When my last child was born, I decided to retire early and become a stay-at-home Dad. After thirty years of teaching other people’s children the joys of outdoor and experiential education, it was time to have a classroom of just my son,  It was one of the best decisions I have ever made.

Before he could walk, I backpacked him through every local park and trail we could find. I wheeled him in a stroller to my Faculty of Education classes at York University.I sat him down in the autumn leaves by the edge of a tiny babbling stream so he could listen to the water. I sat him on the chair of a kick sled as we glided along the snowy trails of the Canadian Ecology Centre.

When he could walk, we hiked together everywhere, and worked together at the Caledon-King outdoor campus of the Toronto-Montessori School setting up gardens, orienteering courses and high ropes course challenges. My wife got us hooked on geocaching, so every family road trip became an  adventure. We went on canoe trips, watched the whales spouting from a campsite in Cow Bay, canoe trips in Algonquin Park, camping on Pancake Bay, kayaking in Nova Scotia. It truly was the best of times.

They say the personality is firmly established in those early years, and I hoped his would be rooted in natural systems with every biophilic synapse tingling in his mind. He is a man now, and a fine one. This is also my legacy, that the last child in the woods carries all of those memories, and will keep them alive.

The way I see it.

My third child is simply a child of light. A boy who moved with non-stop energy and a joy of exploration that was a wonder to behold. As a result, of course, in many of the pictures I have of him as a child he has no front teeth. You can only swing through so many trees and climb so many boulders before nature takes its course with an abrupt stop now and then.

He was also the peacemaker, the person could calm anything down with his smile and laugh. He now lives in Oregon, in a beautiful valley with his wonderful wife, and a whole new family of friends who love and respect him as much as we do. Just hearing his voice on the phone makes my heart soar.

His peaceful and loving presence on the planet is also my legacy.

The way I see it.

My eldest daughter is a force of nature. I remember an incident when we lived in Orangeville, using our own well and septic system. She, at 12 years of age, wrote a letter to Proctor and Gamble asking for the detailed contents of their detergent products.

She wanted to know what was going down our drains and via our septic system into our well. When the company responded telling her that they could not reveal their proprietary formula, she wrote back.

“Dear Mr. Proctor and Gamble, I am not going to let my parents buy any more of your products until you tell me exactly what is in that detergent.”

She has lived her life with that passion every day since. She is now a teacher with an international school system and has travelled with her husband from Korea to Qatar to China. Her children, my two young grandsons, have had the opportunity to learn and play on the world stage in academic, sporting and arts events. They are world wise children.

The world is going to need free-range and world-wise children working together to lead us into a brave new world. Learning is a lifelong journey. This too, is my legacy.

The way I see it.

I still have visions of my youngest daughter running around the backyard of a property I once owned North of Orangeville. I would lose sight of her once in a while, between climbing to the top of the red pines to the north of our house, or searching for elves in their undergrowth.

One day I lost sight of her completely. We had a small above ground pool in the backyard, and I ran out to do a safety check. There she was, laying under the stairs to the pool, gently stroking the neck of a garter snake who was hypnotized by her. I left quietly.

On another occasion, I looked out on the back porch where we had a hummingbird feeder. I watched for fifteen minutes while she patiently waited with her hand outstretched under the feeding tube. Finally a hummingbird landed on her finger. She watched close up as it fed from the nectar and her smile was like a thousand Christmas mornings.

Today she lives in British Columbia with her husband and two beautiful grandchildren. She keeps them close to the wild and sacred spaces, hiking the trails, exploring the watersheds, releasing the salmon fry, and simply loving all of the life around them. They are free range children, maybe the last of a childhood immersed in nature.

Today we hear all kinds of experts tout the health and wellness benefits of keeping children in close contact with natural systems. But the easy way out is to hand them an electronic drug like a cell phone or an iPad. Will we inherit the Ecozoic or the Technozoic Era?

At least I know these grandchildren will have had their earliest years immersed in the natural world. If I leave behind any kind of a legacy, this is it.

The way I see it.