How Kids Learn Kinship and Care for Nature Outdoors
Springtime brings a wondrous awakening to the traditional and treaty lands of the Mississaugas of the Credit, where young children, Anishinaabe storytellers, and dedicated educators walk together side by side. Immersed in the vibrant beauty of Aki, which means Land, and Nibi, which means Water, they discover the intricate web of life that sustains our shared ecosystem. As a researcher and professor of early childhood education with French-Hungarian heritage living as a guest in Tkaronto, also known as Toronto, I have the profound privilege of exploring these dynamic connections. My journey centers around children’s land-based learning within a wonderful children’s forest nature program nestled in the Humber Arboretum, located in the west Humber River Valley. Through these immersive outdoor experiences, young learners cultivate a deep, intuitive ecological awareness that bridges human curiosity with the flourishing natural world around them.
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Traditional outdoor education programs have long championed the immense value of connecting children with nature to foster environmental consciousness and wonder. However, my early experiences engaging in outdoor learning opened my eyes to an even deeper, more transformative possibility for our youngest generations. This realization grew in conjunction with the Truth and Reconciliation Commission's Calls to Action, which emphasize fostering profound respect for Indigenous knowledge and worldviews among all students. By striving to develop culturally appropriate early childhood education programs for Indigenous families, a compelling question began to take root in my mind. What if outdoor play does much more than simply build fond memories of fresh air, serving instead to teach children how to live in active kinship with the natural world?
During our early spring walks across the awakening landscape, the forest resonates with the cheerful calls of returning red-winged blackbirds and the steady croaks of green frogs that have slumbered through the winter. We pause to observe industrious buzzing bees landing delicately on bright yellow dandelions, which proudly stand among the very first flowers to bloom in the spring. Through these mindful moments of shared observation, children and adults alike receive the boundless gifts offered generously by Mother Earth. We also absorb these invaluable lessons through powerful oral traditions, as Anishinaabe participants remind us that the songs of birds and frogs are literally singing the land and waters awake from their winter rest. As an educator, I delight in sharing with the children that dandelions serve as an essential first food source for emerging native bees, acting as vital pollinators that help countless other flowers blossom and thrive.
Happiness depends upon ourselves. – Aristotle
When I gently invite the children to pause and wonder about the mutual relationship between the flower and the insect, profound realizations naturally unfold. I often pose a gentle question to the group, asking what valuable wisdom the dandelion and the bee might be teaching us through their daily interactions. On one memorable afternoon, as a child instinctively reached out to pluck a bright yellow dandelion from the earth, their peers immediately stepped forward with gentle words of discouragement. Remembering previous walks, shared stories, and thoughtful group discussions, they reminded their friend that these blossoms belong to the insects as their essential first juice of the season. True to their growing understanding, the dandelion was left completely untouched, representing a conscious choice, a practiced ethic, and a beautiful way of being in respectful relation with other living beings. Moments just like this one became the radiant heartbeat of my ongoing academic research, which focuses on early childhood pedagogy that honors children's play within natural and outdoor spaces.
Rather than merely asking what academic or physical skills children might acquire while playing outdoors, my focus shifted toward examining the profound responsibilities that naturally emerge through authentic relationships with the more-than-human world. As we returned day after day to the rich ecosystems of the arboretum, children, educators, and storytellers continually revisited the touching encounters shared between dandelions and bees. Together, we uncovered novel, imaginative ways of caring deeply for the specific places and the diverse living beings that inhabit our shared environment. The children naturally gravitated toward discovering fallen sticks, textured acorns, and empty snail shells scattered across the forest floor, viewing them as treasures of the woodland. In the vocabulary of early childhood education, materials that children handle, manipulate, and incorporate into their games are affectionately known as loose parts. As youngsters eagerly collect, contain, group, and transport these natural loose parts, they intuitively explore foundational concepts concerning spatial awareness, physical movement, and interpersonal relationships through imaginative play.
These exact same joyful explorations unfolded every single day beneath the protective canopy of the Humber Arboretum, bridging play with ecological mindfulness. Naturally, children often feel a strong impulse to carry their cherished woodland collections completely out of the arboretum and back into their everyday environments. Sometimes, these exact same outdoor sticks, intriguing rocks, and pine cones are repurposed as loose parts for indoor classroom play or creative art projects. Without any negative intentions whatsoever, it remains remarkably easy for humans to forget that these woodland items are already active participants in ongoing, localized ecological relationships. Walking gently upon the land while embracing Indigenous perspectives invites all of us to ask vastly different, more thoughtful questions regarding how we engage with outdoor spaces and loose parts. We must pause to reflect on whether we should leave certain sticks exactly where we found them, who might truly need those materials for survival, and whether those items actually belong to someone else in the forest.
A humble fallen stick left undisturbed on the damp earth eventually transforms into a vital protective shelter for countless hardworking insects navigating the forest floor. Similarly, a seemingly empty snail shell provides necessary calcium for deer navigating harsh winter conditions or serves as a cozy nesting home for native bees during the spring thaw. As children actively debate among themselves whether a specific dandelion, stick, or snail shell should leave the forest, or courageously choose to return what they have temporarily taken, they are learning the art of reciprocity. Instead of viewing these natural materials merely as passive resources meant to be collected, consumed, and discarded, we all begin to perceive them as generous gifts. Every single item belongs to an intricate, living web of relationships that sustains the entire ecosystem, demanding our utmost respect and attention. These sacred gifts naturally invite deep gratitude, attentive care, and meaningful reciprocity, gently encouraging us to ask ourselves what responsibilities come with receiving such a blessing and how we can properly express our gratitude.
Existing research strongly suggests that children internalize these profound understandings about the natural world, seamlessly carrying them back into their homes, families, and wider residential communities. They actively encourage their astonished parents and neighbors to refrain from aggressively mowing or weeding dandelions until the bright yellow flowers naturally transition into delicate, feathery seed heads. Robin Kimmerer, a respected Potawatomi professor of environmental biology, teaches us that true gratitude often manifests as honorable harvesting, such as gathering only a few echinacea petals for tea while leaving the vast majority to feed hungry pollinators. This mindful practice involves asking permission before taking, offering heartfelt thanks, and generously sharing the abundance with the surrounding ecosystem. Within our educational program, these precious gifts from nature often blossom into temporary, beautiful works of art that eventually return to the forest floor to continue their own stories. Practicing reciprocity is never an abstract or complicated idea; even very young children can intuitively begin to respect and care for the living world through consistent, everyday experiences.
As a non-Indigenous researcher and professor of early childhood education, I have come to deeply understand these transformative experiences through the guiding lens of Etuaptmumk, which translates to Two-Eyed Seeing. Generously shared by Mi'kmaw Elder Albert Marshall, this magnificent gift of holding multiple perspectives invites us to weave Indigenous ways of knowing together with other worldviews for the collective benefit of all beings. Plants, animals, and other-than-human entities are not background scenery, but rather cherished members of our shared global family and community. This inclusive perspective holds vital importance during an era when global biodiversity, particularly concerning pollinators and essential insects, faces alarming declines driven primarily by extractive human mindsets. When society treats the natural world purely as an infinite resource rather than an intricate relationship, ecological balance suffers immensely. Embracing Elder Marshall's teachings of menaraj pemwije'tul'tik, meaning to walk together gently, invites all of us to live our daily lives with intentionality, deep humility, and profound care for every living entity, down to the smallest insect.
This heartwarming cultural and ecological shift always begins by thoughtfully rethinking our day-to-day relationships with children, families, local communities, and the majestic natural world that surrounds us. Increasingly, modern early childhood education is successfully championing this vital work as a meaningful component of ongoing reconciliation efforts across the educational landscape. It gracefully encourages educators to embrace co-learning models in close, respectful partnership with Indigenous communities while honoring diverse cultural ways of knowing and being. While educators must always prioritize ethical, reciprocal methods when building relationships with Indigenous knowledge keepers, nurturing a child's natural kinship with the environment does not require specialized wilderness equipment or exclusive natural reserves. Every single everyday encounter matters immensely, whether we are planting vibrant pollinator gardens, observing backyard snails, or playing joyfully in the rain. These accessible, beautiful moments remind us that acknowledging the Land is never merely a statement we recite, but a vibrant reality we actively live through authentic relationships and acknowledged responsibilities. Ultimately, learning alongside dandelions, bees, and the simple gifts of nature inspires us to look beyond human-centered utility and embrace a profound, lifelong ethic of care.
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