My naturalist origin story starts with a painting. I lived in Tennessee and was new to my home educator career with my 3-year-old son. We were looking at a picture that showed a mother and small child in a sweeping field of blueberries. Their heads were down, examining the bounty they gathered in their baskets. I asked my son if he had ever gone blueberry picking. I knew the answer, of course, so I was surprised to hear him proudly proclaim “yes!” I asked him who he did this with. He said, “Daddy.” Now, my husband is not outdoorsy, and his idea of communing with nature is walking nine holes on a golf course. Certainly not foraging in a field. I had a mystery in front of me that needed solving. So, I asked my son where they went blueberry picking? And he said, “At the grocery store.”
The mystery had turned into a crisis. My child did not know where food came from. This had to be fixed immediately. In that moment, my real work had begun. My child would know nature. He would be grounded to this earth. But how?
My first solution was to work with him in a community garden at a farm park. A few times a week, our mornings were filled with working the soil, tending the plants, and feeding chickens and rabbits. We also played in corn and sunflower fields, picked flowers, and watched the animals who visited the park with us. The community of people were so lovely. They were happy to take my child under their wing and teach him what they knew of the wonders of nature.
Wanting to build on our beautiful farm park experience, we joined nature exploration classes at the local botanical garden. We also committed time each day to being outside and simply letting nature teach us. I have such beautiful memories of my child running through cherry blossoms being blown by the wind, laughing at the funny behavior of robins bathing in puddles, exploring mole tunnels, and even mourning the loss of a huge, beautiful tree that we watched a neighbor cut down to make way for a swimming pool.
As he got older, and as school lessons became more formal, we joined with some members of the community to form an outdoor education co-op. By now, we were in San Antonio. I volunteered to lead the nature study lessons for the co-op. Remembering the people I worked with at the farm park, I got to return the favor of introducing children to the wonders of nature. I watched them grow excited when they learned to tell what part of a bird a feather came from, what stage of ecological succession a part of a park was in, and how to forecast weather by looking at clouds. I helped them make friends with the plants around them and to know their names. As their curiosity grew, so did mine. I wanted to know so much more. And I found the Texas Master Naturalists.
I was excited to be accepted into class 47. Believing my curiosity would be satisfied by the program, I realized quite the opposite. I walked with people who could tell me the story of the land just by looking at it. Others could list birds that surrounded us (were there birds there? I had no idea). I was connected to pre-colonization cultures by hearing how I was walking through their grocery and supply stores. I knew I was in deep when a class on dirt was the most interesting thing I’d heard in ages.
So, my nature walks with the kids got more interesting. Parents began to push their way to the front to listen to me, too. My quest to connect my son to the earth was also leading me to connect my community. I was helping to turn a tide of people seeing the world around them as a resource to be used to seeing a magnificent world of beauty and purpose. From nature being a tool for entertainment to being something to steward.
Since that day many years ago when I opened a book to look at a painting with my son, I have taught nature journaling, mentored Junior Master Naturalists, led a forest school community, given away trees, and tabled many educational outreach events. I also get to help AAMN committees with my organizational skills. And I have grown more curious every step of the way. I am simply in awe of this planet.
I’ll conclude with something that happened at the farm park, about a year after my son and I started volunteering there. I was busy preparing a bed for seeds when my child ran up to me, mouth full and with a smile on his face. Slightly alarmed, I asked him what he was eating. His mouth too full to talk so he reached into his pocket. He pulled his little hand out, opened his fingers one by one, and revealed a handful of fresh blueberries he had just picked in the orchard.
AAMN members Mary Jean Martinez (left) and Amy Dawn Curtis