In 2015, our family took off on an epic scientific adventure. We revisited and resurveyed many of the study sites I’d worked on during my PhD, roughly ten years previously. To say this trip was challenging is an understatement. Two kids (4 and 7 at the time), one 4wd and trailer in tow, a tent and camp that was put up and pulled down every few days as we moved between sites along long dusty corrugated roads. We had no toilets, no showers, plenty of flies and tropical heat…you get the picture. But, it was also a truly once in a lifetime opportunity and formative experience for all of us. We took our kids out of school, and instead enrolled them in the school of nature (yes, we still made time for reading, maths and art classes too) and ecology.

Our kids learnt what’s required to survey and monitor kangaroo and wallaroo populations, including my favourite, the antilopine wallaroo. They also learnt what’s necessary to aid the conservation of wildlife and ecosystems. Our son had a list of all the reptiles he wanted to see, including the thorny devil, Boyd’s forest dragon, death adder, freshwater and saltwater crocodiles, knob-tailed and leaf-tailed geckos, green python and perentie. Quite the list for a seven year old! He saw all but the perentie.

Our daughter was also very interested in finding wildlife, and the many stunning flowering plants in the region, but as our little extravert she was even more excited about the many people we met along the way, including the owners of the many properties we worked on. This taught our kids that to do science and ecology, it is critical to work with people and foster relationships, some of which have developed into life long friendships. Bonus! These experiences have undoubtedly led our children to have a strong connection with the natural world, and they are both now active defenders of it, demanding stronger commitments to conservation from our leaders. Most importantly though perhaps, they’ve never lost sight of the simple beauty and infinite mysteries that nature provides, and they still take joy in things that others simply walk past. Once more in Melbourne lockdown, I’d love nothing more than to pack up a 4wd and take off into northern Australia to do this all over again.

The sound of the noisy miners squawking outside immediately got my attention. Although they are pretty indiscriminate with who they take umbrage to, the urgency of their yelling told me something was up. Something exciting! I took my then two year old daughter to investigate. Lo and behold, nothing to be seen but lots of birds dive bombing an invisible foe in the tree outside our front door. I peered all around, checking from different angles and perspectives. Then, nonchalantly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, the little one points up and said ‘Daddy. Big snake in tree’.

This was one of the first of many special encounters we have shared – a cassowary on the beach, tree-kangaroos atop a rainforest tree, wave-surfing dolphins, a koala raining down scats on our tent while camping. But just as exciting are the everyday encounters – native bees emerging from the hive on a warm morning, a house gecko darting out from behind the curtains, a galah at the bird feeder. Some of my earliest and most special memories are of seeing wild creatures. Creating new memories, together with both of my daughters, takes this to a whole new level. And even though they are only five and two, they are already hardwired to instantly race outside at the first sign that the noisy miners have found something.

A few years ago, my family joined me on a fieldtrip out west.  My mission was mistletoes, specifically, working out which kinds of trees they preferred.  This was the basis of an Honours student’s thesis, and we were spending a few weeks travelling through some of my favourite country.  Spending time among Leopardwoods and Gidgee, Kurrajong and Yarran.  My boys had come along on many previous trips, including several sabbaticals to places much further from home.  But this place was familiar.  The smells and sounds, the names and faces.  While we spent the day driving around looking for trees to count, they divided their time between tagging along in the back of the station wagon or pottering around camp.  There were always things to do.  Yabbies to race.  Trapdoor spiders to coax out of holes.  Patterns to trace in the sand.  One day, we were walking through a stand of Mulga, eyes tilted to their sparse canopies looking for mistletoes.

Wow! What’s this dada?

Charlie, our youngest, had a keen eye for small things close to the ground, finding all manner of treasures when we walked together.  And this day was no exception.  He found a train of caterpillars.  Large ones with abundant fleecy hairs, inching in single file across the ground.  There were dozens of them, making a weird gossamer rope that slowly wended its way around rocks and succulent ground covers.  This was something I’ve seen many times before.  I went to walk carefully over them and continue my search, but Charlie wanted a closer look, lying down in front of them to see the world from their perspective.

Without hesitating, I joined him, lying beside him, his attention fixed upon the leader of the train.  I waited for his next question, but it didn’t arrive.  This was it.  This was enough.  Find something interesting and look at it. Closely.  For a long time.

He was enthralled.

There was no need for names or explanations.  Sharing the wonder of this moment was ample.  As a scientist, I necessarily analyse and interpret, interrogate and search for meaning.  But it’s well worth stopping now and then, adopting a new perspective, and taking it all in.  Charlie taught me that, and has reminded me many times since.  Reminded me that wonder, beauty and untold stories matter.

Photo credit: Maggie Watson

Playing in nature with kids is an exhilarating and fun experience, and often helps us see things that we otherwise wouldn’t have. My two girls are aged 7 and 9, and love exploring in nature. For example, yesterday we were walking (or in their case leaping!) through the Wombat State Forest in Victoria (fortunately within our 5km Covid lockdown area), where controlled burns had happened a few years ago, and more recently where extreme storms had blown down many trees. I asked them if they thought fire was good or bad for the forest, and they rightly replied that it is both – so we talked about how these forests need fire to regenerate, but also how it can be damaging if the fires are too ferocious.

As a kid I always loved looking at little things – beetles, flowers, marine life in rock pools – and still do, and it seems my kids are similarly inclined. They adore animals, and it’s not unusual to find them making elaborate tunnels for worms we have found in our vegetable garden, or flower, moss and leaf filled homes for beetles they find in the bush. Whenever we are walking through the bush or exploring rocky shorelines I’ll often hear excited young voices saying – ‘Dad, come and look at this spider’ or ‘wow, did you see that lizard lying on the rock!’. People often say to me, in a surprised tone, how confident my kids are in nature – climbing trees, scampering along creeks, scaling rocky outcrops – and I often think – aren’t all kids like this? It makes me reflect on my own rural childhood, and how I always used to find wonder and refuge in nature, and how I loved going alone up into the dry rocky woodland on our property and exploring.

I think developing a relationship with nature – through play and curiosity – are vital for the next generation to really value what we have left, and not to squander it further. The sharp eyes of kids, their curious attitudes and willingness to make a game out of anything reminds me of how important it is to keep an open mind to learn and re-learn. In this strange new world that we are now in, the bush provides us and our children a place to recharge, reflect and reconnect with ourselves and the natural world, a gentle reminder that we need to conserve nature as much for our own benefit as for its own inherent value.

My daughter is soon turning 11 years old. Much to my delight, she's developed a deep love of nature. I like to think I've helped nurture that love -- through bush walks, camping, watching nature documentaries, and local trips snorkelling and to rock platforms-- but frankly, it was an easy sell. Nature's beauty & wonder speaks for itself. She can lose herself for hours in nature. It's also where she is calmest. All I have to do is get her there, give her space, and share in the wonder. I've never pushed her to share my love of maths and plants, but to my surprise, these are emerging passions for her too. Is it the fondness in how I speak about these topics? Perhaps this is her way of connecting with me?

Recently, I was invited to talk to the year 5 & 6 kids at her school about plants. I gave them an interactive version of a 2nd year lecture about functional traits and plant strategies. We felt woods of different density, leaves of different thickness and size, and seeds of different size; and talked about the tradeoffs related to each. The kids were so engaged, I was there for 90mins answering their many questions. It wasn't planned this way, but it turned out to be a wonderful opportunity to share the science of plants with my daughter, deepening her appreciation of what I do and nature at the same time.