about introducing kids to nature, supporting their nature interests, and I would draw on my psychology career to include some things about child development and how the human lives part of our lives in nature works. I may try out some ideas over at Rain Lilies, in case you’d like to have a look.
Tomorrow (January 17), I plan to take Lilly to the woods and the marsh. We took a walk there a couple of weeks ago, and she’d like to return and maybe see birds. On our last walk, we heard crows, and one of them flew in and loudly announced his presence from a nearby tree. What a wonderful, big black bird, like a druid of the woods with secret knowledge of who lives among the trees, some to welcome and others to chase away. Did he welcome Lilly and me? I don’t know, but I think Lilly welcomed him.
Lilly and I have been taking adventure walks since she was two, and now she is four. She loves climbing on boulders and looking at creatures we find. A little before her third birthday, she discovered a small, harmless DeKay’s brownsnake on the trail. She had nothing but gentle curiosity with this little animal, and with my guidance she was able to touch it and wish it good-bye as it disappeared into the leaves and grasses.
Lilly’s first snake – a DeKay’s brownsnake at Fort Worth Nature Center & Refuge
In that encounter, she embodied a significant issue for two-year-olds, as expressed by the famous psychoanalyst Erik Erikson as “holding on and letting go.” As they experiment with their increasing sense of what it is to have power, they may make demands, enjoy saying “no,” and become overwhelmed with the resulting emotion and have tantrums. Toddlers have to work out, with us big people, how to manage the impulse to be in charge of everything, to have and express choices while living within limits. A loving adult caregiver can be firm, yet reassuring, and help the child navigate the stage that Erikson called “autonomy vs. shame and doubt.”
Lilly seemed to get through that stage amazingly well, with a healthy wish to be independent along with an ability, most of the time, to negotiate shared control. She has what psychiatrists Chess and Thomas would describe as an easy temperament, meaning that she is pretty adaptable to changes and new situations, her mood is generally positive, she is active but not so much that it interferes with everyday situations, and so on. Child development researchers tell us that temperament styles are largely a part of who the child is (they are not taught by parents), though they can shift some with experience and parents can bring their own flexibility into play and work around some difficult temperament.
In one of our visits to Sheri Capehart Nature Preserve when she was still two, we looked at flowers of the tie vine (a kind of morning glory) where honeybees, bumblebees, and other bees were visiting. She was fearless but did not impulsively try to grab one (thankfully). We talked about just watching and not touching, and we had a good time. Her dad – my son Geoffrey – understands that the loving and careful grandpa is in charge of his own wild nature nerd impulses, and I’ve never brought her back with bee stings or other boo-boos. However, I encouraged and was proud of her fearlessness as we sat there.
Watching bees at Sheri Capehart Nature Preserve
As a three-year-old, we’ve been to a number of parks and preserves, and sometimes she would walk along the top of a series of small boulders, enjoying her physical ability and coordination (and being up there as tall as papa). She has spent plenty of time sitting in the trail drawing in the dirt with fingers or sticks. As the famous developmental psychologist Jean Piaget would tell us, the typical child at age 3 can think about things that are not present and talk about them or make drawings of them. Sometimes she may have been drawing herself, but there were also times that it might have been the turtles we saw earlier or a bird she wished to see. Drawing in the dirt is an imprecise thing, and I often could not tell.
Using a stick to draw, Oliver Nature Park
For Lilly, an adventure walk is a learning walk, but hopefully not because I’m turning it into “school.” I try to check myself if I start saying “…and that tree over there is an oak.” Better to follow her lead, and then I will throw in the name of something or ask a question we can both wonder about. If she almost steps into a cactus, I’ll help her stop and say a couple of things about it being “pokey” but also some animals do eat them. If she asks a question, I’ll try to answer it, but if she is ready to move on, I’ll go with that. (I did start a game at one point by saying, “Let’s see how many cacti we can see,” and she walked along noticing each one: “Cactus!”)
An adventure walk is also a way for us to learn about each other and share with each other. We get better at understanding each other’s likes, abilities, and attention spans. And we experience the delight of a pond, and ants following a path across the trail, or a crow fussing at us from a tree. We open each other’s eyes to wonderful things that we might have missed.
Being a guide for a child’s becoming acquainted with nature is a privilege to be honored and taken seriously. I’m enormously grateful. And I’m ready to see that crow tomorrow!
This is a short follow-up to yesterday’s post about Lilly’s and my adventure walks. As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, we went to Fort Worth Nature Center & Refuge today (January 17), so here’s what happened.
We arrived just after 2:00pm, when the clouds retreated and the sun warmed the afternoon. She had wanted to see birds, and we did see vultures as well as some sparrows (sorry, no specific ID) in the dead stalks and branches along the boardwalk. We wanted to get a photo of one of those turkey vultures, and I’m including one that Lilly took, with help with zoom and focus.
Lilly’s photo of a couple of turkey vultures
From a cloudy and cool morning, it was becoming a really wonderful day with beautiful clouds.
Looking east from the marsh boardwalk
We walked the trail eastward, and after a short walkway across a low area the trail climbs up a little, overlooking the marsh. Lilly had decided that we were pirates, and that I was to tell her “aye, aye, cap’n,” which of course I did. She runs a very egalitarian ship, trading off periodically and making me the captain.
At a high spot along the shore there is a bench, and we stopped and had a drink. She dug for buried treasure in the gravel, and came up with some caps from acorns. We drank candy from these acorn cups, as pirates always do, and she even spoke in a harsh pirate voice.
And so it was a great walk on a very nice day, and she noticed turkey vultures as well as greenbrier (she really doesn’t want to get scratched, so she kept calling out “greenbrier” when she would see one). A nice combination of natural history and pretend play!
Our Lives In Nature 