This is Part Two of our series on connecting to te taiao. In Part One, I shared my personal journey into nature and the Environmental Kinship Guide framework that has shaped how we think about this at Our Kids. In this article, I want to focus on what actually happens when we give tamariki regular time in natural spaces, and what kaiako can do to support them.
For a long time I was searching for a deeper understanding of what happens when children are in nature. Through my own nature walks I was gaining subject knowledge about birds, trees, plants, and ecosystems, and I knew this kind of knowledge mattered for kaiako too. But I also knew that knowledge alone was not the answer. The question remained: how do children actually learn in nature? What unfolds when we give them regular access to natural spaces with enough time? The Environmental Kinship Guide and the Heart School's work gave me that understanding. And when you see it laid out, you realise that tamariki already know what to do. Our role as kaiako is to be alongside them, ready to respond when their curiosity leads somewhere, not to direct the experience.
The Heart School describes a range of play urges that children naturally express in outdoor and natural spaces. When you watch tamariki in nature, you will see them:
Building and deconstructing. Hut making with sticks and branches, sand constructions, loose parts stacked and knocked down. The thinking, problem-solving, and collaboration that go into building a hut from natural materials is rich learning. And yes, the pulling it apart is part of the process too.
Gathering and transporting. Fossicking for fallen treasures, collecting leaves, carrying sticks, pushing wheelbarrows of soil, moving a harvest from the garden to the table. These are real, purposeful actions that connect tamariki to the natural world through their hands.
Climbing, jumping, and running. Trees, stumps, boulders, steep banks, hills, uneven paths. In nature, the physical environment is not designed for children, it is real, and that is what makes it powerful. Tamariki develop body control, confidence, and resilience through navigating spaces that challenge them.
Transforming and creating. Sand and water become potions. Sticks become wands. Petals and bark become "uncommon stew." Leaves, seed pods, and stones become patterns. Natural materials are the ultimate loose parts because they are open-ended, free, and endlessly varied.
Positioning and patterning. Lining up stones, arranging found collections, creating ephemeral art on the ground. When a child lays out leaves in a careful sequence, they are exploring pattern, order, and structure. The same foundational skills that underpin mathematics and literacy.
These urges are not something we need to teach. They are in every child. What we need to provide is the environment and the time for them to unfold.
In Part One I shared how a difficult hike in the Cook Islands gave me the confidence to take on many more after that. The same happens for tamariki. A child who visits the same bush track regularly will attempt a little more each time. The tree they could not climb last month becomes the tree they sit in this month. The stream they watched from the bank becomes the stream they cross.
Regular visits to the same place matter because one-off excursions can feel unnerving for children. They feel secure going back to a familiar place where they can build on what they did last time.
When tamariki are in natural spaces, the vocabulary that emerges is extraordinary. Sensory language like speckled, spongy, thorny, and jagged. Spatial language like above, below, between, and edge. Movement language like twist, float, sink, and flow. Scientific language like wondering, predicting, and comparing.
These words are not taught in isolation. They are learnt in the moment, connected to real sensory experience. A child who learns the word "spongy" by pressing their fingers into moss on a log will carry that word differently than one who hears it in a classroom. It becomes part of the whole experience package, just as Pennie Brownlee describes in her work on literacy. Nature and literacy are not separate. They are deeply connected.
The Heart School reminds us that authentic connection to nature means tuning into the seasonal rhythm of the year. This is not an inauthentic "unit" on autumn with table top crafts and learning "about." It is genuine experience outdoors all year round: playing in and with the weather and the elements, using seasonal produce, preparing the garden for what is coming next.
When tamariki live the seasons, each one becomes about everything they see, hear, smell, and taste around them. How they play changes. What they wear changes. The rituals for warming back up after a cold morning outside, maybe warm cocoa tucked under a blanket, become part of the rhythm. And when the seasons come around again in their predictable order, children get that magical feeling of "oh, I remember this."
This means embracing all weather with the right clothing, not retreating indoors the moment it rains. Some of the richest nature experiences happen in weather that is not perfect.
Without an understanding of how children learn in nature, bush walks can end up being surface-level. This article and the Kinship Guide framework can help kaiako see the depth of learning that is possible when we slow down and give tamariki more time. Here is what that looks like in practice:
Set the pace by the children, not by adults. I learned this from my own hiking experience. When I walked with a group that moved too fast, I spent the whole time stressed about keeping up. I could not stop to listen to birds or take pictures. I preferred walking with my husband where we could go at our own pace. Tamariki are the same. If the group moves too fast and a child stops to look at something, they learn to stop noticing. The whole point is lost.
Stop when they stop. When a child pauses, crouches down, picks something up, or stares at something, that is the learning moment. Be there. Observe. If they want to share, listen. If they do not, let them be.
Go in small groups. Small groups mean kaiako can be attuned to individual children's interests and responses. You notice more when there are fewer children to watch.
Build kaiako subject knowledge, not to teach but to be ready. When a child finds a caterpillar, it helps to know something about it. When tamariki hear a bird call and look up, a kaiako who can say "that is a tui" turns a passing moment into a connection. When you pass a kawakawa tree on a walk, knowing that kaiako at one of our centres made kawakawa tea and balm with tamariki gives you something real to share. You are not giving a lecture. You are responding in the moment. This knowledge builds over time through your own repeated visits, research, and curiosity. You do not need to be an expert to start.
Model caring, do not force it. Do not demand that children care about nature. Tend the garden yourself. Refill the bird feeder. Pick up rubbish. Let them watch you. A child's relationship with nature becomes the catalyst for their own sense of responsibility when they are ready. As I shared in Part One, you cannot force care. It comes from love, and love comes from time.
Do not collect insects in jars. Instead, observe them where they live and revisit through photos and conversation later. This models respect for living things.
Child-led does not mean unplanned. We want to follow the child, and we know young children want autonomy over their bodies and their right to choose. But kaiako can plan for the conditions that allow learning to happen.
The environment. What urges might this space support? What natural materials are available? What has changed since last time?
What to revisit from last time. What did tamariki show interest in on the previous visit? A particular tree, a stream, insects under a log? Plan from previous observations so you can build on what has already started.
What to bring. Magnifying glasses, binoculars, a camera, bags for collecting. Simple tools that extend discovery without directing it.
Subject knowledge preparation. Are there pūrākau or stories connected to this place? Plants or birds you might encounter that you could read up on beforehand? Not to deliver a lesson, but to be ready if a child's curiosity opens that door.
Practical preparation. Weather-appropriate clothing, allergy awareness, route planning, small group size. Have a plan but be willing to go off the path and into possibility.
Planning is ongoing: a cycle of planning, observing, and reflecting. What you plan for next week depends on what you noticed this week.
Connecting to te taiao in Aotearoa is inseparable from te ao Māori. Mātauranga Māori recognises that human beings are part of the web of life, not separate from it. This is the same understanding that sits at the heart of the Environmental Kinship Guide.
Before entering the bush with tamariki, we can say a karakia to acknowledge Tāne Mahuta, the atua of the forest, and the space we are entering. This is a simple but powerful way of teaching tamariki that the ngahere is not just a place to visit. It is a living world that we enter with respect. Similarly, when we visit the coast, we can acknowledge Tangaroa, atua of the sea. These connections link what tamariki observe in nature with cultural storytelling and whakapapa.
Understanding where your ancestors came from is an important step in understanding your own connectedness to te taiao. For tamariki, this might begin with learning about the maunga, the awa, the moana, and the stories of the place where they live.
This is an area where we are growing as an organisation. Not every kaiako will feel confident with this yet, and that is okay. We can learn from the teams within Our Kids who already have strong bicultural practice, and we can invite local experts, kaumātua, or whānau members to share their stories and seasonal knowledge. The curriculum stays responsive when it is grounded in the community's roots.
Connecting to nature is a family affair. Invite parents to join excursions so they can see how it happens. Share what tamariki are discovering through their e portfolio. Encourage whānau to visit the same places at weekends. When families see their children engaged, curious, and confident in nature, they understand why we do this.
Tamariki who develop a love for nature will take it home. They will point out birds on the way to the car. They will tell their parents about the caterpillar they found. They will educate their wider whānau about recycling and composting, not because we told them to, but because they care.
This article is Part Two of our series on connecting to te taiao. Part One, "How I Found My Connection to Nature and Why It Matters for Our Tamariki," is available on our website.
Fox, H., Gessler, M., Higgins, A., Meade, A., Warden, C. & Williams Ridge, S. (2020). Children's Environmental Kinship Guide. Environmental Kinship International.
Geelen, A., Crisp, K. & McTaylor, T. Hands-on Hearts-in Nature. Heart School.