Teaching Tiny Stewards

This week we hiked around at a beach and in the woods at a campsite we’ve been to a hundred times, and still—the boys stopped every few feet to look at plants and trees, collect sticks, and they commonly ask questions like, “Who planted all these trees?” and “What if someone cut them all down?”

And just like that, I found myself thinking about how to explain stewardship, public land responsibilities, and the importance of protecting the wild places we love—all in language a 4 and 6 year old could grasp.

Because here’s the thing: they’re not just playing in the woods. They’re growing up in it. And if I want them to fall in love with this land—really really love it—then I have to teach them what it means to take care of it.

Stewardship Starts in Childhood

In our house, I don’t want stewardship to just be a fancy word. It’s picking up trash on the trail, looking out for the habitats of all the small little critters, learning to tread lightly where the bears walked before them. It’s understanding that this land doesn’t belong to us—we belong to it.

We talk about sharing. How these forests, rivers, beaches, and mountains are public lands, which means they belong to everyone. But if we’re not careful, if we stop paying attention, someone might try to take them from us.

And then it’s not everyone’s anymore.

The Threat to “Ours”

There are conversations happening far from our backyard—policy discussions about selling public land, opening up protected forest to development, and rolling back protections that generations before us fought hard to put in place.

Here in Southeast Alaska, that often means talk about the Tongass National Forest. About removing protections for our old-growth trees, the ones that cool our rivers and shelter our salmon. About turning the wild into something for profit instead of something for our children.

And while our little ones might not understand the politics of it all yet, they understand the heart of it. For a lot of us, what is most concerning— the impact that this could have on our kids, the ones we’re trying to raise here.

Because if we lose access to these lands, if the places they fish and run and breathe are sold off and clear-cut and blocked off—our kids lose something sacred. And they won’t even remember what it used to feel like.

Teaching Them to Care

I want my boys to grow up believing that their voices matter. That nature isn’t just pretty scenery, but something they’re responsible for. That being outdoorsy doesn’t just mean owning the right boots or knowing how to make a campfire—it means caring for the land you live on.

That means:

Picking up more than you packed in. Learning whose land you’re on and respecting that. Asking hard questions when things don’t feel right. And sometimes, writing letters to people in power, even if your spelling is wobbly and your mom has to help.

Because even the smallest hands can carry big responsibility.

We’re Not Just Visiting

We are raising children in the wild, for the wild. I want them to grow up knowing they’re not guests here—they’re part of it. And with that comes the responsibility of care.

So when I hear them ask, “What if someone cuts them all down?” I answer honestly.

“Then the bears won’t come. The deer won’t have a place to stay safe. The salmon might stop running. And when you grow up and have kids, your kids will not get to see Alaska the way you do.”

And then I tell him what we’re going to do about it.