We call it “forest school”. A school, at its simplest, is a place to learn. A forest may be an area densely covered in trees, but it’s also a habitat for a variety of living beings including children. I go with my son to forest school each week. The kids run through the forest, playing, building, drawing, imagining, yelling, laughing, whispering. Some days they count wildflowers, spot frogs, and identify species. Other days they are the forest creatures, or elves, or cavemen, or primitive builders.
Sometimes while they play and run I tuck away and meditate. Sometimes under Hawthorn trees where birds sing, under glowing red Arbutus trees, and sometimes under Cedar trees on a shadowy cushioned forest floor. I listen and feel the forest and its inhabitants. I sketch and write poems. I learn too. Indeed the forest is a place to learn. I learn from the trees, the birds, and the children. I learn from the quiet and the chaos, and from the change of pace that brings my attention to the rhythm of my own heart.
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Under Arbutus
Protected from the raindrops
Sit spot tucked away
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One day I sat on a large rock above their favoured forest play area and wondered what went on in this forest without the children. I wondered about the birds and the squirrels and other creatures. Another day I watched woodpeckers go about their business. The children carried on laughing and running and the woodpeckers carried on drilling and hopping about. Each seemingly unaware of each other. Each living their lives without disturbing each other’s rhythms. The pounding sneakers and gumboots and the pecking beaks making some wild kind of harmony. One night, for Winter Solstice we visited with the children carrying lanterns through the trees. They were enchanted to see their forest at night. Their forest is familiar and another home to them and here it was, shrouded in winter darkness. Still a familiar place, the path known to them, even in the darkness.
So what do they learn there? That the forest is a home. That the pathway is open wide to welcome them. That they co-exist with woodpeckers, plants, mushrooms, and hawk, osprey, and each other. They learn that they, like all humans, exist first and foremost within the web of nature. They may or may not learn the names of the plants, they may not notice every bird, or every mushroom. Instead, they see what catches their eyes, and perhaps make their own names for them, their own stories, associations, and relationships with them. They learn that they are part of a community that includes a variety of living beings and they learn much of that without needing to be told.
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Wild little creatures
Most at home in the forest
Curious and free.
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Will they all become conservation biologists, botanists, or ornithologists? No. Some are more into art or technology and will find their niches there. I wonder if something they learn in the forest will inspire some future tech or art projects, or perhaps help them solve some of the problems our world. Even if nothing so direct emerges from their time in the forest, they are learning a fundamental part of what it means to be human and perhaps learning ways to find solace in our modern world.
They learn that the forest is always there and that alongside the pathways to explore and run and jump, it has spots to sit and breathe, spots to kindle ideas, spots to dream, spots to inspire art or stories. They learn that despite the busy, material world all around them, the forest remains. The familiarity of this habitat welcomes them back, to belong here as their true selves, week after week.
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I sit on a cedar bed.
Goose honk overhead.
Nearby frog songs.
My rooted heart belongs.
Though frenzy is all around.
The forest can be found.
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