earth-path

Attention Is the Beginning of Devotion: My Family’s Journey with Earth Path

Wed, 20 Aug 2025 15:14:39 GMT

In the spring of 2021, we were in the midst of a COVID-19 lockdown. Again.

My three school-aged children were back to learning virtually, while my husband was also working from home, all within the confines of our little townhouse. Meanwhile, my youngest daughter had just turned two, and part of me was deeply mourning the loss of what was supposed to have been a special time for just her and me. My last baby, my last chance to do all of the things I had done with my other three: playgroups, swim lessons, museum visits, neighbourhood walks, or simply being at home together. Part of me loved having my whole family home, but the uncertainty, worry, and mourning what could have been — these feelings lingered, too.

Around this time, I stumbled upon a post in a Facebook group announcing that a local nature school still had space in its fall toddler program. This was the first time I’d ever heard of Earth Path, but within five minutes of clicking the link, I had enrolled my daughter and I into their Oaks and Acorns program for the fall semester. I remember thinking to myself that this was something that could be ours . That no matter what was happening in the world, we’d have this one morning a week together out in the forest. I was so excited.

I will never forget pulling into the parking lot on that first day. I was admittedly a bit nervous, and really had no idea what to expect. But when Nikki and Brent arrived to the designated meeting spot dressed in whimsical animal onesies, I was immediately charmed. A little while later, they brought us to a cozy spot near a meadow, where Nikki led us in a song and Brent led a round of gratitude. I could feel my heart lightening by the minute. That first morning we explored and frolicked, played in the dirt, stopped to look at flowers and bugs, listened to the birds, and tasted crab apples. My daughter and I went home filled with stories and excitement, and I knew that I had made a very good decision.

As the seasons went on, my daughter and I looked forward to Tuesday mornings, wondering aloud what we would do or learn or see that week. And each week brought something new to marvel at: mushrooms that looked like tiny umbrellas, snails on a rainy day, warm campfires to eat around, cozy shelters among the pines, snowy hills to slide down, mud puddles and dirt piles, fallen logs that became balance beams, a frog pond to wade in, colourful leaves to shape into a mandala, chickadees that would eat from our hand. We played games, sang songs, and shared stories. We learned about animal tracks and bird calls and plants we could eat.

Somewhere along the way, I realized that this program had done everything I had hoped it would do for my daughter, and more. She was making friends, learning through play and exploration, and spending time outdoors in all kinds of weather. She was becoming adventurous and resilient, and having her natural curiosities celebrated.

Beyond all of that, however, I realized that this program was doing just as much for me. I suddenly found myself stopping to listen to the birds outside my house, trying to figure out if it was a companion call or an alarm call, and what kind of bird was that, anyway? I found myself paying attention as I walked through the woods, on the lookout for wood sorrel, now that I knew it was as delicious as it was beautiful. I found myself telling stories at the dinner table about how plantain can save your life, or teaching my kids songs about skunks and the beauty of rainy days.

My daughter and I did two full years in the Oaks and Acorns program, and I hold those memories among the most dear. I can look through my photos from Earth Path and literally see her grow from a tiny two-year-old who had spent most of her life in COVID lockdowns, to a brave and confident four-year-old, running through the woods, sitting high in a tree, or watching a slimy snail inch along her palm.

She is six now, and she can still tell you that the mushroom growing on that tree stump is called turkey tail, or that plantain can help soothe your mosquito bite, or that a chickadee’s song sounds like “cheeseburger!” What I cherish most of all, though, is the way she genuinely connects with nature. She remains curious and resilient, filled with questions and awe, always stopping to point out a feather, a bird’s nest, or — her favourite — a mushroom. No matter the season or the weather, she is happiest outside, ready to frolic, explore, and climb. She is a self-proclaimed “nature girl” and I hope it never changes.

And as for me, well, I simply wasn’t ready to leave behind the place that had brought so much goodness and beauty to my life. I applied to be a supply staff member, which led to me becoming a nature educator, where I’ve been mentored by some amazing educators who are infinitely generous with their knowledge and skills. I’ve also been fortunate enough to attend Earth Path’s Adult Wilderness Skills Program, allowing me to practice a variety of naturalist learnings and survival skills, from fire making and shelter building to wildlife tracking and plant identification.

There is something infinitely satisfying about reconnecting with our ancestral skills and knowledge. Collecting materials for a fire, and knowing how to build and feed it. Bending and weaving rods of willow into a beautiful basket. Sitting alone on a ridge and mapping all of the bird sounds, writing the story of the forest. Foraging and eating wild edibles. Holding strands of bark in your fingers, twisting and folding it into cordage. Practices like these have become commonplace in my life, thanks to Earth Path.

Beyond all of the skills and knowledge, though, Earth Path has gifted me with something else. The connection I now feel to all of this — the earth, the trees, the creatures great and small, the history of all that came before me — has been truly restorative. Spending time at Earth Path opened me up and filled me with a desire to learn more, and a yearning to connect deeper with the beauty and magic that exists all around us, if we only slow down long enough to really see it.

What a gift to be here in the world, to hear the birds, to see the leaves dancing in the breeze, to be warmed by the sun, to smell the pines and the apple blossoms. What a gift all of these things are, presented to us every day, asking for nothing in return, just waiting for us to stop and notice and cherish.

Mary Oliver once wrote, with regards to children connecting with nature: “Attention is the beginning of devotion.” I remain grateful everyday that Earth Path gently invited me to slow down. To wonder. To wander. To start paying attention.

Laura Harfield

Becoming the Bear: Helping a Child Find His Way Through Wild Spaces

Thu, 24 Apr 2025 16:07:34 GMT

At Earth Path, we sometimes meet children who arrive with a sense of uncertainty - hesitant to fully step into the wildness of nature. Whether it's the tall grasses of an open field or the shaded quiet of the forest, our landscape can initially feel vast and overwhelming. Unlike manicured public parks, Earth Path's natural spaces are alive and unpredictable - home to ticks, hidden burdock burs, uneven terrain, and plants so tall they can seem towering when you're only little. As adults, it's easy to forget that some fields have plants so tall that young children can't even see beyond the next blade of grass.

This is the story of "S," a young camper, and his journey of courage and transformation - guided by imagination, belief, and a little bear magic. S had attended Earth Path before, but during this particular summer something shifted. The tall grasses sparked deep, visceral anxiety. He wasn’t just hesitant - he was terrified. The thought of ticks made him panic. Even the sound of rustling grass or the sight of it brushing against his skin would send him into tears or frantic screams. He clung to the open trails like lifelines, flat-out refusing to step even an inch into any area where the grasses rose above his knees. His fear held him frozen at the edge of the wild.

At a nature-based program like Earth Path, engaging directly with the natural world is central to the experience. So, I created a two-part plan to help S build confidence: first, we would nurture emotional courage through imaginative storytelling; second, we would introduce a practical tool to help him cope with the sensory discomfort of the grass brushing against his skin.

One of the great joys of working with ages 4–6 is their vivid imaginations and their open-hearted belief in magic. Their minds are still forming in wondrous ways, which allows stories and symbols to speak directly to their experience.

I called S over to a sunny patch where Tansies grew - one of my favourite flowers - and invited him to notice their vibrant yellow blooms. Once he was engaged, I asked if he'd ever seen the work of the magic beetle. He hadn’t, so I invited him on a special mission to find one.

Together, we made our way to the spruce tree line north of our main play area, searching for a fallen tree marked with the signature trails of bark beetles. We found one, and as we traced the delicate, maze-like paths etched into the wood, wonder lit up his face. At just the right moment, I asked if he wanted to know how the magic worked.

He nodded eagerly.

I explained how bark beetles carve these pathways into the bark… and how, if you know how to look, you can find sticks infused with "path magic." These sticks, I told him, can help us make our own paths, especially when the way forward feels uncertain.

We returned to the patch of Tansies, our place of connection, and I demonstrated how to use a "magic path stick" to gently part the tall grasses. I invited him to try. At first, he hesitated, body tense with fear. But after a few small movements, he began to step forward, one step at a time, until he entered a new clearing, eyes wide with wonder. "It worked!" he exclaimed.

As I approached, I told S that my necklace, which holds a few small bear paw bones, felt warm - like it wanted to be shared. I removed the leather cord from my neck, opened the pouch, and invited him to feel the bones - he was surprised that they were warm to the touch. Of course, the warmth came from my body heat, but in the mind of a child his age, this warmth was pure magic.

I began to tell him a story: the way he moved through the grass reminded me of a bear - a great path-maker with a powerful presence. I showed him how a bear might walk, using wide steps to push the grass aside. Then I suggested, perhaps, that the bear bones recognized that he, too, was a path-maker - and that one of the bones wanted to be his.

He chose a small bone and held it tightly. When he tried the path again, something shifted. The movement came easier. The fear had softened.

Later, he asked to put the bone away for safekeeping, so we tucked it into a special pocket of his bag, where it could continue to give him strength. From that point on, S moved through the tall grasses with confidence. He still had moments of hesitation, but they no longer ruled him. When the going got tough, he knew just what to do… he went looking for more magic path sticks. With one in each hand, he navigated the rest of camp with ease and joy - stepping into places that once paralyzed him with fear, now moving like a little bear with quiet bravery and wide strides. The wild no longer loomed - it welcomed him. And he stepped in, fully.

At many conventional camps, a child like S might be labeled as a behavioural issue or even sent home - seen as too anxious, too resistant, too much work. But at Earth Path, we welcome these challenges. In fact, we cherish them. We see these moments not as problems, but as opportunities and chances to listen deeply, to think creatively, and to craft experiences that can change a child’s relationship with the natural world. We pour time, thought, and heart into helping children like S feel safe, brave, and capable in the outdoors. Watching a terrified child take their first joyful steps into tall grass isn’t just a win, it’s the absolute heart of the work that we do.

Brent Lamborn

Embracing the Owl: A Journey of Connection and Learning

Wed, 23 Apr 2025 15:50:58 GMT

It all began at our annual March Break Day Camp with a simple diary. An owl diary, to be precise.

Under a bright blue sky, with melting snow beneath our feet, I noticed one of the children at camp—whom I’ll call G—completely absorbed in a book called Owl Diaries by Rebecca Elliott. It’s a charming story about an owl named Eva Wingdale, who embarks on adventures and learns valuable life lessons along the way. Seeing how captivated G was, I saw the perfect opportunity to create a connection.

With mock shock plastered across my face, I looked at G and exclaimed, "I can't believe you stole an owl’s private diary!"

She looked up at me, confused. "I didn't! It's from the library… not from an actual owl."

I gasped dramatically, "So you stole it from an owl who lives in the library?"

Her exasperated sigh told me she knew I was joking around.

Still pretending to be astounded, I asked her to read a page. As she read aloud, I nodded seriously. "That’s impressive. I can’t read a word of it myself. I only speak Chickadee." Demonstrating, I chirped a series of nonsensical bird calls. G laughed, shaking her head. "No! I do not speak Owl."

But I wasn’t convinced. "We’ll have to put you to the test when we get back to the cabin."

As we walked, the jokes continued. I tucked one of my fingers into my glove and gasped. "Oh no! My finger! It’s gone!"

G’s eyes widened before she caught on. She grinned and pulled my glove off to reveal my hidden finger.

I nodded approvingly. "You see through illusions, just like an owl. Another test passed."

The snowy path crunched under our boots as I asked her an important question. "Do you like eating meat?"

G hesitated, then admitted, "I like chicken nuggets."

I gasped. "Another test passed! Owls eat meat, after all."

By the time we reached the Earth Path cabin, the air was thick with anticipation. Inside, I gathered my supplies: birdseed, two candles, and a mysterious hat. The children followed me into a small, round fort made of wooden pallets, its walls lined with neatly stacked firewood and roof made of thatched grass. In the flickering candlelight, I carefully arranged a whimsical altar before them. With slow, deliberate movements, I struck a match, lighting the candles until their glow danced across the wooden walls.

Holding one piece of birdseed in each palm, I raised my hands. "Silence," I whispered. "The magic is about to begin."

I transferred a seed from one hand to the other, then extended both toward G. "Choose," I said with reverence.

She hesitated, then pointed to my right hand - the one with two seeds.

A slow smile spread across my face and I opened my palm, revealing the two seeds. "You’ve chosen wisely," I said. "You have the energy and magic of an owl."

G listened as I explained that owls may be solitary, but their bond with the world runs deep. "The two seeds represent that connection, just as an owl’s talons come in pairs. Had you chosen the other hand, it would have meant something different. But you didn’t. You confirmed your connection to the owl magic."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she absorbed the moment. She was tasked with placing the seeds near the cabin, but no one could tell her where. It had to be her choice. Later, she returned, worried. "One seed fell to the ground."

I reassured her, "If it fell, it was meant to be there."

G then wanted to practice being an owl, and so she searched for a branch where she could perch like one. She climbed onto a fallen poplar but found it difficult. She tried and tried, attempting different approaches, scrambling up and slipping back down, frustration building each time. But she didn’t give up. With one final push, she finally made it onto the branch, breathless but triumphant. “That was so hard!” she huffed.

I pointed out, "But you kept trying. That’s perseverance. Owls persevere, too."

She grinned. "Another test passed."

As the fire in the cabin burned low, I took a few children down to the stream to collect dry wood. Along the way, they made sure to ask the forest for permission.

“Forest, don’t worry. We’re only taking dead branches from the ground and the lowest limbs,” I called out. “Chickadees, don’t fly away into the fields. Ice, don’t prank us and make us fall!”

I turned to G and the others. “And don’t forget… we have to ask the stick if it wants to be burned. Once it burns, it’s changed forever.”

“Of course,” G replied thoughtfully. “But you aren’t an animal, so I should do it.”

I smiled. “That makes sense to me.”

I held up a piece of dry wood. “Hey, G, can you ask this tree if we can use its fallen branches?”

G nodded, placed a hand on the tree, closed her eyes, and stood quietly for a moment. Then she opened them. “It says no.”

And so, some sticks were left untouched, returned respectfully to the forest floor, while others received a full yes. Some, according to G’s assessment, allowed only half to be taken.

Back at the cabin, as the group tended to the fire, G looked up. "What kind of owl do you think I would be?"

I smiled. "I’m not sure, but I know where we can find out."

Together, we pored over bird identification books, flipping through the pages until G stopped. Her eyes locked onto the Snowy Owl.

“This is the owl I am,” she declared.

“A good choice,” I said with a smile.

This experience is a perfect example of the magic woven into our programs at Earth Path. Here, learning isn’t about memorizing facts or sitting through lectures. It’s about adventure, curiosity, and play. Through a simple, imaginative exchange, G explored the world of owls, developed a deeper connection with the forest, and learned about perseverance. She discovered how owls hunt, how they perch, how they fit into the natural world, and, in the process, found kinship with them. All of this happened without a single worksheet or formal lesson - just a spark of inspiration, a little theatrics, and a willingness to follow where the moment led.

This is the heart of our pedagogy: guiding children into nature in a way that feels like storytelling, not schooling. By embracing the unexpected and infusing learning with wonder, we create experiences that leave a lasting impression. G didn’t just leave that day knowing more about owls; she left with a sense of confidence, a stronger connection to the land, and the feeling that she was a part of something bigger.

These moments of discovery, joy, and transformation happen every day at Earth Path. They are the quiet magic of outdoor education, where learning isn’t just a chore, it’s something you look forward to.

earth-path

Attention Is the Beginning of Devotion: My Family’s Journey with Earth Path

In the spring of 2021, we were in the midst of a COVID-19 lockdown. Again.

Becoming the Bear: Helping a Child Find His Way Through Wild Spaces

Brent Lamborn

Embracing the Owl: A Journey of Connection and Learning

It all began at our annual March Break Day Camp with a simple diary. An owl diary, to be precise. ﻿

Brent Lamborn

It all began at our annual March Break Day Camp with a simple diary. An owl diary, to be precise.