Nature Is Beautiful: Through the Eyes of My Children

If you’re a subscriber to my blog, you might recall that I promised a post on charitable date nights. While looking over my calendar, I realized I completely missed a few of my favorite local fundraising events—like the Seedlings Dinner hosted by Mountainside Montessori School, held each year at Field & Main in Marshall, VA. I’ll put a pin in that topic for now, but I promise it’s one I’ll return to soon—it’s still close to my heart.

In search of a new topic, I turned to someone whose wisdom never fails to inspire me—my six-year-old daughter, Lili. Anyone who has had the pleasure of chatting with her knows she’s a deep thinker with a playful spirit. In truth, she’s the inspiration behind this blog. As our firstborn, she was also our first experiment in raising a child connected to the land—learning to forage for wild edibles, observe wildlife up close, hunt with respect, and grow a thriving garden.

Even as an infant, Lili babbled with an intensity and seriousness that made us joke she was like a tiny Gandalf—pensive and wise, only swapping the pipe for a pacifier.

So when I asked her what I should write about this week, she barely looked up and said, “Write about how nature is beautiful.”

And she’s right. From a child’s perspective, nature isn’t just beautiful—it’s magical.

This week was Spring Break for my three-year-old son, and we spent plenty of time outside exploring that magic. The first couple of days were spent doing typical household chores—grocery runs, laundry, bathroom scrubbing. But midweek, we took a break from the routine.

On Wednesday, my son went fishing for the first time with his father. I opted out of this adventure—he needs those special father-son moments just as much as he needs time with me. When he returned, I saw a light in his eyes. Each fish he caught was a victory, a thrill, and a reminder of how profoundly joyful it is to experience nature for the first time.

The next day, I took him into the woods behind our house to recreate some of my own childhood memories. We spent hours wandering, clearing trails, and building a little “house” from sticks. He was absolutely captivated by our makeshift teepee and quickly transformed it into a fortress—determined to protect it from imaginary bears and coyotes. My hopes of teaching him a bit of foraging fell flat; he was too busy defending our woodland homestead.

While he stood guard, I allowed myself a few quiet moments to simply be. The scent of fresh greenery, the rustling of branches, the birdsong—it was grounding. We often scroll through stunning nature photos online, but nothing compares to being physically present in it. The cool soil underfoot, the dappled sunlight, the sounds, the smells—it’s a full-body experience.

People often talk about the beach as the ultimate place for relaxation—toes in the water, ass in the sand, as Zac Brown Band would say. But for me, it’s the woods. It’s undisturbed nature. It offers the same sense of peace, if not more.

Which brings me back to Lili’s point: Nature is beautiful.

It’s true. It’s in the resilient dandelions pushing through cracks in the pavement and the electric pinks and purples of the blooming redbud trees. But nature is more than beautiful—it’s messy, wild, chaotic, and fragile.

And that’s why stewardship matters. It’s the intentional care of this region—sustained over more than 50 years—that has made it possible for people to connect with nature while still enjoying the everyday practicality of a short commute to work, school, and the grocery store. This rare balance between access and preservation didn’t happen by chance; it’s the result of generations of deliberate effort and a shared commitment to protecting the character of this landscape.

It makes me wonder—what will this place look like in another 50 years? And what role might we play, however small, in ensuring that the next generation can still walk barefoot through meadows, hear spring peepers at dusk, or build stick forts in quiet woods? Stewardship isn’t only the work of large landowners or conservation organizations—it can also be found in everyday choices, in teaching our children to care, observe, and value the natural world.

I once spoke with a local philanthropist who is deeply passionate about children’s access to nature and outdoor education. She shared a striking observation: “There are kids living in DC, less than an hour from farmland, who have never seen a cow.” Moved by this, she quietly funded field trips to bring elementary students westward—to experience firsthand what lies beyond the city. A cow may not be wildlife, but that kind of disconnect is telling. We’re losing something vital.

This is why I valued our time as a family at Mountainside Montessori, which aims to connect and educate children on the natural world and agriculture, and why I continue to seek out opportunities for our children to “be one” with the world around them. It’s not just about survival, it’s about health. And we all would be happier and healthier if we spent a little more uninterrupted time outdoors.

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Before I wrap up, I want to share a thoughtful resource for families looking to nurture their child’s connection to nature through reading. My dear friend Molly Peterson curates a beautiful online bookstore called The BookWorm: Nature-Inspired Children's Books. Her collection emphasizes “fewer screens and more connection”—whether that means heading outside to explore or curling up indoors with a book that deepens your child’s wonder for the natural world. Many of her selections are perfect complements to homeschooling, but they’re just as valuable for any family wanting to raise curious, connected kids. Molly is always adding new titles—take a peek and get inspired:

Visit The BookWorm

Here are a few of our favorites from Molly's online bookstore...

Explore Molly’s collection, take your kids outside, and let wonder lead the way. 🌿✨