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.
An hour’s walk at Sheri Capehart Nature Preserve provided a few impressions of winter here in North Texas. We had sleet and snow three days ago. We laugh at ourselves about how we overreact to snow and ice although occasionally, like in February of 2021, it becomes deadly serious. Mostly we get a brief taste of snow and it seems to us that we’ve had a brush with glaciers and blizzards and we know the depths of winter.
A remnant of snow up on the bluff
It is always a delight to find a bird’s nest, even the loose arrangement of twigs and grasses I found today. When winter leaves the trees mostly bare, old bird nests are sometimes exposed even very close to the trail. Some time last year this would have been a concealed refuge where eggs could hatch and baby birds grow and, after a while, fledge. I’m drawn to these relics of avian architecture. The birds weave and knit with such skill, and find ways to incorporate so many materials – lichen, moss, hair – so that I’m reminded of woodland faeries. And yet I don’t know why I should go to myths and stories when the birds are miracle enough.
Maybe another reason to be drawn to birds’ nests is how they resonate with our own efforts to bring a new generation into the world. The birds prepare and so do we; once the young hatch they are constantly busy feeding them, and we can relate to that. The young of both species go through an ungainly adolescence, partly feathered and awkward. And learning to fly is stressful, but our hopes are pinned on that day when they fledge and fly off into the world successfully. I hope that the ragged nest I saw today has such a story attached to it.
Wherever those birds are now, apparently it was not at the preserve, or maybe an hour in mid afternoon wasn’t the best time to see and hear them. The sounds today came from the surrounding traffic. Neither my ears (with high mileage and wear, not the most sensitive instruments) nor the Merlin app detected any.
My eyes saw the remnant ice and my skin felt the cold, not that friends and family in Minnesota, Illinois, and Colorado would agree that it was really cold. My thermometer, placed in the shade while I wrote in my journal, dropped degree by gradual degree until reaching 55.5F. Not exactly the arctic.
But at some point during the walk through bright sunshine and shadow, past little patches of remnant snow, I had a momentary recollection of being a kid outside in a Colorado winter, with a cold breeze stinging my skin a little. Up there, at the end of the 1950s I remember two- and three-foot snowfall and I also remember how bright a winter day can be, especially when reflected off of all that snow.
The darkened, mottled leaf of saw greenbrier rimmed with those little spines along the edge
There was one more small thing. Greenbrier is a thorny vine that grows commonly on the preserve, and the name I’ve heard for this one is “saw greenbrier.” While I haven’t seen an explanation, I’ve thought that the name might refer to the little spines all along the leaf edges, like a saw blade (but perhaps it’s something else).
Greenbrier leaves are usually mottled, and in winter the leaf may become dark and purplish while the mottled areas remain green. It occurred to me that each leaf was a small bit of abstract art, and that we could let our imaginations go and see if the patterns suggest something, sort of like Rorschach ink blots. Go ahead, see what comes to you when you look at the pattern. I love the way it splatters out from the central vein.
Just an hour in a place that offers wonder after wonder, in all seasons.
I recently wrote about our fears of nature, whether it involves spiders, snakes, or whatever. I mentioned that sometimes a fear gets triggered by an actual negative experience in nature, like being stung or spraining an ankle (or more uncommon events like venomous snakebite). Before discussing what to do about fears, we need to discuss actually staying safe.
As I put ideas together into a list, I was thinking of children exploring in the woods or at a creek, and the sort of guardrails that would keep them safe. But really, the ideas pertain to adults, too. Some items – like taking an adult along – are more obviously for children. Even there, the general idea of not going alone and letting someone know where you will be applies to all of us.
Following the road further into nature
I go out on my own quite often to nearby nature centers and to the LBJ National Grasslands (about an hour away), so am I being hypocritical when I suggest “not going alone”? Would some things on my list involve hovering and overprotecting children? There has been a lot of commentary about how overprotecting our kids deprives them of self-reliance and makes them anxious. A couple of sources to check out are here and here. In Last Child in the Woods, Richard Louv writes about how our concern for children’s safety can get the better of us (see the chapter titled, “The Bogeyman Syndrome Redux”).
As always, we have to weigh the issues and consider the needs of the particular person when thinking about safety. What I’ve done is to list some guidelines and then add a couple of “on the other hand…” comments.
Go together, not alone
If children want to walk to a nearby pond or nature preserve, they should talk it over with a parent or other responsible adult. The adult might say that they have to accompany the children or might set some boundaries concerning how far or how long. It is also good for two or three children to go together rather than one alone. An adult who is going on an outing has much more discretion, but it’s still a good idea to let someone know where we will be and when we plan to return, and maybe go with a partner. The wilder or further away the destination, the stronger my recommendation.
On the other hand, we can all benefit from opportunities for solitude, and being by ourselves in nature can be wonderful, even for a short time. Among those benefits are self-confidence and self-reliance. Parents should always consider the age and abilities of any child and might want to start with just a little independence while out in nature.
Don’t show off or be a daredevil
That is, don’t focus on how impressed others will be or how you can get a laugh, focus on doing something well and safely. Find a better reason to stand out in a crowd. For example, a great many venomous snake bites occur because someone was doing something foolhardy (out in the field, on YouTube videos, or at rattlesnake roundups).
On the other hand … well, there’s not much “other hand” here, just don’t. You can find safe ways to challenge your abilities and do exciting things. Climbing a rocky hillside or wading a creek with a strong current are examples of putting your abilities to the test. Such skills can be built gradually and carefully.
Pay attention to your surroundings
This could be a plug for mindfulness, for being in the present and not walking along on autopilot or while distracted. If we’re not paying attention we might miss a drop off ahead, poison ivy growing at the edge of the trail, a strange dog sizing us up, or a wasp nest where we were about to reach. Not only that, we would miss interesting and beautiful things along the way. Being “lost” in conversation is not a great way to spend time in the woods.
On the other hand, who but a Grinch would tell you that you can’t talk with a friend on a walk? Or check the weather on your phone? As much as I love practicing mindfulness in nature, we should also be able to do other things. I suggest that we practice shifting attention back and forth, between the path and our friend, the trees and our phone. Think of it like driving and keep an eye on the road.
Don’t put your hands (or feet) where you cannot see
A centipede under a log
If you see something you want to examine on the woodland floor, or you would like to look for mushrooms, insects, or other things under a log, watch where you put your hands. In the last post, I talked about a time when I was a child and reached down a hole and brought up a tarantula. That’s a good example of why you should not put your hands (or feet) in some hidden spot. Walking barefoot at night, unable to see where you are stepping, occasionally results in a snake bite. Use a flashlight, and don’t reach under that log with your fingers.
On the other hand, find ways to explore safely and have fun. Probe under things with a stick or position yourself where you can see, and then take a look at what’s under the log.
Don’t touch wildlife or approach too close
A person who is learning about snakes and finds a pretty one out in the field may be tempted to assume it is harmless and pick it up. Most snakes are not venomous, but the cost of a mistake can be high. People who think of deer as cute (not saying they aren’t!) might approach one too close if it doesn’t run off. Aggressive behavior from white-tailed deer happens from time to time, so give Bambi some distance. I should add here that we should have at least as much caution around strange dogs. We can still observe wildlife, learn about them and enjoy them, from a safe distance. Knowing what that distance is depends on the kind of animal, how it is behaving, and the surroundings we are in. Expert guidance is needed here.
On the other hand, catching grasshoppers and frogs is one way to feed a child’s (and our) sense of wonder and curiosity. My own journey as a naturalist and nature writer was launched when I was about ten years old and we caught dragonflies and garter snakes. It seems silly to argue that no kid should ever catch a crayfish or pick up and examine a toad, but I believe a knowledgeable parent or nature educator should provide guidance and set limits.
Bring water and dress appropriately outside
Here in Texas, everyone hears warnings about the weather. In the spring we watch for storm fronts with the risk of tornados, lightning, and hail. In the summer we make sure to drink water and avoid heat exhaustion or heat stroke. Even walking a nature preserve for an hour or so, I encourage people to bring water, especially in summer. With kids we have to remember that smaller bodies overheat or lose heat more quickly than big bodies, so taking breaks and getting into shade is important in summer and extra protective clothing may be needed in winter. We also need to think about clothes that help protect from thorns and rocky terrain. Hiking boots or sturdy shoes are recommended.
On the other hand, depending on what we’re doing and whether we are using sunscreen, shorts can feel great on a walk outside. Just avoid the poison ivy and bull nettle in places where they are common. Flip-flops or barefoot ought to be OK sometimes, too, if we do a scan for cacti, stickers, and half-buried trash like broken bottles.
One additional thing: The more we know (like recognizing kinds of plants and animals and knowing the behavior of local wildlife), the safer we will be. And the more rewarding our time in nature will be. That’s not to say that we have to be experts to enjoy nature, but it is good to have some level of “nature literacy.” If we visited another country, it makes sense that being somewhat literate in the culture, language and geography of that country would be an advantage. We need to be able to read a few signs, understand what someone says to us, and know the places where we might run into trouble. In the same way, basic knowledge about wild places will help us know what to expect and how to interact with the lives we will encounter in those places.
I’ve given a number of talks to groups of kids after being asked to help with their fear of snakes. Even when addressing fear was not the primary reason for the talk, the adults may reason that knowledge and experience will inoculate the kids against fear and will feed the experience of curiosity and wonder in place of fear. Those are wonderful reasons for me to pack up some snakes and a few pictures and go talk with the kids and the adults. Knowledge will help counteract fear, but experience is what works the real magic, and that’s true for any of the phobias of critters in nature and for the general fear of nature that some people have.
We live almost all our days surrounded by our own stuff, our technology and built structures, and our lives become more and more separate from nature. Food and water are treated more like commodities, and even the air is conditioned and filtered. And so, wild places may feel dangerous or unappealing and wildlife may seem more frightening. Fears of various things in nature (collectively referred to as biophobia) become more prevalent. A vicious cycle sets in. As nature becomes more unfamiliar and threatening, our fear or disgust makes us avoid the experiences which might counteract the fears. The “extinction of experience” robs us of the sense of being at home among our non-human kin.
I’m not naive; I recognize that there are dangers in nature just like there are dangers in our homes, neighborhoods and on our freeways. Some of the snakes that I love to observe or photograph are dangerously venomous, especially when we accidentally get too close or try to show off with them. But most people are not bitten, especially when equipped with a little knowledge and common sense.
A black-tailed rattlesnake photographed by Meghan Cassidy during our trip to the Big Bend while working on a book on mindfulness in nature. The snake is venomous but we negotiated our encounter with each other well, and the snake never attempted to bite.
Coyotes are among the wildlife that people tend to assume are dangerous. A 2009 study searched for reports across the U.S. over a 46 year period and found 142 attacks during that time (with attacks defined as encounters in which a person was bitten). Very few of those occurred here in Texas. Some (30%) were related to coyotes that had been fed by people, accidentally or intentionally. Steps for staying safe around coyotes include not feeding them, limiting the outdoor activity of pets like small dogs, and not running from them (triggering a built-in tendency to chase). To keep it in perspective, the reported dog bite fatalities (not just attacks) from 2020-2022 ranged from 47 to 56 per year. We are in much greater danger from dogs than we are from coyotes.
The idea that we are in greater danger from the things most familiar to us, like our cars (one reportable car crash every 57 seconds in Texas in 2021) or our dogs, is a hard sell for most folks. That is because we are around them all the time, and our experience is usually safe and rewarding. We adults understand intellectually that cars, dogs, household chemicals, electricity, and so on can be dangerous. We do what we can to make the risk manageable and continue to enjoy the benefits. Being careful does not mean that accidents are impossible, but even though there is some chance of accidents, we are not afraid.
Here are some reasons why so many of us are afraid of things in nature:
Limited contact
We are comfortable with what is familiar. A strange place in nature, or certain things in natural spaces, may feel foreign and unpredictable. We don’t know what that bug might do, nor do we know if the coyote howls and yelps might mean they are hunting us down, and so we keep away from contact with those things, thus guaranteeing that we will not have experiences that might teach us what is realistic. Additionally, many people live in cities with no nearby natural spaces and limited transportation, and so they miss out on walks in the woods and encounters with wild things.
Not knowing what to do
Many people would not know what to do in a wetland, prairie, or woods. If they visit, they may bring with them the things they know from everyday life, like listening on headphones, chatting on the phone, riding bicycles or off-road vehicles. I do realize that some people know their way around the woods and still enjoy listening to music or bicycling, but I imagine that there are others who would be bored and lost in nature without gadgets and vehicles. Many people do not know the names of plants or animals and what they do, and would be uncomfortable finding their way through the woods or across a creek.
The culture often teaches fear
Our minds are wired to look for danger, and sometimes we enjoy the thrill of finding it or hearing about it. And so we tell each other stories of the time an uncle killed a big snake or we went camping and were frightened by sounds in the night. We watch movies about bear attacks, snakes loose on an airplane, werewolves, bats that want to suck our blood, and on and on. We warn each other or see overblown news reports of killer spiders or murder hornets. Our culture portrays nature as full of danger, and unless we get out there and discover that nature is mostly safe, we become fearful.
Actual negative experiences in nature
Sometimes we become afraid of something in nature because we actually did have something bad happen there, like a near-drowning incident or being stung by a jellyfish on the beach. At other times, being startled or surprised will trigger fear. As an eight-year-old child, I reached into a hole and felt something soft. Cupping my hand around it, I slowly removed it and discovered a tarantula, triggering a phobia that was pretty severe for the next couple of years (despite the fact that the tarantula kindly refrained from biting the invader to its home). Only after I developed other interests in nature and as a result began to have safe, incidental encounters with spiders and their webs did the fear gradually subside.
Possibly inherited predisposition
Could it be that some of us are just put together that way? It is true that some of us have a greater general predisposition to being fearful, and part of that appears to be genetic. And do we inherit fears of snakes and spiders? There are some studies that give at least a guarded answer of “yes,” such as one in which babies (too young for culture or experience to be a factor) were shown pictures of various animals and their pupillary reactions revealed that they react to spiders – and to some extent snakes – in a more anxiety-related way than their reactions to other pictures.
An orb-weaving spider at Dogwood Canyon Audubon Center
Since time spent in nature provides us a great deal of benefit (here is a review that sorts some of these benefits based on our senses: vision, hearing, smell, etc.), giving people the tools to decrease fears of nature would be a very helpful thing. We can do something about several of the issues I listed above. What if we helped people – particularly children – have more contact with nature in enjoyable ways that could contribute to exploration, safety, discovery, and wonder? I plan to write more about that in this space, so I hope you’ll check back or subscribe so that new posts are emailed to you.
I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday, however you celebrate it. We’ll be sticking close, avoiding traffic, and getting together with family. I’ve recently been walking at Sheri Capehart Nature Preserve and Fort Worth Nature Center & Refuge (FWNCR), and wrote a “Letter to Nature Kids” (See December, 2024 End of Autumn) about those walks and some of the birds and other wonders I saw.
If you can, I hope you can take a walk that is as wonderful as mine yesterday at FWNCR. “It was a day at the edge of winter, getting late in the afternoon. A crow’s call echoed through the woods and a few dragonflies flew low around the edge of the grasslands. Other than that, this place felt like it could be sleeping – still, quiet and peaceful. We all need to sit quietly in a place like that sometimes, don’t we?”
Sitting in a preserve writing in my notebook, I wondered about the point of “all this wandering and writing, taking small groups out to learn about or experience nature. While much of the world is falling apart, I hold myself to an expectation of doing something.” What actions are needed? What might contribute something worthwhile? What can I do, and what should I do? How can we work together to sustain the good in society and in nature?
The goals of the incoming administration appear to be to instill fear and division, seek out loyalty and punish perceived enemies, dismantle the rule of law (and the assumption that it applies equally to all) and consolidate unrestrained power and wealth. The plan is evidently to take a wrecking ball to anything in the government and society that interferes with achieving those goals, and collateral damage is perfectly fine.
With that context, what good is finding places in nature for immersion in prairies, woodlands, water, “brother sun and sister moon,” other than an escape? Can my response to our troubles be to keep on living a relatively privileged life, looking for beauty and a connection to creation, keeping my distance from the losses taking place around me? If we want to have meaningful lives that reflect our values, this is certainly a time for self-examination.
We need each other
As individuals we figure out who we are and what we will do, but much of what we can do is in the context of partnerships, teams, and groups. One strategy for the coming years should be to take care of those connections with others. They keep us sane and healthy, and they help us accomplish things.
It was once easier to be more connected to other people, sustaining real face-to-face relationships as part of neighborhoods or networks of friends. Some of the social institutions were deeply flawed, but one way or another we kept getting together with each other. Increasingly, we spend our time in the bubbles that surround our smart phones, and social institutions are being supplanted by social media.
The importance of actually being present with each other is hard to ignore. So much of human connection and communication involves responding to each other’s posture, facial expression, voice volume and inflection, the flow and timing of our words and bodies. It is intricate, marvelous, and much of it happens out of our awareness. And not much of it can happen in the lines of a text message or Facebook post. You can look at some of the research and professional opinions here and here.
We are more powerless when we are isolated and mistrustful
When is the last time you were in a group of people with a common purpose or intention? Maybe it was a small gathering, or perhaps it was a big group, either listening to each other, celebrating, or something else. There may have been some sense of coming together as one, perhaps a feeling of the group being more than just the sum of the parts. There is an important Surgeon General report on the need for social connection and the epidemic of loneliness we are experiencing that is worth reading, even for us introverts. Our society is ever more fragmented and isolated, leading to real risks for our physical and mental health.
And so I think that taking care of our connections with other humans is as important as the care we give to our connection with the rest of nature. It is together with each other that we have the best shot at defending our favorite woodland, our friends, marginalized neighbors, and a society in which justice and empathy can still be found. When we cannot be together physically, I’m grateful for tools like Zoom and FaceTime that allow the next best thing.
And we need to pay attention to important teachers. Among the first people I think of is Robin Wall Kimmerer, a botanist and professor as well as a member of the Potawatomi Nation. Her new book, The Serviceberry, revisits and extends her thoughts about how relationships work in nature and how that is a useful model for humans. Serviceberries, corn, trout, cedar waxwings – living things in nature provide their gifts and receive benefits in return. Relationships are reciprocal, and, as she writes, “all flourishing is mutual.”
In The Serviceberry, she compares capitalism based on exploitation and scarcity with the gift economy that is prevalent in nature and in some indigenous societies and small communities. “I share what I have with you, and there will come a time when you share with me.” In such ways are relationships of trust and care built, and we all can flourish. It’s a good way of being human, and good business, too. Kimmerer talks about Native American communities in which prestige is based on giving gifts to community members, rather than hoarding wealth.
It is challenging – but important – to be an advocate for and an example of generosity, gratitude, and reciprocity. I’m willing to bet that those qualities, applied to ourselves and our social and natural communities, are the best way forward. Kimmerer teaches us that in nature the energy that drives the system comes from the sun, warming everything, driving the weather, and powering the photosynthesis through which plants make food. She suggests that love is the analogous source of energy that empowers human interactions and communities.
So if there is a reason to be less isolated, this is it. The contribution that I can offer is mostly to try, as I wrote on that day in the preserve, to “bring people more into a relationship with nature,” and hopefully “strengthen a sense of belonging or a sense of being part of a community of life. Perhaps less self-focused, less likely to use the world rapaciously, maybe. We need ways of being less acquisitive, more a part of something.” Maybe there is more; my self-examination is not over, but here is what I know best.
I want to participate in a community of people attuned to each other and to nature. I think such a community would pay attention to the lessons Kimmerer describes. It would seek ways to live that are not centered on power, dominance, and wealth. I think that’s essential to trying to defend democracy and a just society, along with protecting the natural world that makes such things possible.
Our Lives In Nature 