Last week was our final preschool Forest School session of the academic year.

It is always one of my favourite days.

And one of the hardest.

Every summer, we say goodbye to the children who are about to start school. Over the years, I’ve created a little tradition. Each child receives a graduation medal made from wood gathered from the woodland where we’ve shared so many adventures together, engraved with the Tales and Trails logo.

It’s a small gift.

But it carries so much meaning.

For the children, it’s an exciting milestone.

For their parents and carers, it’s often a moment when the reality sinks in. Their little one is growing up. One chapter is closing and another is about to begin.

There are hugs.

There are photographs.

And almost always, there are tears.

Mine included.

Because as I hand over each medal, I’m not only saying goodbye to a child.

I’m saying goodbye to families I’ve sometimes known for years.

I’ve watched first wobbly steps become confident climbs over fallen logs.

I’ve seen quiet children find their voice.

I’ve watched friendships begin beneath the trees.

And then, just like that, it’s time for them to fly.

These sessions remind me of something nature teaches us again and again.

Everything changes.

The seasons.

The woodland.

Our children.

Ourselves.

The only certainty we really have is that nothing stays the same.

If I’m honest, there are moments throughout the year when I wonder whether I can keep these preschool sessions going.

The weather seems to become more unpredictable with every passing season.

This year alone has brought relentless rain, flooded paths, storms, heatwaves and drought.

Running Forest School means adapting constantly, often carrying on when conditions are far from easy.

Then there are the practical realities.

Insurance.

Safeguarding training.

First aid renewals.

Equipment.

The countless unseen hours behind every two-hour session in the woods.

The truth is, if I looked at these sessions purely as a business, they probably wouldn’t make much sense.

Without my husband’s support, Tales and Trails Preschool Forest School simply wouldn’t exist.

And yet…

Every single time I begin to question whether I can continue, something happens.

A child proudly shows me the stick they’ve transformed into a magic wand.

A parent tells me this is the highlight of their week.

A family returns season after season because this little patch of woodland has become part of their story.

Then graduation day arrives.

The hugs.

The handwritten cards.

The kind words.

The tears.

And I’m reminded that not everything that matters can be measured on a spreadsheet.

Some things make sense in a different way.

They make sense because they bring people together.

Because they help children grow in confidence.

Because they create memories that families carry long after muddy boots have been washed and packed away.

Because they fill a small corner of the world with a little more wonder.

Perhaps we all have something in our lives like that.

Something that asks a great deal of us.

Something that isn’t always easy.

Something that might not make perfect sense to anyone else.

But deep down, we know the world would feel emptier without it.

For me, Tales and Trails is one of those things.

As I packed my trolley after our final session, my heart was full.

Not because everything is easy.

Far from it.

But because, once again, I remembered why I keep coming back.