Beauty and Wonder of the Natural World

Before the world became a constant assault of screens, notifications, and "matters of consequence," it was a kingdom of simple enchantment—a place of abandoned mines, Garry oak trees, wild blackberries, and endless daydreaming.

Chris Brauer

8/29/20263 min read

landscape photography of mountain hit by sun rays

The forest has always been my safe space, away from the chaos of the world. The constant assault of artificial sights and sounds and smells.

Though I certainly appreciated books on wizards and dragons, and Saturday morning cartoons featuring anthropomorphic turtle brothers, nothing stirred my imagination and ignited my wonder like the woodlands of Mount Doug Park on the edge of Victoria.

Officially restored in 2022 to PKOLS – pronounced P’cawls in the SENĆOŦEN language – it is now a popular place for city folk walking their dogs but, when I was nine or ten, it seemed a secret hideaway where few frequented. Sometimes I wandered for hours with my brother or my dog, or with various friends, but there were also times I ventured alone to walk among the trees and scamper through the underbrush, where I’d discover buried treasure in the form of old glass bottles from decades ago.

Sometimes I’d barrel down the hill on my bike, launching myself from tree roots, catching air and feeling the rush of adrenaline. Pretending I was on the back of a luck dragon, unfailing in its serendipity. Or on a Star Wars speeder, through the jungles of Endor. Sometimes I’d dare myself to wiggle into what we collectively called the cougar cave, only learning years later that it was an abandoned mine, stretching into the mountain for fifty or sixty feet.

Sometimes I’d follow trails that circumnavigated the hill or led me towards the ocean’s edge. Sometimes I’d bring a yogurt container and steal blackberries – full of what Irish poet Seamus Heaney called ‘summer’s blood’ – from an overgrown bush after sneaking under old wiring that ran along the property. The only rule was that I had to be home by the time the streetlights came on.

Sometimes I’d take a small snack in my school backpack and waste away an hour or two, daydreaming at the base of a Garry oak tree that stood taller than the others.

I had no concept that others had done the same before me. I’d look out onto the rolling farmland and imagine myself walking the length of the world. Trekking under a hot Spanish sun or finding shelter from cold Norwegian rains. Following the cherry blossoms in southern Japan or stumbling upon ancient sites in western Ireland.

Only now do I understand that I am merely a drop in the ocean of humanity, wherever I may roam, and that many others over millennia have sat where I sat, eating cheese sandwiches, swinging sticks like samurai swords, and dreaming of faraway places. But back then it was only me and silence. And trees. And enchantment.

Little by little, without understanding why, we forget about the beauty and wonder of the outside world. We instead focus on matters of consequence. Financial and family responsibilities. Keeping up with the Joneses. We no longer stop to smell flowers, observe bugs, or pet random cats that roll around in the dirt. We are plugged into step counters and listen to self-help podcasts as we power-walk around the neighbourhood.

And then we plunk our kids in front of screens, so we don’t have to worry about them. Keep them safe from the boogeymen. Only 15% of Canadian children aged five to eleven spend two or more hours outdoors in daily physical activity, according to Outdoor Play Canada.

While unstructured outdoor time builds physical strength, sharpens focus, lowers stress, and boosts creativity through open-ended exploration, making time for nature can seem so daunting.

But what will the future hold, I wonder, if we continue to separate ourselves from the natural world? As Richard Louv writes in The Nature Principle: Reconnecting with Life in a Virtual Age, “We cannot protect something we do not love, we cannot love what we do not know, and we cannot know what we do not see. Or hear. Or sense.”

Simply, children who spend time in nature are more likely to become environmentally conscious adults. While I appreciate a future that encourages remote global collaboration and instant access to decentralized knowledge – never mind an evening of Netflix and nachos – a screen-bound future risks eroding critical thinking, deep human empathy, and face-to-face social bonds.

They say, ‘The best time to plant a tree was thirty years ago; the second-best time is now’. Perhaps the best time to reconnect to the beauty and wonder of the natural world is thirty years ago; the second-best time is now.

Now is the time to step outside into the inland temperate rainforest of the Kootenays. Show kindness to self. Lean into joy. Embrace unapologetic imagination. Join me, won’t you?

Chris Brauer teaches, writes and wanders in the unceded territory of the yaqan nuʔkiy in ʔamakʔis Ktunaxa. His next book We Are So Lightly Here: Celebrating Beauty, Wonder and Magic is due for release in 2027.

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