I watched children pick up worms recently, and the experience stayed with me far longer than I expected because what I was seeing was not cruelty, and it was not children deliberately trying to hurt something. They were fascinated, curious and excited to have found something alive in the soil, yet the worms were being carried around and passed between hands almost in the same way a child might handle a loose piece of paper or a small toy. What seemed to be missing was the understanding that this little creature had needs of its own, that it had come from somewhere, that it relied on moisture and soil to survive, and that our excitement about finding it did not mean we could forget that it needed to be returned somewhere safe.
I remember feeling surprisingly emotional watching that moment unfold because I realised how easily adults can assume that children will simply know how to care for living things. We talk about children being kind, gentle and respectful as though these qualities appear automatically, yet so much of what children understand about care is learned through repeated experiences with the adults around them. A child does not automatically know that a worm will dry out if it is left sitting in the sun, that a snail has not appeared in the garden for the purpose of becoming a toy, or that a small plant that is repeatedly pulled out of the soil will eventually stop growing.
They learn because somebody slows down enough to explain it in a way that makes the living thing matter. We might say, “This worm needs the damp soil, so let’s put it back where we found it,” or “We can look at this snail for a little while and then we need to return it somewhere safe,” and these comments may seem incredibly simple, yet they gradually teach children that their own curiosity exists alongside responsibility.
This is what I keep thinking about when we talk about teaching children to care for the environment. We often begin with very big ideas such as recycling, reducing waste, saving water, protecting wildlife or caring for the planet, and all of those conversations are important, but I wonder whether we sometimes begin too far away from the child’s actual experience. The concept of protecting the planet is enormous for a young child, while the understanding that the worm in their hand needs to return to damp soil is immediate, tangible and real.
Before a child can care deeply about something as abstract as “the environment”, perhaps they need the opportunity to care about the living world that is already within reach.
A child who learns to put a rock back because insects live underneath it is beginning to understand habitat in a way that no worksheet can replicate. A child who watches a snail move through the garden and resists the urge to keep picking it up is beginning to understand that being interested in another living thing does not mean we are entitled to control it. A child who learns that some flowers can remain on the plant because bees and other insects may need them is beginning to see that the garden exists for more than just human enjoyment.
These are such ordinary experiences, but they carry important lessons about perspective, responsibility and restraint. The child begins to recognise that another living thing has needs that are different from their own, and that what they choose to do can affect something more vulnerable than themselves. In that sense, being gentle with a worm is not only a lesson about nature. It is also an early lesson in thinking beyond your own immediate wants.
Children learn what deserves care by watching us
I think children notice much more than we sometimes realise about the way adults interact with the natural world. If an adult automatically crushes an insect because it is inconvenient, children notice. If we tear plants apart without thought, they notice. If we lift a log, discover a collection of tiny creatures underneath it and then carefully replace the log because it is somebody else’s shelter, they notice that too.
None of this requires adults to become experts in ecology. We do not need to know the scientific name of every worm, bird, plant or insect in order to teach respect. In some ways, I think it can be incredibly powerful for children to hear an adult say, “I don’t know what that is, but we can look closely and make sure we are gentle with it.” That response communicates that knowledge is useful, but care does not have to wait until we know everything.
What matters is the message underneath our behaviour: this living thing is worthy of consideration even when it cannot speak to us, entertain us or give us anything in return.
I think this is also why gardens are such valuable places for young children. A garden is full of living things that respond slowly and quietly to what happens around them. Plants do not scream when a child pulls them apart. Worms cannot tell us they are becoming dry. A snail cannot explain that constant handling is stressful. The child has to learn to notice more subtle information and, with adult guidance, begin to respond before damage becomes obvious.
This is very different from many of the fast feedback systems children experience elsewhere. A screen responds immediately. A toy makes a noise. A game rewards or corrects. Nature often gives much quieter feedback, which means children may need adults to help them interpret what they are seeing until they gradually begin to notice for themselves.
Respecting nature does not mean stopping children from touching it
I also think it is important that this conversation does not become another reason to tell children not to touch anything. I want children to touch nature. I want them digging in soil, collecting sticks, feeling bark, finding worms, turning over leaves, looking underneath logs, jumping into puddles and discovering the tiny creatures that many adults walk straight past.
Children learn through their bodies, and we should not confuse respect for nature with keeping children physically separated from it. The learning sits in helping children understand how to interact closely without assuming that everything they discover exists for them to take, keep, squeeze, pull apart or remove.
We can say yes to the exploration while still teaching care. “Yes, you can hold the worm, and let’s use very gentle hands.” “Yes, we can look underneath the log, and then we need to put it back.” “Yes, you can smell the flowers, and we are going to leave these ones growing.” These are not complicated lessons, yet repeated over months and years they begin to form a very different relationship between the child and the natural world.
In many ways, this is what stewardship begins to look like in early childhood. It is not a child being able to define sustainability. It is a child who knows that their actions matter in a place that is shared with other living things.
The beginning of empathy may sometimes look very small
When we think about empathy, we often imagine children comforting another person, noticing sadness or understanding somebody else’s feelings. Those are important expressions of empathy, but I think nature gives children another way to practise the beginnings of perspective-taking because they have to consider needs that are completely different from their own.
The child may want to hold the worm for another ten minutes, but the worm needs to return to the soil. The child may want to pick every flower because they are beautiful, but the plant needs some of those flowers to remain. The child may want to take the snail home, but the snail belongs in the environment where it was found. In each case, the child is learning that wanting something is not the only consideration.
That is a profoundly useful lesson in childhood because so much of self-regulation eventually involves being able to pause long enough to consider information beyond the immediate impulse. The child does not have to stop being excited or curious. They simply learn that excitement can exist alongside gentleness, and that curiosity can exist alongside care.
Research on children’s environmental behaviour supports the idea that direct contact with nature and meaningful experiences in natural environments are important influences in the development of nature connection and environmentally caring behaviour. The research does not suggest that simply putting a child outside automatically creates empathy or stewardship, because family, culture, education and social values all play a role, but it does suggest that children’s relationships with nature are shaped through experience rather than through information alone.
This is why I think we need to be careful not to reduce environmental learning to posters, recycling bins and annual sustainability activities. Those things can have value, but they become much more meaningful when children already have a lived relationship with the natural environment around them.
A child who has never really cared about a worm may understand the words “protect biodiversity”, but the child who has learned to return worms carefully to the soil already understands something important about what those words are trying to protect.