Hi Reader,

There are things I miss about living in Brooklyn, but walking my 100-pound, dog-reactive German Shepherd on crowded sidewalks is not one of them. We now live in rural Vermont, and our walks are blissfully peaceful.

Peaceful, but not uneventful: my dog and I have seen beavers and otters splashing in the river and coyote and bobcat tracks in the snow. Bald eagles, barred owls, and great blue herons soaring overhead.

One hazy pink summer night, we even spotted a mother bear and two yearlings crossing the far edge of a pasture. My dog, who once barked himself hoarse at passing dogs in Brooklyn, stood quietly in the tall grass watching the bears as they watched us. We were all deeply at home, together.

In Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall-Kimmerer writes about a phenomenon called species loneliness, "a deep, unnamed sadness stemming from estrangement from the rest of Creation, from the loss of relationship." When our kids were born in New York City, I had anticipatory grief for the outdoor adventures they wouldn't have in a big city.

But what I found was that other parents wanted to find a way to give their kids a relationship with the natural world with the outdoor spaces we did have. I began meeting up with those like-minded parents in Brooklyn's Prospect Park, where the parents got out of the way and let the kids lead their play.

We would return to the same spots week after week so the kids could feel a sense of home and belonging in the natural world, and pay close attention to the changes each season brings. Those muddy mornings in the urban woods were by far my favorite part of the toddler era.

My kids are older now, and most of our outdoor time revolves around activities: downhill skiing, paddleboarding, hiking from point A to point B. I love all of it, but I miss the simplicity of wandering slowly and noticing the small marvels around us. A fern unspooling. A log shaped like a dragon.

Earlier this week, my 10-year-old asked if we could take the dog for a walk together. Since I usually walk the dog alone, I jumped at the chance. It was a dreamy spring evening, warm and rain-soaked and neon green.

We took a gravel road along the river that I’ve walked a thousand times. Suddenly my son stopped and shouted, “Mom! An owl pellet!” He explained that owls can’t digest fur, feathers, and bones, so they regurgitate them in soft pellets that look like sleeping mice.

I was amazed that he spotted something so small and well camouflaged and immediately knew what it was. When we left the house that evening, I was simply walking the dog. On the way back, I remembered what happens when we let children guide us toward the magic hiding in plain sight.

What has been receiving your attention lately? When was the last time you were fully present in nature, slowing down and staying quiet enough to notice the sights, sounds, and sensations? Where can you go today to find a moment of presence outdoors: a park, your backyard, a bench, a fire escape?

Happy noticing. I’d love to hear what you find.

Phoebe

*If you're interested in learning about how to join or start your own free, parent-led nature play meetup, check out FreeForestSchool.org. This is the 501(c)(3) that grew out of the grassroots sessions I attended and facilitated in Brooklyn.