Rediscovering Wonder Nature's Lessons Beyond the Screen

The kids miss the woods, you know? I can see it in their faces when we’re finally back in room 214 after a long stretch of staring at screens. That eagerness, that little spark. It reminds me of my own summers growing up, spent mostly running around Delaware County creeks with my cousins. We weren't learning any particular lessons, not really – just figuring things out as we went. Finding the best skipping stones, knowing which berries *not* to eat (a lesson learned the hard way). That’s what they’re missing now, I think.

These last couple of years have been… something else. It's like everything got turned up a notch – the worry, the expectations, the constant hum of needing to do more. And for parents too. I see it every time I run into them at the grocery store, that tired look in their eyes. They’re trying so hard to keep things afloat, to make sure their kids are learning and growing and *okay*.

But sometimes, okay isn't about worksheets and online quizzes. Sometimes, it’s about knowing how to find north using moss or identifying a poisonous plant. Things that used to be just part of the background – a natural inheritance from your grandparents and great-aunts – are becoming lost skills. It’s not that reading and writing aren't important—they absolutely are. But there’s a different kind of knowing you get when you build a small fire, or purify water, or recognize which leaves will help stop a bleeding scrape.

I’ve been spending a lot more time in Fishtown this summer, trying to reconnect with that feeling myself. My grandmother started me on her Sunday gravy recipe years ago and I was finally able to nail it last month. It took hours – slow simmering, constant attention – but the result felt… satisfying. Like building something real. And isn't that what we want for our kids? To feel like they can build something, even if it’s just a small fire in their backyard?

It doesn't have to be fancy or elaborate. Start with knot-tying—a square knot is incredibly useful and not too hard to learn. Then move onto finding edible plants (but *always* double check with an expert!). Or teach them how to read a map – even just a local park trail map. It’s about fostering that sense of wonder, that feeling of being capable. That’s the stuff that sticks with you long after the tests are forgotten.

I remember my Uncle Frank, he could fix anything—an old lawnmower, a leaky faucet, even our ancient Ford pickup. He didn't have any formal training; it was just years of watching his father and grandfather tinker around in the garage. That’s the kind of knowledge we can pass down too – not just facts from books, but practical skills that build confidence and resilience.

The pressure is on to keep up academically, I get it. But maybe these moments of remote learning, this unexpected space, offer an opportunity to teach something different—something quieter, more enduring. Something that goes beyond the curriculum. It's a chance to show them how to connect with the world around them, and with each other.

And maybe, just maybe, we’ll reconnect too. Maybe we'll remember what it feels like to be outside, to breathe deep, to build something together. I bet they’d appreciate the opportunity to figure out which berries *not* to eat.