Sometimes the magic of Forest School begins long before anyone steps into the woods.
Last week, I invited the families at our preschool session to bring along a few little treasures from home.
A feather, a shell, a pine cone, a ribbon…
Anything that could become part of a woodland mobile to hang from the trees around our little Basecamp.
One family arrived carrying a bag full of treasures.
There were poppy seed heads, ribbons, a tiny wooden squirrel, shells and all sorts of little bits and pieces that had clearly been gathered over time.
His mum smiled as she handed it to me.
“It came from his grandparents.”
She’d sent them my message about bringing nature treasures, and instead of simply reading it, they’d set about searching their home together. They gathered things they thought their grandson would love to share.
By the time he arrived, he wasn’t just bringing a bag of objects. He was bringing a story.
He proudly emptied the treasures onto the ground for everyone to see. Other children gathered around, fascinated by each discovery.
It made me realise that Forest School doesn’t begin when the session starts, and it doesn’t end when everyone goes home.
That’s what I love most.
Forest School isn’t simply something families attend.
Over time, it becomes part of how they notice the world.
As the children created their mobiles, I imagined them hanging from the trees around Basecamp, gently moving in the breeze for passing walkers to enjoy. Our little wishing trees have become something of a landmark, and I know local people smile when they spot children’s creations there.
But the children had other ideas.
One by one they proudly held up their mobiles.
“I want to hang mine at home.”
Of course they did.
These weren’t just decorations.
They were evidence that they had made something with their own hands, that they could create. Evidence of their growing confidence.
Sometimes I think adults are quick to focus on the finished product.
Children remind us that what really matters is what they discovered about themselves while making it.
Perhaps that’s why they wanted to take their mobiles home.
Not simply to decorate a garden or a bedroom.
But to keep a reminder that they made this.
That they could do something they were proud of.
And perhaps that’s one of the greatest gifts we can give children.
Not beautiful things.
But opportunities to discover that they are capable of creating beautiful things themselves.
A question to take with you…
What is something you made as a child that filled you with pride—and why do you think you still remember it today?









