• Are four seasons not enough to keep you entertained? Try your hand at drafting 72 of them with this month’s one BIG thing to do.

• There’s only one Heated Rivalry reference in this entire newsletter. Please clap for our brevity editor.

• April is the month to ♥︎ our home.

Plus a few other nature notes.

Are you hanging in there?

The state of affairs in the U.S. has changed dramatically since last we spoke. While winter is never the most motivating time to wax poetically about going the heck outside, the vibe out there has become particularly oppressive since Outdoor Humans last landed in your inbox. Are you doing OK?

To be honest, I spent much of the coldest months self-soothing with a Diet Coke in front of a sun lamp. The doomscroll and I became BFFs. I worried about AI data mining and Flock cameras and door knocks and the cost of groceries. It’s hard to encourage others to spend time whimsically wandering the woods when we are inundated with chaos.

And yet, despite the horrors, spring has still arrived. The brighter days feel like a lifeline. Suddenly, I have a little more capacity for self-regulation. I’m able to register the smallest natural happenings and take them in with intentional joy.

I never intend for my newsletters to start with a downer, but I think many of us want to talk about how tough it is right now to be humans, whether it’s the inside or outdoor variety.

If that’s you, I hope you know that while everything feels overwhelmingly big, the pathway to moments of calm is filled with the opposite: tiny observations. Hearing mourning doves’ sorrowful coo-OOO-oo in early morning resets my brain a mere fraction. Finding two woolly worms hidden in an overturned planter helped me push pause on a depressing news podcast to instead pet some mobile pincushions.

This spring, I am looking at the smallest of natural happenings and finding delight in them, even if just for a moment. This month’s one big thing may help you do the same.

Poetry Inspired by the World Around You (and Ancient Japan)

As a Midwesterner, I’ll admit we have quite a few regional phrases. The classic “ope” may reign supreme, followed by the popular “If you don’t like the weather, just wait 5 minutes.” But what if you’re not a fan of the season? In some parts of the world, far from Middle America, waiting five days may have once changed your outlook. While dwellers of temperate climates are used to the churn of four seasons, folks in Japan once acknowledged 72. And yes, each of those seasons had its own name.

Formally called Shichijuni-kō, Japan’s dense calendar once marked the smallest heralds of nature’s seasonal shifts. Each season bore a lyrically descriptive title, calling attention to Mother Nature’s minutiae. April isn’t merely spring; it’s the arrival of seasons such as “wild geese fly north” (April 10-14), “first rainbows appear” (April 15-19), and “peonies bloom” (April 30-May 4).

A new so-called “microseason” emerged every five days, quietly announcing the smallest changes. Eventually, the gently warming spring days will slid into early summer, marked by “praying mantises hatch” in early June. While equinoxes and solstices are noted, the Shichijuni-kō created a cadence of smaller moments to recognize, as opposed to the four simple astrological waypoints much of the world marks today.

How the microseason calendar works

Japan’s enchanting record of the year originated with China’s lunisolar calendar, which followed moon phases and sun positioning. Together, these astronomical wards helped farmers time planting and harvests. By the 6th century, the descriptive microseason calendar was adopted in Japan, though it wasn’t until the late 1600s that it became tailored to the country. Japanese astronomer Shibukawa Shunkai reworked the seasons in 1684, with each title more accurately reflecting the island’s climate.

The Shichijuni-kō starts with the four main seasons, breaking each into six smaller segments of 15 days (called sekki). From there, sekki are further reduced to three kō spanning 5 days each. Altogether, 72 miniature seasons.

Nearly 200 years after all Shibukawa Shunkai’s work, Japan adopted the Gregorian calendar. The expansive and poetic Shichijuni-kō fell out of style, morphing from a relied-upon tool to a cultural fun fact.

As an outsider, it’s easy to idolize another culture’s hallmarks, but I think there really is something deeply valuable about this ancient calendar. Seasons were once more important to humanity than they are now; consider the role weather played in daily life, farming, and frankly, survival. Perhaps once again recognizing the gradual ebb and flow can serve us in the same way meditation can: a moment of peace.

Building your own microseason calendar

When superimposed over a map of the U.S., Japan is about the size of the Appalachian Mountains. While there are several climate zones in the 1,900-mile archipelago, that hardly compares to North America’s vast regional differences and makes it a bit difficult to follow the traditional Shichijuni-kō. However, spring is the perfect time to take a bit of inspiration and draft a calendar based on what’s happening in your backyard.

The Shichijuni-kō begins by marking spring’s earliest days in February, though you can begin your version at any time. Sticking with the traditional dates, April 5 begins the fifth sekki of the year.

Set aside 5 minutes each day to jot down what you hear in your backyard during these first five days. Whatever you hear, see, smell, or feel can help you create a calendar authentic to your part of the world. At the end of the five-day span, use your notes to draft a name for tiny season — traditionally, these titles are about three to six words.

Repeat this process two more times to complete your first sekki (season of 15 days). From there, revisit your observations and give the group of three microseasons an overarching title.

Compared to the original calendar, you may find that some seasons do sync up! Personally, I cannot wait for mid-October when “crickets chirp around the door.” Because even at different latitudes, some things really don’t change.

1. 💤 Take an outdoor nap. Your brain could use it — whether it’s in a hammock, on a blanket, or another inventive spot, napping outdoors reduces stress and anxiety. We all need that right now.

2. 🎨 Pull out your watercolors. Last spring, artist Abigail Richardson spoke with Outdoor Humans about watercolor painting natural scenes. Grab your sketchbook and get inspired.

3. 🔍 Learn to ID your regional ticks. Ack, it’s already tick season, y’all. Get a visual on ticks in your neighborhood before heading into the woods. And, learn what to do when one inevitably finds its way up your sock.

• 🪺 “Stupid Canadian wolf bird!” Let’s be honest: the writer of this newsletter loves the idea of the “boy aquarium,” or at least the fictional Heated Rivalry version that was an emotional lifeline this past winter. Just like those yearning fictional hockey players, loons develop monogamous bonds. In spring, common loons have their own “I’m coming to the cottage” moment, where the birds reunite with their long-time mates at inland ponds and lakes in northern-border states. There, they build ground nests in secluded areas with the hopes of raising 1–2 hatchlings.

• 🦨 What’s black and white and stinks all over? The earliest baby skunks (aka “kits”) are born in late April, though you have a better chance of smelling them before you see them. For the first six weeks of life, skunks are blind and hairless, though the iconic stripe pattern is visible on their skin. After two months, skunklings venture out to forage alongside their mother, and are fully capable of spraying potential predators — though with reduced potency and aim. Practice makes perfect, little mephitids.

• 🌸 These tiny blooms make sure they’re noticed. If you’re in the eastern half of the U.S., chances are you’ve squashed a Virginia Springbeauty — but don’t worry, these buds won’t hold it against you. The small, ground-covering blooms are recognizable by their five white or soft pink petals that spread in massive patches thanks to webs of underground tubers. Claytonia virginica is able to reflect UV light; this secret power may be overlooked by humans’ limited eyesight, but calls in spring pollinators such as bees and butterflies.

Three Eco Holidays to Honor This Month

April is Earth Month, and there are plenty of opportunities to celebrate our one, glorious home. Choose your route (or all three).

• For the tree huggers: Celebrated on the last Friday of the month, Arbor Day (April 24) is the day for planting trees. Don’t let it be intimidating: planting a tree takes a little forethought but provides years of pride and enjoyment. Check out these resources from the Arbor Day Foundation on how to plant bare-root saplings (those that come without any dirt attached) and potted trees.

• For the skywatchers: International Dark Sky Week arrives April 13–20. This celebration of darkness highlights the effect light pollution has on nearly all species, including birds, mammals, plants, and humans. Take DarkSky International’s pledge to protect the night, and get outside to look up.

• For the history buffs: Read up on the history of Earth Day, which launched 56 years ago on April 22. Founded by Senator Gaylord Nelson in 1970, this citizen-driven event led to the creation of the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and, in turn, the Clean Air Act, Safe Drinking Water Act, Endangered Species Act, and other crucial legislation. Learn more at EarthDay.org.

That’s it for this month’s edition of Outdoor Humans. May your April be full of tiny, awe-inspiring moments.

Nicole Garner Meeker

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This month’s feature art includes “Bird perched on a branch of a blossoming tree,” an 18th century print by an unknown artist, housed within the Library of Congress’ Noyes collection. This piece was likely created during Japan’s Edo period (1615-1868) of self-imposed isolation. With fewer external influences, many Japanese artists explored and refined traditional art styles such as painting and woodblock prints in a style called Ukiyo-e (“pictures of the floating world”).

“Various old Japanese calendars” (compiled 1908) comes from the New York Public Library’s Kokushi daijiten collection. With approximately 54,000 entries spanning history, art, folklore, language, and other cultural facets, the Kokushi daijiten is one of the largest encyclopedias of Japanese history. The original six-volume tome was compiled over two decades and first published in 1927.

Lastly featured is “Smiling spring-time in Japan—a garden of tall blooming iris at Kabota, near Omari, Japan,” a stenograph by Underwood & Underwood printed in 1905. When viewed through a stereoscope, the double images created a 3D illusion for the viewer. These cards were commonly collected by tourists as souvenirs.

The National Weather Service (NWS) has been around longer than you may realize, dating back to February 1870. At the time, President Ulysses S. Grant signed into law the first iterations of the department modern forecasters rely on, with the aim of collecting weather data from military stations and other spots around the country. Fast-forward to 2025, when political mischief has crumbled much of the government department that alerts us to dangerous conditions and sunny days alike.

Without this information, how are we to know how much wool to card for the impending winter or how many hard squash to pack into the larder? Perhaps we shall look to the worms.

Americans have been observing woolly worms since the colonial era, using them as weather prediction tools. Is this legit by modern standards? Probably not, yet we currently exist in a nonsensical society, so get with the vibe. Not to mention, woolly worms are fascinating insects in their own right.

Worms? Ye Must Be Mistaken

Whether your waggling tongue calls them woolly worms or bears, I have to break it to you: these fuzzy critters are neither. They’re caterpillars, a juvenile form of the Isabella tiger moth (Pyrrharctia isabella).

While typically seen in autumn, woolly worms are active most months of the year. In spring to early summer, woolly worm eggs hatch and transform into caterpillars, feasting on all the greenery they can find before building their cocoons and transitioning into moths. That first generation lays eggs in late summer and early autumn, which quickly grow into the caterpillars we humans see wiggling about in cooler weather.

The second group of woolly worms gets the unfortunate responsibility of surviving through winter’s harshness so they can lay spring’s eggs. And these little critters are amazingly equipped to do so. Surely, the sweater-like hairs keep them warm from December through April, right? Not really. Woolly worms produce a substance called glycerol, a natural version of antifreeze. This chemical allows them to safely hibernate under rocks or tree bark, weathering temps as low as -90° Fahrenheit. Their faux fur, called setae, helps the caterpillars freeze slowly so they can withstand the temperature drop and reduces damage from thawing and refreezing as temperatures swing up and down throughout the season.

Move Over, Punxsutawney Phil

How woolly worms became the prognosticators of winter weather isn’t clear, though the myth got something of a second life in the late 1940s. Dr. Howard Curran, then curator of entomology for the American Museum of Natural History, ran a tiny study in 1948 featuring a mere 15 woolly worms. His wintertime predictions picked up press coverage, and for about a decade after, Curran’s annual autumnal trek up a New York mountain to observe woolly worms was a popular newspaper feature.

Today’s scientists point out those limited sample sizes weren’t large enough to prove (or disprove) the caterpillar myth. Like all things in nature, woolly worms and their patterns have incredible variability — no two caterpillars are alike, even in the same season. Not to mention that not every fuzzy-looking caterpillar is an Isabella tiger moth — some similar species are entirely black, yellow, or white, which can skew the results. Getting an idea of whether or not these critters can really predict weather would mean collecting hundreds to thousands for observation each season, which sounds cute but also tedious.

Still, I think there’s something good-natured and fun about asking woolly worms their thoughts on the incoming cold season — we do the same each spring with a giant rodent, after all. Here’s how you can interpret the little fuzzy caterpillars you find in your habitat:

Look at the colors

Isabella tiger moths will have black and rust-brown bands of setae. Black supposedly indicates severe weather, while brown represents mild conditions ahead.

Observe the placement

Isabella tiger moth caterpillars have 13 body segments, which humans have interpreted as being one for each week of winter. A thicker brown stripe suggests more weeks of calm weather, while caterpillars with more black segments predict a harsher winter ahead. If you really want to go all in, you can use a magnifying glass to get a close look at each body segment to make your weather predictions.

Return your new friend to a safe spot

Woolly worms are lovely to interact with (they don’t bite or sting) but like all living creatures deserve kindness and respect. Be sure to return any you capture to a safe place near a tree or rock where they might burrow and rest for winter. Come spring — should you make it through a dark winter without contracting scurvy or typhus — you may just see them again, albeit in fluttery yellow suits.

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Tree-watching is exactly what it sounds like: observing trees year-round, watching as they awaken from winter to bud and bloom in the spring, as their canopies seemingly explode overnight with new foliage, and then drop months later. (Not all trees follow this process, but you get the idea.)

Humans tend to view trees as a resource — after all, they provide us with oxygen, shade, fruit, nuts, and lumber. However, Hugo points out that a little perspective shift can change our relationship with tall timbers:

“The biggest reward of intimate tree-watching is learning to appreciate the vitality of trees. Because trees are big and essentially stationary, there is a tendency to view them almost like monuments — impressive but inanimate. We value trees for their slow inexorable growth, seeing them as symbols of fortitude and patience, but with slow incremental growth being almost impossible to observe, the living essence of trees is a bit hard to appreciate.”

When we view trees as their own living beings that exist alongside us, it’s possible to unlock a different level of enjoyment when we interact with them. They’re growing and moving through their life phases not for us, but because that’s what they’ve evolved to do. When we slow down to their pace for a moment, we might just get to witness all those tiny, miraculous changes.

How to Connect With the Trees Around You

Like most nature-related activities, tree-watching is exactly what you make of it. It’s OK to just peek out at the same tree every day to watch its progress, but you can take this practice a little further:

• ID your tree. Most people pass by a countless trees daily, so taking the time to pause and learn your selected tree can help you discover a little more about it. Check out the Arbor Day Foundation’s tree identification tool to get started.

• Commit to revisiting a tree several times this year. Perhaps you’ve found an amazing tree in your neighborhood park or while out on a hike. Drop a GPS pin in your phone and come back each season to see how it grows.

• Make it an artistic collaboration. Photographing, sketching, or journaling about your nature findings can help you record the changes you see throughout the year. Plus, you’ve got to do something with all those blank notebooks you’ve been saving for the perfect time (IYKYK).

• Add an extra set of eyes. Binoculars aren’t just for birdwatching. Use them to glimpse the highest branches of your tree and spot baby buds. My new favorite tool is a pocket microscope, which lets you look at leaves, bark, and other tree features up close.

• Build your tree crew. You’re not the only one who visits your tree. Birds and critters of all kinds rely on trees for food and shelter, so pay attention to who else is interacting. You may just develop a fondness for nature’s other guests.

If anything encourages you to commune with a forest of trees, know that the act of hanging out around foliage is scientifically proven to be good for humans. Research shows time spent with trees helps our brains function better, calms stress, and fights depression and anxiety. I hope you’ll head outdoors to explore, or even sit window-side with a warm cup of tea to watch your new tree best friend sway during a spring storm.

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We exist in a tumultuous timeline for art. On one hand, the internet has made sharing and learning about art more accessible than ever — I’ve discovered so many inspiring artists simply because an algorithm pushed them into my Instagram feed. But then there’s the feeding of and fighting against AI, a force that is glaringly devoid of human emotion as it “creates.”

What does this have to do with spending time outdoors? Art just so happens to be an incredible medium for quietly connecting with nature, if only we take the opportunity to sit down and create it ourselves. And more importantly, be OK with letting go of perfection. In 2025, spent a rainy April morning with artist Abigail Richardson, an abstract watercolor painter who recommends doing just that.

While we originally planned a little en plein air painting, a relentless downpour trapped us inside. Luckily, we got a hefty dose of inspiration from the dense, velvety greens and battered yellow wildflower blooms right outside my dining room window. It was the perfect backdrop for a crash course in watercolor painting.

“Painting is rest. You have to sit still. You have to be in the moment,” Abigail told me, and she was right. Trying to record the moody, rainy view couldn’t be done with an AI prompt or even with my phone. It required intricately observing the scene for longer than 10 seconds to take in the vivid colors Mother Nature had already swirled together before gliding my paintbrush to copy the scene.

“You’re supposed to move with the water,” she said. “Be OK with letting it flow.”

Flowing from inspiration to actual art was harder than I’d realized, but mostly because like many dabbling artists, I couldn’t get out of my own way. Abigail advised me to do as our environment does, focusing less on producing a flawless rendering and more on the joyful process of doing. While she assured me I could get as technical as I wanted, the goal was to focus less on copying verbatim what I saw and more on following nature’s lead.

“Let go of control. That’s what our daily lives are like, and we’re trying to emulate organic inspiration. Every leaf you look at in nature is different,” she pointed out, reminding me that my work-in-progress wasn’t a photograph, but rather an interpretation of how I felt about that moment.

Many of Abigail’s pieces present a connection to the outside world. Fish, flowers, leaves, and other elements make their way into her abstract pieces where they communicate her very human emotions and feelings. They’re not always the primary focus, and they don’t have to be — while she doesn’t typically paint landscapes, natural symbols are a hallmark of her work.

“Nature just grows. It knows what to do, and sometimes when I don’t know what to do, I look for symbols in nature that inspire my art,” she told me. For her, nature’s resilience is a reminder to keep creating, rain or shine.

Abigail’s 3 Tips for Embarking on Your Own Watercolor Adventure

1. Start simple. Unlike other paint mediums, watercolor is relatively accessible to beginning painters. A paint palette can cost as little as $5, and beyond paintbrushes and watercolor paper, there’s not much else you need. Watercolor pencils are another inexpensive option that lets you sketch from anywhere (like a park bench) and add water when it’s more convenient.

2. Let nature’s palette lead the way. “Capture the colors you see first,” Abigail says. “Make sure the colors touch and see what they’re doing. You’ll get more comfortable.” If that still feels intimidating, start your watercolor exploration with red, blue, and yellow, or shades of just one hue.

3. Avoid the perfection trap. “The goal isn’t to paint something perfectly. Try to capture the inspiration of what you’re seeing out there.” With more practice, you can shift into sketching, and then, as Abigail says, you’ll be “wilding out.”

You can find Abigail Richardson and discover more of her art on Instagram.

Art notes: This article’s feature art comes from New Theory of Colours (1808) by Mary Gartside and A Class-Book of Color (1895) by Mark Maycock.

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Weeds are a human construct, and you cannot convince me otherwise. In the natural world, every species serves some kind of purpose, though it’s we humans who have taken it upon ourselves to decide if that task is useful to us. You may have heard the famed Ralph Waldo Emerson quote alluding to the same idea:

“What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.” 🌼

We silly humans, always centering ourselves as the discoverers, owners, and managers of all things. Even with that self-awareness, I still wonder: What the heck is this plant? Does it do anything? Can I use it for something? (Also: Why is it taking over my entire garden?) Perhaps they aren’t merely scraggly annoyances, but contributing members of plant society, thriving without acknowledgement for their hard work? I guess it just depends on what we consider to be a “weed” and a “useful plant.”

What Makes a Weed?

This month, I challenge you to give weeds a little credit. These plants are actually survivors and adapters. Getting “weed” as a title is something of a badge of honor considering horticulturists require them to have a handful of talents, such as:

• Growing and maturing quickly — some would even say aggressively

• Adapting to their environment and surviving climate extremes

• Thriving in poor conditions where other plants wouldn’t even try

• Being prosperous plant parents — some species put off thousands to millions of seeds per plant to give their descendants a chance at survival, and many times they’ll mimic the seeds of favorable plants (tricky tricky)

• Developing tools for survival, like having prickly burrs or spines, smelling foul when crushed, or tasking horrible when nibbled

Not every plant has all of these features, but the more it has, the more likely it is to be a weed. Could humans do all of these things? Surely not.

6 Weeds You May Find in Your Own Yard

In just a few minutes outdoors, I was able to spot a handful of weeds — some known to me, others stuck in the “one day I’ll remember to look this up” purgatory of my phone camera roll. You may find these in your backyard, too.

Henbit (Lamium amplexicaule)

I love the fluted flowers of henbit, though I’ll admit I’m not a fan of how quickly these plants take over my vegetable beds (each plant can produce upwards of 200 seeds). Henbit is actually a member of the mint family, and while we may not be adding it to a mint julep anytime soon, it does provide nectar and pollen for honeybees and bumblebees.

Purple Deadnettle (Lamium purpureum)

Henbit and purple deadnettle are commonly confused, though that’s not entirely our fault considering they’re cousins in the same plant family. Like henbit, pollinators rely on purple deadnettle in early spring when little else is blooming. Let both linger a little longer this spring before mowing your yard.

Garlic Mustard (Alliaria petiolata)

Garlic Mustard is an invasive herb brought to the U.S. in the 19th century for medicinal use. You can identify it by the heart-shaped leaves that give off a distinct garlic smell when crushed. While it is technically safe to eat young garlic mustard plants raw, older plants must be cooked because they contain cyanide. Even if you skip harvesting this one, The Nature Conservancy recommends pulling garlic mustard wherever you find it, since this species releases chemicals from its roots that stop trees and other species from growing.

Broadleaf Plantain (Plantago major)

It’s not spinach, but it looks similar, doesn’t it? You can eat broadleaf plantains found in your yard in the exact same way so long as they haven’t been sprayed with pesticides. This large weed also can be used to quell itchy bug bites since the leaves contain anti-inflammatory compounds. Give it a try by rolling a leaf between your hands with a splash of water (or the less attractive but equally effective option of chewing it up in your mouth) until it becomes a goopy poultice, then apply to your bite. Alternatively: make this salve.

Chickweed (Stellaria media)

This weed is technically an herb related to carnations. It grows aggressively, spreading a foot wide per plant with small white blooms that later disperse anywhere from 500-3,000 seeds (which is why I can’t seem to get rid of it). However, chickweed has some perks: it’s leaves and flowers are edible, and it attracts pollinators such as bees, butterflies, and moths.

Dandelion (Taraxacum officinale)

Easily recognizable for their buttery yellow cups, you may be wondering why I included dandelions on this list. They are, perhaps, the most obvious of weeds, though it’s only in the past century humans have decided dandelions have no value. These plants have been used for millennia as medicine, used to remedy everything from baldness to gallbladder issues and toothaches (though research is limited on efficacy). However, you really can eat dandelions — they’re packed with iron, potassium, calcium, and enough vitamin C to treat scurvy.

Let me know in the comments if you’ve ever foraged for some of these “yard weeds” and how you’ve used them. Or, share your favorite aggrieved weed and how you came to befriend it.

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                      Art notes: This article's feature art includes an image from 
        La plante et ses applications ornementales (1896) by Eugène Grasset.

• Feeling charitable? A little challenge taps into your outdoorsy-ness for good

• This month’s meteor shower is dedicated to all the Geminis out there

• If these ferns were good enough for the pioneers, they’re probably OK-enough for you to check out, too

Plus a few other nature notes.

This month’s newsletter comes to you from the snowy, slippery Midwest. For the first time in years, it appears winter has gotten the jump on us here in St. Louis, dumping two rounds of snow before the season has officially started.

Getting outside in winter is difficult. As someone who has become particularly temperature-sensitive due to Long Covid and POTS, thriving outside when the weather turns blustery takes a lot more effort than it used to. But just like I remind all of you once a month, I tell myself it’s worth it, because in reality I know outside can be really amazing.

If I hadn’t recently stepped outside to begrudgingly haul in my Yule decorations from the shed, I would have missed one of those magical nature moments. While dragging storage boxes through the yard, I heard the boisterous chatter of European Starlings. A flock began passing overhead, swirling and speeding by. It was mesmerizing. I stopped for a few moments and watched, expecting the sight to disappear as suddenly as it started… but five minutes later, this mind-bogglingly large flock was still moving through the air. I could no longer see the first bird, and had no idea when the last would trail behind.

Sure, I went out there for a different purpose, but it became a moment of connection with this sleepy world around me. Suddenly, the cold didn’t feel so bad.

My yuletide wish for all you Outdoor Humans is to have one of those astounding nature moments, too. I hope it brings you a little peace as you settle into the quiet of winter.

Creating Your Own Nature Charity Challenge

Purposeful exercise has never been my favorite thing to do… and when winter hits, all that motivation goes entirely out the door. In an effort to still make an effort, I bought an indoor rower a few years back. One day, I’d love to get on the water Ivy League style, but until then, I get up and log my meters in the mornings with the garage door open so I can at least zone out with the woods around me.

This winter, I’m having a hard time staying motivated — 2025 has been one hell of a year and I desperately need some rest. The only thing holding me accountable right now is that I’m signed up for a holiday challenge: every meter I log raises funds for the Northern Forest Center.

That got me to thinking: we’re all capable of incorporating the outdoors into our own seasonal donations. This month, I challenge you to consider creating your own charitable challenge in whatever outdoorsy way intrigues you most.

Here’s how it works:

1. Select an activity you’d like to do throughout December. Perhaps identifying new backyard birds, getting out on a weekly walk or hike, chopping down invasive honeysuckle bushes in your backyard — anything that’s accessible and interesting to you!

2. Choose where your donation will go. You’ll feel more motivated to spend time outside and make a solid effort if you feel connected to a cause. In our current economic climate, so many organizations have lost federal funding, so dive deep to find local charities that could use your support. Not sure where to look? Think about the year you’ve had. For example, on the years my children were born, I opted to support Nurses for Newborns, a healthcare service that helps low-income families with new babies and young children at no cost. This year, I plan to funnel dollars to the Cure Mito Foundation because someone I adore has been impacted by a mitochondrial disease. Wherever you choose to donate, consider checking out Charity Navigator. This organization rates how non-profits use funds, and scores them based on transparency, leadership salaries, outreach, and impact.

3. Tie in a donation. Perhaps you’ll donate $1 for every new winter bird you identify or sign up to volunteer 10 minutes of time for every mile you walk. You may choose to donate one food item to a pantry for every invasive species you remove. Anything you give to support your community counts. (Let’s be honest… the economy is rough out there and every small donation matters.)

4. Get going! Set aside scheduled time to work on your charity challenge. Many financial donations made this year can be counted on this year’s taxes, so there’s no reason to delay the final portion of your outdoor charity challenge into the new year. As donations of time and physical goods, reach out to the organization you’re supporting and schedule a time to pop by and offer a hand or drop off needed items.

An extra note: in the age of social media, it’s easy to feel pressure to GO BIG on internet challenges. This isn’t that at all, and instead is meant to be more of a small, personal moment of joy that’s connected with a bit of good this year. Let me know in the comments below what your chosen activity is, and what organization you’ll be supporting this holiday season.

1. 🪶 Make a new human or bird friend. Audubon’s Christmas Bird Count began 125 years ago thanks to a group of besties who opted out of hunting. Revisit this interview with Bay Area Birder Paige Pritchard about how birding builds communities and friendships. And consider signing up for Audubon’s annual census, which runs Dec. 14–Jan. 5.

2. 🥾 Bookend New Year’s with a last day and First Day hike. Trails become a bit busier Jan. 1 thanks to First Day Hikes. These events are just what they sound like — a way to honor the calendar change and jumpstart a year spent outdoors. Personally, I enjoy ending the year with a solo hike on Dec. 31, which gives me time to quietly reflect on the year that was. Why not both?

3. 🔭 Look up for a spectacular shooting star show. The Geminids meteor shower runs through the solstice (Dec. 21), displaying its best views on Dec. 12 and 13. This annual shower — which was spotted for the first time in the mid-1800s — puts off minimum 40 to 50 meteors per hour with bursts of up to 120 shooting stars, making it one of the best shows for beginner skywatchers. Head outdoors around 9 p.m. and look towards the Gemini constellation to catch the view.

• 🐭 You know them as voles, but hear me out: “meadow mice” is much cuter. These small, mouse-like rodents with short tails, tiny ears, and beady little eyes are hard to spot in the deep of winter but they are around, surviving the frost in possibly the most adorable way. Underground in their elaborate nests, “meadow mice” stay warm by shacking up in groups and snuggling together. Unlike other rodents, voles do not stash food but instead go on a diet, losing up to 20% of their body mass during the winter months, and heading out in rotation to forage food from above ground. You’ll rarely see them — these critters are sly, and you would be, too, if you were a top dinner pick for owls, coyotes, and even squirrels.

• 🌿 Christmas ferns (Polystichum acrostichoides) are holding onto their pickle-colored fronds this time of year, making them easy to spot along moist and shady hillsides. These native ferns are most commonly found in the eastern half of the U.S., and in spring produce fiddleheads that slowly unfurl into fronds up to 30 inches long. Christmas ferns lose some of their oomph in winter, flatting out along the ground. According to lore, the name is an ode to this plant’s bristly, sawtooth leaves, which were supposedly once used by pioneers to create holiday wreaths.

• 🧠 Black-capped Chickadees have gone through some growth, y’all. The chicka-dee-dee-dee of these small, 6” birds is more clearly heard in the quiet winter months. While these backyard feeder birds are permanent residents of the U.S. and Canada, they’re not the same birds they were during the warm season. Throughout autumn, chickadees experience a massive 30% growth in their hippocampus — the brain area responsible for memory — which helps them remember where they stashed thousands of foraged seeds. When this mental grocery list runs out in spring, a chickadee’s brain mass shrinks back, essentially wiping the slate clean.

Another Plug for the Outdoor Humans Nature Journal

Last call! Well, sort of — the crate of official Outdoor Humans Nature Journals has finally arrived from the publisher and pre-orders will begin shipping out today! A heartfelt THANK YOU to every single one of you early birds who purchased a copy, whether it was for yourself or the person with whom you want to spend this next year outdoors. These journals are up for grabs through January, so time is almost up if you’re looking for an inspired year outdoors.

In case you missed last month’s overview of these journals, here’s what you’ll find inside:

• A monthly calendar with nature-focused holidays and happenings, plus space to record your own daily observations

• Season-specific nature notes that encourage you to observe wildlife, get up close with plants and trees, and find tasty foraging treats

• Monthly ideas for connecting with the natural world — including indoor activities for those dark and frosty winter days

• Journaling spots to recount walks and hikes, critter encounters, and other curiosities witnessed during your outdoor explorations

• A simple time tracker that helps you visualize just how much time you’re really spending out there

The Outdoor Humans Nature Journal is meant to help you develop the habit of stepping away from screens and stress, even if just for a few moments each day, starting in January.

Order Your Copy!

Unlike many newsletters, Outdoor Humans is paywall-free! If you enjoy reading this monthly newsletter, consider supporting the real-life human behind Outdoor Humans by ordering your copy of the 2026 Nature Journal. Each newsletter is written entirely by me, Nicole Garner Meeker, an actual human who lives in the actual woods, and wants you to actually go outside.

That’s it for this month’s edition of Outdoor Humans. Keep your wits about you, and go the heck outside.

Nicole Garner Meeker

This month’s featured image comes from the 1883 Birds and their ways by Ella Rodman Church. Within its 400+ pages, Church used three fictional, “motherless children” of Elmridge country home and their governess to teach readers about 30 bird species, including English Robins, nightingales, penguins, and geese.

On Christmas Day 1900, ornithologist Frank M. Chapman convinced 27 fellow birders to try something new: counting birds instead of shooting them. December 25 was often reserved for “side hunts” during the 1800s, a game that involved venturing into nature in teams with the goal of shooting as many birds and mammals as could be flushed out into the open. But at the start of a new century — the same one that would soon see passenger pigeons and Carolina parakeets entirely disappear — Chapman hoped to usher in a new holiday tradition, one that would potentially protect flocks across North America, or at least collect data about their well-being.

That holiday, Chapman and his crew of counters led the first Christmas Bird Census, documenting nearly 90 species of birds stretching from the California coast to Toronto. Their efforts would become the progenitor of an annual event still hosted by the Audubon Society today.

More than 120 years later, birders across North America gather in mid-December and January, banding together in designated areas to watch for avian activity. Now known as the Christmas Bird Count, Chapman’s inspired idea has grown into an incredibly useful tool for assessing bird populations year after year. When paired with other field surveys, these counts alert ornithologists and naturalists to waxing and waning bird populations. Unlike other Audubon surveys, the Christmas Bird Count requires heading out to specifically selected sites — you may or may not have one nearby, and slots are limited to a number of participants, making the census somewhat inaccessible.

If the idea of meeting up with friends this time of year to not murder birds intrigues you, but participating in the Christmas Bird Count isn’t possible, you’re in luck. Birding groups across the country do just that, all year long. According to Paige Pritchard, co-lead of Queer Birders Bay Area, bird watching is a fantastic way to meet new people wherever you call home. The group, which she organizes with fellow birder Alyssa Winn, gathers monthly at different spots around California’s San Francisco Bay.

“It’s just so fun meeting the folks who show up,” Paige says. “It’s birding, but the priorities are to be in community outside. To learn from each other.”

Paige grew up in southeast Missouri where common backyard birds such as blue jays, cardinals, and robins (a favorite) inspired an adult interest in birding. “There was a certain level of birding I was always doing, but I didn’t know it,” she says. One of the earliest bird-watching partners was her grandmother, Ruth, who would point out birds at backyard feeders, naming off species and alerting Paige to the calls. “I always enjoyed seeing her know the names of things,” Paige recalls.

A cross-country move to California pushed Paige into birding as an adult because it offered a way to explore the area. “There’s a whole new flora and fauna here,” she says, mentioning an affection for the coastal birds that swoop over the bay. “The brown pelicans just blew my mind. To this day, they’re some of my favorites. They’re like dinosaurs — just these massive, beautiful, dramatic birds that fly over and look like pterodactyls.”

In early 2022, Paige met fellow birder Alyssa Winn through an organized bird walk, and by the end of the year the duo launched Queer Birders Bay Area’s (QBBA) first group meetup. (Paige points to Alyssa, who has birded regularly for the past five years, as the driving force behind the group’s creation.) Sharing their monthly planned outings through Instagram and Meetup has helped QBBA grow, bringing together a diverse crowd of birding enthusiasts.

“There’s a lot of importance in being outside together, and visibility in community,” Paige says, pointing to the historical sidelining of LGBTQ+ folks from many activities and spaces. “We want to create intergenerational friendships and connections. Queer Birders has been so great for that. We’ve had people bring their teenagers. We’ve had people across multiple generations who have been birding in the Bay Area for decades, and are just a wonderful wealth of knowledge. We have people who are studying ornithology and can just rattle things off.”

QBBA welcomes birders of all levels and abilities — one of the group’s core tenets is learning from one another. Meetups are often organized around public transportation and with physical access in mind. There’s also a focus on “cross-pollinating” with other outdoor groups to expand recreational opportunities. In 2023, QBBA collaborated with Fat People Hiking Bay Area, a group that encourages outdoor exploration for all bodies regardless of weight, and is looking for more groups to collaborate with in the future.

“It’s so hard these days to make friends,” Paige says. “There’s that bridge you have to cross with ‘What’s your number?’ or ‘What’s your Instagram?’” That’s one reason why QBBA also runs a Discord group connecting California birders, helping them move from online chats to real-life outdoor plans.

“It’s really been one of the most rewarding things,” Paige says about using QBBA to build friendships and bolster a sense of community in the Bay Area. The birds are fantastic, too.

1. Start squawking (aka put out a call to collaborate). You don’t have to join a birding-specific group to spend time looking at fowl, though collaboration between groups you’re already in can develop fledgling interests and friendships. “I love this as an avenue for connections to be made, and for people to plug into new spaces,” Paige says. Queer Birders Bay Area is always looking for new outdoor groups to work with, and interested organizations are encouraged to reach out.

2. Don’t feel that you need to be an expert. Knowledge can be a stumbling block to getting started with bird watching, though this hobby doesn’t require you to memorize every bird in your region. “If you go outside and look at a bird, you are bird watching,” Paige says. At the same time, give lesser experienced birders in your group a chance to learn by using one of QBBA’s rules: pause before calling out a bird ID so that everyone has a chance to observe and identify.

3. Have patience, young padawan. One of the hardest parts of bird watching is waiting for the birds to appear. Being able to sit still and observe your surroundings gives you the chance to see birds you may have missed. “It’s a hard skill to foster, so focus on that,” Paige says.

4. Let technology give you a helping hand. Paige recommends Merlin Bird ID — what she calls “Shazam for birds.” Another great app, eBird, can help you find birding hotspots.

5. Don’t stress about splurging on gear. Getting started doesn’t require more than your eyes and ears. While binoculars, books, and other items are often promoted to birders, Paige advises that you don’t need them to get started. However, many libraries and birding groups offer gear kits you can check out before your next adventure, so be sure to look for those free resources before filling your shopping cart.

You don’t have to be an ornithologist like Frank M. Chapman to enjoy our feathered friends this holiday season, but you can take a page from his book by simply gathering with friends and watching birds. You might just walk away with something deeper than an afternoon in the outdoors.

• Don’t tip the canoe… er, kayak, on November’s recommended adventure

• Your new roommate has eight eyes and you’re going to have to make peace with that

• Before you feast, know the star of Thanksgiving dinner nearly went extinct

Plus a few other nature notes.

The grayer half of fall is nearly here. While leaf drop is staggering around the country — I still have a few intriguingly green deciduous trees in my neck of the woods — I know that the days of perky, pumpkin spice fall are numbered. After daylight saving time’s end earlier this week, the descent into overcast and darker days of autumn has begun.

I simultaneously love and dread this time of year thanks to a hefty dose of seasonal depression (check out my tips for hanging in there if you’re already feeling a little SAD, too). With leaves down, it’s easier to spot layers of shelf mushrooms that have accumulated on downed trees, and the sound of woodpeckers is no longer dampened, traveling farther. It’s a phenomenal time of year to get outside. And sometimes, going on an adventure to shake off the start of the (almost) winter blues really does help — which is why this month I recommend getting out into a seasonally counterintuitive place: the water.

Autumn on the Water

Kayaking has the reputation of being a summertime activity, but I’m here to tell you that autumn is perhaps the best time to get out on the water. Hear me out:

• You won’t overheat from summer’s UV rays on steroids.

• There’s less traffic on waterways as most people have docked for the season.

• It can feel peacefully calm to just float along as the holiday season ratchets up stress levels.

• The snacks you pack won’t melt in the heat (try eating a completely melted KitKat while paddling, it is not great).

However, I’ll be the first to admit that kayaking isn’t one of the most accessible outdoor activities — I know firsthand, considering I have not been able to fund the hefty price tag of two tandem kayaks needed to float my family of four. Yet, late this summer, I had a great experience renting one. If you live near a waterway with public access areas, your fall adventure could be one web search and security deposit away.

The Pros, Cons, and “Mehs” of Kayak Rentals

While traveling through Arkansas this summer, nearly every state park I camped at had a lake with rentable kayaks. In-between digging for diamonds and waltzing around Hot Springs National Park, I daydreamed about getting on the water (because I love kayaking… and because there comes a point on every family vacation where mama needs quiet time).

I decided to spring for an hour-long kayak rental. After downloading an app, signing a bunch of waivers, and picking out my oars and lifejacket, I mustered the strength to unrack a kayak and drag it into the water on my own — sort of a pain at 5’0”, but again… I was alone and it was gloriously quiet. Ultimately, I had a great experience, but before I send you out on the water for your own dose of autumnal solitude, here’s what you should consider about watercraft rentals.

👍🏽 Pros: The biggest win here is not having to purchase a kayak or deal with the details of loading and transporting it. The second biggest perk: renting lets you figure out exactly what you do and don’t like before Sam’s Club convinces you that you really do need that $700 fishing kayak on display near the beer section. I’ve rented both sit-in and sit-on kayaks, and developed a preference so that when I’m ready to one day buy, I know exactly what I want. And, if it turns out that kayaking is just not your thing, you’re not stuck trying to make a sketchy Facebook Marketplace deal.

👎🏽 Cons: On the other hand, kayak rentals aren’t necessarily cheap. Every Arkansas State Parks I visited used a third-party concessionaire for its watercraft rentals, which could explain the high cost of $20 per hour. In comparison, I’ve rented kayaks for years at several Missouri State Parks that cost about $10 per hour, or $25 for the entire day. Since fees are time-based and ya girl was on a budget, I anxiously kept checking my watch. Eventually, I got irritated for not being in the moment and set an alarm with enough time to paddle back to shore before my hour rolled over.

Another downside: not every kayak rental company offers tandem kayaks, so if you have multiple people, those costs are going to multiply. If you have young children who need to be in the same watercraft as you, there’s a possibility you won’t find the gear you need.

👌🏽Just Meh: It’s great to not own and store huge pieces of rec gear, but renting can mean you might encounter equipment you can’t stand. I find that I’m particular about lifejackets and how they wear because I’m a short human with a short torso — and if I don’t bring my own, it’s likely I’ll get stuck with one that’s irritatingly uncomfortable.

I also want to note that if you’ve never kayaked before, doing it entirely on your own for the first time can be intimidating. These self-service stations are great for people who have some kayaking experience. While the service I used in Arkansas did have some information videos to watch during the checkout process, that’s not always the case. I’ve rented kayaks at other places that only required a signed waiver and deposit before I was sent on my way. But if you’re up for the challenge, this fall may be the best time to hit the water.

1. 🕸️ Befriend a house spider and let it hang around for winter. With cooler temperatures here to stay, it’s likely a few eight-legged roommates have moved in. Identify one that lives in your garage or living room corner and let it stay for the winter. It’ll take care of (other) unwanted pests in return.

2. 🍁 Press a leaf (after you ID it, of course). There’s something particularly magical about copper-colored leaves that makes me want to press and keep them. Venture out to find your favorite, and save it within the pages of a beloved book.

3. 🥾Lace up your boots and hit a trail. November 17 marks National Take a Hike Day, perfectly timed with fading leaf-peeping season. Hiking on cooler days can take a little extra motivation. My favorite trick: packing a hot lunch in a thermos or an instant backpacking meal that can be cooked on a pocket stove wherever a restful view presents itself.

• 🦃 Wild turkeys are beginning to flock together. North America is home to only two species of wild turkeys and during this time of year these jumbo birds become a bit social, creating groups of up to 25 for safety during the frigid months ahead. Turkeys move together into more wooded habitats where they roost in trees at night, out of reach of hungry predators. Today, the U.S. has a hefty population of about 6 to 7 million turkeys, though they were nearly hunted to extinction by the early 20th century. Conservation advocates spent decades protecting and boosting turkey numbers — another reason to be grateful this time of year.

• 🍄‍🟫 Fungi are thriving during these fall months. As neither flora nor fauna, mushrooms continue to mystify throughout late fall and into early winter, surviving in conditions other lifeforms couldn’t. This time of year you may spot puffballs, oyster mushrooms (especially after a rain), chicken of the woods, and lion’s mane during your next nature hike. All are edible — just be sure to follow safe mushroom foraging practices when you’re filling your basket.

• 🐿️ Chipmunks are prepping for their half-hibernation. If you’re in part of the country experiencing dropping temps, you’re likely witnessing squirrels and chipmunks scuttling to finish their pre-winter task list. However, these two species spend winter differently. While squirrels remain active, chipmunks experience torpor, a midpoint between being completely awake and hibernating. Deep in their underground burrows, chipmunks sleep the winter away, popping up every few days to nibble from their food stash before returning to their slumber.

• 🧺 Persimmons are ripening, though I’ve heard reports from several Midwesterners that their trees got a jump on the season. Here’s my guide for learning to forage persimmons.

Preorder: The Outdoor Humans Nature Journal

Preorders are now opening for the Outdoor Humans 2026 Nature Journal! I created this physical journal with the goal of helping you find your own path through the woods, with prompts that guide your intentional nature connection all year long.

Preorder Your Copy!

Each month features specialty content separate from what appears in the free Outdoor Humans newsletter. You’ll find:

• A monthly calendar with nature-focused holidays and happenings, plus space to record your own daily observations

• Season-specific nature notes that encourage you to observe wildlife, get up close with plants and trees, and find tasty foraging treats

• Monthly ideas for connecting with the natural world — including indoor activities for those dark and frosty winter days

• Journaling spots to recount walks and hikes, critter encounters, and other curiosities witnessed during your outdoor explorations

• A simple time tracker that helps you visualize just how much time you’re really spending out there

The Outdoor Humans Nature Journal is meant to help you develop the habit of stepping away from screens and stress, even if just for a few moments each day.

Preordering now means your journal will ship out in early December, making it a great gift to share with the person you want to hike, paddle, or birdwatch with in 2026. It’s also a great gift just for you (that’s what I call self-care).

Preorder Your Copy!

Unlike many newsletters, Outdoor Humans does not require a paid subscription — and that’s on purpose. I started this tiny publication because I truly enjoy experiencing and writing about nature, and hope it inspires you to see the value of the world around us.

If you’ve ever been interested in supporting the real-life human behind Outdoor Humans, ordering your copy of the 2026 Nature Journal is a fantastic way to do so. Each newsletter is written by me, Nicole Garner Meeker, an actual human who lives in the actual woods.

That’s it for this month’s edition of Outdoor Humans. Keep your wits about you, and go the heck outside.

Nicole Garner Meeker

Art Notes: This month’s feature image comes from “Kayaks of the North Sea,” an article published in the Scottish Geographical Magazine in 1912.

Have a nature question? Your inquiry may be published and answered in a future issue of Outdoor Humans.

Submit Your Nature Q

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The winter solstice marks the deepest part of our short daylight hours in North America, holding space for the longest night of the year. We’re left to peer out into the darkness at its most extreme grip on our days, waiting for the sun to claw back possession of our time as we eek toward the summer solstice in June.

Despite how gloomy it may feel, there’s something uniquely beautiful about this time of year. Solstices remind me there’s a time for work and play, rest and calm. I think it’s worth recognizing and honoring that balance of nature. Here’s a few ideas of how you can salute the day, even if you too are taking a daily vitamin D supplement and spending 15 minutes each morning in front of a glowing box.

🚶🏽‍♀️‍➡️Take a nature walk. It’s easy to hide away indoors this time of year — I personally love to rot on the couch under a blanket from December through March, rewatching Outlander and knitting mittens. However, exploring the woods this time of year offers a glimpse at nature in its most dormant state. Wooded areas often feel more delicate and quiet; without leaves on the trees to block sight and sound, you can see farther and hear the softer skitters masked in the bustling seasons.

🕯️Light a candle. If you, too, have uttered “It’s getting dark so early now,” the only solution is to give yourself a little more light. Simply lighting a candle at dusk on the solstice, as the longest night of the year begins, serves as a small reminder that brighter days are ahead.

🌅 Watch the sunrise at Stonehenge. You don’t need to book a red-eye flight to get a view of the sun slowly glowing over those famous stones. British history non-profit English Heritage livestreams each solstice sunrise at Stonehenge. Another option: brew yourself an early cup of coffee and watch the view from your own balcony or backyard.

💤 Commit to a little rest. Seriously. Last year’s algorithms were encouraging me to undertake a “winter arc” and while it sounds tempting, I want to advocate for the opposite: it’s time to pause. The idea that we must constantly be moving, growing, working towards a prescribed set of goals invalidates the very real need our bodies have for rest. The solstice is a natural reminder that all things in life require give and take — and in this season where nature has slipped into a long slumber, it doesn’t hurt to add sleep and softness to the top of your winter season to-do list. Stop scrolling and go to bed on time, y’all.

Art notes: The feature image “Sunset over West Lake (‘Le Grand Lac’) in Hanoi, Tonkin, Indochina” is part of the Albert Kahn collection, dated to 1915.

When to hunt: October and November

Persimmon trees (Diospyros virginiana) fruit throughout fall, though October and November tend to provide the best pickings. Around the first frost of the season, the palm-sized fruits slowly transform from a shade of green to an orange hue (some turn slightly red). Persimmons also soften to the touch, which is the best indicator of ripeness. The fruit may develop some small wrinkling in particularly blustery temperatures, but that doesn’t mean they’re inedible; I’d compare it to how apples stored in the refrigerator develop a softer skin, except this fridge is outside.

How to harvest: Collect from the trees and ground

As persimmons soften, they’re easy to pull directly from the tree. Some experts will recommend you use pruners, though the wild trees I’ve harvested have easily let go of their fruits without tools. You’ll likely find many persimmons on the ground, and there’s no reason to waste them. Collecting windfall persimmons will quickly fill your basket (just be sure they’re not rotten or stepped on). 

Harvested persimmons can be stored in the fridge until you’re ready to use, but don’t wait long. Like all fresh fruit, these tiny, tasty globes have a short shelf-life of just a few days. They’re incredibly sweet, containing as much as 34% sugar content. You can turn them into persimmon pudding, dry them for snacking, or enjoy them fresh — just don’t let them linger.

Foraging notes you should know

Here’s the deal with persimmons: you’ll never forget the first time you’ve had one that wasn’t quite ready. Before they’re fully ripe, persimmons have a particularly astringent flavor that tastes not so great. The tannins in the fruit can make your mouth pucker and feel disgustingly dry. It makes for a particularly successful prank to pull on younger siblings who don’t know any better (hello, fellow elder sisters).

• The leeches are hungry, m’lords and ladies — here’s where to find them

• How to win (crow) friends and influence… more crows

• Announcing the official Outdoor Humans Nature Journal for 2026!

Plus a few other nature notes.

October has rolled around and while the outside is slowly becoming a glorious and crunchy blaze of crimson and ochre, the general state of politics and American society is somewhat detracting from the best season of the year. I’m overwhelmed… are you?

As of late, I’ve found when the world feels chaotic, sometimes the only response is to be playfully unhinged. For me, it feels that the current timeline has been thrown in reverse. Fine. If we’re going back in time, why stop at a few decades? A century? No, let’s step back into the 1600s this month for a little puritanical nature cosplay.

This month’s Outdoor Humans is silly, and for good reason. Let a little revelry in the ridiculous take you on an 17th-century inspired side-quest. This month, we’re secretly speaking to crows and hunting for leeches. Care to join? Say yes or else you’ll end up in the stocks.

Become a Weather-Predicting Crone

The National Weather Service (NWS) has been around longer than you may realize, dating back to February 1870. At the time, President Ulysses S. Grant signed into law the first iterations of the department modern forecasters rely on, with the aim of collecting weather data from military stations and other spots around the country. Fast-forward to 2025, when political mischief has crumbled much of the government department that alerts us to dangerous conditions and sunny days alike.

Without this information, how are we to know how much wool to card for the impending winter or how many hard squash to pack into the larder? Perhaps we shall look to the worms.

Americans have been observing woolly worms since the colonial era, using them as weather prediction tools. Is this legit by modern standards? Probably not, yet we currently exist in a nonsensical society, so get with the vibe. Not to mention, woolly worms are fascinating insects in their own right.

Worms? Ye Must Be Mistaken

Whether your waggling tongue calls them woolly worms or bears, I have to break it to you: these fuzzy critters are neither. They’re caterpillars, a juvenile form of the Isabella tiger moth (Pyrrharctia isabella).

While typically seen in autumn, woolly worms are active most months of the year. In spring to early summer, woolly worm eggs hatch and transform into caterpillars, feasting on all the greenery they can find before building their cocoons and transitioning into moths. That first generation lays eggs in late summer and early autumn, which quickly grow into the caterpillars we humans see wiggling about in cooler weather.

The second group of woolly worms gets the unfortunate responsibility of surviving through winter’s harshness so they can lay spring’s eggs. And these little critters are amazingly equipped to do so. Surely, the sweater-like hairs keep them warm from December through April, right? Not really. Woolly worms produce a substance called glycerol, a natural version of antifreeze. This chemical allows them to safely hibernate under rocks or tree bark, weathering temps as low as -90° Fahrenheit. Their faux fur, called setae, helps the caterpillars freeze slowly so they can withstand the temperature drop and reduces damage from thawing and refreezing as temperatures swing up and down throughout the season.

Move Over, Punxsutawney Phil

How woolly worms became the prognosticators of winter weather isn’t clear, though the myth got something of a second life in the late 1940s. Dr. Howard Curran, then curator of entomology for the American Museum of Natural History, ran a tiny study in 1948 featuring a mere 15 woolly worms. His wintertime predictions picked up press coverage, and for about a decade after, Curran’s annual autumnal trek up a New York mountain to observe woolly worms was a popular newspaper feature.

Today’s scientists point out those limited sample sizes weren’t large enough to prove (or disprove) the caterpillar myth. Like all things in nature, woolly worms and their patterns have incredible variability — no two caterpillars are alike, even in the same season. Not to mention that not every fuzzy-looking caterpillar is an Isabella tiger moth — some similar species are entirely black, yellow, or white, which can skew the results. Getting an idea of whether or not these critters can really predict weather would mean collecting hundreds to thousands for observation each season, which sounds cute but also tedious.

Still, I think there’s something good-natured and fun about asking woolly worms their thoughts on the incoming cold season — we do the same each spring with a giant rodent, after all. Here’s how you can interpret the little fuzzy caterpillars you find in your habitat:

• Look at the colors: Isabella tiger moths will have black and rust-brown bands of setae. Black supposedly indicates severe weather, while brown represents mild conditions ahead.

• Observe the placement: Isabella tiger moth caterpillars have 13 body segments, which humans have interpreted as being one for each week of winter. A thicker brown stripe suggests more weeks of calm weather, while caterpillars with more black segments predict a harsher winter ahead. If you really want to go all in, you can use a magnifying glass to get a close look at each body segment to make your weather predictions.

• Return your new friend to a safe spot: Woolly worms are lovely to interact with (they don’t bite or sting) but like all living creatures deserve kindness and respect. Be sure to return any you capture to a safe place near a tree or rock where they might burrow and rest for winter. Come spring — should you make it through a dark winter without contracting scurvy or typhus — you may just see them again, albeit in fluttery yellow suits.

1. 🪦Wander wistfully through an old cemetery. Last fall, author Bess Lovejoy spoke with Outdoor Humans about the importance of spending time with nature in a spot many avoid for fear of catching a fright. Check out her suggestions for a fine stroll among the headstones.

2. 🍁Make a leaf crown. It may not be gold or glittering, but a leaf crown can make you feel like the king or queen of your autumnal adventure.

3. 🐦‍⬛Befriend a crow. Fear not the squawks of crows, for these sable-winged corvids are incredulously intelligent and fascinating to watch — even if superstition labels them carriers of bad news and misfortune. With a little patience, observation, and a few offerings of unsalted peanuts, you may just find yourself a new familiar.

• 🐍 DeKay’s brownsnakes are slipping by. While they typically mate in spring, DeKay’s brownsnakes sometimes get a second wind for amorous congress in autumn. Watch for these miniature snakes along sunny trail spots, where they spend this time of year hunting slugs and earthworms before slumbering through winter. The species is named for doctor and naturalist James Ellsworth De Kay (1792-1851), the first to collect this species.

• 🩸 Leeches are in search of a last meal before their winter nap. October has remained warmer than normal for much of the U.S., which may incline you to slip off your shoes and wade through a creek one last time. Do so with care, for leeches are about in muddy shallow sections, preparing for hibernation. As temperatures cool, these parasites burrow deep into mud to stave off winter’s chill. So if you need a few for your apothecary, now would be a good time to set out with a jar (just kidding — please leave the leeches outside).

• 🦋 Monarch butterflies are nearly finished with their autumnal migrations. Butterflies and their flittering flights have long symbolized rebirth and hope, and during this time of year you may catch a last glimpse of straggler Monarchs completing their journeys south to Mexico. Have no despair; their departure isn’t an omen for the hard times likely ahead, but perhaps something brighter. For if delicate Danaus plexippus can travel up to 2,800 grueling miles to warmer winter spots, we can get through hard things, too.

Preview: The Outdoor Humans Nature Journal!

I’ve hinted at a big upcoming project in the past few newsletters and it’s finally time to share with you what I’ve been working on: the official Outdoor Humans 2026 North American Nature Journal!

When I started writing Outdoor Humans, my goal was to share my love for being in nature and hopefully convert you to being an outside person, too. This journal is meant to help you find your own path through the woods with prompts that guide you to intentionally connect all year long.

Each month features specialty content separate from what appears in the free Outdoor Humans newsletter. You’ll find:

• A monthly calendar with nature-focused holidays and happenings, plus space to record your own daily observations

• Season-specific nature notes that encourage you to observe wildlife, get up close with plants, and find tasty foraging treats

• Monthly ideas for connecting with the natural world — including indoor activities for those dark and frosty winter days

• Journaling spots to recount walks and hikes, critter encounters, and other curiosities witnessed during your outdoor explorations

• A simple time tracker that helps you visualize just how much time you’re really spending out there

Sounds intriguing, right? Good thing preorders for the Outdoor Humans 2026 North American Nature Journal open November 1, 2025!

You may have noticed that unlike some newsletters, Outdoor Humans does not require you cough up coins from your coffer — and that’s on purpose. I started this tiny publication because I truly enjoy experiencing and writing about nature, and hope that inspires you to see the value of the world around us.

There are already so many barriers to outdoor recreation — finding the time, lack of accessibility to green spaces, the cost of a many outdoor hobbies — and I don’t want my newsletter to contribute to that.

If you’ve ever been interested in supporting the real-life human behind Outdoor Humans, ordering your copy of the 2026 North American Nature Journal is a fantastic way to do so. Each newsletter is written by me (Nicole Garner Meeker), with no AI whatsoever.

Preorders begin with November’s issue drop and will ship out in early December, making this journal a great gift to share with the person you really want to hike, paddle, or bird watch with next year.

That’s it for this month’s edition of Outdoor Humans. As always, keep thy wits about thee and go outside, heathens.

Nicole Garner Meeker

Art Notes: This month’s feature art of “Badger” and “Squirrel” comes from The History of Four-Footed Beasts and Serpents, by Edward Topsell, published in 1658. His three-volume tome includes woodcut printings of real and mythical creatures with intriguing anthropomorphized or entirely odd descriptions of species behavior, such as hedgehogs enjoying wine and apes being afraid of snails. It should be noted Topsell was not actually a naturalist but a cleric who mostly wrote about religion… which could explain a lot.

Have a nature question? Your inquiry may be published and answered in a future issue of Outdoor Humans.

Submit Your Nature Q

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When to hunt: Autumn through early winter

Black walnut trees (Juglans nigra) can start dropping their season’s harvest as early as mid-September in some regions; for me here in Missouri, I tend to find them littering my driveway around mid-October. The hulls don’t fall all at once, but over the course of several weeks, and the season can continue through December.

How to harvest: The trees willingly giveth

Walnuts are easy to harvest because the trees tend to do most of the work. As they ripen, the hulls detach from the tree, and you’ll find them easily collectible below. You can shake smaller trees to drop more nuts, but lookout below, because these hefty pods can do some damage. The hulls — aka the exterior shell that protects the actual walnut — have a gritty texture and start off with a lime-green hue, transitioning to a nearly black shade the older they get. I find that walnuts harvested earlier in the season while the hulls are still green have better flavor than nuts collected later in the year. 

Foraging notes you should know

I’m warning you: be careful what you wear when working with walnuts. These forageable foods produce a substance called juglone within its husk that can stain hands and clothing (some people even find it irritating or blistering to their skin). Skin staining can take days or weeks to disappear, and I have had clothing permanently discolored. However, if you partake in the fiber arts (hello fellow knitters, weavers, and fabric hoarders!), you can repurpose this ink to make your own natural dye. 

Walnuts are also notoriously difficult to crack. Some foragers dump their finds in the driveway and roll over the hulls with their cars; other people use a hammer (my children find this exciting, but it is messy and wild). Despite the tough work, removing the walnuts from their exterior shell is essential for actually eating them. Once they’re broken free, the nuts need a little storage time before they’re ready to eat; some experts recommend letting them air-dry for about a month. Which means if you get started now, there’s a good chance you’ll be able to add fresh walnuts to your Thanksgiving or winter holiday baking.

Many people shiver at the idea of spending any more time than necessary in a cemetery, and the idea of willingly hanging out there may sound bewildering. But there’s a strong argument for it — and a history of it.

Before public parks were widespread features of the American landscape, there were cemeteries. Beautifully manicured and designed like outdoor art museums full of memorial sculptures, these spaces weren’t exclusively for the dead. Around the 1830s, cemeteries slowly transformed from crowded churchyard plots to expansive landscapes, with the belief they’d provide rest for the deceased and the living. Urban planners viewed them as gardens where the dead peacefully slumbered and the living could walk winding paths packed with plants and symbolism, refreshing their senses dulled by busy city life.

With limited access to nature, Victorian-era society flocked to these memorial parks, picnicking among the headstones of loved ones long gone. Very demure, very mindful… except not. Cemeteries were spots for promenading with friends, hunting and shooting, and even carriage racing. Some burial grounds became such 19th-century hotspots that groundskeepers established strict rules banning food altogether or required admission tickets (no getting in without knowing a member of the interred).

By today’s standards, those activities would be downright disrespectful, but that could be a bit of modern day projection.

“We’re probably more narrow-minded about what is and isn’t appropriate in a cemetery now than we ever have been before,” says Bess Lovejoy, cemetery sage and author of Rest in Pieces: The Curious Fates of Famous Corpses. While Bess isn’t advocating for you to hold a boisterous party among the mausoleums, she does believe these spaces are meant to be enjoyed while we’re still alive. “There’s an argument that it’s kind of a beautiful co-mingling of death and life,” she says. “It’s always death and life together.”

Cemetery picnicking slowly fell out of favor around the 1920s for a multitude of reasons. As the Victorian era faded, so did the romanticized approach to death and mourning. Mass deaths during the 1918 influenza pandemic and following world war disrupted how people expressed grief. The rise of funeral home services helped Americans disconnect from regularly interacting with reminders of mortality.

Just because society stopped enjoying nature in cemeteries doesn’t mean we can’t return to doing so. Adapting forest bathing to a different location — perhaps call it “cemetery bathing” — can provide scientifically backed perks for our brains and bodies, which is in part why Bess recommends it.

“To me, it combines both the nature and history side of things,” she says. “You’re lowering your stress levels. You’re breathing in all kinds of good organic compounds. You’re looking at green, which is calming and soothing to our little human brains. But you’re also communing with history.”

Like other forms of meditation, “cemetery bathing” may help us center ourselves in the bigger picture of life. “I think having some connection to mortality isn’t totally a bad thing for us,” Bess says. “It helps us focus on what matters, to some extent. For me, the sense that things are going to end can kind of sharpen things and put them into focus.”

And in a world that feels increasingly complex, out-of-control, and divisive, cemeteries may instill a sense of humanity. “It deepens our appreciation for each other to know that we’re all a limited-time offer,” Bess says.

I couldn’t agree more.

5 Tips for Enjoying Your Time Among the Dead

If the idea of spending an hour relaxing in a cemetery intrigues you, Bess offers up a few tips for getting started. Venture out for an hour or an afternoon — however long gives you the chance to rest your very alive bones.

1. Keep an eye out for cemetery happenings. Bess recommends observing your surroundings and following any posted burial ground rules. “Be aware of active funerals going on around you, or mourners,” she says. “Not that you necessarily need to do anything different, but it’s good to be aware of what’s going on.”

2. Slow down and enjoy what you’re seeing. “There can be beautiful little tableaus that happen. Falling leaves or cherry blossoms collecting on a grave, or acorns nearby,” Bess says. “Look for the squirrels or the chipmunks or the lizards, depending on where you are in the world, because you’ll often find cemeteries can be little nature refuges depending on how they’re maintained.” She adds it’s not uncommon to see wildlife in these quiet spaces who, just like you, are seeking sanctuary from the busier parts of cities.

3. Be curious. “If you have questions about who you’re looking at, pull up Find A Grave [a digital cemetery database], and often it will tell you some information,” Bess says. You may come across an interesting life story — she once stumbled across an intriguing headstone that wound up belonging to a murderer. Many graves have a sweeter side, like headstones that share beloved family recipes.

4. Consider your impact. Bess cautions against the controversial practice of making headstone rubbings. Doing so risks damage to delicate, aging markers (take a photo instead). On some occasions, you may feel compelled to leave a memorial. “Ideally, don’t leave anything. If you feel moved to leave flowers, that might be OK, but ideally natural flowers, not plastic,” Bess says. Many historians also advise against removing anything from a grave. Stones, shells, and other artifacts set atop often have cultural meaning and should be left alone.

5. Shake the spooky feeling. Death is inherently frightening. We can’t stop it and tend to view dead things with fear, but it doesn’t have to be that way. “I hope that people can get beyond the idea that just because [someone is] dead, they’re spooky and cursed in some way,” Bess says. “We all have ancestors. We’re all going to become skeletons someday. Death is a part of the human experience.”

If you’re looking for burial grounds to spend your time in, Bess recommends checking out 222 Cemeteries to See Before You Die by author and cemetery expert Loren Rhoads. And might I suggest adding Bess’ books — Rest in Pieces: The Curious Fates of Famous Corpses and Northwest Know-How: Haunts — to your reading list? They’re both perfect autumnal reads that may inspire your next cemetery stroll.

• Looking for an outside adventure that gets both your hopes and heart rate up? I’ve got a sparkling suggestion for you.

• There’s a lot of shrimp talk happening lately. Here’s a little bit more.

• “BRB” says the thousands of birds quietly leaving your backyard — use this tool to track their journeys!

Plus a few other nature notes.

According to my Instagram feed these past weeks, “August is the Sunday of summer,” the last chance to chase waves before the weather cools and responsibility returns. If that’s true, I guess September is the Monday of autumn — arriving faster than we expect, but urging us to slowly settle into a new routine.

The rough, dog days of summer 2025 had their hold on me in a way I did not entirely enjoy. Between consistently unsettling news and the combination corn-sweat heat-dome, I’m glad September’s arrival will solve one of these problems, even if autumn won’t feel in full swing until October.

As the busy days of summer wane, I hope you’ll take a chance to notice the outside is a little less loud, but just as enjoyable. In the past week, I’ve observed the number of morning bird calls dropping with the thermometer; turns out, fall migration is already underway (see this month’s Outdoorsy Extras on tracking birds as they leave your ZIP code). It seems vacation season is over for us and our avian friends.

Meteorological autumn began Sept. 1 — the date is a consistent way for scientists to track seasonal data. However, if like myself you are an autumnal purist, the day to celebrate is Monday, Sept. 22, when the autumnal equinox arrives in the Northern Hemisphere.

How to Get High Hopes (and Pocketful of Cool Rocks) at Crater of Diamonds State Park

It’s not often that I’ll advocate for you to carry a shovel into the great outdoors and start haphazardly digging, though it’s a must at this one Arkansas park. What you find there may be the most exhilarating underground treasure of all: diamonds.

Crater of Diamonds State Park is the only diamond mine in the United States, and believed to be the only in the world open to the public. After slapping down your credit card to cover the admission price ($15 ages 13+; $7 ages 6-12; free for the 5 and under crowd), you’re free to dig a hole as large as you’d like in search of diamonds, amethyst, quartz, and other minerals. And the kicker: anything you find is yours to keep, though for safety reasons you are required to fill that hole before leaving with your pocketful of finds.

For me, visiting Crater of Diamonds was one of those “That’s cool if we’re ever down that way!” adventures I didn’t think much about, but when you’ve got a 7-year-old at home on summer break begging to go, it’s hard to say no. And the allure of finding a precious stone that I could turn into jewelry? The idea was eventually too enticing to put off.

Four Facts About Crater of Diamonds State Park

1. Crater of Diamonds gets its name from being an actual crater. The site is a 100-million-year-old volcanic vent where magma once pushed diamonds up to the surface.

2. A farmer kickstarted the diamond craze. John Huddleston was walking his property in 1906 when he found the first diamond. He sold off his land to investors in the first of what would be many companies attempting to commercially mine there. Even the U.S. government took over the diamond fields during World War II as part of the war effort, though none of these ventures was ever really successful. Crater of Diamonds was designated an Arkansas State Park in 1972.

3. More than 75,000 diamonds have been found there, including the Uncle Sam Diamond unearthed in 1924. Weighing in at 12.42 carats, it’s the largest diamond ever found in the U.S. and is currently housed in the Smithsonian’s collection.

4. You can find three diamond hues in the park: white (most common), brown, and yellow (least common).

The Main Attraction: Diamond Hunting

If you’ve ever wanted to experience what the American gold rush felt like, this is the experience for you (except, you know, with diamonds). We watched an informational video outside the diamond field on how to spot gems in the rough, then headed to the equipment rental to get the basic gear: shovels, a bucket, and a screen set for sifting.

That may have been when the reality of “we really have to work for these diamonds” kicked in. Most diamonds at the park are found on the surface, helped along by staff who till the field every few weeks. Considering it had been a few days since the last churn, we took our chances by picking a random spot and settling in to sift through much of the top layer of soil, occasionally digging deeper when we felt like it.

But here’s the deal about being deep in the diamond trenches: it gets exceptionally hot. Signs at the park’s visitor center warn that the heat index on the barren 37-acre digging field can climb even on cooler days — you’re essentially in the middle of a sprawling field with no shade. With that in mind, I’d highly recommend heading out to this one-of-a-kind spot when cooler autumn weather prevails.

Luckily, Crater of Diamonds provides two sluicing areas where you can wet sift through finer sediment in hopes of uncovering an overlooked diamond. To be honest, it was a nice way to cool down, and gave us a renewed interest in our dusty bucket of suspect rocks which revealed their own beauty once dipped in water.

After a few hours of digging, screen shaking, and lowered expectations, we wrapped up our adventure, returned our gear and stopped by the park’s rock and mineral ID desk. Park staff with more experienced eyes (and diamond certification credentials) go over your finds and put a name to all the pretty stones that aren’t as shiny, but just as special to you. We ventured home with a bag full of jasper, calcite, and volcanic tuff. No big rings for mama, but a truly unique experience I won’t forget anytime soon.

Crater of Diamonds State Park is located in Murfreesboro, Arkansas, about two hours southwest of Little Rock. The park is open daily from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., and also offers a small children’s water park, well-kept campground, and two trails.

1. 🪶 Say goodbye to your little bird friends. Slowly but surely, the birds you’ve listened to all spring and summer are quietly departing — mostly under nighttime’s protective cover. Check out BirdCast’s migration tool to get fascinating bird departure stats such as how many birds have already left your neighborhood, how fast they’re flying, and where they’re going.

2. 🎟️ Visit a NPS site free of charge. About a quarter of national parks and historic sites charge entrance fees to cover the cost of upkeep and services — except on National Public Lands Day (Sept. 27). Use the NPS park finder to get outdoors for the low, low price of $0. This holiday is also one of the largest volunteer days at public greenspaces and is a great opportunity to support these sites through a difficult year of funding and staffing cuts.

3. 🌻 Spot the last wave of blooms on a wildflower walk. Autumn leaves will soon offer some dazzling color pops, though this season still has floral bursts in store. Stroll along your favorite path to catch a glimpse of yellow ironweed, asters, black-eyed, ragweed (achoo!) and more in the weeks ahead.

🦐 These crustaceans aren’t radioactive, but they are doing other kinds of fission. North America is home to several species of freshwater shrimp, often named for where you may find them: the Mississippi grass shrimp, California freshwater shrimp, Ohio shrimp… you get it. These crustaceans know that autumn is cuffing season, the perfect time to pair up for once-a-year mating opportunities. Female shrimp attach their fertilized eggs beneath their tail and hind legs, where they hang tight all winter long until late spring when the shrimplets hatch.

🍇 Heartleaf peppervines (Ampelopsis cordata) are producing snacks, none of which you should eat. It’s a bummer these purple grape look-alikes are not at all for human consumption, but it’s not always about us, is it? Heartleaf peppervine is found near waterways and swampy spots, where its 25-foot tendrils wrap around trees and shrubs, helping to stabilize soil and stop erosion. This enthusiastic climber produces berries through October which are edible to fruit-eating birds… after all, there’s no reason they should be famished during the migratory season.

🏮 Fireflies were really out in the streets… er, woods, this summer. Remember those relentless spring rains? Turns out the deluges had one upside: boosting this year’s firefly populations. Ample humidity and heat helped firefly larvae survive underground, and made it easier for adult fireflies to produce the enzyme that creates their namesake light-up feature. However, researchers are sounding the alarm about dwindling firefly populations. You can help next year’s lightning bugs thrive by keeping some falling leaves in your yard to decompose, where that detritus creates a healthier ecosystem for firefly larvae and the bugs they feast on.

🐛 Meanwhile, female bagworms will be having a very demure autumn. Bagworms are voracious eaters responsible for chomping on cedars, maples, and a variety of other trees. After hatching in late spring, these tiny caterpillars (not worms!) feast and construct small spindle-shaped cocoons that dangle from tree branches. Male bagworms develop into moths, though females never do… nor do they ever leave their tiny enclosures. Visiting males mate through the bag and the female dies inside with her fertilized eggs. All those bagworm casings you spot on trees are tiny moth nurseries to hundreds of baby bugs, awaiting warmer days to break open. TBH, this whole life cycle is giving “Victorian-era novel à la The Yellow Wallpaper” vibes.

Fall Planting: Give a Tree, Shrub, or Perennial Plant a New Home

I adore fall gardening. By August I’m over a summer of weeding, watering, and groundhog patrols (the very things I’m itching to get back to come January, minus the whistlepig situation). But I get a second wind of sorts when temperatures ease and my favorite brassicas are ready to thrive. If you’re interested in cool weather vegetable gardening, check out a few of my favorite fall harvest recommendations.

However, not all gardening has to feed us humans — sometimes you just want something pretty to look at. September is the perfect month for planting your very first tree, or adding a new perennial plant to your landscape. Planting after summer heat dies back can improve the odds your newest garden friend survives… so long as they’re into the ground six to eight weeks before the first frost. This gives plants and trees enough time to establish deeper roots that sustain them through winter dormancy.

A frost date calculator can help out if you’re unsure of just when frosty temps tend to arrive near you. If it’s been a while since you’ve checked your zone/historical frost dates, it’s likely time for an update. As many gardeners can attest, climate change has eeked away the accuracy of frost dates long-embedded in our minds — mine here in the Midwest has shifted 9 days later in the season over the past 10 years.

That’s it for this month’s edition of Outdoor Humans. I am so excited for the October issue, which will preview the official Outdoor Humans 2026 North American Nature Journal. It’s both a guide and journaling companion to spending more intentional time outdoors, complete with monthly astronomy, plant, and critter observing tips with spots to record your wanderings, hikes, and other adventures. I cannot wait to share this passion project with you!

As always, keep your wits about you and go the heck outside.

Nicole Garner Meeker

Art notes: This month’s feature image of a gold prospector “working his diggings” was taken in Pinos Altos, New Mexico, in 1940 by photographer Russell Lee for the U.S. Farm Security Administration. The photo collection documented life across America as the Great Depression continued on and as the U.S. entered World War II. Image courtesy of the Library of Congress.

Have a nature question? Your inquiry may be published and answered in a future issue of Outdoor Humans.

Submit Your Nature Q

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Billions of birds are preparing for (and even already embarking on) their cool-weather exits. Isn’t it intriguing how many migratory birds seem to quietly disappear as summer fades away? Turns out most of us humans tend to miss these massive avian departures because they typically happen at night. According to the Audubon Society, 70% of terrestrial recurring birds (aka birds that spend much of their time nesting or foraging on the ground) in North America are migratory, and 80% of them travel after dark. 

While there’s still much to learn about why birds take off after sunset, researchers have a few decent explanations:

• The atmosphere is more stable after dark, making it easier for birds to chart a smooth and steady course — especially smaller species that move more slowly

• Darkness shields vulnerable birds from predators and provides a safer voyage

• Cool nighttime temperatures keep these hardworking birds from overheating

• Most importantly, birds rely on the stars and moon as GPS, helping them navigate to their warmer destinations

Unfortunately, we humans and our penchant for artificial outdoor lighting can throw off those avian navigation systems. Light pollution can confuse migrating birds, causing them to stray off course and even collide with buildings and structures; some birds become so disoriented they exhaust themselves to death trying to get back on track. To combat this problem, organizations like the Audubon Society and DarkSky International promote the Lights Out Program, which encourages building owners to reduce light pollution, though you don’t have to be a real estate mogul with a flair for excessive lighting to take part. Simply turning off or dimming exterior lights on your home or business between 11 p.m. and 6 a.m. during migration seasons can support traveling birds. When should you start?

• Fall migration begins August 15 and ends November 30

• Spring migration runs from March 1 to June 15

While flipping the switch on your porch lights might seem pretty minor, it’s a small move that can support birds in a big way. A 2019 study revealed North America’s avian populations have declined by nearly 3 billion birds over the last 50 years — an extensive loss that particularly affects many backyard feeder species like Dark-eyed Juncos, Red-winged Blackbirds, and other songbirds. Light-reducing efforts give birds a fighting chance at departing and returning safely, and may be one tool at combating that population slump.

Art note: “Bird with autumn foliage” by L. Prang & Co, 1873, courtesy of the Library of Congress.

When to hunt: Early autumn

Pawpaws begin ripening and dropping from trees in early September through October. Not all fruit on the same tree or in one area will ripen at the same time, so if you find only a few, keep returning over the next few weeks to collect more.

Where to hunt: Spots with moist soil

Where I’m at in Eastern Missouri, pawpaws are plentiful (after all, they are the state’s official fruit), though their range stretches to the East Coast, topping out into lower parts of Canada and bottoming out in parts of the Sun Belt. If you’re within this region, be on the watch for 20-30 foot trees along creek sides and river bottoms, or spots with particularly moist soil. Pawpaw trees are often found bunched together in groves and can be identified by their massive oval-shaped leaves, between 6 and 12 inches long and up to 5 inches wide. As fall progresses, they’ll transition from a deep green to yellow, and stay on the tree until nearly winter. 

How to harvest: Look out, below!

Spotting pawpaws can be tricky. They often blend in with foliage while green, though they slowly ripen to a slightly yellow color and tend to have brown speckling or shading on the skin. As they ripen, pawpaws will fall to the ground, so watch where you step. Ripe fruit will be firm with a soft give when squeezed, though slightly underripe fruit can be stashed in a brown paper bag on the counter to speed up the process. Give tree trunks a gentle shake to dislodge fruit higher up (just like mulberries earlier in the year).

Foraging notes you should know

Pawpaws last only a few days at room temperature, so use them quickly or stash them in the fridge to extend their shelf life — the pulp can also be frozen after the skin and seeds are removed. There are a million ways to eat pawpaws — I’ve seen recipes for waffles, puddings and bread — however I should note not everyone finds them easy on the stomach when cooked or eaten raw. Avoid eating the skin and seeds for the best possible experience (some sources consider them toxic). As with any wild foraged food, be sure to start with small amounts before gorging yourself to avoid any unsavory reaction.

So in 2024, I thought I was done with caves. I wasn’t feeling another drippy, damp underground tour. But when planning a smaller vacation close to home, Mammoth Cave National Park in Kentucky became a top contender. To be honest, I wasn’t jazzed about the idea — partially because I’d been angling for the Southwest, but mostly because Mammoth Cave doesn’t have the same appeal as some of the larger national parks. Park rangers have even joked about this perception after Mammoth Cave was dragged as the country’s third-most disappointing tourist attraction.

However, the powers at be (aka children high on the power of voting on a vacation destination) set me up for a fantastic time. Here are a few trip highlights and recommendations should you venture out to this underground wonder.

Five Fast Facts About Mammoth Cave

• Mammoth Cave is the world’s largest cave system, though no one’s sure of its exact size. More than 400 miles have been mapped, and more are continuously discovered because it’s still forming.

• While the cave is about 10–15 million years old, the park was established in 1941 in western Kentucky, about 1.5 hours south of Louisville.

• Mammoth Cave is a World Heritage Site and Biosphere Reserve, recognized internationally for its historical, scientific, and ecological significance. 

• Above ground, the park contains 52,830 acres with 70 miles of trail for hiking, biking, and horseback riding, along with river access for water exploration.

• The park has three campgrounds, historic cottages, and a motel, making it easy to stay a few days and take in the entire experience.

The Main Attraction: Taking a Cave Tour

Our trip to Mammoth Cave happened to sync up with a lovely summer heat wave — not the best for camping, but perfect for spending a few hours in balmy 54° temps. However, we almost missed our shot at cooling off because we didn’t purchase our tour tickets in advance. August is peak season for many national parks, Mammoth Cave included, which sees around 600,000 visitors each year. To accommodate all those people, rangers lead around 20 separate tours each day, with groups as large as 110 visitors. 

By early morning on our arrival day, nearly all tour tickets were sold out (along with most for the following days). It didn’t help that our choices were somewhat limited because of cave rules; some tours have age or mobility restrictions, or are well over two hours long. With two kids under 6, we snagged the last tickets for the 75-minute Mammoth Passage Tour, an “introductory guided tour” that’s best suited for small children and people with claustrophobia or limited mobility. The tour descended ¾ mile into the cave, where a ranger flipped off the lights briefly to show how dark the passageways are, and gave a detailed history of the cave’s use by native people, saltpeter miners in the early 1800s, and modern explorers. 

Unlike many other caves, Mammoth Cave is considered a “dry cave,” meaning it was free of water drops you may experience in other caves. However, you do get your shoes wet at the end in a sanitary scrub rangers jokingly called a “complimentary shoe shine.” That cleaning solution helps curb the spread of white-nose syndrome, a fungal disease that kills bat colonies.

What Else to See and Do at Mammoth Cave NP

• Pay your respects to Stephen Bishop, one of the first Mammoth Cave guides. You’ll find his resting place a short walk from the visitor’s center. Stephen Bishop was an enslaved Black man who worked as a tour guide from the late 1830s through mid-1850s, during which time he explored and mapped new cave passages. He became a renowned guide, leading celebrities of the time such as writer Ralph Waldo Emerson, through Mammoth Cave. Bishop’s cave maps were used for four decades, and he was actually credited for his work despite being enslaved (a rarity of the time). He attained freedom in 1856 and planned to leave caving behind, but died from an illness that same year at age 37. Bishop rests within the Old Guide’s Cemetery, with a headstone that reads “Stephen Bishop, first guide and explorer of the Mammoth Cave.” 

• Take the junior ranger pledge. NPS’s junior ranger program is a big draw for kids, though anyone can participate. Start by snagging a free booklet from the visitor’s center, which outlines the requirements for getting your badge: participating in a cave tour or ranger program, completing a set of activities within the booklet (such as a scavenger hunt and museum visit), and taking the official junior ranger pledge administered by a park ranger. After swearing in, you’ll get your very own pin-on badge.

• Ferry your car across Green River. One entrance to Mammoth Cave National Park requires a water crossing, but you won’t have to caulk and float your car like the Oregon Trail. The Green River Ferry — which has been operational since 1934 — offers a short, free ride across the river for cars, bikes, and hikers. While it typically runs daily, the ferry is paused during low-water conditions and flooding, so call the ferry hotline for operating hours and info to know before you go.

• Get a glimpse of huge bullfrogs from the boardwalk at Sloan’s Crossing Pond. Originally constructed as part of the Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC) project in 1939, the boardwalk around Sloan’s Crossing Pond reopened in spring 2024 following major renovations. This nearly half-mile accessible walk puts the marshy water at center stage, letting you view turtles, waterfowl, and other aquatic creatures up close. This was the best part of the entire trip for my frog-obsessed toddler, who enjoyed listening to and spotting some of the largest bullfrogs we’ve ever seen.

All national parks have their positives and downsides, Mammoth Cave included, and while there was less to do and see than some of the larger parks, outdoors enthusiasts will likely find something to enjoy there. Drop a comment below about your favorite national park (or least favorite, because they can’t all be winners).

If you’ve never grown a fall garden, I’d highly recommend it. Many heat-intolerant vegetables and leafy greens grow beautifully this time of year with lower temps and fewer pests; some can even be covered with a hoop and plastic and overwintered through next spring, giving you extra produce throughout the cold winter months. I find that fall gardens are a bit more hands-off, and there’s a different kind of joy I get from stepping out to clip lettuce for dinner while wearing a sweater. 

Here’s a few of the easy-growing crops I toss in my fall garden for picking through the season, all of which can be sown in-ground, raised beds, or porch planters.

• Lettuce is a standard fall garden crop. Depending on the variety, you can have lettuce on your plate in under a month (less time for cut greens, more time for lettuce heads to develop). 

• Mizuna is one of my favorite salad greens because it grows so well and quickly this time of year. It’s ready within 40 days though you can often harvest 20 days after planting, and it’s even tolerant to light frosts. 

• Radishes do great in cool weather and are exceptionally fast growers, ready in about three to five weeks. I find that fall-grown radishes are a bit more mellow than earlier in the year (warm temperatures can ratchet up their bite). 

• Do you remember that whole “superfood” battle between kale and Swiss chard a few years back? You don’t have to choose a side because they’re both great and exceptionally cold tolerant. Plant ‘em both. My favorites are “Russian Red” kales and rainbow chards.

• Tatsoi develops beautiful deep-green rosettes as it grows, which you can pick a few leaves from or harvest the entire head. I’ve had plants last through two weeks of 0° temps in my covered raised bed. I’m sold on planting it each fall and prefer it over spinach. It’s also a reliable self-seeder, meaning it does the work of replanting itself, and surprising me each fall.

• Carrots taste and grow better this time of year, so I like to plant smaller varieties in autumn. My current favorite is the round “Parisian” variety — it’s frost-hardy, ready in 55 days, and incredibly cute.

Have a fall garden favorite or a question about planting your own? Leave a comment below!

Ready your daypacks, campers, because the best time to get out on a summer hike is early in the day. Hiking can take the wind out of you on even the best-weather days, but clocking in miles during the hottest part of summer takes some extra precautions. Here’s how to stay cool for a great time on the trail.

Trek the Right Trail at the Right Time

Embarking on a hike at 8 a.m. on a 90-degree day is vastly more enjoyable than heading out after noon. Leave out early in the day or in late afternoon, and on a trail that limits sun exposure. Shaded trails can be noticeably cooler, and hikes along creeks gives you the option to jump in and cool down.

Opt for Comfortable Activewear

Many backpackers are devoted to the phrase “cotton kills” — wet cotton takes forever to dry and holds moisture close to your body, which causes chafing at best and (wintertime) hypothermia at worst. There are a lot of disputes about this within the hiking community, but the takeaway here is moisture-wicking clothes can make your hot-weather hikes more comfortable, especially if you’re out and about in exceptionally humid conditions (which make it difficult for your sweat to evaporate properly).

Pack Smart

The heavier your daypack, the more exhausted you’ll be lugging it on a long hike. Tailor your essentials based on your selected hike, and be sure to pack more water than you think you’ll need.

Take Care of Yourself 

You’ve gotta practice self-care in the woods, friends. Warm-weather hiking means more sweating and more hydration. Don’t forget regular sunscreen application. Expect to move slowly in the heat and take more trailside breaks. The goal isn’t to hike fast or really even that far — but to enjoy the view regardless.

Know the Signs of a Bad Time

The trail ahead is occasionally perilous, sometimes due to intense heat. Even the most sun-loving outdoor humans can have a run-in with heat exhaustion or heat stroke. Nausea, vomiting, headaches, cramps, and cool, moist skin can be signs of heat exhaustion (which are treated with rest, cooling down, and drinks with added electrolytes). Heat stroke can cause a weak or rapid pulse, confusion, unconsciousness, seizures, and even mimic a heart attack — these symptoms require immediate medical attention. The best way to hike safely this summer might be hitting the trail with a friend so you can share the views while looking out for each other. 🥾

Art note: “On the trail to Paradise Valley, Mt. Tacoma or Rainier, Wash.” captured in 1906 by J. A. Blosser of the Blosser Scenic Art Co. Courtesy of the Library of Congress.

I have a confession: I’ve never gotten poison ivy. It’s not from a lack of trying. Growing up on a 20-acre farm and summers at Girl Scout camp practically guaranteed a few rubs against poison ivy, yet I’ve never gotten a rash. My dad and brothers are also immune from this pesky plant (my poor mom is the sole member of the Sad and Itchy Club™). We might be freaks of nature, or we could have great genetics — about 15% of Americans aren’t allergic to poison ivy.

What a flex, right? Unfortunately, this magical trait does have a disadvantage: I’m terrible at picking poison ivy out of a lineup. It doesn’t pop out to me when hiking with kids or friends, so I can’t warn them to avoid it. Forgetting what it looks like means I easily contaminate my clothes or hands with urushiol — aka the irritating oil that causes poison ivy’s allergic reaction — and can then spread it to my very allergic (and lovingly patient) husband. 

Getting that horribly itchy, weepy rash is practically a summer camp right of passage — so as your friendly camp counselor, I thought we’d learn together how to avoid it. Who should I turn to for a primer on identifying this hellacious plant? Why not David Meeker, a natural resource steward who’s spent more than a decade working outdoors… and who may or may not be the aforementioned itchy spouse tasked with pointing out poison ivy on every hike.

Characteristics of Poison Ivy

David and I took a walk with the express intent of finding and identifying poison ivy. Here’s what he pointed out to me:

• “Leaves of three, let it be” is outdoor wisdom that holds up. Poison ivy has a grouping of three leaflets. The center leaf is symmetrical and has an elongated stem. The two side leaves are asymmetrical and resemble a pair of mittens (as David has repeated for nearly 14 years). One side of the leaf is smooth while the other has a thumb-like or jagged edge.

• Poison ivy can appear as a small single plant, will grow vigorously into a shrub, and will wrap itself around trees in vines reaching upwards of 60 feet.

• As fall approaches, the leaves of poison ivy can change colors, transitioning from green to yellow, orange, or red.

• Poison ivy also blooms! Its flowers appear in the spring and early summer, and the plant produces green berries that turn white as they ripen.

A Few Poison Ivy Imposters

You’re probably on high alert looking for poison ivy everywhere, but there are a few impersonators that may catch you off guard. Every time I said “Surely, this is poison ivy,” this poor man sighed and explained why it is not.

• Virginia Creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) climbs and wraps itself around trees like vining poison ivy. It can have three leaflets, but often has five.

• Box elder maple (Acer negundo) saplings tricked me. These small trees often have three leaflets but can have up to 7. Their stem is typically a waxy blue-white hue, and they look less menacing as they grow.

• Fragrant sumac (Rhus aromatica) wasn’t spotted on our nature walk, but is commonly confused. It grows as a thick shrub and has dark brown bark and red berries.

Spotting poison ivy takes practice, and sometimes you’ll still miss it. The best thing to do after a hike through the woods is wash your hands and tossing outdoor clothes straight into the washing machine. Sometimes you still wind up with a rash, but what would you rather do — sit inside all day? Grab the calamine lotion and keep moving. 🌿

Art note: “Rhus radicans. (Poison ivy).”, from Jacob Bigelow’s American Medical Botany, 1817-1820. Courtesy of The New York Public Library Digital Collection

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