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The Way of Coyote

Nature Mentoring Basics

 

Hands-on experience at the critical time, not systematic knowledge, is what counts in the making of a naturalist. Better to be an untutored savage for a while, not to know the names or anatomical details. Better to spend long stretches of time just searching and dreaming.

—E. O. WILSON

 

“I’VE GOT TRACKS!” The excited yell came from off to my left, through the forest. I bushwhacked my way over to find ten-year-old Sebastian (a.k.a. Bash) with Jade, both faces pressed close to a dirt road. Other grown-ups emerged from the forest, responding to the call. “They’re deer tracks,” said Sebastian, standing with obvious pride. And sure enough, a series of two-toed footprints made by an adult deer headed away from us, up the hill, captured in the dust of a shallow tire rut.

Jade, who had migrated to the opposite side of the road, looked up suddenly and announced, “I think there’s bobcat tracks here.” A few of us hopped over, careful not to disturb the soft surface in the adjoining tire rut. It took a few moments to see the tracks in the sun-dappled shadows. But there they were: four toes tipped with claws and a large heel pad behind.

We broke small sticks into even smaller pieces, each about four inches long, and began placing them upright along the trackway—one for each footprint—to better visualize the discovery. As our search image improved, more and more cat tracks appeared, headed in the same direction as the deer.

I moved a few meters downhill in search of more predator tracks, but they disappeared. In their place, however, were much smaller, two-toed footprints—a fawn, likely traveling with its mother. The prints, much shallower than those of the adult, were difficult to discern. But slowly the trackway lengthened. More vertical sticks, and a deepening mystery.

About that time, Sam, the twenty-something leader of our Coho Salmon Clan, arrived. After a brief survey, he began asking questions, aimed mostly at the kids. “How many toes does the cat have?”

“Four,” the kids replied in unison.

“What direction do you think the animals were heading?” Bash and Jade both smiled, pointing up the hill.

“Were they walking or running?” A brief pause, then both agreed that given the short spacing of the tracks, the animals must have been walking.

After a few more of these, Sam upped the ante. “When were the tracks made?”

Hmm. This one was a little tougher, but Bash quickly surmised that the tracks must be recent because they were on top of the tire tracks, and hadn’t been disturbed by rain. Smart kid.

Then Sam dropped the question bomb. “Those cat tracks look pretty big for a bobcat. Can you think of any other animal that might have made them? Jade and Bash thought for a moment, and then both sets of eyes widened as they said, “Mountain lion!”

“Could be,” replied Sam, still looking down, perched on his bare feet. But his nonchalance did not prevent a shiver from cascading down Jade’s spine. A bobcat was like an oversize tabby. A mountain lion could be a real threat.

“So do you think the mountain lion was hunting the deer?” This last question from Sam hung in the air, causing all of our minds to race.

Several of us set to work sketching the tracks and writing notes in journals. We talked through the series of clues, trying to determine if the deer or the lion had passed by first or last. Eventually, the team surmised that a mother and fawn had traveled up the road within the past day or two. Later, a young mountain lion, likely a yearling, climbed out of a gully beside the road (leaving claw marks on the bank) and headed off in the same direction. Was the lion after the deer, even targeting the young fawn? Perhaps. We’ll never know for certain.

Just as we were packing up after lunch, still pondering the trackways, a pickup truck roared up the road. The ball cap–wearing driver ignored our protestations and cruised past, flattening the sticks and demolishing the predator-prey mystery. An unexpected lesson in the transience of things.

Nevertheless, the rest of our nature scavenger hunt went well. After the trackway (✓) we caught newts down in a nearby pond (✓) and looked them in the eye (✓). We also found a feather (✓), a medicinal plant (✓), and later added the shed body casing from a cicada (✓)—all on the list. We did not manage to find any huckleberries or a yellow jacket nest, but no matter. The group headed back to camp late in the afternoon, satisfied with the day’s adventure.

 

If you want to learn the art of nature mentoring, you’d be hard-pressed to find a better teacher than Jon Young. Mid-fifties with a slim build, piercing eyes, and a face etched by countless days spent outdoors, Jon is a world-renowned tracker, naturalist, and mentor. He’s written several books, including What the Robin Knows, introduced in the previous chapter. He also co-founded the 8 Shields Institute, which offers a range of products—among them books, recordings, workshops, and support networks—aimed at helping people gain a deeper connection with nature, and becoming nature mentors themselves.

I had first met Jon a couple of years earlier when Jade and I attended one of his bird language workshops in beautiful Point Reyes National Seashore, north of San Francisco. It was there that I received my first real glimpse into deep nature connection. Jon was talking to the assembled group about the various kinds of calls birds make when he paused and asked, “What do you hear in the trees behind me?” We all listened. Nothing but silence. “And what was going on in there a few minutes ago?”

“Lots of birds singing,” someone offered.

“So what happened to all the birds?” Jon probed.

“Maybe they went somewhere else,” another suggested.

Jon smiled and shook his head slowly. He proposed that the birds were still there but had gone silent, likely because a predator had arrived. And the most likely culprit, he added, was that aerial assassin known as a Cooper’s hawk.

The scientist in me was skeptical. How could he possibly know this? I thought. Birds don’t sing continuously, and they’re certainly not present in all places all the time. But a few minutes later another participant pointed out a Cooper’s hawk flying out of the thicket. Almost immediately the birds began sounding off again. Wow, I thought, this guy is good. I need to learn more of this stuff.

So here I was, once again with Jade at my side, joining about 200 other participants in a weeklong “Art of Mentoring” intensive in California’s Santa Cruz Mountains, about an hour southwest of San Jose. The group, ranging from newborns to seniors, had a strong air of California bohemian. Clothing was predominantly handmade or consisted of secondhand shirts, shawls, and cutoff shorts in an array of earth tones. Most were running around either in flip-flops or barefoot. I felt a little out of place in my high-tech, multizippered REI gear. Jade, meanwhile, seemed right at home, quickly abandoning her shoes and running off to join the other kids.

At registration, we were divided into clans with names like California Garter Snakes, Acorn Woodpeckers, and Coho Salmons. The youths were further split into subgroups by age. Jade spent most of her days during the week hanging out with the nine- to twelve-year-olds, engaging in games and other activities such as hiking, tracking, soaking under waterfalls, and learning “primitive” skills such as fire making (that is, without matches). Most of us adults, meanwhile, engaged in a mixture of lectures and hands-on experiences aimed at deepening our understanding of nature mentoring.

 

The Nature Mentor

 

The word mentor comes from Homer’s ancient Greek epic, The Odyssey. In the story, Mentor is a man charged with caring for Telemachus, son of Odysseus, and serving as his advisor. Athena, the goddess of wisdom, adopts the guise of old Mentor to teach the young prince to stand up for himself, and eventually guides him out to sea to find his father, the King. Telemachus emerges from this experience having ignited his own inner wisdom and strength. So we can think of a mentor not only as a trusted advisor, but as something of a trickster who helps another awaken to their full potential.

Okay, so what about nature mentors? Well, first of all, picking up where we left off in the previous chapter, nature mentors value the natural world and demonstrate it as much through actions as words. They regularly marvel at nature’s wonders, seek to deepen their own awareness and connection, and probe mysteries that catch their interest. Yes, I’m afraid this is going to mean spending regular time immersed in outdoor settings. Don’t worry. You’ll enjoy it. You may even find the experiences transformative. Ideally, you’ll also practice some of the core routines outlined below so that you can share stories with your child afterward. Your dedication will help motivate the child to push through those inevitable times when interest temporarily wanes.

When all is said and done, if you don’t value nature, it’s highly unlikely that your children will get it. Conversely, if you model this behavior, the kids in your life are likely to follow, and to see value in nature as well.

Second, mentors also pay close attention to their mentees. How does your child learn best? Through stories or hands-on activities? Alone or with other children? What is she most interested in outdoors? What topics and games capture her imagination? What are her greatest strengths, and how can these be brought to bear in connecting with nature? Where are the edges of her understanding and experience, and what are the most effective ways to stretch those edges? Being able to answer questions like these is essential. By watching closely over time, you’ll gain essential insights into your child’s passions and be able to use these to leverage curiosity and inspiration, key ingredients in deepening nature connection.

Third, nature mentors are active listeners and questioners, encouraging children to tell stories of their nature encounters and being fully present to hear them. We all need this kind of witnessing, and offering it to children will accelerate the nature connection process. Of course, youngsters often need a bit of prodding, and this is where the questions come in. “How did you feel when that happened?” “What else was going on when the rabbit ran by?” The right question at the right moment can help pull an engaging, memorable narrative out of what might otherwise be a few lackluster statements.

It’s also important to point out what nature mentors are not. They are not the people with all the answers. To begin, you may have no answers at all, yet this won’t prevent you from being an effective mentor. Even those with plenty of nature knowledge should share it only in judicious tidbits, allowing the child to discover answers on his or her own, often through direct experience. Mentoring is far more about asking questions than providing answers.

Nature mentors are also not the ones typically in the lead. When many people think about helping children to connect with nature, they imagine themselves striding purposefully out into the wild, child in tow, to teach the youngster how to chop wood or use a GPS or go fishing or whatever. Certainly some elements of mentoring entail exactly this kind of one-on-one instruction. But the vast majority of the time, it’s best to follow the child’s lead.

Kids of every age have innate longings that manifest themselves outdoors. Your job is to determine what those longings are and feed them. So, difficult though it may be, the better option most of the time is to push gently from behind rather than to pull from in front. Take your cue from the original Mentor, guiding from the back of the boat. Your reward will be watching the child’s eyes light up with curiosity, propelling him to the next mystery.

In the end, nature mentors take on three distinct roles. First is the Teacher, the person who conveys information. Second is the Questioner, the one always seeking to ask that next query to pique curiosity and engagement. Third is the Trickster, the clever Coyote who hides in plain sight, able to leverage a child’s longings to stretch edges. The most effective mentors limit their role as Teacher, focusing instead on embodying both Questioner and Trickster. The great news here is that you don’t need to be an expert. The bad news is that you’ll often need to stifle the urge to offer answers and think instead about how you can extend the learning experience with a provocative question.

But here’s the most important thing. Nothing, absolutely nothing, will spark your child’s passion for nature more than your own embodied passion for the natural world.

Okay, so what kinds of activities are best for connecting kids with nature? In Coyote’s Guide to Connecting with Nature, co-authors Jon Young, Ellen Haas, and Evan McGown cite thirteen “core routines,” among them mapping, tracking, journaling, and bird language. However, they emphasize that two of these routines are more “core” than the rest. Both are consistent with the latest research, as well as the EMU approach advocated in this book. Let’s take a closer look at this dynamic duo.

 

Sit, Wander, Play—It’s All About the Experience

 

The first core routine is the most obvious and the most important. It’s also one we’ve already emphasized—regular time out in nature. Daily outings are best. Particularly for children, the minimum goal should be three to five days per week. Without such ongoing experiences, the process of nature connection will be limited. For young children, this outside time might consist almost entirely of play. From middle childhood on up, other powerful tools can be brought to bear, like wanders and sit spotting.

A wander, or walkabout, consists of moving through a natural landscape without any specific agenda or purpose. The wanderer’s attitude is one of open curiosity. Ideal places are those where you can head off-trail whenever the urge strikes. The pace is usually slow, because rapid movement makes it difficult to engage all the senses and broaden awareness. A wander can be conducted solo or as part of a small group. It can be done with children of virtually any age, though the younger the child, the more you will need to pay attention to their needs. A sense of timelessness is important. So tuck away watches and other timepieces.

Be honest. When was the last time you went out wandering, with no place to go and nothing in particular to do? In our overly scheduled world, with time seemingly in short supply, the notion of aimless wandering may seem frivolous, even a little wacky. But the beauty of the wander is exactly its lack of goals. Just being out on the land with open awareness fosters connection in ways otherwise impossible. And you never know what you might find out there—perhaps even yourself!

As a child and a teen, I had plenty of timeless wandering and bushwhacking. In retrospect, it should come as no surprise that I chose a profession, paleontology, grounded in wandering. On many occasions I’ve heard paleontologists talk about the importance of softening their awareness and opening their senses while out fossil hunting. If you search too hard, the fossils stay hidden. But if you develop the habit of moving slowly, easily, in the rhythm of the landscape and following your curiosity, the ancient remains of animals and plants seem to appear more often.

During my Art of Mentoring week, adults of the Coho Salmon Clan went on a daylong wander. I confess. At first it seemed rather odd for a group of men and women to set off into the forest with no set goals or destination. (Even I was used to devoting my wanders to a specific purpose—fossil collecting.) But we soon embraced the proper spirit and opened to the adventure. The rapid result was discovery of multiple mini-mysteries. Why were the California quails, notoriously poor fliers, expending so much energy moving to branches high in the trees as we passed by, especially when plenty of lower branches were available well beyond human reach? What conditions prompt two tree species, a redwood and a Douglas fir, to grow into a V-shape from a single united base? Other finds included a delicate, dome-shaped spider web, the hauntingly beautiful song of a lone hermit thrush, and a wood rat nest littered with acorn husks, debris from countless meals. We didn’t have all the answers, or even all the questions, but pondering these discoveries certainly triggered interesting discussions. Late in the day I headed off on my own and reveled in the luxury of solo timelessness in a coast redwood forest. That night, we all returned to the campfire with stories to tell.

Sit spot is another activity, one with perhaps even greater potential to deepen nature connection. The aim here is to find a place where you can sit quietly most days and simply observe, using your full suite of senses. As with the wander, the best approach is to open up those awareness channels and stretch your senses. What’s the most distant sound you can hear? Which direction is the breeze coming from? How does the air feel, and the soil? How many different kinds of bird song and other noises can you discern? There’s something about sitting still in the same place, day after day, that enables an even deeper level of connection.

Sit spot allows you to get to know one little place in intimate detail. What kinds of plants and animals live here? When are you mostly likely to see and hear the various critters? How does this place change over the course of the day, and through the seasons? Eventually, your sit spot becomes an intimate friend you look forward to being with. And that friend has potential to be your greatest mentor in deepening nature connection. Guided by your sit spot, you’ll develop a quiet mind and learn how to open your senses, both critical to being an adept mentor. You’ll also learn the secret language of birds and deepen your connection with nearby nature.

Where should your sit spot be? Here’s the rule. The best sit spot is the one you use. By definition, then, it will be close to someplace you spend time daily, usually home. For this reason, the front porch, the backyard, or even the window by the bird feeder make excellent sit spots. Although you may have an idyllic vision of the perfect sit spot, perhaps on the beach or beside a gurgling mountain stream, unless you live in such a place, you’ll need to dial back expectations so that the perfect does not become the enemy of the good. Besides, you’ll quickly learn that nature is ubiquitous, and that almost any place, including one in the middle of a city, has much to teach us.

One of the essential elements of sit spotting is stillness. Cultivating the habit of being still has multiple benefits. First of these is quieting the mind. As meditators have long known, there’s something about sitting still that enables us to observe our frenzied thoughts and slow them down. Second, a quiet mind and body make it easier to open your senses and become aware of your environment. Third, when you embody stillness, the animals are more likely to make an appearance and go about their daily routines. Most of the time we have no clue what impacts we’re having on the nature that surrounds us. To give a prime example, you’ll soon find that it takes about fifteen minutes after you arrive for the birds to return to their baseline behaviors.

Most kids are able to initiate a sit spot practice during middle childhood. To start, you might want to join them and sit together or a little ways apart. Jade and I have enjoyed sitting together, and extending each other’s senses by noting faint sounds at the edge of awareness. Many people like to take brief notes while sit spotting. Journaling can be a powerful tool to document and deepen your awareness and understanding. Rest assured that when you begin to visit your sit spot, many things will be happening that you will fail to see, hear, or feel. However, particularly with good mentoring, previously hidden elements and mysteries will reveal themselves, and amazing stories will begin to unfold.

 

Story of the Day

 

Second of the core routines featured in Coyote’s Guide is “story of the day.” For the nature mentor, this simply means encouraging children to tell stories about their daily outdoor adventures. With Jade I often start by asking, “What happened out there today?” or, “What was the coolest thing you discovered?” The goal is to get the ball rolling and then artfully pull the story out with further questions.

Granted, particularly at the start, most kids are reluctant storytellers. Your challenge, then, is to ask questions that encourage the child to go deeper and make unseen connections. Often the best strategy is to play on a youngster’s passions. “Did you play kick the can today? You did? Cool. Where’d you hide? Did you get to kick the can?” For older children with some nature connection under their belts, you might kick off with, “Hey, did you see or hear anything new when you were out today?” Eventually, after some practice, the story-dredging typically becomes easier. The key is to make it fun. If, after a few probing questions, the storytelling is still a struggle, it’s probably best to let it go that day. If you push too hard, story of the day will feel more like the Spanish Inquisition, and no one will be happy.

Storytelling can and should take on multiple forms. Most obvious is the verbal narrative, but other modes include journaling and art. Especially with young children, art can be a terrific entry point to tell stories. The child might draw a tree or a butterfly, or whatever captured her attention. With older kids, sketching and writing in a journal can be a powerful combination, bringing out all kinds of narratives. Poems are an especially good tool to encourage children to focus their storytelling. Whatever the chosen activity, it should not take long, a few minutes at best for younger children. And it definitely shouldn’t feel like an assignment. As kids grow up, they’ll love going back and looking at their nature journal to see how their observation, writing, and drawing skills have improved. The journal also offers a lasting record of advances in understanding, and of deepening connection. For an in-depth look at nature journaling, I recommend Keeping a Nature Journal, by Clare Walker Leslie and Charles Roth.

Another option is photography, sometimes included as part of journaling. These days, digital cameras are all but ubiquitous and of course kids love them. So you might ask children to go outside, take as many photos as they want, and then pick three favorites (or even just one) to tell stories about. Video is another option, but one that should be used judiciously and with extra care, because children often focus almost all their attention on the video rather than nature. Here is an opportunity for you, the mentor, to step in and model behaviors. You might start by walking outdoors with the child, observing things closely and stopping only once in a while to take a photo or video. Afterward, you could share images and take turns telling your stories.

One last storytelling tool worthy of mention is the nature table. Consider putting aside a table for kids to bring in their latest discoveries. Rocks, sticks, pinecones, and bones are all fair game. You might even encourage the collection of live critters—bugs and lizards, for example—to be kept temporarily in clear containers (with air holes added, of course) before being released. A further step, if your comfort level allows, is a terrarium, often made from a recycled aquarium with a lid added. Terrariums allow kids to care for animals and watch them for extended periods. At least a portion of the objects in this mini-zoo can be changed out on an ongoing basis, as new finds arrive. The beauty of a nature table is that it can be something your child is proud to curate. Jade’s nature table has been a great font of stories, giving her the opportunity to retell key events to family and friends.

Story of the day can be done solo—through art, journaling, or photography, for example—one-on-one, or in groups. Many families have a storytelling tradition, often played out around the dinner table. If your family doesn’t have such a tradition, think about creating one. Stories provide a wonderful way for family members to connect with one another, often aided by emotion-filled laughter and tears. Getting groups of kids to share their nature stories can be equally potent. At the Art of Mentoring, group leaders use various techniques to entice youngsters to share their tales. Sitting in circles and passing a talking stick are effective strategies to focus attention and ensure that the storyteller has the needed time to tell her tale.

Perhaps most important, watching other children tell stories may be the greatest inspiration for those who tend toward being shy, withdrawn, and soft-spoken. Over time, reluctant storytellers often emerge bold and powerful, looking you in the eye as they convey the excitement of their outdoor moments. Group storytelling also has the added benefit of sharing knowledge. Individuals learn from one another, and their own stories gain deeper meaning as new insights are sparked. If you’re a teacher, consider instituting schoolyard nature excursions multiple times a week and circling up afterward. Kids might share their stories verbally, or with the aid of drawings or writings.

Done well, story of the day can transform a brief outing or a cold, muddy slog into a lasting memory brimming with meaning. But bringing that story to the surface often demands some mentoring in the form of questions. By tugging on various threads, you can help create not only the story, but the storyteller. What kinds of questions are best? Well, I’m glad you asked.

 

The Questioner

 

One day while Jade and I were out walking near our home in California, she spotted a tall bird sitting perfectly motionless in a clearing adjacent to the creek. “What kind of bird is it?” she queried. My strong inclination was to blurt out the answer, particularly since it was one of my favorites, a great blue heron. Instead, I turned it back to her. “What kind of bird do you think it is?” She thought for a moment and came back with, “Maybe a heron. I’m not sure.”

“Great idea,” was my response. “Let’s sit here and watch it for a while.”

And so we did. “Why do they have those long beaks?” I asked.

“For catching critters,” was Jade’s quick reply.

“So what do you think it’s doing now?”

“Maybe hunting,” came her response.

“What do you think it’s hunting for?”

“I dunno. Probably rodents.”

Sure enough, within a couple of minutes, the heron performed its classic slow-motion head bow, as if in solemn prayer, followed by a lightning-strike jab at the ground. When it rose up again, it held some kind of small mammal firmly in its beak.

“I was right. It’s got a rodent!”

We watched as the giant bird skillfully maneuvered its prey within the jaws and then swallowed it whole, the neck contorting as the animal passed down the gullet. Fascinated, we stayed long enough to watch two repeat performances, as the heron depleted the clearing of its rodent population. When we got home, Jade immediately grabbed one of the bird books and paged through it until she found the correct entry. “Look, Daddy, that bird was a heron. A great blue heron!”

When a child asks a question and you know the answer, it’s natural to want to share it. Providing the answer makes us feel good and we presume that kids really want to know. But this inclination can lead us astray. Oftentimes, our response ends the interaction by cutting off curiosity. Counterintuitively, children are often looking for our engagement more than our answers, hoping that the focus of their attention will become ours too.

By turning the question back on them, we crack open a learning opportunity, a chance for them to actively participate in solving a mystery. If I had followed my first inclination and named the heron when asked, chances are good that we would have kept walking, and that Jade would not have remembered the name later. A missed opportunity. Instead, to this day, Jade fondly talks about the hunting heron. (Rest assured, I’ve blown this same kind of opportunity many times by giving the answer instead of asking a question.)

Questions from mentors come in three flavors: easy, medium, and hard. Easy questions fall well within the wheelhouse of a child’s understanding. Often asked in rapid succession, the aim is to build confidence and keep enthusiasm high. Medium questions, in contrast, are intended to stretch the edges of knowledge, pushing a child to build on what he already knows to reach a novel conclusion. Such edge questions are best offered only after a succession of easy ones. Finally, hard questions go just beyond the limits of a kid’s knowledge. These are the mystery-makers, the queries that set up a search for clues that may last minutes, days, or years.

Coyote’s Guide recommends the following balance of the three types: 70 percent easy, 25 percent medium, 5 percent hard. In short, the majority of your questions should be straight-up confidence boosters, with occasional edge-stretchers and very rare edge-busters. Most of the time, the asking sequence should begin with easy before venturing to medium and hard. Why? Because difficult questions often have the same effect as answers, killing curiosity rather than bolstering it.

Think back to the tracking story at the beginning of this chapter. Sam demonstrated his adeptness as a mentor by starting with a series of easy questions, like, “How many toes does the cat have?” and “What direction do you think the animals were heading?” Then he moved on to a couple of medium questions, asking when the footprints were likely made, and whether the cat tracks might belong to a larger feline. Finally, he ended with a mystery. Was the mountain lion hunting the deer? By the time this last query arrived, the hook had been set. Kids and adults alike were fired up, enthusiastic to search for more clues.

“Hold on,” you might be thinking. “Surely there are times to provide answers as well as questions.” Absolutely. Teaching is one of the primary roles of a mentor, and it’s essential to share information. The key is knowing when to share. If it feels like a group really needs an answer, and you happen to have it, by all means pass it along. But first try to make sure that curiosity levels are high. Look at the faces of your mentees to see if they’re truly engaged.

Mentoring is akin to gardening. Questions are like fertilizer; they help prepare the soil for learning to occur. After all, if the soil isn’t rich with nutrients, plants can’t grow, or at best they won’t be able to thrive. Answers, in contrast, are more like trowels. They are sharp tools for increasing leverage and creating spaces for seeds or young plants. So, before you go into teacher mode, ask yourself if the soil is ready. Is your response likely to decrease or increase curiosity? If the latter, you’re on the right track. There’s no way to learn this skill except through trial and error. So get out there and plant a learning garden. Before long, it’ll be overflowing with greenery!

Artful questioning removes the mentor from the role of expert and places the learner in charge. Our goal is not merely to talk about gardening, but to empower children to become gardeners themselves. From a mentoring perspective, it can be hard to break the Teacher habit (trust me—I know this from direct, repeated experience). But doing so will reap amazing results. A handy saying to remember is, go from being the sage on the stage to the guide beside.

So, as an exercise to build your Questioner muscles, try this experiment next time you’re outdoors with children. Watch closely to see what they’re interested in and start there. Ask plenty of easy questions and a few medium ones, refraining from offering any answers. If the children ask you something, deflect with more questions aimed at raising curiosity. Odds are excellent that you’ll be surprised by the positive response generated by this approach. And if you’re feeling a bit bummed that you aren’t the one providing clever answers, console yourself with the knowledge that you have begun morphing into the Coyote.

There you have it. Three core mentoring routines: nature experience, story of the day, and questioning. These routines encompass the main elements of nature connection: experience, mentoring, and understanding (EMU). According to Jon Young, “The antidote to Nature Deficit Disorder may be this simple: get people to spend time in nature, and when they return, be there to ask good questions and catch their stories.”

 

Going Coyote

 

Many North American indigenous cultures have stories about the trickster Coyote. In some of these tales, Coyote is the creator. In others, he plays the fool or the clown. Most often, he has the magical powers of a transformer, able to shape-shift into other creatures and hide in plain sight.

By now I hope you’re getting a sense of the Coyote role played by nature mentors. Effective mentors are almost invisible. They deepen connection and learning in their mentees without even appearing to be teachers. They start by using the longings of youngsters as both bait and distraction. For young children, those longings likely revolve around free play. For kids in middle childhood, passions might be directed toward playing a game or showing competency of some sort, so you might ask them to head out to gather berries or apples. For teens, longings revolve more around pushing personal limits in the company of peers. As mentor, your role might be to organize an outing that meets these goals—perhaps ziplining or backpacking.

Particularly when established as habit, wanders and sit spots are powerful tools for opening senses, expanding awareness, and deepening nature connection. Rather than setting these activities as tasks, Coyote mentors build excitement by modeling the right attitude and engaging in the same activities. Afterward they exchange stories and ask questions that build confidence and probe the edges of understanding. Nature mentors are also active, unconditional listeners, watching body language and facial expressions to determine where interests lie, and when to insert a provocative factoid or another confidence-boosting question.

Returning to the great triad of beauty, truth, and goodness, these values are best conveyed not through teaching, but through modeling. It’s not what you say, it’s what you do. Henry David Thoreau once said, “You cannot perceive beauty but with a serene mind.” Mentors, then, need to model a serene mind, taking time outdoors just to sit quietly and notice. Children will see this and soon follow, particularly if invited. Given that understanding is nurtured far more through active participation than passive consumption, good nature mentors model an insatiable curiosity. They ask leading questions and engage wholeheartedly in nature explorations.

As for goodness, the Coyote approach is simply to model caring and empathy for nature. Invite children to close their eyes and imagine being a giant tree. What does it feel like to have roots penetrating the earth, a trunk pulling water up from the soil, and thousands of green leaves soaking up sunlight? Or how about a four-legged mule deer, casually munching on plants and then stopping suddenly to stand upright and listen, turning those giant ears toward an unfamiliar sound? Through an invitation to experience the world like another animal or a plant, the child builds a sense of place brimming with “others,” each with its own inclination and role specific to that place. Through this style of mentoring, beauty is revealed, truth is discovered, and goodness builds from within.

What about Coyote’s role as fool and clown? There’s definitely a place for that too. Imitating a raven’s call or walking like a bear might be just the prompting that children need to make meaning from a nature experience. Acting things out—even if your imitations bear only a mild resemblance to the original—engages different parts of the mind, making an experience more memorable. And if things are feeling too serious, try reinvigorating the group’s energy by hiding in the bushes and popping out as the kids go by. (My father did this on multiple occasions when we were kids, and always got a great response.) Nature connection has to be fun. Without this essential ingredient, children will quickly lose interest. So stretch your own edges and work on being the human embodiment of the trickster Coyote!

We’ll delve further into Coyote tricks in subsequent chapters. Right now, with some new mentoring tools in your tool belt, it’s time to turn to the power of big ideas, starting with the notion that everything is interconnected with everything else.

 

Secret #3 for Raising a Wild Child

 

Pay close attention to children’s interactions with nature and follow their lead. Tailoring experiences and questions to kids’ specific interests is the best path toward inspiring passion for the natural world.

 

Nature Mentoring Tips

 

HEAD OUT ON A WANDER

 

Get some kids and head out into nature. For at least a portion of the time, invite them to go ninja-style, moving slowly and quietly to see what they can see, hear, and smell. Remind them that the animals will run away if they’re too loud. See what kinds of mysteries you (and they) can find while in this stealth mode—things that capture their interest. Then ask some questions about them. (What does it feel like? Does it have a distinct smell? How many colors can you see? Why do you think it’s shaped like that?) Correct answers aren’t important. The goal is to use your nature mentoring skills to stretch senses and fuel curiosity. Make sure you display your own passion for the discoveries that you find most intriguing. Consider making a list of the coolest things you see, or perhaps take photos of them. Afterward, go over the list or photos with the children and see if you can extend youngsters’ engagement by playing with the edges of their understanding. If the child is really seeking answers, feel free to get on the computer to find them. Most important, have a lot of fun out there!

 

START SIT SPOTTING

 

Find a place in or adjacent to a natural (or seminatural) setting where you can sit and observe. Pick a place that’s close—for example, in the backyard, courtyard, or neighborhood park—so that it’s easy to get to. Remember, the best sit spot is the one you use! Visit your sit spot regularly, preferably daily or at least several times a week, and sit quietly there, observing with all your senses. If possible, stay for thirty to forty minutes, but even five minutes is far better than nothing. Listen for birds and other animals, tracking your observations with notes and pictures in a nature journal. If the kids in your life are seven or older, encourage them to do the same. Vary the time of day, enjoying morning, noon, and night, to see how your sit spot changes. Eventually, you’ll come to know this little corner of the universe better than anyone else. With a little patience, anyone can learn the local “bird language,” the acquired skill of understanding the meaning of local animal calls and movements. I have done sit spot off and on for years, and I find that I’m a much happier, more relaxed person when I make the time for it. In general, middle childhood is the best time to initiate a sit spot for kids, starting with just a few minutes at a time and building slowly from there. For adolescents and adults, there may be no better way to deepen nature connection. And you’ll quickly find that this activity changes the way you and the youngsters in your life experience where you live. For more information, check out a pair of books by Jon Young: What the Robin Knows and ­Coyote’s Guide to Connecting with Nature, Second Edition.

 

OPEN SENSES AND EXPAND AWARENESS

 

Whether wandering, sit spotting, or just hanging out in nature, it’s important to fully open your senses and expand your awareness to everything around you. Encourage the children you’re with to do the same. To begin, play with Deer Ears and Owl Eyes. Deer have amazing hearing, thanks in part to their very large ears, which capture the faintest of sounds. Try having children (or adults) cup their hands behind their ears and notice the difference in the sounds they can pick up. Ask them to figure out the most distant sound they can hear, and the total number of different sounds they can identify. Similarly, owls have amazing eyesight (and hearing). In this case, invite kids to soften their vision so that they can see as much as possible in multiple directions. Ask them to look straight ahead and move their outstretched hands forward from behind their heads to find the point where their hands first come into view. What is the most distant thing they can see? Then, on subsequent visits outdoors, pause once in a while to remind kids to use their Deer Ears and Owl Eyes. The mentor’s role is to continually push the boundaries of the child’s sensory sphere, helping her to see, hear, feel, touch, and smell the everyday nature that surrounds us.

 

BECOME A SNEAKER

 

One of the best ways to open your senses is to try moving with utter silence. Some call this “sneaking.” Kids love sneaking games like kick the can. While attending the Art of Mentoring weeklong workshop, I learned another one called “firekeeper.” Have a group of kids (or adults) stand in a circle. One person takes the role of firekeeper and sits in the circle’s center, blindfolded. In front of him is a hat into which some jangly keys are placed. The activity leader then points to two or three individuals at a time, who attempt to sneak into the circle and steal the keys from the hat without being heard. If the firekeeper hears the “sneaker” and successfully points to her, that person returns to the edge of the circle to wait for another turn. However, the firekeeper must point to a specific place (rather than waving toward a general area), and you might allow them only seven to ten “empty” pointing attempts to ensure that the person is truly focusing on sounds. To up the ante, move from a grassy area to a place with more sticks and dry leaves. This shift in venue forces the sneakers to “fox walk,” carefully placing each foot before putting weight on it.

 

QUESTIONING

 

One of the most essential nature mentor roles is being the Questioner. After kids spend time outdoors, ask them what happened. What did they see, hear, and feel? What was their story of the day? Make sure the bulk of your questions are easy to answer, particularly at the start, so as to build confidence. Then try a few tougher questions that cause the children to really think and stretch the boundaries of their knowledge and experience. If you happened to notice that a particular bird was singing, ask the children if they noticed it. Once in a while, if you think the children are really hooked, drop in a mystery—something you may not have the answer to that’s just beyond the kids’ edges. Then return to that mystery once in a while to see if they’ve made any progress on it. Or think about seeking the answer together. This activity need not take much time; a few minutes will usually do it.

Another strategy is to start with a living thing, like a tree, and ask questions that work backward through all the steps and ingredients that had to happen for that tree to grow in that place. So, for example, your questions might entice children to reveal the role of clouds (for water) and soil (for nutrients). Afterward, consider encouraging an attitude of gratitude, thanking the many partners that helped that tree to grow, among them sun, rain, soil, and previous generations of trees. You can go through the same process with any food item. The most important thing here is to get into the habit of asking questions. In addition to the lessons learned, being the Questioner shows how you value both nature and the children’s experience.