Nature: The Original Classroom
All my life, nature has been my greatest teacher — wiser than any professor, gentler than any healer, and more patient than any mentor I’ve ever known.
I was fortunate to grow up close to the natural world, first in New England and later in Colorado, where I could explore forests, follow mountain streams, and climb trees tall enough to brush the clouds. Those early adventures shaped me profoundly. They taught me humility, wonder, and belonging.
In time, I realized that nature doesn’t just inspire; it instructs. Long before schools and libraries, the Earth itself was our classroom. Every rustling leaf, every crashing wave, every pattern in the stars held a lesson.
Today, when I hike through the wilderness, I still feel as if I’m attending the most extraordinary school imaginable. Here’s what nature continues to teach me, through subjects as old as the hills and as vital as life itself.
What Nature Teaches Us About MathematicsLong before we ever scrawled equations on chalkboards, the world was already full of numbers and patterns woven into its design.
Look closely and you’ll find geometry hiding in a snowflake, symmetry gleaming in a butterfly’s wings, and the Fibonacci sequence spiraling through sunflowers and seashells alike. Rivers branch like veins, lightning follows fractal paths, and even galaxies spin in mathematical grace.
When I study a pinecone or a fern unfurling, I’m reminded that math isn’t something we invented; it’s something we discovered. Nature has been running these calculations for billions of years.
And in its patterns, I find both order and mystery: proof that beauty and logic aren’t opposites but partners.
What Nature Teaches Us About MusicNature’s symphony never stops; it simply changes instruments.
There’s rhythm in the ocean’s waves, percussion in thunder, melody in birdsong, and harmony in the rustling of leaves. Even silence — the rarest of sounds — carries its own tune.
When I’m deep in the wilderness, I sometimes pause just to listen. The forest hums with life: the whisper of wind through pine needles; the chorus of frogs; the low, steady heartbeat of the Earth itself. All of it reminds me that creation sings constantly.
Every good story, like every great symphony, has rhythm. The rise and fall of a plot mirrors the ebb and flow of the tides. The quiet moments make the crescendos more powerful.
To write, I listen first. Nature’s music shows me the tempo of the tale.
Nature is full of paradoxes, and that’s where its deepest wisdom lies.
It teaches that life is both fragile and fierce, that endings feed beginnings, and that destruction can lead to renewal. The forest fire gives way to green shoots; the avalanche clears a path for spring.
Philosophy begins with questions, and nature is full of them. Why does beauty exist at all? Why do we feel peace under the stars or awe before a mountain? Why are we, who are so small, capable of feeling so infinite?
Once, my mother told me on a snowy day that flowers were sleeping beneath the drifts, waiting for spring. That simple truth held an entire philosophy: patience, hope, and faith in unseen renewal.
To walk in nature is to ponder existence itself — and to realize that life’s deepest answers often come without words.
What Nature Teaches Us About PhysicsEvery hike, every gust of wind, every sunrise is a lesson in physics if you know how to look.
The arc of a hawk’s flight reveals aerodynamics. The curve of a rainbow shows how light bends and scatters. Even the mountains I climb are ancient equations of pressure, time, and tectonic force.
I remember holding a piece of petrified wood that was fifty million years old when I was just a boy. It gave me my first sense of geologic time. The rock didn’t lecture me, but it said everything: that energy changes form, that gravity is patient, and that time itself is nature’s grandest experiment.
Physics, at its heart, is the study of wonder made measurable. But standing beneath a starry sky, I’m reminded that the universe will always exceed our measurements, and that’s part of its beauty.
What Nature Teaches Us About HistoryThe Earth is the oldest storyteller of all. Its history isn’t written solely in books; it’s etched in stone, carved in canyons, and layered in ice.
Every rock holds a memory. Every fossil tells a tale.
When I walk through a forest, I’m moving through time — past and present overlapping in roots and soil. A fallen tree nourishes saplings that will one day fall themselves, continuing the endless cycle.
That pattern inspired much of The Great Tree of Avalon, a world where history is literally alive: growing, changing, and breathing. Nature teaches us that history isn’t just what was, but what still is, transforming all the time.
And if we listen well, we can learn from both its triumphs and its warnings.
What Nature Teaches Us About ArtTo create is to echo nature’s imagination.
Look at a sunset, a coral reef, a redwood forest. No two colors, shapes, or textures ever repeat exactly. Yet somehow it all fits together perfectly. That’s art. That’s balance.
When I write, I try to do what nature does effortlessly: blend chaos and order, light and dark, simplicity and depth.
Art, like nature, invites us to see the world more fully. And both remind us that beauty isn’t a luxury; it’s a form of truth.
What Nature Teaches Us About CommunicationNot all communication uses words.
Trees share nutrients through underground networks of fungi. Whales sing songs across entire oceans. Bees dance directions. Even the silence between animals can speak volumes.
That lesson has shaped how I write dialogue. In every conversation between my characters, there’s something unspoken, the emotional current beneath the words. Nature taught me to notice that, and to respect it.
We can learn a lot about empathy, listening, and respect simply by observing how the natural world speaks without sound.
The Final LessonIf there’s one truth that nature keeps teaching me, it’s this: everything is connected.
The same force that drives a river downstream helps a seed sprout, a star burn, and a story come alive. Every subject — math, music, physics, philosophy, art, and history — begins with observation, curiosity, and reverence for the world around us.
That’s why I’ve always said that nature isn’t just a setting in my stories; it’s a character, alive and full of wisdom.
For me, those lessons from nature have shaped not only who I am, but everything I write. They remind me to stay curious, to look closely, and to never lose that sense of wonder I first felt as a boy climbing trees or watching geese cross a Colorado sky.
Every story I tell — whether set in Fincayra, Avalon, or our own — carries that influence. Nature taught me how to see magic in the ordinary, and that is a lesson I’ll spend my whole life trying to share.
So the next time you find yourself outdoors, even for a few minutes, take notice. Listen to the wind. Study a leaf. Watch how sunlight filters through a branch.
You’re not just looking at the world; you’re learning from it.
Because nature has always been — and always will be — the greatest teacher of all.
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