Twenty-five years ago, I took my first baby to his first well-baby check-up.
Like most new mothers, I arrived armed with questions. Was he growing enough? Sleeping enough? Was I doing it right?
His doctor, Dr Friend, listened patiently and then offered one simple piece of advice.
“Don’t sweat the small stuff and let him get dirty.”
It seemed almost too simple.
To this day, I think it may have been some of the best parenting advice I ever received.
Children are born natural explorers.
They poke sticks into puddles, collect cool rocks, climb things they probably shouldn’t and return home with pockets full of treasures and knees covered in dirt.
Somewhere along the way, many of us begin to see this as something that needs managing rather than encouraging.
Yet the evidence suggests that contact with nature is important for both physical and mental wellbeing.
Soil contains a fascinating bacterium called Mycobacterium vaccae, which researchers have linked to positive effects on mood and immune function.
While gardening isn’t a cure-all, a childhood spent digging, planting and exploring outdoors offers lessons and experiences that can be difficult to find elsewhere.
Several years ago, I came across the idea that children should be able to identify more plants than logos.
Many children can recognise dozens of corporate brands before they can identify a bean plant, a wattle tree or a pumpkin vine.
Gardens help change that.
When children spend time in gardens, they begin to understand that food doesn’t originate on supermarket shelves.
They learn that carrots grow underground, peas arrive in pods and flowers become seeds.
They start to recognise the seasons not because a calendar tells them so, but because the garden does.
These may seem like small lessons, yet they create a sense of connection to place that can be surprisingly rare.
Gardens teach observation.
A child learns to notice the first seedling emerging, the bee visiting a flower, the caterpillar chewing a leaf.
They teach patience. Seeds do not care about deadlines or instant gratification.
They teach perseverance. Sometimes the tomatoes fail. Sometimes the cucumber is eaten by bugs. Sometimes you start again.
They teach resilience because failure isn’t a catastrophe in the garden, just part of the process.
Perhaps most importantly, gardens teach a kind of healthy non-attachment. We can prepare the soil, sow the seed and provide care, but we cannot control the weather, insects or every outcome.
In a world increasingly spent indoors, these lessons feel more valuable than ever.
Children do not need to garden because they might become gardeners.
They need gardens because gardens grow far more than vegetables.
They grow capable, curious and connected human beings.
The garden asks children to participate rather than consume. To observe rather than scroll. To create rather than simply receive.
Those lessons may not appear on a report card, but they matter nonetheless.
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